Disclaimer: I own nothing. I do not own the characters, they belong to the wonderfully talented J.K. Rowling. I am making no profit whatsoever off of this story.
A/N: As many of you who have read HBP are surely upset right now, just as I am, I thought I'd write something that in future chapters might give you all hope. I don't know exactly where this story is going to go, but I do know that I want it to bring you all hope for something better in the seventh and final instalment of J.K. Rowling's series. Read on and review, please.
Warning: HBP Spoilers
Chapter One: Lost
A dark figure stood looking down on the proceedings as many wept with sorrow for the great man that had fallen only days ago. He watched silently as the mermen of the lake and the centaurs of the forest paid tribute to the old man resting in his tomb. Resting. It seemed an odd choice of word to use in the case of the dead. Because it let the mind imagine that the man would be back, was only resting his eyes for a short time…but no. It was not so.
The figure bristled as the witches and wizards attending the funeral began to leave the grounds or return to the castle. His sharp eyes easily spotted the young man with dark, messy hair and emerald eyes, accompanied by his two closest friends. The other boy with ginger hair and cobalt blue eyes, and the girl with bushy brown hair and hazel eyes were silently standing guard over the young man with black hair, who was standing by the lake, watching over it with deadened eyes. A younger girl with fiery red hair and warm brown eyes joined them and went up to the young man, squeezing his elbow to let him know she was there. He turned to her, and they exchanged a few words before the two other figures joined them and they all talked of a few things.
As they made their way back to the castle, the man overseeing them climbed down from his watch point and gazed once more upon the white tomb now standing by the lake before disappearing from sight. He was still present, however under a heavy invisibility charm, and he made his way slowly from the castle and down to the lake to see off his former mentor. As he approached the tomb, a warm June breeze ruffled his lank hair and dark robes, like a warm blanket wrapping itself around him. He breathed in deeply and stopped before the tomb, resting a pale, long-fingered hand on the white marble.
He stayed like that for ages, just touching the stone that held his mentor within, sleeping peacefully in death. He felt a cruel smirk twist his lips and hated himself for it. Sleeping was another word that was odd to use in the case of the dead. It also implied an imminent return, which the man standing there knew to be false. The great old mage lying in his tomb would never resurface to see the light of day, would never again laugh at the jokes that his colleagues told, would never again play chess with his favourite playmate, would never again…be alive. He was gone. Forever. And without him, Severus Snape was lost.
"Goodbye, Albus."
A/N: I hope you like this. I think I'm so depressed that I'll keep writing, so hopefully the second chapter will be out soon.