Finding Myself

Bastard. Evil git. Bat of the Dungeons. Wanker, Death Eater scum, Snivellus. And those are only the commonly used ones.

I know what I am. I don't make apologies for it. I'd like to see some Gryffindor do what I've done for 20 years and not have an ulcer. (Let's be honest...if they even made it 20 years-alive.)

Alive. Now there's a trick word. I've heard muggles have a term for it...'Dead man Walking'. Certainly a truism in my case. I'm not certain anyone expects me to get through this alive, including myself.

Except Hermione.

My beautiful girl.

I can see her now, working carefully on our project. (She really should put her hair up.) Her focus is complete, and it's at this time I can stare all I want.

After the most life-altering kiss yesterday (could it only be yesterday?) we agreed, or should I say, I coerced her into agreeing to wait until the war was over. And she believes there will be an after the war for us. I am not sure if it is hope, or blind foolishness.

I know! I am a fool! Even if I only admit it to myself. I should enjoy what little time I am likely to have with her! Didn't I just say that I wouldn't make it through this war? She is beautiful, and bright, and warm, and everything I could never be. It should be enough that I will leave at least one person behind who will miss me, honor me. It has to be enough.

It is all I can do to keep her safe. My pensieve is packed full, and I still fear that the Dark Lord can feel a change in me. She is everything He fears. Bright, as I said, brilliant even, a muggleborn, and the brain of Harry Potter. If he were to know of my feelings, we would both be dead faster than he could say Avada Kedavra. (Yes, I know I said faster...keep up.)

But the end is coming. Both sides recognize it. So I have done what I can to make the transition-her transition- smoother. There were a number of letters of affection (I refuse to call them 'Love letters'; far too juvenile.) But I by needs must write a first letter, one to explain the rest, explain my reasoning, and hope that she understands, that not only does she have my heart, she has everything of me.

I look up, and see that she has fallen asleep again at the potions' bench. I smile fondly, and silently cast a cushioning charm on the bench. Now that she is asleep, it is safe for me to write.

My Dearest Hermione,
I should take the time to call you that, for if you are reading this, I never had the chance. I wish more than anything I was there for you. That we had given ourselves the chance, but then, fate has never been exceedingly kind to me. I am thankful at the least that she allowed me your presence, if not your love.

I knew if you survived, that Albus would offer you the position of Potions Mistress. You are brilliant, and I know you will do well.

It is strange to be sitting here writing this. You have fallen asleep at the workbench again. (I keep telling you to find a bed, but I know that you won't.) You look so content in your sleep. I could watch you like this forever, but that I would miss the fire that shines out of your eyes.

If you are reading this, then you must be hurting. If I could I would take it away, but it is beyond my ability. I did think of something to help you though. Go to my personal ingredient cupboard, and use the spell, occultus armarium. A door in the back will disappear and you will find my pensieve.

I use this often, especially when I have to meet with the Dark Lord. You, only you, have managed to make me feel. I knew I couldn't hide that from him; so my memories of you I would store in here. If he knew of my feelings for you, you would have been in great danger, as would have I. I did what I had to in order to protect you. I wish it could have been more.

Perhaps you don't want to know how your old professor lusted over you silently, how he watched over you with pride in your accomplishments. But if you truly did feel for me, then relive these memories for me, with me. And know that I loved you then, I love you now, and I will love always.

Forever,
Severus

She is everything to me. And it is worth my life to see that she can have a life of her own. If I keep telling myself that, perhaps, one day, I'll actually believe it. I will miss you, my love.