A/N: hey there! This is my first SS fic that I decided was fit for you guys... but bear with me here. I love Severus Snape, so it will be very becoming on his part, and he may be a tiny bit OOC. But I love him and I have the sarcasm, if not accurate, but in full force. Its not based on any particular theme, and will of course wander a bit. I just had to get one up here. HGSS seemed the most appropriate, compared to my many other SS pairings I love. Really it is just ANYTHING with Severus Snape in.

P.S It is completely in my own world, probably most accurately following only from the GoF, but even then changes must be made so my story will be... in one word, awesome :) anyway enough with the psycobabble, on with the fic! :)

Amelie

A Twisted World Chapter 1

He didn't want this life, not any more.

Harry Potter was done. He wanted to give up his life as the almighty Boy Who Lived. He hated being anything but a normal teenage boy. He hated what he had done.

"Mr Potter, Professor Dumbledore needs to speak to you in the infirmary. I suggest Miss Granger goes with you. Prepare yourselves, please," Professor McGonagall lilted, her face grave and eyes tight. They hurried to the hospital wing, anxious to know who was bedridden, anxious to know what Dumbledore needed. Harry had a feeling in his gut; it was a friend.

As they arrived in the infirmary Harry faltered. Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the room but there was no twinkle in his eye, no laugh lines on his timeless face. He absently noticed the curtains drawn around one of the beds.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted solemnly. "I must ask you to prepare yourself for whosoever lies behind the curtain. He is... fatally injured. Madam Pomfrey estimates he will not last the night, but Professor Snape is to ascertain this for us shortly." Harry pushed past the headmaster and wrenched back the curtains; Ron.

"Oh God, Ron!" He cried, gazing upon the unconscious boy lying in the bed. His hair was matted and his face maimed and covered blood in various stages of clotting from cuts on his face. He was feverish, shuddering in his sleep. Hermione screamed when she saw the state of her best friend, losing the strength to stand. It was only the sudden appearance of the Potions Master that saved her from hitting the stone floor and causing young Potter to have two friends in beds. Snape lowered her into the chair by Weasley's bed. "Professor, what happened to him? Professor?" Harry turned desperately to the loathed teacher, and then to his headmaster.

"It seems young Mr Weasley has been poisoned by a Death Eater's magic. It seems to be the work of Bellatrix Lestrange; she had a penchant for these sort of curses," Snape drawled as he checked Ron's chart and his vitals. "Albus, may I speak to you alone?" Dumbledore nodded, and they moved to the other side of the room. "This is definitely Bellatrix's work, and the most severe kind. I'm afraid there is no antidote. Poppy's assumption was correct; he will not survive more than three hours." Dumbledore shook his head, and although Severus Snape let no emotion plague his voice, he was slightly saddened by the school's loss. Not that my potions class will suffer, he thought dryly.

"Harry, my boy, I am so dreadfully sorry. Madam Pomfrey was correct. You may want to say your goodbyes now." Dumbledore whispered softly as he rejoined the pair by the bed. It was a terrible time for the two of them, and although he wanted to lend support the wizened headmaster felt it best to leave them be. "Come, Severus, it may be time to have a talk."

"H-Harry?" Ron rasped, his eyes fluttering open. Harry knew he was fighting the effects of a very strong curse, and an even stronger sleeping draught.

"Ron! Hermione and I are here for you, don't you worry," he reassured desperately.

"I'm dying aren't I?" he wheezed. "Fred and George won't be happy about this; they'll have no one to tease," his attempt at humour just made Hermione cry harder, and he motioned them over. She sat on his bed, stroking his face.

"Ron, you can't do this to us! What were you thinking tackling Bellatrix like that?" She sobbed, tracing his features with her fingertips. They may have had many arguments over their seven years as friends but she loved him dearly, as much as she loved Harry. To see him there was heartbreaking for the both of them.

"She's dead, 'Mione, she's dead and not going to bother you anymore. I killed her and... Got the last horcrux. You can kill V-Voldemort now, Harry, and save the rest of them. Save Ginny, save Mum, hell save S-Snape if you can. Just save our world, Harry. You're my b-best f-friend and... y-you too 'Mione... I l-love you b-both so much... tell m-mum... not to w-worry?" He was getting weaker and his eyes were closing more and more frequently for longer periods of time.

"Tell her yourself, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as she strode in behind the distraught Molly.

"Ron! Oh Ron!" She screamed, throwing herself at the floor by his bed. It was hard enough for her to have lost the twins to the joke business and Charlie to Romania, now it was Ron to the next world, so much worse and so much more permanent. "Why were you so stupid? You... Oh..." Molly was incoherent, crying over her youngest son.

"Mum, d-don't worry about me, o-okay? D-don't grieve... I l-love y-you all..." With that statement, Ronald Bilius Weasley drew his last breath.

The sombre attitude of the bereaved permeated the whole castle, in particular the disused classroom that Hermione used as her music room. She had, with her more than capable transfiguration skills, made a piano out of a desk, the bench out of a chair, and was playing solemnly, tears streaming down her face. She let all her frustration and anger out on the keys, improvising the piece as she had once been taught back when everything was... normal. Back when she was a Muggle, when she knew nothing of magic, of the Dark Lord, of any of this. It was easier then, and for one selfish moment, she yearned to have it back. That moment passed quickly though; here in the Wizarding World she was in her element, Muggleborn or not, she was an excellent witch and one that far exceeded many of the expectations set by her peers.

Weary, horrified, weak, Severus Snape struggled through the halls of the school just hoping he could make it down to the dungeons before unconsciousness overtook him. He hated death eater meetings. They always left him drained, tired and completely disgusted with the Dark. That night they had done such dreadful things his mind was already blocking them out. As he struggled to the stairs leading to his chambers he heard, with great surprise, strains of melancholy music floating from the old Muggle Studies room. The Muggle Studies class had been relocated to near the Astronomy Tower so it was empty and disused. Severus felt a compulsion to find the source of the music, the sad but relaxing tunes helping to ease the tension of the evening. Luckily he wasn't called to the meetings all too often but when he did it was sickening; he just wished for the whole war to be over for good, so he could be in peace one way or another. He had a feeling he wouldn't survive much longer; good luck and quick wit could only last for so long. It was alright, though, he didn't have anyone to leave behind, no legacy to complete or expectations to fulfil. He could go, with an unmentioned act of sadistic heroism, not with a bang, but with a whimper. It would suit the old Potions Master very much.

As he drew closer to the source of the music he shed his Death Eater robes and peeked around the doorframe to see none other than the insufferable Miss Granger, playing a... piano? To the Potion Master's knowledge there were none such instruments in the castle, especially in a Muggle Studies classroom. Perhaps her theoretical knowledge on anything and everything managed to manifest in a transfigured piano. The Professor sagged against the frame and closed his eyes, letting the wonderful melody seep into his being and lessened the pain that rendered him close to death. He let it soften his mind and let him compartmentalise the part of him he most loathed but had to keep. He had no idea that Miss Granger's music would be so effective; normally it would take three or four calming draughts and two dreamless sleep potions before he could begin to fall into a restless slumber.

Hermione never realised, engrossed in the music as she was, that she had an audience. It was only when he let out a muffled groan of pain that she realised he was there, unable to stand any longer. He had, stupidly, used all his energy to listen to the beautiful sounds coming from beneath Miss Granger's fingertips, and suddenly couldn't stand for a second longer. With lightening reflexes Hermione shot over and caught the injured professor, lowering him carefully to the floor. It was with dry humour that he remembered not a week before it had been him saving her from hitting the floor, and he choked out a chuckle.

"Now, Miss Granger, I think we are even on the catching front," he whispered, exhausted and fully ready to just stay on this comfortable stone floor to sleep. Funny, he realised, I can never remember a meeting that afterwards I haven't needed several damnable potions to send me to oblivion. Hermione let out a breathless laugh, sitting next to her Potions teacher. It was odd, this situation, but she wasn't complaining; she had long since had a fascination in the man that sat before her. Now she was seeing a side of him she doubted many had seen; the man in between roles of Professor and Death Eater.

"What brings you to my lonely corner of the world, Professor?" She asked tenderly. He was sorely bruised and had a smattering of cuts decorating the skin visible. He looked repulsed with something as well... perhaps it was her? She pushed the thought aside when he began to answer.

"Order business..." He began to reply wearily when Hermione interrupted him.

"Don't 'Order business' me, Professor, you know as well as I do that Harry and I are now members of the Order and have every right to know what is going on. Now do you care to explain?"

"I really do not think that is the tone to take with your teacher, Miss Granger, 5 points from Gryffindor. You may be a member of the Order but here at school your status as student precedes any other status you may adopt. I do not appreciate your false concerns, nor do I know what absurdities led you to be vandalising school property," To Hermione's ears the insults would have been more hurtful were they not lacking their patronising tone and if it was not so obvious that he was struggling to bite out the words. However this was not a good subject for the unknowing man to have stumbled upon.

"I was here, professor," she stated coldly, respectful but icy at the same time. "To try to release some of the grief I have over the extremely recent death of my best friend. Harry is distraught about it and I have to remain strong for him so any form of release I can get I willingly take. I am allowed out of the dorms at this time because I have the privilege of being Head Girl, and for your information this is not vandalism as I can quite easily reverse the spell. Consider it, if you must, Transfiguration practice. I am putting my loss to good, practical use so I can stay strong for my only friend I have left. I asked you because I was concerned over your welfare as you have a worrying number of injuries and wanted to know what put you in such a terrible state of mind; terrible even for you. But forget I even asked Professor, I bid you goodnight." She stood up, transfigured the piano and stool back, and swept out of the room. Guilt wracked her body as she walked away from the man but she forced herself to keep walking, determined to prove a point. She was sure he would make it until morning, but she knew her rounds took her past the room once more, which she was glad for. When she went past the room, he was gone.

Snape was furious. How dare a student talk to him like that? No matter that it was one he saw more than most, but still, the lack of respect Granger had shown him was astounding. She had been hanging around Potter and Weasley too much. Weasley. What an interesting dilemma. Her voice had been full of pain when she had spoken of the late boy, leaving the Potions Master quite ashamed, not that he would ever admit it. Of course she had some intellectual way of coping with bereavement, unlike the imbecilic young girls she shared a year with. And the boys. It was evident in all manners of her life that had been exposed to the Professor that she was vastly emotionally mature and so would not sit crying on her bed with chocolate to relieve herself of the immense sadness but instead seek out a different, more productive method. It was, in hindsight, obvious she would in some shape or form incorporate school work into the procedure.

Still, Snape rendered himself emotionless and put his pain away in his head, reducing his state of mind to a dull ache, so he could rise. He unsteadily limped the rest of the way to his chambers, where he collapsed and gave in to the pure agony the nature of his life entailed.

He knew when Miss Granger passed the room on her rounds that it would calm her slightly to know he could move himself away. Even if it was this thought of making her less worried that enabled him to move.

Severus Snape did not know what to think of that.