He opened his eyes and faced the solitary window in the wall. The sun warmed his cheeks briefly, but then, realizing that Severus Snape was awake, the tattered curtain on the window stretched and shrouded the sunlight from brightening his bed. It was his birthday.

He walked into the bathroom and began brushing his teeth. He was lost in thought over the nightmare he experienced the previous night, and, in a moment of forgetfulness, accidentally looked in the mirror. It promptly shattered. He shut his eyes tightly and looked away in shame. He never finished brushing his teeth; he felt he deserved the plaque that rotted in his mouth.

He burnt his toast and he ran out of his preferred jam. Damn it, he exclaimed, bringing his fist into the wall. The wall magically indented itself away from Severus's hand; it did not want to sully itself with his tainted flesh. Severus sighed and put on his black frocks.

He taught all the stupid children today, just like every other monotonous day.

Harry Potter called him a coward. Albus forgot to pay him his due salary. Minerva gossiped about his revolting oily hair to Madam Hooch and Pomona. His house elf didn't seem the least bit bothered that it had not obeyed him. His wand forgot it was his. The curious Tabby he wanted to adopt bit his hand and drew blood as he tried to feed it.

He trudged back to the dungeons late at night and got ready for bed. As he was removing his outer frock, the tail end of his long, black robe slithered under his foot and Severus Snape, the professor, the spy, the potions master, the loyal, the brave, Fell.

As he lifted his face off the ground he realized his ankle was sprained and he could not move. He has fallen and cannot lift himself up. He will sleep on the cold, unforgiving, stone floor tonight.

Out of the dust settled on the neglected floor of his rooms he traced an oval shape with his calloused fingertip, and added a square bottom with a few, flimsy looking sticks poking out from on top of it. He wrote the words "Happy Birthday Severus Snape." with a shaky hand. He looked up at the ceiling and whispered brokenly, dejectedly,

"Will this never end?…"

Just when he was about to bitterly blow out his sorry excuse for a candle; the wind in the open window took another choice away from him. It scattered the dust forming his birthday cake away, leaving nothing behind but a sad memory of what was.

Severus laid his head down on his arms and did something he had not done in years. Something he hated himself for doing. Something the world takes pleasure in. He wept.