Resurrection

The rain had gone on without end. England's weather seemed always to be like this.

Quite a few wizards believed some ancient and powerful magic was at work, but the official explanation was climate. On this gloomy day, a haggard man dressed in black arrived in Godric's Hollow, holding a large, heavy black umbrella.

It was a small village, and also a settlement where half-wizards lived. At the center stood a small square, its stone bricks covered in moss and utterly silent.

In the middle of the square stood a war memorial-like structure. There were several shops here, a post office, a pub, and a small church. Across the square, stained-glass windows cast a jewel-like radiance.

The memorial had been enchanted. Whenever a wizard passed by, it changed. No longer was it an obelisk carved with names; it became a statue of three people: a messy-haired man wearing glasses, a beautiful, kind-looking woman with long hair, and a baby girl sitting in her mother's arms.

Severus Snape passed through the church. In weather like this, the stained glass brought only a sense of ill omen.

Yet he seemed unaffected. He was more gloomy and ominous than the weather itself.

Alone, he made his way to the cemetery behind the church, whose entrance was a narrow gate. Rows upon rows of headstones stood upon a pale blue-silver carpet, engraved with the surnames of ancient wizarding families. The little cemetery had been haunted for years, but with Snape's arrival, those ghosts of old retreated into their graves and hid.

Ghosts had always been perceptive.

He walked straight ahead, passing between the headstones. Snape had not come to this place in many years, but he still remembered the way. He would always remember—would never forget.

He stopped before a gravestone engraved with James Potter's name. Snape looked at it, and to his surprise, his heart was tranquil.

There was no hatred, no contempt—only peace, as though he had finally let go. Had he?

Snape stepped past it.

Beside James Potter's grave was Lily Potter's.

Their epitaphs were the same, an ancient saying: The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

Snape's lips moved as he silently repeated those words.

Yes. The last enemy to be destroyed was death.

Snape set down his umbrella and let the icy rain strike his face. England was still cold in April, especially on rainy days. A chill soon rose in his heart. Snape took a deep breath and hesitated no longer.

Magic Power poured from his fingertips, becoming a white shovel that dug open Lily Potter's grave. He soon saw the coffin. Snape's lips trembled, though he could not tell whether it was from the cold or something else.

Perhaps even he did not know. If someone asked, he would most likely say it was because of the cold.

He let out a long sigh, filled with pain.

He jumped into the pit, mud and rainwater soaking his trouser legs. Snape ran his hand over the heavy, icy coffin and gently brushed away the dirt bit by bit.

As he did so, a sentence carved into the coffin came into view: May love grant you Eternal Sleep.

Her love for her daughter had let her sleep. Now, another love—unspoken and unknown—would awaken her from death.

Snape clenched his fists and began chanting an ancient spell from another world.

The Void crossed millions upon millions of years, even crossing an entire world, to arrive before this coffin.

As the spell was chanted, the coffin opened out of thin air. Inside lay a corpse in a black dress, long decayed and nearly reduced to a skeleton. Snape remembered that day: October 31, 1981. It was now 1992.

Snape had no time to reminisce. Once this magic began, it could not be stopped.

He spread his arms. With a pained scream, all the Magic Power in his body poured from his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. White light illuminated the small pit. The Magic Power hovered in midair, forming a ball of light the size of a basketball. Snape collapsed weakly to the ground, utterly disheveled.

"Cough—cough, cough."

Snape coughed violently several times. Covering his mouth, he watched drops of blood seep through his fingers. For a moment, he truly thought he had died.

But he had not. He could not die yet—at least, not now.

So Snape pressed his hands together, struggled to rise, and knelt on the ground. The blood between his palms began to boil.

The ball of Magic Power in the air gradually dispersed, forming an intricate magic circle around The Pit. Snape closed his eyes. He Shenyan's voice rang beside his ears.

Images flashed before his eyes.

"The difficulty of this magic lies in love, Mr. Snape."

In his office, Snape had heard He Shenyan say this. He had not looked at Snape, instead leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling, his tone distant and ethereal.

"First, you must endure the pain of death, because this magic involves alchemy. And the essence of alchemy is equivalent exchange. If you withstand the pain of death, then you may proceed to the next step. It is also the most difficult step."

He Shenyan suddenly sat upright and looked into his eyes, speaking each word clearly. "Is your love truly strong enough to awaken the dead from their Eternal Sleep?"

Snape had not known the answer then, and now, kneeling in The Pit, he still did not know it.

But the flame in his heart had long burned so fiercely that, if he did not release it, it would burn him alive.

So he merely smiled faintly—he had never smiled like this before.

That Magic Power poured into Lily Potter's corpse. Her body, which had decayed until only a skeleton remained, rapidly regained human form. Red hair grew once more, but she still did not breathe.

Snape relied entirely on his knees to inch his way toward the coffin.

His clasped hands had never opened. Only now did he bring them over the face of the woman in the coffin, who looked as though she were merely asleep. He opened his hands, and his boiling blood dripped down. Veins bulged on Snape's forehead as he roared from deep in his throat. At that very moment, a flash split the sky, and rumbling thunder heralded the arrival of a downpour.

She did not move.

Snape lowered his head. The torrential rain came crashing down, washing the mud and blood from his body while soaking him through and chilling him to the bone. Yet he did not care in the slightest. Rainwater ran together across his face before finally falling to the ground.

No one cared about a man's low sobs amid the storm. Only gravestones and a corpse kept him company. Only the ghosts could hear him, but they would not appear.

Then a hand gently touched his cheek. Snape shuddered all over. He did not dare raise his head, afraid it was only an illusion. But that voice—that voice which had appeared in his dreams through countless days and nights—slowly asked, "What happened to me, Severus?"

Severus Snape raised his head and saw a red-haired woman in a black dress looking at him in utter confusion.

They looked at each other in the rain.

No one spoke. Only the wind, rain, and thunder provided a soundtrack for this long-planned reunion.

Snape had countless things he wanted to say, but when the words reached his lips, only a few sobs and indistinct fragments came out. He had imagined this day countless times and had been willing to pay any price for it. But when it truly arrived, he found that he could not say anything at all.

Only endless tears remained.

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