The Diary of a Nobody
Tuesday 1st February
18:00p.m. Home.
Considered going to pub again in hope of meeting potential woman. The thought, however, of standing there with not the tiniest idea of what to do or say, really does not appeal in the slightest. Think I'd actually prefer spending the evening with my father, and that's saying something.
Realise have not really given the whole thing a proper chance, but already feel hassle may not be worth it.
I suppose I could focus my attention on women I'm already acquainted with. At least then I do not have to worry about thinking up an ice-breaker. Much less chance for awkward situations that way.
18:05p.m.
Occurs to me that I know very few women.
18:06p.m.
And very few men, even, for that matter.
Mysterious, solitary, self-denying existence has evidently had greater effect on me than previously thought. Must think positively. Maybe luck will change if patient. I waited seventeen years for revenge on Voldemort—I think I know how to be patient.
Expect there will be some God-awful social event Minerva shall invite me to in the near future. Shall have to be martyr and force myself to attend.
Thursday 3rd February
12:30p.m. Department of Mysteries.
Wilson called me into his office this morning to discuss our failure, though I feel he may think it my failure, in not procuring a successful candidate for the Department in nearly three months.
'You already know my feelings on the matter, Wilson. Unless you would like a rehash?'
Wilson shook his head vehemently. 'Look, Snape, I realise we don't always get it right when we pick potential recruits, and that is fine, for the most part, because it is your job to sort the wheat from the chaff. But we have not had such a bad run as this for a long time.'
'Are you suggesting I'm not up to it?'
Wilson paled. 'Oh, dear Merlin, no, no. I've ensured there is will be far more, ah, rigour, involved in selecting the next candidate. There is something else, though, that I wished to ask you about… Mr. Armstrong, just before he was Obliviated, of course, mentioned something about a, ah, logic puzzle? He seemed to feel unfairly treated over the matter—'
I rolled my eyes. 'It's the first test I give them.'
'Is it now?' he asked sceptically.
Inwardly I smirked. 'Accio logic puzzle.' Momentarily, a piece of parchment came fluttering into the room and I smoothed it onto the desk. 'Indeed, Wilson; I use this as a gauge for brainpower. Admittedly, it is not conclusive, of course, and is even less so amongst certain factions of society. It's a Muggle creation, you see.'
Wilson only looked unconvinced.
'It says a lot about the way a person's mind works if they are able to solve it. Most will get there eventually, given time, but I'm not interested in waiting days for an answer. I want to see them demonstrate an inherent method and logic to their thinking. Is it not my fault if Armstrong was unequal to the task. And, may I add, the logic puzzle was not his sole failing.'
Wilson nodded vaguely. 'I just don't want you to place too much emphasis—'
'Now, Wilson, I have no doubt a man of your capabilities would have no trouble in unravelling it.'
'Oh, do you think so?'
I edged the parchment towards him slightly. 'Undoubtedly.'
He shrugged his shoulders in a show of nonchalance, but was obviously feeling flattered. He looked almost coy. 'Well, I'm not sure—'
'Oh, please,' I said smoothly, 'I have no use for modesty, you know.'
He nodded in agreement. 'Certainly, I should like to give it a go.' He leant forward eagerly, grasping his quill.
It's for moments like the one that followed that I am glad I took up my quill to record my life on the page. I know I shall enjoy reliving this entry over and over.
I watched Wilson's eyes dart back and forth over the page as he read the passage avidly. His face turned progressively more ashen, however, the further down the page he read. And when he took in the grid with the answers, he swallowed and shifted in his chair.
'I see, I see…' he muttered to himself.
He put the tip of his quill to his mouth, affecting, I rather thought, a look of deep concentration. For about five minutes, he sat there staring at the page without making any move to attempt an answer. There may even have been sweat forming on his brow, but I concede that may have been a trick of the light.
I couldn't help it. After a few more minutes, I made a show of taking out my pocket watch and checking the time, during which Wilson looked up, unable to mask the panic in his eyes.
'Sorry, Snape, just remembered I have a, ah, a meeting to attend shortly… If you'll excuse me…'
I got to my feet briskly. 'No problem; I'll leave it with you for later. I can also drop by some that I've written myself, if you like?'
'You've written… ?' the rest of his sentence evaporated into thin air and he smiled awkwardly. 'Wonderful; just wonderful.'
I had to stop myself from smirking all day.
Saturday 5th February
Ah. It is as I expected. Have just received note from Minerva detailing a little get-together taking place at the Leaky Cauldron next Saturday night. Maybe I should take up an occupation as a Seer?
Initial instinct is, naturally, to decline. However, if I am going to take my search for a partner seriously then I must make an effort. No pain, no gain.
Friday 11th February
17:30p.m.
Have arrived home from work. Usually, I would set about sorting myself something to eat at this time, but am not feeling very hungry tonight. Have been thinking a lot about tomorrow; seriously debating whether to bother going to the Leaky.
No. I must convince myself to go, no matter how much I may be dreading it.
Will be many people there, I expect… And I have a right to be there as much as anyone.
Think I need to be a little more prepared this time than I have been on previous occasions. Clearly, on past form, I cannot just turn up and 'wing it'. Perhaps I should consider myself critically and make some changes, in order to make myself more amenable to the female kind?
Um… Yes, I can do that.
19:00p.m.
Aargh!
19:10p.m.
Do not like standing in front of mirror and assessing one's reflection!
Have forced myself to stand and stare for a full ten minutes, but still cannot bring myself to make resolve as to what I see. What kind of man cannot look his own reflection in the eye, hmm?
Shall begin with a bit at a time, I think; rather than taking in the whole sorry picture that I am in one go. Start with hair and work way down, maybe. Sounds reasonable enough.
Right… Hair…
…
No grey hairs as of yet—something to put on what will be paltry list of triumphs, I expect. Should I reconsider length of hair? Have no idea which length of hair serves best. Could cut hair and end up looking even more numpty-like than already do.
Will leave hair.
Now, for the face… Oh, fuckity fuck.
Forget it, Snape; just give up.
Don't know why I am even bothering to go. It's not as if I feel any sort of affiliation with any of the people who will be there. Strongest feeling I have is probably contempt—hardly basis for socialising, is it?
Still, hiding in flat is hardly a thrilling prospect, either.
19:30p.m.
Has just occurred to me, on reading back through this entry, that I should possibly rip it out. Should, Merlin forbid, someone ever get their hands on this diary, perhaps on the occasion of my death, for instance, this is not how I want to be remembered!
Saturday 12th February
8:00p.m.
Have spent nearly an hour deciding whether to charm cravat to different colour in aid of Making Effort.
Navy blue is all I am capable of it seems. Will have to do. Am off to Leaky Cauldron now.
1:00a.m.
Wash verrry shitty nighth…. !
Sunday 13th February
11:00a.m.
Hell's fucking bells! Have woken up with splitting headache and my mouth feels like the bottom of a bird cage.
Was forced to drink body weight in alcohol last night to block out all the people I can't stand. Leaky Cauldron was bustling merrily by the time I finally turned up. I sloped to the bar without fanfare, but once furnished with very much needed libation, turned around to find myself faced with Hermione Granger, or Weasley, whatever it is she's calling herself these days.
'Hello,' she said, in that unusually can't-be-bothered voice I'd never previously associated with her before.
I merely nodded in acknowledgement. I hadn't really given any thought to her being here. She seemed the type to turn her nose up at such a soiree. Let's face it, the Leaky Cauldron is hardly the height of sophistication, and I sensed from the way her hair was twisted up, from the way she held herself, and from her perpetually controlled expression that she considered herself the very model of refinery.
Wouldn't hurt her to crack a smile, though, would it? Miserable cow.
She studied me for a moment, and I told myself not to feel self-conscious about my navy-blue cravat.
'Sir… Severus, I—'
'Oh, no knighthood as of yet, Mrs Weasley,' I interjected dryly. 'Her Majesty has not yet been so kind.'
Her expression faltered ever so slightly, though whether to indicate humour or irritation I was not to discover. At that moment, Ronald Weasley came swaying towards us like some drunken tree, arms flailing dramatically.
'Hermione… !' he wailed thickly, his speech punctuated by sharp hiccups. 'Hermione, pleash… talk to me…'
Hermione Granger's cheeks burned as I neatly side-stepped the gangling arsehole stumbling between us. With a sneer of disgust, I gratefully removed myself as far away as possible.
Merlin. Right there was a first-class example as to why I should forget my search for a potential partner and make do with a life of solitude.
I sat down next to Minerva and surveyed from the safe distance Granger's attempt to remove the Weasley idiot from her person.
'Just what is the reason for the Weasleys' impending divorce?' I asked Minerva ponderously.
She followed my line of vision and sucked in a disapproving breath through her teeth. 'General details aren't entirely known,' she answered. 'But it's more or less certain that young Ronald was caught with a bit-on-the-side.'
Wasn't sure I entirely blamed him for it, from what I'd seen of Granger. Though, on reflection, I'd pick her side before I picked his. I dislike Weasley the most now, out of the three of them, I think. It's always liable to change, however.
'Found yourself a woman yet, Severus?'
And so began the downward spiral of the night.
I scowled at she who had put the question to me. It was Poppy. Turns out that, in a drunken haze at Minerva's party, I accidentally told Poppy of my desire to find a woman. Am not proud of myself for such moments of indiscretion. Time was, I'd never have allowed myself to become drunk in the company of others.
'Yes, it's surely about time you found someone, Severus,' piped up Minerva. 'You're not getting any younger, after all.'
'Am not quite at death's door,' I countered darkly. Unlike some…
'I've been thinking; we've got a lovely new Ancient Runes mistress at Hogwarts. She'd do nicely for you, don't you think Poppy? Shall we arrange a meeting?'
I flinched violently. 'No! By Merlin, do not bloody arrange anything!' I spat.
'Well, that's not the attitude! You'll never find anyone like that!'
'Leave me alone,' I demanded, taking my leave of them in search for more alcohol. God, the mere thought of some sort of (I can barely bring myself to write the words)… blind date… makes my stomach heave.
Whilst at the bar, and enjoying a refreshing pint this time, I did force myself to consider Minerva's point. Not her point about the Ancient Runes mistress, but about my attitude. Possibly, I will have to have a better attitude with regard to meeting someone. But I just do not know how I can change it for the better.
Think positively.
I glanced surreptitiously around the pub, trying to see if there was any witch present who might take my fancy. Couldn't really see anyone interesting. Looked down the length of the bar to see unfamiliar witch with long dark hair standing at other end. Significantly, she was alone.
Found myself watching her, more out of scientific interest than anything else, I fear. But, in actual fact, she was certainly not unpleasing to the eye. I felt she appeared to be not too far away from me in age, too.
I did not think my observation of her was very obtrusive, but, eventually, she began to fidget.
What might happen upon making eye contact, I wondered. Any number of things…
I felt a brief flicker of anticipation. She might—
Actually, it transpired that nothing happened; apart from her frowning and haughtily turning her back to me, that is.
I stared into my drink. So far so bloody good.
Spent rest of the night drinking pint after pint and lamenting my apparently meaningless existence.
Monday 14th February
15:00p.m. Office.
Something outrageous has happened today.
Came into my office this morning to find something on my desk that certainly shouldn't have been there.
It was a heart. A chocolate heart, mark you; not a real one.
It was rather small and wrapped in red foil.
Naturally, I could not work it out. What in the name of arse was it doing on my desk?
And naturally, I thought it must be poisoned.
So, on ascertaining there were no curses on the chocolate, I did what any self-respecting former Death Eater and former Spy would do; I flicked it onto the floor with the nib of my quill and stamped my foot on it. After I'd Banished the mess off the floor and cleaned the caramel off the underside of my shoe, I endeavoured to put the incident from my mind.
If it was not meant as a vengeful attempt to kill me, then no doubt it was a childish joke. Maybe Wilson has a rather under-developed sense of humour I'm only now becoming privy to.
It was only when my stomach started rumbling, rather prematurely before lunch, that I wished I'd eaten it.
Wednesday 16th February
10:00a.m. Office.
This week is beginning to be filled with odd occurrences. Do not like it.
When I got out of the lift this morning, I noticed the department receptionist smile at me. No one ever smiles at me, especially not receptionists, because I usually pay them absolutely no attention. It's not any fault of theirs, it's just a product of my irrepressibly brusque nature.
Hmm… Think she may be a new-ish member of the admin team, so… she'll learn not to smile, in time.
11:00a.m.
Wilson has presented me with our latest recruit this morning, and I don't care what anyone says, I shall be using my logic test.
That is what she is working on now. Yes, it's a she.
Am consummate professional, of course, and would never consider the merits of a trainee under my tutelage. Mind you, on the face of it, she does have some, ah, merits, does Miss Helena Moran. Remarkably long and shiny brown hair, for one. A charming countenance, for another. Legs up to her—
Shall not go any further.
But why are they always so bloody young? Twenty-two, her file says. Is there no one around over the age of forty, these days?
Regardless, I shall not be seeking the attention of Miss Moran, for once I've finished with her training, she'll like as much want to kill me. So, not point bothering, really.
12:00p.m.
Miss Moran has finished my puzzle within half an hour. Not a record time, by any stretch, but she did complete it correctly.
Hmm… Not sure I liked the smug expression on her face as she explained her process of deduction. I didn't even ask for a bloody explanation.
Will redouble efforts for round two.
Friday 18th February
18:00p.m.
There has been a rather shocking development on the unknown Valentine's day chocolate front!
When finishing my shift tonight, instead of storming straight for the lifts, as is my wont, I took my leave at a slower pace and happened to glance at the lady behind the reception desk.
And lo, she was looking right at me. The same one who smiled at me two days prior.
Her look was not your average scowl, or look of terror, which I am no stranger to, but it was a rather measuring look that turned into a small, secret smile when she caught my eye. She turned back to her parchments with, and I don't think I imagined it, a flick of her hair. All I did was dumbly throw myself into a lift.
Is she responsible for putting the chocolate on my desk? She would have access to my office, so it is highly plausible.
I shall have to wait until Monday to gather further information on this score. Perhaps, upon arrival on Monday, I shall try a greeting myself and see how she responds.
Am unsure as to what precisely I should say. Wilson always greets his staff brightly and effusively every morning. That certainly is not me.
'Hello' will have to suffice.
Monday 21st February
13:00p.m. Canteen.
Interesting morning.
Despite my previous resolve, I paid the receptionist not one glance when I arrived this morning. Could only imagine that to do otherwise would be to put myself in a situation where I might feel considerably ridiculous.
But, mid-morning, there came a knock on the door, and it was her. She came in—a little blonde thing she is, reminding me, for some reason, of a Hufflepuff. I wondered if I might have taught her at some point, but she is not immediately familiar to me. Anyway, she came in and handed me a folder.
'Mr. Wilson requested I pass this onto you, Mr. Snape.'
She smiled quite charmingly, I must say.
All I said was: 'Very well.'
She made to leave, but then paused. 'My name is Lucinda, by the way, if you need anything.'
I'm not sure why, but when I said, 'Very well… Lucinda,' she blushed and scuttled out.
I must say that I shall be keeping an eye on her. That she might be interested in me is right at the bottom of my list. More than likely, she has heard of my reputation as a Potioneer and needs some exotic potion she cannot afford to buy, or maybe she is hoping I can put in a good word for her with Wilson…
Or maybe… I wonder if she wants to kill me? When you've lived the life I have, that option, unfortunately, has to be considered.
And I, most emphatically, was not born yesterday.
Wish I'd saved some of that chocolate heart for rigorous testing now. Oh well, it can't be helped.
Shall simply have to ensure wand is directly accessible whenever she is nearby.