Title: His Dancing Angel
She was dancing, that first time he saw her-- he thought she was an angel.
As she twirled around in the small, somewhat dirty park in their not-so-nice neighborhood, he knew that she was special. He also knew that he wouldn't be able befriend her the way he should, because in his house, there was too much alcohol and not nearly enough love. Curses flew frequently, both magical and not, and new clothes, even second-hand, were a rare commodity. He took a chance, though. That chance would one day save him from a path of total darkness.
Sometimes, from the time they met until Hogwarts, she would dance with him. She'd sing whatever song was in her head and they'd twirl around the park, late at night, away from the prying, hateful eyes of her sister and the blood-shot, angry eyes of his father. Somehow, they both knew that their friendship probably wouldn't last, so these stolen moments were ones that both would treasure forever.
At Hogwarts, petty House rivalries, future Death Eaters, and James Potter complicated their relationship, which had been so easy and carefree before. They still took occasional moments to dance—she'd come and find him while she was on Prefect duty, and Remus would cover for her while the two old friends snuck into an empty classroom and danced.
Slowly, they pulled apart. He sunk further into the Dark Arts, and she found a new partner to dance with, a "forever" partner. She never forgot those first moments, though. She treasured them. She even invited him to her wedding, even though she knew he probably wouldn't come because he and the Marauders had never really got along.
He did come, and as he stood outside, watching her dance with James, he closed off his heart. He threw himself into work for Voldemort, quickly becoming one of the most-trusted Death Eaters. They were working on opposite sides now. These weren't times for dancing.
Then Voldemort tapped him for a special mission. He was to come with Voldemort and Pettigrew to attempt to "take care of" the one who the prophecy had spoken of. She was dancing around the sitting room, her son in her arms as the three approached. Severus wanted to run. He couldn't. As he listened to her cries for mercy, all he could think about was an eight-year-old girl, with long auburn hair and sparkling green eyes, humming whatever song happened to be on the radio.
He didn't think about her for the next ten years, not until her son came to Hogwarts. He had the same sparkling green eyes, the same fiery attitude, but there was something different about him. Something haunted. He wondered if her son had ever had a friend, ever been loved at all, ever had his own dancing girl. He couldn't like her son because he reminded him too much of himself, and he hated what he had become.
Then one night, all of that changed. He saw Harry dancing. How anyone could dance in the middle of the type of war that they were in was beyond his understanding. Then he was finally reminded of how much it would have meant to him to have that much hope, that much promise in the dark days of the first war. He let them dance, and he let himself have hope again. Not hope that he would ever be able to replace the hole she'd left, but hope that her son and his dancing girl would be able to do what his parents' generation hadn't.
In his final moments, he didn't think of the poison that was quickly racing through his body, he didn't even think of Hogwarts…he thought of that little girl, in a not-so-nice park in that not-so-nice part of town, the one who saved him from the darkness. His dancing angel.