…The boy drifted further away.

There he sat, watching and waiting for any further sign of life.

But as the minutes passed, so did the gradual torrent of raw grief. And what little light was left, diminished so agonizingly slowly before their wary eyes.

Days turned gravely into weeks, never knowing what could change or what may happen in the end. Everyone else had hope.

Severus Snape did not.

What good was a Chosen One if he couldn’t live to see the future he fought for?

Vases of flowers and cards built up at Potter’s bedside, but as the days stretched beyond those long hours, the flowers had since wilted and broke away from their previous beauty. People came and went, leaving gifts and signs of their love, those of which he would never get to witness for himself. 

No one knows why he chose to remain there or why he never left his bedside. It seemed odd that this man - who barely clung on to life himself - chose to stay behind to wait for the boy he was tasked to protect and open his eyes to new life. 

But it never came.

Occasionally, the boy’s eyes would flutter, but the rise and fall of his soundless breaths remained unchanged for far too long. His condition hardly changed since the moment he was found unconscious by the splintered, battle-worn doors of the Great Hall, barely an hour after the demise of the Dark Lord.

No one knows why this happened. At one moment, Potter was confronting the wounded and tending to the distraught, and then moments later, was found collapsed by the rubble, filled with dust and the blood of the fallen. Since then, he had since lived out those following months confined to a bed at St. Mungo's, waiting for the day he could finally wake up, and continue the life he fought so valiantly for.

The fate seemed cruel, and yet there was no certainty within him that the boy would survive this time. Potter was battered, and his soul broken. No magic could heal him, not even that of his own.

So Severus waited for a sign of life to revert his dread, but he knew convincing himself otherwise was useless. He knew hope was already lost. 

Throughout the day his room would fill with Healers and Alchemists in a bid to wake the heroic Boy Who Lived, but their efforts were consistently exhausted and there was nothing even they could do. Sometimes even Severus’ own assigned Healers would perform their care on him, as he remained a patient for as long the twisted scarring at his neck was free from Nagini’s venom, but at this point, he didn’t care what happened to him. 

Rarely he could be pried away.

His life was meaningless, even more so on the day Potter's soul would eventually leave this Earth. 

Sometimes he wondered to himself why he chose to stay. Frankly, even he didn’t know. It seemed strange that he spent so long keeping the boy at a distance, only now to remain at his bedside whilst he clung to life. 

Severus’ own life drifted by like a helpless leaf in the dying winds, never knowing where it would land. Why did it matter what his life meant now? Harry’s loss of life would mark the end of his oath to Lily, and the desperate plea from Albus. That oath and his wish condemned on Lily’s soul were the only things binding him on his own accord to Potter’s bedside. 

There was no Unbreakable Vow this time. This…This was his own choice.

Waiting for Potter's death…it all felt so pathetic. A broken man waiting for a means to his own end. There was nothing else left for him.

“Mr. Snape, your analgesia is due.”

“I do not want it. Let me - us - be. Go away!”

“But, sir…”

“I said leave!” 

Anger tore his mind to shreds with every second of his waking state.

The Healers eventually began to lose their patience with him, as there was a point in time in which he refused all care for himself. The bandage at his neck was saturated with blood, painted new and old, no longer bothering about his own health. He couldn’t even remember the last time he bathed or the last time a decent meal touched his lips. Remnants of yesterday’s coffee cracked through his dry lips.

What use would he be if he lived, anyway? There was nothing left to fight for, especially now with Potter's close demise. So there was no point in the Healer’s wasting potions, food, or any other nutrients on him. That was a better use for someone who actually wanted to live.

Potter's rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life left within him, but it was now slowing drastically. His condition had not improved since he was first damned to these same four walls. No matter the solutions that were attempted, even by Severus’ own hand, they became useless. Not even a flicker of the eyes, or a twitch of the lips. The boy’s glasses lay dormant on his bedside, unworn for weeks. It sat idly beside the wand that defeated the Dark Lord - a testament to the powers vying for victory on the fateful day.

But not enough to grant him life.

Sometimes the room was filled with family and friends. Sometimes it was very few. It was a strange situation of sorts, falling into a familiar, soundless pattern as they swapped positions like motionless sentries, all watching as a life was slowly drifting away before their hopeless, defeated eyes.

Even they knew there was nothing they could do.

Occasionally Granger, Weasley and Lovegood would remain, or sometimes it was the Weasley matriarch. It was almost seamless, as one would enter the room, and the other departed to take a defeated breath in solace. A silent agreement that needed no explanation, each deciding to watch over him in their own way and personal duty, as it seemed. It was all a silent affair. No words could pierce through the tense fog that room held, each holding their breath as he started to lose his. 

Watching. Waiting.

Severus was hardly ever in his own room, yet when it was his time to trade places with those more worthy to be there, he retreated back to where he was supposed to be. They still wouldn’t let him out, determined to completely eradicate the poison still pulsating within his veins. 

Severus didn’t care. The memories left within the Penseive were enough to leave his presence unquestioned. It was better that way.

It was probably the wiser choice to lose his life and allow the poison to consume him, just as Potter was on his own deathbed. There was nothing he had hoped to gain. He had nothing left to fight for. His one life’s purpose was dying before their eyes, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

It was surely cruel, even by Severus’ standards. Helpless, even now.

Eventually, Potter had begun to take struggled gasps, but nothing the Healers did could ease his breathing except for the delicate blue wisps of an oxygen generation charm fluttering around his nose and mouth. Severus had barked orders one day, determined to brew something himself to further ease the struggles. He figured that symptom management would be a wiser goal. But nothing he attempted to concoct, made a difference. Like the Healers, he too had tried everything. Whatever dark magic took hold on the boy, made treatment and interventions difficult.

Yet still, he remained by the boys’ side. Something he continued to question to himself as the days dragged on.

He couldn’t bear to leave. Not like this. Not after everything they had both suffered with to get to this point. But why did he have to die? 

Potter…Lily’s son.

“Give Lily - “ Severus stopped himself cold, before grimacing at the words he attempted to say. There was no use anymore, “Oh, bollocks…Potter… Harry … Rest , now. You’ve earned it.”

…As if those words had triggered his release, with one last breath, he was gone. Severus melted to the back of the room, allowing Potter's closest to pay their respects. But he slid away before anyone noticed, and before the collective wailing of the broken, the boy had left behind.

This boy, this Chosen One…found his end after all.