I wrote this two weeks before the release of Deathly Hallows; it's my version of the epilogue, in other words. When I penned it out I didn't have a very clear idea of what had happened, so as a result, it's awfully vague. Please tell me what you think!
A warm breeze blew over the perfectly kept lawns of Privet Drive, bringing with it the first taste of summer; the very last rays of light peeked over the horizon, staining the sky with red and pink. It was the sort of night that usually would have the residents out sitting in their gardens. But this night was tinged with strangeness. Despite the tepid breeze, there was a dark, chilly mood in the air. No one felt like leaving their houses… and the neighborhood was silent, silent as the grave.
If a stranger was to walk down the street he would see no living creature… no creature, perhaps, except a tabby cat perched stiffly on the garden wall of Number Four. The cat seemed to blend into the shadows behind it; a stranger walking wouldn't have noticed it at all, if not for the bright, unblinking eyes. The cat was just as still and silent as were the identical houses surrounding it. And for hours it sat, never moving, never blinking. It waited and waited, until the sky was deep black, and the night was lit only by the stars… stars that seemed veiled and darkened by fog and mist, though the night was cloudless and the air was perfectly clear.
Time passed. Muggles snored inside their houses, drifting uneasily through fragile sleep… and for a few long hours time seemed to slow, leaving the cat to sit and wonder, sit and stare, sit and dream but never doze. For awhile the darkness enveloped the cat and the Muggles… leaving the memories of recent dark events to stir in certain minds until they settled, and became fit to be analyzed.
The cat sat and sat... waited, waited, and watched.
In one instant Time woke up again. The cat became alert at once; for the first time, it allowed its eyes to stray from their fixed position on the doorstep of Number Four. It trained its vision, now, upon a moving pinprick of light near the end of Privet Drive. The sphere of light grew larger and larger as it moved down the street toward the cat's uncomfortable perch. And sure enough- when the light and its carrier became level with Number Four, it turned onto the path and strode purposefully toward the garden wall. The cat saw that the glow emanated from the wand-tip of a tall, gaunt-looking man wearing billowing black robes; and in an instant, the cat ceased to be a cat any longer.
The man looked down at the woman who appeared, and in low, hoarse tones, he spoke.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
The woman stood, looking away from the man. A memory of a night so long ago, and yet so similar to this one, was present vaguely in the back of her mind. The meager starlight glinted on her spectacles. Her cloak, forest green, billowed silently in the wind.
"Severus… speaking in such a way does not suit you. And not here, certainly… not now."
Though her stance was stiff and steady, her voice seemed to tremble. She sounded tired and old, almost hopeless; yet she turned to face the man with composure. "Severus Snape. Why have you come?"
The man's voice was not malicious, but there was a flicker of anger, of derision. "I was told of your intentions by Lupin- before… before. I knew you would need persuasion to get out of here. The Muggles will find the letter on the step; you need not worry, but we are needed elsewhere. It is time to leave."
She was silent for a moment, and then said: "I don't like the idea of leaving them a letter, Professor Snape. I am waiting here so I can explain to them myself, or – change it if the need arises–"
Snape said, in a sharp whisper: "It is fruitless to remain in denial, as was well known when you wrote the cursed letter, McGonagall. You must face the facts: Potter is dead, and if these people care to know, soon they will. Know, I mean. Know just as surely as do you and I."
"We do not know. We do not know for sure."
"But we do. It has finally come to make sense to me, what the Dark Lord has done. But that is no longer of any concern; he is gone, too, Minerva, gone forever. And there is no point sitting around wishing that this didn't happen. It was necessary, and you should be thankful."
"You sound overtly thankful."
"I am! And why not! You have no reason now to distrust me, yet you do, more than ever. Have I not shown you the exact reasons for my actions? Have I not proved- once and for all- that I was on your side all along?"
McGonagall's gaze was austere and accusatory. "I don't distrust you, Snape, but that doesn't mean I agree with the way this was done. The way any of this was done."
"It was Dumbledore's orders. I didn't plan this. He did. He planned it, and it worked. I do not regret killing him, McGonagall, or executing his plan; he knew it was necessary, and it has earned us a free world, at long last."
Her voice was icy cold. "Dumbledore didn't want this, Professor Snape. Lupin, dead; Hagrid, dead; Neville Longbottom, Percy Weasley, countless of the Order and the Ministry and the general public, all dead; all killed in a battle orchestrated by the very side for which they worked? They needn't have sacrificed their lives. And..." She trailed off, looked away, then looked back. "Potter, dead. Dumbledore didn't want that."
"He didn't want it, but he suspected what might occur. Perhaps you are distressed by your own close encounter with death! It is over and done, and now we must be gone."
"Over and done. At long last, over and done." She breathed in, then turned to face the street. "But what will happen now?"
Severus Snape looked up at the sky, then down at the ground. And then he turned after McGonagall and strode toward the first streaks of pink in the eastern sky. They walked a few steps. And then, leaving nothing behind but the letter on the doorstep, they vanished into thin air. Soon afterwards the sun began to rise and the long night was over at last.