Author's Note: This is an AU in which Snape survived the war and other things seem out of place.
You wake up, bathed in sweat. Long, greasy strands of black hair cling to your skin, and you groans as you sit up. You've dreamed about another world, one in which you're not being chased, so much it feels more like a memory.
The tired, worn floorboards creak beneath you as you stumble across the floor, echoing the ache in your bones.
They thought they were doing the right thing when they decided to allow the victims' families to hunt the remaining Death Eaters, you think acridly as you turn on the radio to listen to the list of remaining targets. Now, seven months into the hunt, less than two handfuls are left.
They thought this was the right substitute for closure. Revenge.
Turning the knob and strangling the scratching, monotonous repetition of your dead friends (you cringe to call them that, as if you were on the same side, realising that to everyone else, you are), you gather up a few choice thing you can't be without, the last of which is a glass ball. You stare intently into the fog for a few seconds, waiting for it to turn red, but it doesn't, and you leave the shack through the tunnel without a second glance back.
Returning to the castle grounds was a stroke of genius, you think, self-satisfied; they will never think you stupid enough to return to the scene of so many crimes. They don't know that you know how to gather ingredients for a Polyjuice Potion, that you're so close, you can already taste it.
When you surface, the ground is strewn with dry, dull leaves that might give you away. Not far from the tree, a class has just been dismissed from the greenhouses, and you wait, biding your time.
Something inside your stomach flutters at the thought that if they hadn't tried to kill you with this shortcut in your school days, you would never have known about it.
Only when every last student is safely behind the castle walls do you place a stone on the secret spot, making your way stealthily towards the greenhouses, hoping to dive out of sight from the windows in the towers.
You've almost made it when the front door to Greenhouse Six opens and the original owner of the glass ball in his hand steps out. Looking down, you see that it's glowing red. You forgot one thing, you manage to think before the spell hits you: the last man.
.ooo.
When you wake up, your eyes are fluttering from the sunlight streaming in through your window. It's a recurring dream, the one about being hunted, but one that never lingers.
Looking outside, you see the bright colours of autumn.
It's a group day; they all stagger into the bright, yellow room, some from fatigue, others from laziness. You hate the way they scrape their feet. They've been given a chance to be re-socialised into a society that won't take them, and they're now sounding their own helplessness; being a former Death Eater is essentially a carte blanche to do what you want for the rest of your life on Ministry subsidies, and you don't know if that makes you feel more or less worthless.
Your eyes fall on one of the others, a familiar face with a misshapen nose. You know she's been in a fight again, her tousled, dark hair falling messily down her shoulders, but you envy the fact that she wasn't born with a crooked face.
You envy that she's still willing to fight, even if she has given up on her black dresses.
They all have. Black has become a symbol, a fylfot turned swastika, and most Death Eaters have had the good sense to stop wearing it. Instead, they wear colours now. It doesn't make any difference, people are still not hiring, and you can see a few people who've grown content in their lazy lifestyles.
The intense feeling from the dream resurges and makes you feel alive for a moment before you fall back into the usual stupor. A new Mind-Healer is introduced today, and you flinch when you see it's your old student: the boy from your dream.
During the session, someone complains that no one will hire them, but you know they're trying to garner sympathy. They don't mean a word of what they're saying; they're bored, but they're not unhappy.
Your Mind-Healer (you want to name him the Frog Prince at first─a fitting name for a boy who spent his school days with a toad as his only friend─but then you think The Princess might be more his role) is looking at you, asking you if you have something you want to contribute.
With a sneer on your face, you suggest that you give an interview to the Daily Prophet about your situation and how far you've come since the war.
Just like everyone else, you don't mean a word of what you're saying.
Unlike everyone else, you don't think it's a great idea.
When you go to sleep that evening, you hope to dream the same dream; you hope to dream of a world in which your actions matter, in which you're still fighting for your life. The war has come and gone, and you're left behind like a soldier without an enemy.
.ooo.
Your head hurts more than you thought it would when you finally come to. The light around you is sparse, and it takes a while for you to understand where you are.
Not dead runs like a broken record in your mind.
Someone moves into the periphery of your vision, and you realise with a smirk that it's the princess. This makes you a threefold prince─by name, by blood, by association─you decide with a bitter taste on your tongue. She, the woman you dreamt about, tortured the princess' parents, and you want to name her The Witch; remembering how alike you looked in your dream with your long strands of black hair, crooked noses, and sneers on your faces, you wince.
You are nothing like The Witch. Besides, she's dead.
The princess─and she is still a girl, the same, clumsy little figure you used to intimidate; you hated her lack of faith in herself, making her such an easy target, but what is more, you hate the fact that it should have been her, should have been her mother to die─doesn't seem to know what to say. Her cheeks blow up with the hot air from her lungs, but she opens her mouth, and her breath carries no voice.
Across from her, you, the prince, smirk. How fitting the fairy tale comparison seems now.
Perhaps, if she isn't going to kill you, she'll be the one whose identity you'll steal, nothing but a supply of hair and fingernails for your potion. You'll be human again.
Incarcerated, you're surprised to learn that you're still holding the glass ball. In the angry silence between you, you make a move, telling the girl you've got something for her and throwing the ball in a tall arc. As the little princess catches it and looks at you, eyes full of questions and heart full of sorrow, you ask her if you get a wish now.
You stole it from that clumsy little Gryffindor, you remember. One day, in the hallways, it was just there, and you almost chuckle as you recall what went through your head: how you'd laughed at the irony that the princess─and through all those years and all those nicknames, you think you've finally found one that you want to settle on─lost her ball and her toad couldn't find it. You even almost threw it in the lake, but now you're happy you didn't.
The princess is still turning it in her hands. Something about the look on her face tells you she won't be giving you a kiss.
When the spell hits you, you almost laughs with expectancy.
.ooo.
You wake up to another glorious autumn morning. Today is the day of the interview, you realise with a pang of fear. Looking at your alarm clock, however, you calm down. You're not late yet.
These days, you're never late; no one's waiting for you anymore.
Walking sleepily into the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of orange juice before making your way back to the bedroom, half-heartedly making your blue and green-coloured bed with one hand. Shaking the duvet forcefully while taking a sip, you shrug at the mediocrity and decide that's good enough.
When you arrive at the meeting, the colour seems to have drained from the world. The colourful cloaks they usually wear have been discarded for what looks oddly like their old Death Eater robes, and in front of you stand several masked people.
Chills run down your spine, and you smile.
The Princess greets you, and you think you see both the signs of an old grudge and compassion on her face. You soon realise that you hate both. She tells you that a certain famously vicious journalist has volunteered to take your statements and you laugh, a hollow, meaningful laugh. The princess also tells you that there was a change of plans, that they were supposed to wear their old robes to redefine their own stigma, and did you not get the memo.
You glare at her. Words like 'memo' sound awfully like something that doesn't belong, but you say nothing.
You say no.
It's supposed to be a token, to show that you no longer wish to murder and rampage everything that has to do with Muggles despite looking the same, that you all regret what they have done and know that it's wrong. It's supposed to, and you look warily to the woman with the crooked nose; you know she never cared about the ideology─she loved to hurt people, and you have a feeling that spitting lies in the face of a journalist is as close as she gets.
She's going to be the star, and isn't that fitting.
You, the Half-blood Prince, the frog to the princess, are the first one to enter the interview room. The Daily Prophet, you note without satisfaction, has had a burst of colour; something modern and moving-on about the red and purple colours make you want to run away. When the door closes behind you, you have a sense of finality.
Too late.
The journalist, ridiculously blonde hair in a magical coiffure and horrible lime green dress in place, starts out by asking you if you've really changed. She asks if you regret what you've done, if you like the life you're living, if you really lament being unemployed. She ends by asking if there's anything you want to tell the families.
You, not in your black robes, tell her that you're the same person as you always were, that your double agent life had been ignored in court, because everyone thought you could do with therapy anyway. You are strictly not convicted, but society has made its final judgement, and unemployment is your punishment. You tell her that Death Eaters weren't punished; they were cared for, given a chance to move on, and that they now live pathetic lives without any substance.
You, knowing that she will spin every word out of proportion, don't care. When her final question arrives, you tell her that they deserved better.
You, before returning home, laugh with intended malice that completely bypasses her. Your future is worthless, because you will never be trusted with a job, and this interview isn't going to change that.
Before your head hits the pillow that night, you whisper your wish into the night; that you will dream about the chase.
.ooo.
When you wake up again, your sight is clearer. You recognise the office as the old Herbology professor's, and of course you do.
When you wake up again, you wake up to a string of questions. Obvious things such as Why are you here and What do you suggest I do now. Less helpless things like I have a right, you know and My parents were victims of the war.
You remember telling the princess that her parents were casualties of peace, but it earns you nothing. The princess talks and talks, asking series of questions, and at one point, you can't help yourself.
You tell the princess you were a double agent. A double agent without a martyr's death.
The princess doesn't believe you. She starts asking questions about your time at school, why you hated her so much. You thinks she's whining and irrelevant, and you refuse to answer. The princess has stopped throwing spells, however. She's begun bringing you food and water, telling you that she has a special bond with the House Elves and the Hufflepuffs.
Of course she does, you spit back, and her expression hardens, but she keeps her countenance.
The questions keep coming, however. For days, you're being interrogated (and it is an interrogation, even if the princess pretends otherwise, letting you sleep in her bed and eat by her table). She agrees that she thought this was a suitable punishment when the hunt started, but she says it hesitantly, and you can't help but stare.
She asks about your time at school, over and over again, why were you so mean. You don't tell her that you blame her for the death of your love, but you feel the acid burn in your throat.
When you do talk, you speak of running. You tell her about grabbing what you can get and putting your knowledge of wild potion ingredients to good use. You try to sound triumphant, but fatigue sneaks into your voice. You tell her she can't keep you here forever, and she agrees.
In the end, you even tell her about the doe.
The princess asks what your wish is.
You answer peace, and she promises you'll change the world together.
.ooo.
Waking up, you don't remember what you dreamt, but when you pick up The Prophet, you see that your interview has become front page material. Horrible, moving images of everyone's favourite nightmares don the front page, and in big, bold letters, the journalist asks the question Has Justice Been Served?
Inside the newspaper, there's an article debating whether the wizarding world has been too kind to the Death Eaters.
Inside the newspaper, there's an interview with Hogwarts' old Potions professor, citing you for your opinion on your unemployment.
Inside the newspaper, there's an analysis concluding that perhaps the former Death Eaters would find more gratification in their lives if they had to fight for them every day.
Inside the newspaper, there's a suggestion that the remaining families of the victims of the war should be allowed to hunt the people who took their loved ones away.
Before you go to the group meeting that day, you rummage through some old things and find an old glass ball with a white fog inside. Smiling to yourself, you pocket it for later.
Prompts:
Grimm Tales Competition: The Frog Prince
The Game Is On: The Noble Bachelor: Write about an unmarried man, "Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man can invent." - Sherlock Holmes
The Valentine-Making Station: Green, You Rule
DAII Bingo: [Polyjuice Potion]
The Fairy Tales Challenge: Beauty and the Beast - Write about seeing beyond appearances
Challenge Your Versality: Write a non-canon-compliant fic
Potions Club: Horned Slugs - Write about someone being left vulnerable