Prologue
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Author's notes: To save me from editing this story later, I hereby declare it takes place in Harry's 6th year. When book 6 comes out, it will officially become an AU. So there. Nyeah.
This is a story I am writing for myself, mainly, because this is a doggone stubborn plot bunny. Any whining about the plot will be, for the most part, ignored. There! Ha! I've said it!
Anyway... each chapter comes with a soundtrack (oo, ahh) which you can download from MP3 dot com. The Prologe's song is a nice one from Edgen Animations called "Fallen Legions" ...It will take you all of five minutes to find and download. Do so. Please?
Usual disclaimer: This is fanfic. I ain't gettin' rich off of it, 'cos I ain't Miz Rowling, y'all.
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It had been many, many decades ago, as Albus Dumbledore remembered - over a century, in fact, for he had been less than twenty that year. The collie dog had been his only pet and constant companion, a jovial soul set in a stout frame of fur and flesh.
It had also been the year the first motorcar had rumbled its way into the small country town. It would be many more years until the machines began to truly infest the countryside, but back then, a rich man showing off a new toy could speed down the dirt pathways as fast as he liked, heedless of anything in his path...
...Anything like little collie dogs. She had always been the sort of creature to run up to visitors barking happily; normally it wasn't a problem for carriage-horses knew where to put their feet and those on broomsticks even occasionally slipped her treats. But the motorcar was a cold creature of biting steel that placed its wheels dumbly, and the driver was looking away --
He heard the howl from inside, rushed out. The driver was already surveying the damage as he rushed over, stuttering numbly that there was nothing else to do but shoot his beloved pet out of mercy. He kept silent, as he remembered, any words seemed as if they couldn't have fit through his throat as it grew tighter and tighter.
But as he reached out his hand to his little collie dog, the one thing that truly stuck in his mind happened. Up until then, she had been sweet and gentle, never even bearing her teeth. However, wild with pain, she thrashed her head around and snapped hard at his hand.
And as fate dictated, history repeated itself.
Although, as Albus mused, it was somewhat different this time around. He surveyed the scene about him this time - a grey, dreary sky matched perfectly with the cemetery around him, cheerless to the point of lugubriousness. Then again, it was a funeral, and what could he expect - for things to be cheerful? He gave a small sigh, the other guests - friends and family of the deceased - shifted nervously. None of them knew quite what to do, but there was a pressing urgency to do something, and simply leaving would (according to some deep moral code) would be unseemly.
The grave was filled, the flowers placed just-so, the prayers said. That was not the problem. The problem was on the bench opposite the row of graves, hunched over in mourner's black, sobbing haplessly. The problem was the widower, and his name was Severus Snape.
One ignorant, well-meaning little old lady had already tried to wander over and give him some sort of consolation, but as soon as she uttered a few fatal phrases ... we all know how you feel... we all share your pain... He whirled on her and launched into a wrathful tirade, tears in his eyes, about how nobody knew how he felt, and nobody would ever share his pain. The crowd now gave him a wide berth as he sobbed away, apparently unable to stop for grief.
Thrash, snap. Wild with pain.
Albus gave another small sigh, this time at the crowd's ignorance. At the moment he couldn't really blame the other man for his temper. He was the only one who knew the circumstances surrounding the affair. Dumbledore was the only one who knew that it was Snape's spy work that landed his wife into such trouble - for, after all, she was responsible for initially goading him into it. Voldemort had always seen her as trouble, and when an excuse came up to do away with her...
Well, when an excuse came...
They never found the body. The casket inside the grave was empty. That was another one of the secrets that Albus did not care to impart to the crowd.
Another sigh, he decided that enough was enough. He strolled forward to place a hand on the widower's shoulder as Snape continued to weep.
"Come, Severus. It's time to go." He made sure that his voice was firm enough to be commanding, but held no impatient snap or anger. Still, the other man flinched, and almost regretfully lurched to his feet, shaking with grief. He kept his head bowed, not wanting to let the crowd see his face as he turned and followed Dumbledore out, lagging a few paces behind. The others, relieved, scattered to return to the grinding mill of daily life.
And the slick granite called a message to their backs: Ana Tanaquil Snape - Rest in Peace.
