So in honor of the release of the Harry Potter book soon I thought I'd swallow my pride and put up this. It's an old fic that I found a couple weeks back on my computer. Enjoy. It's kinda cutesy, but enjoyable all the same. hehe.

Soft firelight spilled across the wooden floor, tinting the oaken boards a beautiful amber color. Mist drifted across the serene surface of the lake, a thin veil of clouds ringed the moon.

It was a romantic night by any account.

And Snape hated it for that very reason.

If Snape had possessed any interest in classical Muggle literature, he might have realized that he was to picturesque nights what Scrooge was to Christmas.

He had convinced himself that it was the utter sickening beauty of the night that drove him to the bottle. Surely the date had nothing to do with it.

Severus Snape was not a man to drink often; loosing control was not one of his favorite sensations. But there he sat, in a high-backed chair, feet propped on a large pile of books—something an entirely sober Snape would never have dreamed of doing—a large glass of brandy in one hand.

Swirling the amber alcohol in his glass, he examined it. Brandy, that was one thing the Muggles had managed to make properly, something no wizard liquor could even compare to. Snape tossed the entire contents of the tumbler back. The alcohol stung as it slipped down his throat, but he hardly noticed, he had already become used to the sensation.

Leaning back in the chair, he allowed the haze of intoxication to sweep over his mind. Trying to think of nothing, he glanced around the room. His quarters were Spartan in nature; very plain. Leather bound volumes lined the shelves in neat rows; each was well-cared for and had been dusted recently. The drapes were simple black, and the walls, covered in wooden paneling, were entirely bare…except for a calendar. This item seemed entirely out of place. The photograph for this month showed an idyllic river scene with two blooming trees in the background, occasionally a bird flitted in and out of the picture as the stream bubbled happily along out the far left corner.

Today's date had been circled with peacock-blue ink and a smiley face was drawn in the corner.

Snape scowled slightly at the markings. The calendar had been a gift from his niece, Lea, a seven-year-old, who absolutely adored him. Snape didn't understand quite why.

She'd sent him the calendar for Christmas, and even for his cold heart, Snape couldn't bring himself to throw the item out. Perhaps, there was some small soft spot in his heart for the child. He only wished she hadn't had the audacity to mark out his birthday.

Uncle Sevy's B-day. Had been crookedly printed beneath the smiley face.

Even for the fluorescent pen, Snape smiled slightly as his eyes glided over the child's pet name for him. She'd called him that ever since she was too young to be able to say Severus correctly. He'd finally given up trying to forcer her to pronounce it right and allowed her to call him Sevy, unfortunately, the name had stuck.

Snape found that he was grinning as he thought of his niece. As soon as he realized it, he stopped smiling and allowed his thoughts to return to less pleasant things.

Thank goodness Potter and his posse hadn't discovered that name for him. He'd never hear the end of it. The grin was quickly replaced by a sneer as his lip turned up in disgust at the thought of Potter.

Snape returned his gaze to the calendar, and this time, those black eyes caught the word "B-day" His trademark sneer becoming crueler.

"Birthday." He growled and poured another hefty amount of brandy into his glass. "Loathsome."

March 12th was quite possibly Snape's least favorite day of the year. The only thing that could have possibly made his birthday any worse was if people had made a fuss about it. Presents, cake, balloons, being sung such a ludicrous song all day, he shuttered even to think of those things.

Downing another glass of brandy again, Snape stood and moved to the window so he could pull the blinds shut against the beauty of the night.

But somewhere in his heart, there was a part of him that wished someone would make a…small…fuss over his birthday. Someone would notice.

In fact, Snape couldn't remember a single birthday he had enjoyed.

It must have been the alcohol, because Snape was feeling nostalgic.

"Severus! Severus! Oh Severus!" Someone called from behind him in a high falsetto.

Snape didn't turn around; even for the false sound of the voice he still heard the cocky note in it.

"Severus!"

A loud bark of laughter followed. Snape recognized that laughter too, wild and dog-like.

"Oh, Severus! Don't be so mean." The first boy continued, laughing as heartily as his companion.

"We only want to chat, Severus." The second voice hadn't bothered to put on the falsetto, but rather slipped a slightly feminine sounding whine in among the words.

Snape still didn't turn around, but rather, quickened his stride; he had no interest in "chatting" with James Potter and Sirius Black.

He had a passing interest in where the other two compatriots were, but he would never have dreamed of asking.

"Oooh, little Snapey is running away." Sirius spoke as he would to a baby or a dog, in an attempt to make Snape feel patronized.

"The little bastard son of a whore!" James laughed.

Snape lost it.

Yanking his wand from his robes he whirled on the two boys.

"Vegrandis Vulnus" He screamed, throwing his every disgust for the boys into the hex.

James and Sirius were thrown across the hall by the force of the curse. They were covered in small, but very painful looking, cuts.

The ghost of a triumphant smile played around the corners of Severus's mouth. That was a curse of his own, he'd have to fiddle with it a little though, the wounds should be slightly larger, but the result was satisfactory; as was the victory over the two arrogant Gryffyndoors.

Turning sharply on his heel, Snape took two steps away from the unconscious boys, only to run directly into Professor Ardane—the professor of Transfiguration. He was a stern man, with no mercy for the improper use of magic and quite probably the worst person in the entire school to have found Snape.

"Severus Snape." The man's glare was icy, his upper life stiff. Ironically enough, it was a mirror image of how Professor McGonagall's would in later years. Possibly it was a requirement for the job.

"Headmaster's office." The professor snarled. "Now."

Snape bowed his head and walked away down the hall. Professor Ardane charmed James and Sirius's bodies to find their way down to the infirmary, and then followed closely on Snape's heels.

Severus knew he'd be spending the remainder of his birthday in the headmaster's office.

The moon was already high in the sky, covering the surface of the lake. With ereatheral, shadowy light.

Snape seized the curtains and forcibly tugged them over the window. How long had he been gazing out on that tranquil scene?

Long enough to be disgusted. He thought.

The potion's master had time to sink back into his chair, before he was once again over come by memory.

"Severus." Dumbledore regarded him sharply over his half-moon glasses. "You have to understand, I believe your sincerity, but most of the Wisengamont will not. Voldemort has so many spies among our own men, the majority of the council will think you just another."

Snape sat in silence.

"You do realize that returning to him as a spy will put you in grave danger." Albus Dumbledore's soft, blue eyes peered trustingly at the other man.

Snape tried to look away from that unquestioning gaze, but he couldn't. He was sure he saw, reflected in those eyes, everything he had ever done. Every soul he had helped the Dark Lord torture, every soul he'd betrayed to their death, every bit of cruelty, every malice, everything. And as he watched the playback of his evil, he knew, no matter what the danger to his own life, he had to absolve himself of those crimes.

"Yes, I know. But I have to do it."

"I understand." The older man nodded.

But Snape didn't think he could understand, no one could understand. He had never felt so alone.

"I hate to be so abrupt, but I need to know everything you know about the Dark Lord's plans. I know this has to be hard for you."

"Hard for me?" Snape shoved the chair away from the desk. "Hard for me?" It was evident in the tone of his voice that those words didn't even begin to describe what he was going through.

Crossing the room, Snape turned his back on the headmaster and began to examine one of the small, silver instruments that lined the many shelves in Dumbledore's office. Angrily, he flicked a pendulum and watched it swing back and forth.

Severus watches as the silver instrument swung both ways, just like the machine of death in Poe's Pit and the Pendulum—the only Muggle author Snape had ever read.

It seemed to Snape, that he was being ravaged from both sides. As if that swinging pendulum had aimed its blade at him.

What was right?

Half of him wanted to propagate with the internal demons he grappled with daily, the guilt over his actions.

But then, there was the other half of him.

For so long, his every devotion had been to the Dark Lord. And now, he was to betray the friends who had taken him in, accepted him. Lord Voldemort had given Snape something he'd never had—fatherly affection. For the man's cruelty and insatiable desire for power, he was gracious to those who served him. And to Snape, above all, he had shown benevolence.

And now, he was to betray that man to save people who had ridiculed him and hunted him down in hallways to torture him? He was to turn his back on any love?

Snape turned to face Dumbledore and spoke some of the hardest words he'd ever had to utter. "He wants to kill the Potters."

He'd done it. He'd saved James, the man who'd made his childhood a living hell, and turned his back on the only man who'd respected him for who he was.

Dumbledore looked at Snape, and this time Snape couldn't hold that gaze. His eyes fell on the clock like machine that was on the left side of Dumbledore's desk. It was an odd contraption with many hands; it displayed not only the time, but also the month and date as well.

It was then, that he realized he'd spent his birthday in the headmaster's office.

End Flashback

Had there ever been a happy day in his life? Snape wondered. Had he ever spent a single birthday in the company of friends and people who loved him?

But he couldn't remember one.

Had he ever been loved?

Again, Snape couldn't remember a time when he had.

He turned to drown his sorrows in yet more brandy. When, suddenly, the fire began to sizzle and spit. Snape whirled around nearly dropping his glass in the process, to discover Dumbledore's silver-bearded head looking out at him from the emerald flames.

"Severus?" Albus's eyes caught sight of the empty brandy glass in his hand, and his eyebrow rose just above the rim of his glasses, but the Headmaster said nothing more.

"Yes-s" Snape replied, slurring the word from his intoxication rather than his surprise at Dumbledore's appearance in his room.

"There's someone in my office that needs to speak with you." He wondered who it was. Probably someone from the ministry…or an angry parent furious over their brat's most recent grade.

"On my wa-ay Headmas-ster." Snape replied.

Dumbledore nodded and his head disappeared as the flames slowly returned to their normal red-gold color.

Snape's hand trembled slightly as he put the glass down and prepared to spend yet another birthday in the headmaster's office.

On his way up the stairs, Severus was contemplating smiling over the utter ridiculousness of Dumbledore's obstinacy in using the names of candies as the password to his office. But Severus never got to make up his mind about whether or not this was funny, because he'd reached the door.

Liquor always made Snape bold and he pushed open the door without knocking.

"Severus." Albus regarded him; Snape couldn't read the look in the Headmaster's eyes.

"S-someone to s-se-ee me?" Snape blinked twice, trying to clear the third eye, which had somehow appeared in the middle of Dumbledore's forehead, from his vision.

Albus nodded to Snape, then turned and looked over his shoulder, and addressed someone in that whisper of his that seemed to cut through even the loudest of rackets. "He's here now."

Snape turned in the direction that Dumbledore had spoken, and watched as a small, black-haired head appeared from behind a guided column.

"Lea?" Was his drunken mind deceiving him, or had his seven-year-old niece just stepped from behind the pillar?

"Uncle Sevy!" She cried and flung herself across the room at him.

Severus stood stunned as the child wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly.

He looked up at Dumbledore who was smiling.

And then, he understood. Dumbledore had known; he'd brought Lea here to see him because he cared for Snape, in that same fatherly way Voldemort had.

"Thank you." Snape whispered. And surely it must have been the alcohol, but tears began to well in his eyes.

Kneeling down, Snape wrapped his arms around Lea's shoulders and hugged her close.

"Why are you crying?" Lea asked, pulling just far enough away so she could stroke his cheekbone to brush away a tear. "Mr. Dumbleydore—Mr. Dumbledore—said you were sad."

"Not now." Snape hugged her close again. "Not now."

And Snape was, for the first time, entirely happy, entirely loved.

He spent the last few moments of his birthday content. And in that second, he knew he had made the right decision years ago.

With Voldemort's affection had come a need for respect and duty. With Lea there were no strings attached. It was simple, unconditional love.

And Snape knew he'd never despise another romantic night or his birthday ever again.

And maybe he'd even get around to forgiving James Potter…some day.