Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything.

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O my soul

by Logospilgrim

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"While Joy and I would concur with the Greek maxim that to learn is to suffer, we would add also that to suffer is to learn."

Luke Timothy Johnson

O Life, how can you die?
Or abide in a grave?
For You destroy the Kingdom of death,
O Lord,
and you raise up the dead of Hades' realm.
Wherewithal shall a young man correct his way?
By keeping Your words.

John Taverner, Lamentations and Praises

----

It was finally going to happen. He was going to die. He didn't know whom he was thanking, but he said, "Thank you... thank you," his breath turned to smoke by the cold.

He looked up at the night sky and would have smiled if he'd been able to; his muscles were no longer responsive. It wasn't so terrible, dying. It didn't even hurt. Of course, the snow and ice had numbed his body to the extent that his Dark Mark was almost silent. It throbbed a little, but was nothing, now. Just a fading cry.

Would Dumbledore know the end had come? He always seemed to know everything... Would he sense it, somehow?

Would he grieve?

"I'm sorry, Albus. I couldn't..."

Tears, ice cold against his skin, freezing by the time they reached his temples. It was better this way. Death was the only redeemer.

He was so tired. It was becoming more and more difficult to remain conscious. Sleep...

And no more dreams.

The shivering stopped. Yes, he was almost there.

----

Wait.

Something was different, all of a sudden.

He tried to speak.

Then, a sound, words he didn't recognize, softly spoken, and a gentle hand on his forehead.

An orange glow was spoiling the perfection of absolute darkness. And warmth, warmth... Tingling sensations, all over his body, the hint of pain. It was slowly being roused from its slumber and riddled his limbs with growing intensity. The heat from without was feeding a corresponding fire, from within. His teeth began to chatter, and his body to quake.

"Where..." The smooth velvet of his voice was gone, replaced by a grating rasp. What had happened? Karkaroff... He'd been searching for Karkaroff, and...

The Dark Mark flared. His eyes snapped open and his back arched. He tried to scream, but all that emanated from his throat was a hiss.

The voices grew alarmed, and he felt more hands on his body, restraining him. Dark forms all around him. He couldn't focus.

"Make it... stop -stop..." he said.

"You are sick, we are helping you, please be calm," one of the black figures said, speaking in English this time. "Do not be afraid."

Soon, weakness overcame Severus's thrashing motions. He lay still, trembling with agony, and wept. Death would come, but denied the comfort of an icy tomb, he found himself lashed to a stake.

"My name is Father Nikolski. You have received injuries. Do you remember? We found you in the gardens a week ago."

Severus blinked, watched the man swim in and out of his vision like a mirage. He thought he saw a silver beard, a shiny object on his black robe...

"Burns... it... the... the Mark..." His face contorted. "Help me..."

No one could help him, though. He knew this only too well. He begged nevertheless, for relief, for mercy, driven mad by the searing, unbearable pain.

Severus barely heard the man say, "I shall, my child. We shall free you of this evil."

There was the rustle of robes and shuffling footsteps and urgent whispers. Hands gripped his shoulders, his wrists, his ankles. The priest then spoke in that foreign tongue again, and water was poured on Severus's arm.

He drew in his breath. A sharp, violent spasm shook his body, and the burning on his arm cooled and disappeared completely, as though it had been nothing more than a spark snuffed out by the wind.

---

"You are awake?"

Severus stirred again, and his eyelids fluttered. He looked around. There was a fire in the hearth. The window was streaked by frost. Strange golden images on the whitewashed walls seemed to be gazing down at him, inexplicably comforting him.

A tall man dressed in black was smiling at him. He looked somehow familiar. "How are you feeling, Severus?"

"I... How do you know my name?"

"I received a message. It was addressed to me, and spoke of you."

Severus's eyes widened. "An owl... Was it brought by an owl? I must read it-"

He tried to get up, but couldn't. It was as if there was no strength left in his body.

"You must lie down, and not worry. I have sent a response for you," the man said. "To your Headmaster Dumbledore. He knows that you are being cared for, I have given him all the necessary details."

"Where am I?"

"At the monastary of St John Chrysostom. I am Father Nikolski."

A slight frown creased Severus's brow. "I have heard that name before."

"You had a very bad fever when I first introduced myself," Father Nikolski said.

"How long... How long have I been here?"

"Almost one month."

Severus paled. He had surely failed his mission now. And what of Voldemort -had the Dark Lord tried to summon him? Once more Severus attempted to rise, but the holy man placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"You are safe," Father Nikolski said. "Do not exert yourself needlessly."

"You don't understand, I have to..."

"Eat. That is the first thing you need to do, and perhaps after you have rested, we can answer some questions."