Vision of Revolution
Summary: Post-DH, AU, prior-EWE. In a future filled with mistrust and war, we witness a moment of human connection.
Word Count: 701
Metal girdles and spires rose sharply into the air, sweeping and bending, following the curve, reaching to join. The sheet metal and plexiglass stretching overhead to form the roof seemed stable enough, regardless of how it thundered with the brutal wind gusts funneling through the streets of deserted London. A shadowed figure hugged the walls of the old railway station, observing the conspicuous lack of humanity. Except this absence had ceased to be conspicuous over five years before, when the tendrils of the Dark Lord had breached the magical barriers and overwhelmed the Muggle populace with cruel and sadistic power. Now, the arched structure only reverberated silence…at least until the sound of crunching gravel reached the alcove where the figure lurked.
Instinctively, the figure pressed against the wall, as if trying to force individual cells into the pockets and cracks in the concrete. Peering out, sharp eyes tracked the nearest movement and alighted on another silhouetted figure; a figure that was doing nothing to disguise its presence in the empty station. This figure was decidedly feminine and she deftly hopped from one track to the next with almost a feline grace. A black trenchcoat fitted to her torso trailed down to slap against military style leather boots with each of her leaps and vaults across the platforms. From this vantage point, the shadowed figure could see the sparkling glints of dagger hilts snuggly secured in sheaths built into the boots, while various other weapons innocently peeked out of an exterior utility belt fastened about her waist. The manner in which she carried her right arm suggested an interior sleeve pocket held a wand, with a spare stored inconspicuously on her left thigh. One of the true warriors, then.
In the gray light of day, her coloring was unremarkable—almost washed away into the dull realm of sepia. Her face was pale and pinched, but the permanent procerus crease between her eyes gave a defiant air of perseverance. As the clouds moved overhead, a stray ray of light fell onto the curls cascading down her neck, reflecting a bit of life as it scattered away shimmering of cinnamon. Perhaps it was the shimmer of hope she nurtured within her. Her delicate hands were deceptive, as she clamored over each new rampart and obstacle, swiftly pulling herself up with unexpected strength. She would be a formidable opponent if one were to meet her in the bloody glory of the battlefield.
She had crossed the platforms effortlessly and was coming upon the last hurdle when her manner changed. She stilled for an indiscernible second before jumping down onto the tracks, crouching there and grinding the stones beneath her boots. With a flash of curls, piercing brown eyes met those of the shadowed figure, holding on to the tenuous sensation of communicating, refusing to break the trance, and leaving no doubt she was aware of whose presence it was. Fluidly, she uncurled herself, rising with majestic poise, keeping her gaze level on this intruder of her domain. There was no illusion to her features; she would be a force to be reckoned with in the years to come if the war perpetuated itself that long. It was then that the figure noticed the smallest crack in her demeanor: a twitching smile, gently teasing the corner of her mouth, eliciting a slight curl from the curve of her lips. A defiant nudge of her chin and she was gone, sprinting down the tracks away from the figures' hiding spot. Her feet pounded out the beat of marching time, of revolution and change, obliterating the ground with its message of truth and inevitability. The dark eyes followed her, watching in awe and admiration as she leapt into the air. The transformation was seamless, perfect, flawless, and a lone falcon climbed the thermals, buffeted upwards into the stormy skies. Her fierce cry screamed of freedom and victory, echoed throughout the structure, leaving the figure alone once more.
Severus Snape released a breath he'd hardly known he'd held as he slipped from his hiding place and turned on the spot. Had anyone been there, they would have had the rare privilege of seeing that same smile play across his face.