A/N: A little explanation is needed for even beginning to understand this ruddy story.

So, I was calmly and quietly revising for this very important french test I have on friday (for all french readers, if there's any, you must know pretty well the 'BAC', terror of all our nightmares) when I suddenly got an overdose while rerereading for the thousandth time the notes about the 'Noveau Roman'. so "Yeah, what the freaking bloody hell is that?! HONESTLY! I CAN WRITE A STORY WITHOUT CHARACTERS TOO! GO TO HELL!" I screamed at my poor notebook. And took my computer to write this lousy first part of this story about Ron and Hermione in the day following the war, waking up calmly and peacefully blah blah blah (don't get me wrong, I am a great Ron/Hermione die hard fan) Thing is, when i got halfway, it BORED me to death. Sorry, but it just was too much fluff for one afternoon and the writing was pretty lousy. So I just went into a nervous breakdown and randomly started this Snape story, taking up from when he - well - died. And I intend on following him for a nice part of it. So, the narrator in the second part of the Story is Snape, just so you know.

And I know it's completely messed up, and insane, but, well, bear with me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other thing to which I refer on this story. Really. How could I? It's real, for Merlin's sake. pfff.

Chapter 1

Charactless Randomness or Afterdeath

(is that right?! Yeah. You sure, right?! Cause, it's sounds kinda stupid, really, dude. I'm SURE. Fine.)

A sigh.

Wind.

A soft breeze running in the staircase, pushing the door aside, shaking fabrics and lights. Light. A soft, golden light, caressing closed eyelids, closed eyelids over sea blue depths. A golden glow shone around it, an aura filled the empty space, heating, warm, welcoming, there. Empty? As the darkness dissipated, it wasn't. It was gold, gold surrounding the soft white sheets, gold surrounding the wooden bedspreads, the dark red curtains, the trunks and books lying about. Gold hovering over a sea of red. Peace covering the puddles of blood. A twitch. The golden glow went, darkness taking over once more, pressing darkness against imaginary realms, memories not to be awaken, darkness luring in the corners, invading sights, blood, darkness, corpses.

Gold.

Golden light once more.

A loud snore.

A small giggle escaped, a delicate and scratched hand rushing to cover it. Blushing cheeks over hidden sea, staring. Then a soft weight. An arm around a waist, resting there, keeping it close, warm, loving. Had it been there for long? It seemed, as no movement betrayed it, none more than a soft breathing. And snores.

Chocolate depths moved upwards, onto a peaceful and resting chest. Soft orange dots covered it, like the night's blanket upon the earth, freckles like stars under the golden glow. Stars. Like stars, they told a story, a story few could read, few could, would ever know. Rejoiced would be the one who would, rejoiced, complete, the one who understands, who feels.

A finger traced them, a sweet touch joining the hidden lines, a finger, knowledge, reading. Reading what there was to read, a story, a story of a life, of several lives and worlds, resting on the golden lit bed.

Innocence. Innocence of a childhood long forgotten, innocence of games and pranks with brotherly ties and sisterly love, innocence of games under the summer sunlight and jokes told in front of a winter warm fire. Innocence of magical excitement, surroundings, lights and beings, plants, air, an innocent child's spell cast over its world, peace.

A tie. A strong tie joining lines, the tie of friendship, innocent friendship, pure, eternal in the centre. A fate that was to decide for the rest, the origin of a world of freckles, a friendship one could never break, tear apart, a mingling of sorts one would never see. Joined. Happy. Three.

Then a scar brushed the finger's prints. A small scar under a soft velvet of hair. Then another. And another. Scars cutting open the freckles, shattering a world, waiting to be rebuilt. Scars of battles fought, of fates lost, of memories strongly revived. Blood. Dried blood in one of them, the deepest, cutting through ribs. A scar that would remain, one that would not be forgotten, one that meant so much more than a loss, one who's blood would never meet its sibling again.

And cuts of fear. Cuts of fear running through the stomach, around the navel, cuts of thin and sharp sticks, marking each thought of pain, of loss, of weakness. Fear like one would never know, fear like few could ever understand, fear of not being strong enough, fear of failure, fears cut short by a strong determination, fears cut short by the will of never giving up, fears cut short by the lines, the freckles of loyalty and bravery. Cuts that would disappear, forgotten, healed.

And hundreds of others, freckles running on the slightly sunburnt skin, mingling with smaller scars, marks that showed no more than what it was, forming a whole, telling stories, many of which no one would ever know. But it felt right, a finger resting there, then a whole palm above the heart, feeling its soft beat, wishing to memorise its sound, wishing to hold it tight, feeling its own blood running through its thin veins in the same, slow, peaceful motion, like it belonged there. Under the golden glow of morning.

A small twitch awakening.

Chocolate eyes raised slightly in alarm, facing now open sea blue depths, staring back at it through semi-closed eyelids, he shadow of sleep still evident behind its stare. Its welcoming, charming, stare.

Blushed cheeks at being caught staring appeared.

"Goo' 'orning" came a slightly groggy voice. A smile. Two smiles matching each other in happiness, fulfilment.

"Good morning" a softer voice echoed. Two smiles that could not ignore the past suffering and shared tears, two smiles that were made whole by the presence of the other.

They brushed, kindly, lips touched, caressing this small moment of forgetfulness, this new start for another life, another story.

Then apart again, though tied for eternity. Chocolate melted into sea, the sea lost itself into chocolate, chestnut curls lying about, fiery red strands flying free.

"I love you" a whisper, met with another smile.

"I know" it said, between rosy lips and blushing cheeks "I love you too."

Smiles. Sighs.

Good heavens this is cheesy. What the fuck, really. I should stop writing such things, honestly. Wasting my time. I should be working FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

GEE-WEEZ.

Hell.

STUPID IDEA FOR TRYING AND GO WRITING SOMETHING WITHOUT REFFERING DIRECTLY TO THE CHARCATERS. REALLLYYYY. THANKS MY FRENCH TEACHER FOR THAT! I WAS TRYING TO REVISE!

FOR GOD's SAKE!

Then, alright.

Let's start again.

I'm at a loss of inspiration. Wait. There, I got it.

Life after Death.

It couldn't be that bad, could it? He would just have to stick around somewhere...Not as a ghost, hell no; he was tired of that rocky earth he used to walk on. Seriously, it was getting on his nerves. His poor genetics had not allowed him to ever get himself a gal or anything, you know, someone to live with? Last time he'd tried she had left him, never spoken to him again, married his enemy, had a bloody son, then died violently partly for his fault along with the bighead prat she called a husband and left him to care secretly for her pretentious son. Really. No wonder he had stopped trying.

So, yeah, he'd just have to stick around somewhere in some heavenly (or hell? Where would he go anyway? Hum. He had never really thought about that before. Though his father's family used to be catholic, or some sort of muggle religion like that, as a wizard he had just erased that aspect of life... What did wizards like him believe in, anyway? Other than ghosts and some veil – tapestry – that would connect both worlds, living and dead? Gillyweed, he had no clue) realm with other dead people for all eternity. Yep, couldn't be that bad.

And yes, he did talk like that with himself. Or rather, thought, because, really, he didn't talk to himself, he was sane. Not like bloody Potter. He only used that strange accent and stuff, and complicated words when other people were around; really, he had to keep some coherence between his personality and his gloomy appearance of doom. Oh, bezoar, he loved his cloak.

Hehem.

So yes, where would he go? He had no clue, but still, as he said before, couldn't be that bad.

Where was he now, that was a real question. He had died, that he knew. He still remembered that slimy snake attacking him under the Pink Underwear Lord of Doom's orders what? Don't you tell me you didn't know about the underwear?! Toad's teeth, I thought everybody had heard of it! I mean, it was the greatest joke between us, Death Eaters. Really. Ok, then, here, here, quick parenthesis, I need to tell you this. So, it was Sunday morning, you see, we had just heard something about Potter, about some muggle seeing him buy a box of fruity condoms in some nearby drugstore in a village. So, Bellatrix and I figured we'd warn the all mighty boss. Except, All-Mighty-Boss was in his "Secrecy Room" as he called it. We knocked, but no one answered. So, we thought, we might as well enter and see, if we were lucky, he might not kill us. So, I knocked again. There was silence. And I pushed the door open. Oh, for all the chocolate frogs and bat's blood there's in this world, I shall never forget that image, I shall carry it to the grave with me – oh, heh, I'm dead, hehem, so, really I told you, I shall never forget it for all eternity. Here was, All Mightiness, playing Wii – a muggle videogame Yaxley brought him when he travelled to the future under his orders to try and see what shall happen to him – the WiiRemote in one hand, swinging around like a child chasing a fly, a donut on the other, his snake-like tongue sticking out in concentration, wearing only a Power Rangers t-shirt and a Love-A-Lot Bear boxers! I thought I was going to die. And not even because he saw us – since he didn't, playing Wii Tennis was too hard already – but just because of that Merlindamn sight. Bellatrix even had a nervous breakdown. Pretty funny thing to watch. Anyhow, although she highly discouraged me to do so, I managed to spread the news through all England in my double-double-triple-agent mission. Dumbledore even had a nice blast with that – and traumatised me for life that day, when he uncovered the secret of his "Secrecy Wardrobe" where he held all the Care Bears disguises. So – where was I? Yes, where was I. So, back to business.

He knew he was dead, that was for sure.

Oh, for Dragon's tail's sake – I write about myself in third person if I want to – OKAY?! Don't you come bother me with that, unworthy reader! Can't you see I'm having a blast writing my own dead life here?! So shut your filthy mudblood mouth.

He vaguely even remembered giving Potter Prat Junior the rest of his memories. Not all of them, of course, imagine Prat Junior seeing all his secrets in that Pensieve WHAT they don't have that word on the muggle Microsoft dictionary?! Blasting Pixies., those lonesome nights when he thought about his be-au-ti-fuuul mom or that most uncommon day at school when he actually considered Peter Pettigrew as a dating possibility out of desperation and despair (that is, it was the same day he considered Potter Prat Father too, but, well, that was just pushing it. Black Jerk was much hotter. Wait, what?! Erase that – Eraaaaaaaaaaaaaase that – tec tec tec tec tec. There.)

So, he knew he was dead (for a thousandth time) but where exactly he was, remained a mystery. It was dark, pitch dark, like in that strange restroom he found himself once when following Lily Hot Evans to that KISS show in London, pitch dark, sticky, and smelling like vomit. He would have to remember to thank Potter Prat Father for throwing him there, by the way. He actually met a nice girl in there (or so, he hoped it was a girl for his own sanity sake) and lost his virginity, damn nice night out it was, he followed Lily Hot Evans more often after that. So, hehem. It was pitch dark, darkness surrounding all his senses.

Then a red shadow crossed the black sky, hair, red hair, fiery red hair like his Lily's, that hair he had dreamed so much of, that hair he longed so much to touch. Then her face, her sweet and forever young face, staring lovingly back at him, her emerald eyes shining in a strange surreal moonlight. He drew a shaking hand to her cheeks, caressing her face with his thumb, taking in her sweet and familiar smell. Then, his dark eyes locked on her pink lips. Her pink, kissable lips he dreamed of so many times, those lips now resting under his frozen thumb. And he felt it nearing, he felt it nearing, leaning into his embrace. And he too moved, awkwardly, closing the gap between them, moved to join it. And then, it happened, like a flower blossoming in spring, like the sweet smell of lilies in a blossoming garden, he kissed her.

It was heaven – yes he now believed in heaven – heaven sweet with peppermints and Fizzing Whizzbees. The feeling of her soft and long red hair under his hands, the sweet taste of her lips in his.

And then – it changed.

The hair was no more long and soft like silk, but short and spiking, raven black under his pale fingers. The lips were less thick, less sweet (though he could still taste peppermint and Fizzing Whizzbees, go wonder). And then he froze.

"AAAAAAAAww, Snivellus, I'm happy to see you too!" Potter's voice echoed in the empty space of death. Oh, Good Gillyweeds. Potter Prat Father. I should have known.

"Now, give me back my glasses will you sweetie, and oh" James Prat giggled like a 15 years old girl "Let go of my shirt, Snivy, you know we just can't have sex right now, I'm not ready! Plus, everyone is looking! Hihihihihihi."

Oh blasting Bundimuns. This was hell.

He opened his eyes, fearfully, slowly, to take in his surroundings. It looked strangely like a forest made of pink cotton candy. Heh. Well, at least the forest aspect looked much like the forest, the woods, he used to go with Lily when they were kids and when he would tell her all about the wizarding world...Oh sweet memories. Except, now, they were ruined for all eternity. Literally.

There stood, right in front of him, bighead Potter Prat Father in all his glory wearing a green Zelda shirt and torn jeans, some kind of angel wings batting behind him, a halo trapped between stag's horns on his head (wait – what?!) – his oh so forever arrogant head. Damn Potter. A few feet away, he could slightly distinguish Black Jerk rolling on the floor clutching his stomach while "silmultaneously" Good Graphorn, how do you write that word?! simultaneously grasping at Smartass Lupin's leg for support. Smartass Lupin was himself red and inflated like a tomato and what seemed like heavy tears of laughter rolled down his cheek as he shook violently. Both laughed hysterically, Black Jerk bellowing between sobs and chokes:

"FOR MERLIN, GOOD ONE PRONGS! GOOD ONE!"

Farther, it seemed, as he squinted his eyelids closer together, stood one of the Weasel twins – Oh, darn, not them too! – clutching his ribs in laughter while patting a woman who looked much like that Auror girl in the Order – what's her name again...? Smartass' wife, right, er, Oh, right, Bellatrix's niece – NYMPHADORA TONKS. RIGHT., Nymphadora hahaha, Nymphadora, a right nympho she must have been! LooOOoool, on the back. Oh, one thing was sure, that boy would fit it nicely within the Marau-Jerks circle, for his greatest despair.

Severus heh! My name! :D pushed himself from the cushiony floor with his elbows, huffing, scowling and glaring at Potter Prat Father in front of him through his more than flushed cheeks. The others surrounding him were still laughing their heads off at his face it seemed, and it was of the utmost annoyance. That and the fact that he now put brushing his teeth as an utmost priority after sharing a – eurgh – kiss with Potter Prat. He sat straight, shooting daggers at the fully grown childish man in front of him, trying to regain composure in order to have even a semblance of honour while arriving in the Dead's World.

Finally, the laughter ceased, died, leaving only some fake sobs from Black Jerk as he tried to stand up again, to look at the others. Severus stood up to, now hovering over Potter, who was still sitting quietly on the candy floor.

"Where are we?" he asked finally, through gritted teeth, addressing the Nympho girl standing a little farther away, but, oh, he would be damned if he ever talked to any of the Marau-Jerks again if he could avoid it, he had vowed never to when he left Hogwarts in his late teens! No, talking to Black Jerk in the Order didn't count. Full stop. However, Potter Prat was the one to answer him, seemingly slightly amused.

"Somewhere pretty fun at first, eternal, then kind of severely boring, Snivellus, honey." He said, batting his eyelashes at him. Severus looked down disgusted then avoided his gaze again.

"Oi, Prongs" Smartass Lupin spoke as he caressed a big dog at his side which, Severus was surprised to notice, was not Black Jerk (who he was still trying to regain control over his body) but rather the spirit of Smartass' werewolf form in the 'Other Side' "You know you've already talked about it with the Boss, or at least Padfoot here told me so. I heard two wanted to... get some action? Really, I happen to think this is quite unconscious."

Potter Prat opened his mouth to retort but Smartass cut him short with only a slight movement of his free hand.

"But, I reckon, that it's just no good for any of us if you and Padfoot get bored, so, I'll just support your decision. Anyhow, He will decide, won't He?" he finished, laughing softly. He looked a lot younger, Severus noticed, and none of the exhaustion which was so clear on his face before could be seen.

"Did Potter succeed? Is he alright?" He found himself blurting out surprisingly, why would he even care? Well, ok, he had just sacrificed his life for him, actually, he had sacrificed his entire life for him, so yes, he deserved to know. Potter Prat looked up at him, a strange look in his face, a look Severus had never seen in there, something he just couldn't place. He recoiled slightly, realizing he had let anxiousness, fear and worry for that boy (Prat Junior, damn him.) clearly shine through his features. He straightened himself again, looking down at Potter Prat Senior. The entire forest seemed to have gone suddenly very silent.

"Yes, he is fine." It was Lupin who answered. Black looked at him uncertainly, but Remus only answered him with a somehow stern he-deserves-to-know look. "He saw your memories, in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He... realized what he had to do. He's going to the forest right now to meet Voldemort, to accomplish...his duty."

The silence was heavy and unbearable now. Severus looked down at his feet, shifting awkwardly.

"I'm sorry." He muttered under his breath.

"Don't be." Came an unlikely response, Potter was glancing at the floor now, though clearly addressing him. "You did what you had to do. You protected my son, you died for him. It's not like... I couldn't ask you anything more."

Another awkward silence followed, hovering above their heads like a threatening cloud. But then, as a heavenly miracle – though it probably was one - a voice echoed in the cotton candy trees.

"It's time. Remus, James, Sirius, you shall go. You will be meeting Lily and Albus behind the peppermint gates at the end of the forest. You know what to do." The grave, strong yet soft voice said, ringing in Severus' ears like the sweet melody of peace.

Potter rose from his sit, nodding curtly at him, then walked away with Lupin and Black, entering deeper in the forest until they were gone and nowhere in sight. Severus turned at the Tonks girl and the Weasley twin, they had both sat by a strange marble well. He walked silently until he was by their side and sat down, staring into the depths of the crystal-like water, staring into the realms of the earth, as a small shadow walked into the Forbidden Forest, away from the Hogwarts grounds, leaving injured witches and wizards, corpses and improvised nurses hoping for his return.

A/N: Yes, I know, it's insane.

Please, REVIEW! :DD

I'll try and write more after the exam, ... I just hope it goes well! Damn.