A/N: Hello then, something interesting this time, something that I can do what I want with, rather than be restricted by a film's plot, with a little inspiration from Pink Floyd… I'm writing each chapter whilst listening to each track from their fabulous album, The Dark Side of the Moon (listen to it if you haven't), and I've used a few lines of lyrics to help me along with the story - which I have, for the first time in my life, got a plot for (well sort of!). I hope you enjoy it…
- CHAPTER ONE -
Speak to Me
I've always been mad,
I know I've been mad.
A tall man was sitting in a corner of the Great Hall. A dark hooded cloak was drawn over his head, but occasionally one could catch brief glimpses of his long pallid face; shining in the light of the almost-full moon that beamed down on the hall from the enchanted ceiling.
The five school tables had long-since vanished; only several rows of chairs facing a stage erected where the staff table usually was, and a large table standing at the other end of the hall, heaving with so much food that gave the impression the house-elves were still catering for the entire school. But there were far fewer than that here tonight.
A faint pumping sound erupted from the walls; a rhythmical heartbeat. People began to take their seats as the beating grew louder, the hall's floating candles all suddenly extinguished and the black curtains veiling the stage started to part.
A skinny boy was standing in the centre of the stage; tallish, probably about seventeen, with jet-black hair sticking up at odd angles, sparkling emerald eyes behind spindly circular-framed glasses, and a thin lightning bolt scar that zigzagged down his forehead. He raised his arms. Someone in the audience stifled a giggle.
"I am Harry Potter," he said, his voice booming from the stage, "and this is the story of how I killed Lord Voldemort."
There were a few small intakes of breath amongst the audience at the mention of his name; for most, the experiences and the fear was still only too real. There was a great thunderclap and lightning began to strike at the back of the stage, a thin curtain of rain now separating it from the audience.
"Well, they've certainly got the weather right," a young man whispered to his companions.
"Shh! I'm trying to watch this!" hissed the bushy haired woman on his right.
The hooded man at the back of the hall was muttering incoherently under his breath, his eyes fixed on the stage.
"Who's that?" the beautiful auburn haired woman on his left asked, gesturing subtly to the cloaked man lurking at the back of the hall.
"No idea, he looks quite mad though…" replied the young man.
"I knew it!" the bushy haired woman exclaimed quietly.
"What?"
"He's a Metamorphagus! They just did the bit where your scar disappeared -"
"Really? Oh, Ginny," he hissed at the woman on his left, "you made me miss the best bit!" He stared up at the stage where the play was coming to an end; the actors took their bows whilst the names of all those who had died during the war appeared in fiery letters at the back of the stage, he felt his stomach tighten with every name that burnt in the still air. The candles puffed back into flame and the audience applauded warmly. "Well, that was certainly a novel way to do it," he muttered to his companions.
"Hmm," murmured the woman sitting on his right, "but they missed out some important bits; most of the things about Snape weren't mentioned at all."
"Hermione," Ginny sighed, "I'm sure they were trust trying to simplify the story, you know how complicated it would get if they added everything about Snape in as well."
"And he's the only one that knows all the details," Harry added.
Hermione knew all of that, but despite all the darkness and mystery that surrounded Severus Snape, she felt that he did deserve to have his true story told, one day.
"They say he lost his mind, right at the end, don't they?" Ginny asked, leaning on Harry's shoulder.
"Oh, he's always been mad, Ginny, you know that." He stroked her hair, but looked up at Hermione, whose brain hadn't stopped buzzing. "What is it?"
"They didn't mention Ron either," she half-whispered. Ginny sat up straight again. "They never mention Ron, they never did, even when he was alive; it was always you, and he tried to so hard not to let it show how it made him feel."
Harry frowned at her. "Oh, but he did sometimes, then he was just an ungrateful bastard." Ginny and Hermione both glared at him. "But he was always my best friend," Harry said firmly, "we always got through the bad patches."
"And we used to argue all the time," Hermione sighed, "sometimes, I hated him like I could never hate anything else. But I always loved him. I always will." Tears rarely came to any of them now; the wizarding world just had to accept the many broken families the war had left behind and put their thoughts to the future. Harry did just that as Ginny held his hand over the gently kicking lump under her robes. Hermione smiled at them together; experiencing a joy that she would never know.
Behind them, the hooded man had risen from his chair and was walking to the doors that led out to the Entrance Hall. Hermione followed him with her eyes; there was something dreadfully familiar in those brisk long strides. She left Harry and Ginny and paced after him, coming quietly into the Entrance Hall where she saw him sitting at the bottom of the staircase.
"Snape?" she asked quietly.
He looked up, shocked it seemed by the use of his name, had he been hiding from himself for that long? He pulled back his hood, revealing a much paler face than she remembered, lined with strain and age, and long tangled curtains of greasy black hair. He looked as if he hadn't paid any attention to his appearance for the last eight years; perhaps trying to become someone that neither he nor others could recognise. But yet she did.
A/N: Reviews very welcome! And go look at that moon tonight; it's almost full ;)