He is drifting. Through an empty space, and into nothing. It is calm, and he revels in the silence after the battle-cries of the world he was in. The world he fought for. He did hope, even now, even when it didn't matter to him anymore, that the world survived, that he had done enough, that he had picked the right side.


And just like that, with every doubt, ever question, the smoke in front of him starts turning to grey, and begins to curl around him in choking wisps of fear. The image run through his mind and form in the empty void around him, bringing back painful memories. Memories that he shouldn't...didn't want to be reliving.


The boys he despised, all turning on him and reminding him of 'his place'. The woman he loved, turning away and never looking back. The man he admired, dying at his hands. The war he was fighting so desperately, getting out of hand. The master he pretended to serve, being the cause of his demise, what he expected (but against what he hoped). The children he tried to protect, trying to save him one last time. And then...darkness.


He is drifting.


Notes: I wrote this with Snape in mind of course, so this here's an angsty snippet!