DISCLAIMER: The idea, creation, and world of Harry Potter all belongs to J.K. Rowling and I am merely a small fanfiction writer who deeply loves her books. No copyright infrigement intended.
Author's Note: Just a little plot bunny that had been niggling the back of my mind for a while. This takes place during February in the year of the Final Battle, and I tried to follow canon as accurately as possible. Hopefully it will be worth your time!
February, 1998.
Winter was a funny thing. If you were to step into its outstretched arms, it would envelope you in Mother Nature's cruel, heartless embrace. If it felt so inclined, it could hurt you; suck out the air from your lungs, tear at your exposed skin, or drain your mind devoid of memories. If it felt the need, it could kill you; Mother Nature claiming your body as her own child. Winter was bitter, it was vicious, and it knew not remorse. How was it then, that it could also be so beautiful?
Severus Snape stood, silent and pensieve, in his office. He had his back to the roaring fire in his fireplace and was facing a tall, arched window providing insight into the swirling, tumbling mass of snowflakes outside. He was pondering the loyalties of Winter as he stared into the whirling depths of a storm germinating. Snape pulled at his collar, suddenly feeling the heat of the fire throw itself at his back, seeping through his robes, and licking his body. He needed to get out of here. It was far too overwhelming being in this office, with Dumbledore's sleeping form snoring softly above him. His presence was still tangible in the room. Snape rather thought that it always would – Dumbledore was the sort of man who's aura would be felt long after his departure from the world. He glanced at his traveling cloak as he strode briskly to the middle of the room – he would not be needing it. He wanted to feel Winter's bitter chill, replacing his battling thoughts with numbness and cold. As Dumbledore had intimated privately to Snape, one of the more useful perks of being Headmaster was the act of apparition within the school. Snape doubted that Voldemort knew of this, and he was not planning on informing him any time in the near future. He only concentrated on the blustering gales outside as – SNAP – he was transported outside the great oak doors marking front of the castle.
Winter's fingers gripped him immediately as he walked down a nearby forested path and he could barely inhale for fear of his nasal passages becoming raw due to the frigid air. Wind stung his face and unbalanced him, but he pressed on, hiding his face inside the crook of his right arm. Snape walked like this for a while – it might have been mere minutes or close to an hour, he had no way of telling. When he could no longer feel his extremities and his chest became so tight he could no longer breathe, he stopped in the middle of a small clearing.
He shivered in the darkness, finally alone with no one to tell him what to do or what side to be on. And suddenly, the magnitude of his loathsome situation caught up with him, and he hadn't a clue what to do. So he wept – he let out his anger, his hatred, his confusion, and his exhaustion. He wasn't sure if it was the tears or the cold that constricted his throat so, but the sudden outpouring of emotions wrenched at his stressed lungs and he retched violently into the snow. Shuddering with dry heaves and silent, wracking sobs, he found himself on all fours on the winter-hardened ground. Fuck!, his mind screamed. Fuck my side in this war, fuck my life, my value, my worth. For someone apparently so useful in this war, he had never felt so useless in his life. He was just a pawn being controlled by two players; Light and Dark. He was just a small, insignificant, dark blemish on the white expanse of snow he knelt on. A drop of black ink bleeding into a pristine page of parchment. A man with no choice but to let others lead his own life.
A tear dripped off the edge of his aquiline nose much in the same fashion as a drop of water would gracefully roll off the tip of a spring-thawed icicle. Snape looked up and rubbed his face on his sleeve. The storm had died down a little and he noticed that it left a blanket of snow on the surrounding trees in its wake. The freshly fallen snow lay perfectly on the ground, virgin and untouched. It glittered softly in the moonlight as more flakes sprinkled gently down. They fell through the air and danced at the most delicate of wind changes. Snape was surrounded by a beautiful sort of serenity that he had been craving for far too long. He felt at peace, he felt free, he felt release. And in that one moment, for an instant in time, Severus became Winter. Two beings controlled by a higher power, two beings with ambiguous loyalties, and two beings who both knew – in the most hidden crevices of their elaborate minds – that their time on Earth was coming to an end.
Author's Note: That's all, folks! Please review if you have a moment, as reviews are the only thing that keeps a fanfiction writer going.