Snape couldn't believe it but he had apparated into hell. Saying
the incantation, any incantation because he couldn't imagine any
place being worse than where he was, he had ended up no better
off. Mind dulled by pain and torture, and the liberal
application of the crucious curse, all he could think to do was
to get away from Voldemort and the Death Eaters, to go anywhere
they weren't, yet here he was, somewhere unknown, still being
beaten. This time by children.  Broken and dying, he didn't have
the strength to fight back or the power to apparate away again.
This was the end. He coughed. Wiping his mouth he saw blood, too
much blood. More flowed. He realised he was cold, so very cold
that it seemed to have seeped through his body into his bones,
claiming control. Snape could feel his extremities going numb as
the blood flowed from his body, and what remained struggled to
maintain his life.  Dying slowly, Snape was at least glad of the
release from the pain, even if that pain was only a small
repayment for th