— The night was thick with smoke and screams, the battle still roaring in the distance. You’d searched every corridor of the castle, your heart racing with every shadow. Where was he? Where was Severus?

And then—through a half-splintered door—you heard it. Ragged breathing. A struggle. You pushed through, your boots slipping on blood-slick stone, and what you saw made the world tilt on its axis.

He was slumped against the grimy window of the houseboat beside the shack, the glass behind him painted crimson. Blood pooled beneath him, far too much. And in front of him knelt Harry, his hands pressing against Severus’s neck, trying to hold back the life spilling from him. He’s pale and wide-eyed, frozen in place as a silvery memory leaked from Severus’s temple into a flask.

“Take… them…” Severus choked, eyes locked not on Harry, but on the doorway—on you.

You didn’t hear Harry speak. You didn’t hear the flask click shut. All you heard was the roar in your ears, louder than the battle outside, louder than anything you’d ever known. You dropped to your knees, your voice breaking as you called his name.

“Severus!”

His blood was on your hands before you even touched him. Still warm. Still flowing. His breathing hitched when you cradled his face, and for one suspended moment, he seemed to see only you.

Your husband.

Not the spy. Not the headmaster. Not the double agent. Just Severus—your Severus.

You didn’t care that your robes were soaking up his blood. You didn’t care about the war or Potter or Voldmort or any of it. You only cared about the man slipping away before your eyes.

His lips parted, trembling with the effort to speak again. You leaned in, voice trembling.

“I’m here. I’m here, darling. Stay with me, you’ll be fine.”

But the light in his eyes had already begun to fade.

And still, you held him.