Disclaimer: Of course I do not own Harry Potter in any way shape or form. I make no money off of this…blab la bla. Really with the hundred thousand harry potter fanfictions out there is disclaimer even necessary anymore?

Also, if you've read any of my other stories you know I write pretty explicit smut. Though I'm not jumping into lemony goodness right away it will come. NOT for anyone under the age of 18 or whatever the age of consent is in your country.

9 May, 1998

Many psychologists, as they are referred to in the muggle world, as well as many mind healers in our world recommend the use of journals as a tool to deal with ones thoughts and feelings. A load of bubotuber pus if you ask me. However, I do not wish to speak these thoughts out loud so this appears to be my best option at the moment.

This undulating cornucopia of emotions began the night of the fall of the Dark Lord. The battle itself had gone on for hours though it felt like days. The staff and many extremely brave students fought off so many deatheaters and dementors that the spots of blood turned into puddles that turned into pools. Never have I ever killed so many individuals whom I once knew. While I feel no regret, nor will I shed a tear of their loss, I nevertheless feel as though I have yet more blood on my hands.

It is not the loss of these deatheater so-called colleagues that has my emotions in a state of turmoil. It is of course, as always, one Harry James Potter. It was not the beautiful raw power that the boy exuded as he killed the Dark Lord, that brought me to the state I am in but the events that happened immediately thereafter.

As I saw the last bits of HIS soul rot and disintegrate and felt as though I could finally rest. During the battle my leg had been broken, among other things, and I finally gave out, slumped against a tree slithered to the ground. I was finding it hard to breath and I thought, no I felt for certain, that was how I was going to die. That it only seemed right that I not get to see a Dark Lord-free world. That I did my part and now I could rest in peace.

I could not help but watch Potter as he continued to fight on. Even after killing HIM he still fought against the remaining supporters. I fought to stay awake. I had to make sure that he was truly safe before I finally truly gave up. When the last of the supporters had either been killed or ran away in fear, Potter seemed to stop and take in the carnage before him. It was then that he met my eye.

Covered in blood and soil and himself limping ever so slightly he walked toward me. Of course I could not die in peace! I believed the boy had come to, if not kill me, then berate me for every atrocity he knew me to have committed over the years.

"Professor Snape!" he called out to me. I felt a deep ache in the pit of my stomach and my heart as I watched him approach. I realized at that moment how much I cared about this boy and how poetic and just fitting that I would die in such a way. I froze up as he reached for me. No! Apparently death by magic would be too good for me. He would end me by his own hand. "Now don't fight me. I'm too tired. Please let me just take you to the Madame Pomfrey."

I could not believe my ears. The boy did not say one scathing remark, threw not one hex. Instead he picked me up and told me to lean into him as he helped me across the field. I cannot describe to you how hard it was to hold back the tears at that moment. Here was a boy that just gave our world its freedom. No, I must stop referring to him as a boy. I don't believe he truly has been a boy for years. But a man who himself was tired and in pain carried me to medical help. When I asked him why he wouldn't simply use a levitation spell, he stated "It just doesn't seem dignified to levitate a war hero. I've been your burden for many years, at least let me do this."

Now you see why my emotions are in the state they are in. I am proud of the fact that I did not die of shock right there on the spot. When I had I missed it? When had the arrogant, pig headed idiot of a boy turned into such and insightful beautiful young man? I have relived the memory of this night over and over in my mind and I have cried. Oh yes, the snarky, bitter old man did cry.

The memory no longer brings tears, but merely a sense of awe.

I was under a medically induced coma for four days while my body and magic healed. Each day Potter came to visit me. He would talk about the clean up and steps they were taking to start rebuilding Hogwarts. Of course I could not respond, nor see him, but I could hear him word for word. I wondered if he had even slept since the battle. When will you ever rest?

I was released just two days ago and have been forbidden from both Poppy and the Headmistress from helping with the clean up for at least a week. I playcate the old cat. Tomorrow I shall return to the world I only wonder if I still have a place in it.

10 May 1998

I ran into Potter today. Or I should say he ran into me. "One would think the ability to dodge hexes flying at you at lightspeed would mean that you could dodge a mere person traveling down a hall." Silently I berate myself. This is the man who saved my life and this is what I say to him!

"I'm sorry professor." He mumbles and starts to walk way.

"I think not Mr. Potter." It is almost comical the way he stops and huffs out a deep breath of frustration. "It is I who should be apologizing. I have yet to think you for…saving me. For saving all of us."

He mumbled something about no thinks needed. How could he be so strong in the face of danger yet so humble, almost shy now. Those eyes which I have seen almost sparkle were now dulled especially by the dark circles forming underneath. I asked him to come by my office. Looking up at the clock, he should be here in a few minutes. I only hope that perhaps I can encourage him to take some sleeping drought tonight and find someone to talk to. I am sure the death of his friends must be weighing heavy on his heart.

When did I become such a bloody sap?