It is December. Snow is falling, coating the world in a soft white frost. The wind shrieks its fury as it pushes its way through the trees. On a steep, grassy hill there is a snow-covered castle. Lights shine from its windows, pushing back the darkness with their soft yellow glow.
Beneath window level there is a cold stone corridor. It is lit by a harsh green light provided by torches on the walls. Plain black doors suggest other rooms, other walkways.
It is in one of these rooms that Severus Snape sits, conjuring soft white flowers. Lilies. There are dozens of them. They lie on the floor at his feet, on the buckled wooden tables, even on the chairs. His face is hidden by a curtain of greasy black hair and though he does not look up, his pain is evident. He flicks his wand again, causing a dozen lilies to spew forth and land on the floor. A sob escapes him as another dozen lilies land on the desk.
Slowly, flower after flower fills the room. When they have reached his knees he stands, causing flowers to cascade off his lap and onto the floor.
Tears stain his worn, crumpled face as he gives one final flick of his wand, causing the lilies to burst into bright blue flame.
He turns and leaves the room, the door swinging shut behind him. He is gone before the ashes of the lilies hits the ground.
In the sudden darkness the ashes fall onto the worn stone floor, forming two simple words:
I'm Sorry.