Summary: Death was different from what Snape had expected. In particular, Death hadn’t expected Snape and sends him back to earth. If only he hadn’t told Potter about his memories! But a certain werewolf is always prepared to help those in need.
Genre: Humour
A/N: Thanks to azure_rosa for the beta! This is not a real WIP, it’s a translation from one of my German stories (which is already complete). Just thought I’d post one part of it first in order to see if anyone’s interested, otherwise I wouldn’t translate the rest as well ^^
Snape hated people. They were noisy, clingy and annoying. They were sneaky and self-serving; friendly if necessary and evil if possible. If there was one thing he wouldn’t miss after his death it was the company of other people.
He had, however, not taken into consideration that the dead could be even more annoying than the living.
As if it wasn’t enough that he was standing among legions of happily chattering deceased people who seemed completely oblivious regarding the concept of personal space. They also just couldn’t resist persistently staining him with various fluids from their various leaks. He crinkled his nose and pulled his black robes even tighter around him, in a vain attempt to be as far away from his neighbour as possible. The man’s vividly sputtering arm stump didn’t keep him from giving a detailed, gesture-rich report of his heroic death, gifting his devoted audience with a warm, red shower. Nobody seemed to be bothered; they were all watching the huge iron gate looming in front of them, looking shockingly similar to all those appallingly corny muggle paintings of the gates of heaven.
Every three minutes or so someone was sent through the gate and Snape was pushed forward another few centimetres. He sighed and restrained himself from looking at his nonexistent watch. He didn’t know anybody around him but he didn’t need to in order to play his usual role. He folded his arms and glowered, while everyone else was having the time of their lives. Or deaths, respectively.
He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally had come so close to the gate that he could see what was going on in front of it. Disappointingly, the gate wasn’t operated magically, but opened and closed by a groaning elderly man. He was wearing a strange combination of black robes, a big white bushy beard and a huge potbelly, and he was constantly struggling with sorting through heaps of paper, ticking off names and waving people through the gate. Adding to the oddity of his appearance were the tiny silver wings mounted on his back and the wooden paddle he was permanently waving about with. What kind of joke was this? The guy looked prepared to attend a costume party with five costumes at once! Snape looked around at his fellow deceased but none of the ignorant idiots seemed to notice that absolute no-go outfit.
He started to wonder where the hell he had ended up – outstandingly late, he had to confess. Ranting about the impertinence of filthy dead people had taken its time. Well, there was no denying that he obviously shared their fate. That Dark Bastard had set his bloody snake on him – after all those years of him being almost loyal! Definitely unacceptable. So much for his compensation and sunset years on Hawaii… what a tightwad. Why did his neck still hurt anyway? Mr One-Arm didn’t seem to mind that his audience needed a certain amount of imagination to interpret his gestures. Snape was desperate. He couldn’t even blame the unfairness of life anymore.
When he finally got to stand in front of the five-foot laughingstock himself, his mood level had fallen below zero. It didn’t help either that the wannabe clown now stared at him looking quite confused.
“Ummmm,” stated the winged headcheese eloquently and waved with his paddle. Snape was overcome by the indefinite urge to grab the thing and … well.
“PARDON?!” he yelled and entwined his fingers to keep them from acting unwise. “Never seen a dead man, eh?”
That seemed to awaken the man from his bewildered stare and he blinked.
“Yes, yes… I have seen dead people…” he answered cryptically, yet destroying any kind of built-up mystery immediately by flapping his ridiculous wings. Snape raised his eyebrow; a movement he had internalised to an extent that he didn’t even notice it anymore.
In any case, that idiot clearly tried to shit him. He wasn’t really surprised.
“Listen, cretin! I was bitten by that f*cking snake, I died and I had to stand in line for about 200 hours in that distinctly un-British queue! I’m tired, my neck hurts and I feel dingy, so if you know what’s good for you you’ll let my walk through that gate into Heaven, Hell, Hades, Nirvana or what the heck RIGHT NOW!” He bellowed and leaned dangerously close towards the man’s round face.
“You see, that’s exactly the problem,” the gentleman replied and smiled indulgently, suddenly disturbingly resembling a certain former headmaster. Snape’s eyelid chose this moment to start twitching alarmingly.
“What… problem,” he hissed between clenched teeth, since the guy obviously had fun letting him pull every word out of his mouth.
“You’re not dead.”
Now it was Snape’s turn for a paralysed stare. He was really talented, but after some seconds he decided to pull himself together.
“I’m not… what? I AM dead!” he argued convincingly and pointed at his gory neck for emphasis.
“No, you’re …” the man tried to say, but Snape interrupted.
“I am!”
“No.”
“YES!”
“Nooope.”
“Yes! I died, I witnessed it! I should certainly know when I’m dead!”
“With all due respect – you evidently don’t. There has to be some mistake. You’re not on the list, Mr Snape.”
“I’m not dead because my name’s not on a blasted piece of paper? That’s absurd!”