Author's Note: This was really just a weird little idea that hit me, and I had to write it down. It's my idea of what a prologue for book 7 might be like - based, of course, of the belief that Snape is not as "evil" as he seems to be.
Cracked grey walls tilted inwards toward a bare, cold room. Spots of what could have been yellow were visible here and there, but time had long claimed all signs of care. The only window was heavily barred, letting only thin strips of moonlight fall onto the harsh stone floor. No furniture took away from the stark bareness – the only sign of inhabitation was a dark spot on the floor that looked very much like blood.
In the center of the room lay a man, his greasy black hair only partially concealing a large hooked nose. His black cloak was torn and dirty, and his entire body shook with pain, cold, and fatigue. The man had undoubtedly been strong once… the face spoke of strength of character and sharp intelligence. But now, all pride and strength was gone, his will broken, his shoulders slumped. He looked up at the only other figure in the room with eyes that waited only for death.
"You have not been honest with me, Severus," hissed the figure's cold voice. Long, bony fingers raised an even longer wand. "Leligimens!"
Images flashed before the man's eyes. 'Professor, come quickly, there's Death Eaters!'…. Curses flew through the hallway with blinding speed…. Draco, his wand shaking, faltering…. An old man, lying wandless on the floor…. 'Severus… Severus, please….' 'You must do it now…' 'But Albus…' Arguing with the man was pointless…. His own hand, raising his wand, cold hatred on his face at what he was being forced to do, what Voldemort made him do…. 'Avada Kedavra….' At this last memory, the man cried out in agony. The other figure, however, laughed… a cold, chilling, high-pitched laugh.
"Begging for death… how very un-Dumbledore like!" A maniacal grin spread across the pale, snake-like face. "You never were one to agree with your orders, Severus." He licked his lips as if the thought of the man's false loyalty gave his pleasure. "I must admit I am very disappointed in you." His wand was raised again, pointing it straight at the man's heart. "Crucio!"
The man's body contracted with the pain, and he couldn't stop the screams that filled his throat, mingling with the cruel, high-pitched laughter.
Miles away, a skinny boy with messy dark hair sat bolt upright in bed, those screams still ringing in his head, wonder at the strange suggestions of his dream mingling with the ever-present pain in his scar.