The Diary of a Nobody

Wednesday 3rd October

17:56

Horace's single malt has finally arrived.

Ah, bliss.

Friday 5th October

13:31 — Apothecary. Annoyed.

Humph.

Was caught off-guard today — well and truly caught unawares.

Unready and unprepared.

The incident in question occurred whilst I was dealing with an infestation of doxies at the back of the shop, in amongst all the mouldering old boxes I've yet to dispose of. Doxies are nasty bloody blighters. I'd hoped to blitz them all without haste — didn't want them getting into the apothecary proper, after all. But they proved worthy adversaries, mind, and I ended up blitzing a lot more besides. I was thus occupied when Jess's voice sounded through the door.

'Boss?'

I ignored him.

'Boss?'

I still ignored him.

'Someone here to see you, boss.'

Ditto.

'Boss? They say it's important.'

At this point, I lost track of a particularly massive doxy and ended up blasting a shower of sawdust through the air. 'I'm busy, Jess! Tell them I'll see them when I actually give a toss!'

It was probably my subsequent grumbling as I tried to brush my robes down and squint the dust from my eyes that masked the sound of the door opening and closing. There was no mistaking the voice — the female voice — that spoke, however.

'It won't take long,' she said.

Oh bloody buggering hell, I thought.

I spun round involuntarily. There she was — bedecked, as per usual, in her Wizengamot get-up. Her lips lifted in a tight smile as she weaved her way directly towards me. I must say, I felt a wave of foreboding at this action. Had she come to belatedly hex me? Her apparent need for proximity suggested it may even be a slap…

But no… She halted soon enough and simply produced a scroll of papers (and was I disappointed, eh… ?)

'Look, I apologise for interfering,' she proclaimed, and I must say, boldly eyeballing me as she did so. She put the papers down on a nearby crate and paused before speaking again. 'I'd advise you to co-operate with the Muggles, Severus. It's for the best.'

I did nothing. Honestly, I don't know where my voice had gone.

'The details are all here.' She nodded at the papers. 'If there's anything you, ah, well, you know… let me know, if you want.'

She went to take her leave then.

'Thanks,' I managed to articulate — genuinely grateful, I suppose, and, indeed, mildly repentant. I think she understood. In any case, she nodded an acknowledgement before leaving.

Ten minutes later, I was still standing there uselessly when Jess came in and said, 'Cup of tea, boss?'

'No—'

'You got yourself a young lady, B—'

'Just bugger off, will you?'

He went, and I was left alone — in every sense of the word — again.

(Yes; I'm really that maudlin).

19:00

Feel like shit after today. Why do I always feel like shit?

Keep thinking I should have said something else… something more to… Oh, it's no good. Not going to make any difference now.

19:24

Amongst the papers Granger left me is a letter from the East Riding Council, offering me compensation for the loss of my home. The money will equate to 40% of the market value of the property.

Oh, wonderful.

I'll be rolling in it.

40% of the market value… I estimate the market value to be at nil, anyway. Bloody bastards.

I've half a mind to go marching down there and to bloody well show them…

Humph. On previous form, that kind of behaviour will get me precisely nowhere.

23:45 — Pissed.

Horace's single malt is… emptey… no… empty... Everything's going wrong...

I can't… I want to write… um… that I'm still in…. That I'm —

…

Bugger it.

Sunday 7th October

Boring old day, yet again. Only point to note is that Minerva wants to meet for lunch sometime this week.

Great.

I can hardly contain my anticipation.

Tuesday 9th October

10:05

Dear Lord.

My eyes must be deceiving me.

The most, frankly, astonishing thing has happened. This morning I received an Owl from the Department of Mysteries, and they appear to be requesting a meeting about the possibility of them… offering me my old job back…

It must be a joke, surely.

And yet, it seems official enough… parchment seems as cheap as I remember it…

Hah! I think they really do want me back.

I love it.

Shall I go? Oh, I'm definitely going. I could do with a laugh!

October the 15th is going to be a bright day indeed, I can feel it already.

Friday 12th October

Oh Merlin's arse.

Meeting with Minerva was, as ever, a disaster. Why do I bother trying to be sociable? It only ever back-bloody-fires on me. Who should pass through the Leaky whilst we were awaiting the arrival of our dinner?

Yes. Exactly.

Minerva, of course, couldn't pretend she hadn't seen her. Neither could she limit herself to a polite acknowledgement. Oh no. She had to leap from her chair, all smiles at the bushy-haired know-it-all and the Potter spawn she had clutching onto her hand.

Granger managed to say 'Hello, Severus,' fairly equably, so, being the gentlemanly sort I am, I reciprocated.

But by then I was surplus to requirements. They fussed and flapped over the young James Potter, which, I might add, he enjoyed to no end (wonder where he gets that from…?), giving me, unfortunately, ample opportunity to study my erstwhile companion. Not something I've had chance to do in a long time.

Something has been bothering her, lately, I feel. I've absolutely no idea what, but it seems clear. Bloody hell. Hark at me, talking like I have an understanding of the machinations of her mind. Surely, if I were so perceptive, I would have seen her dumping me well before she finally did?

Still, it's become a novelty to look on her, and I suppose it was nice to see her in something other than those preposterous work robes she wears… Why do I always bang on about her Winzegamot robes? I fear I may have a strange fetish for them…

Anyway, when we were finally left alone, Minerva sat down and sucked in a breath. 'My, that was awkward, wasn't it?'

Quite the master of the understatement, she is.

'What did you expect, Minerva, hmm? Hugs? Laughter, maybe? Song?'

'Well, it's been months, now, Severus; time enough to forget all that nonsense, eh? You're both adults, after all.'

She doesn't know all the details, of course… And I won't tell her, so I elected to ignore her. She, however, blundered on.

'You could do with a few more friends, after all.'

Charming. Bloody charming. 'Minerva —'

'Oh, don't glare at me. The two of you obviously had something in common, otherwise you'd never have started… fraternising. I fail to see why you can't let bygones be bygones. I thought you'd grown out of holding grudges—'

'Yes, well done, Minerva. You've hit the nail on the head: it's all my fault, yet again. When will I ever learn to feel anything other than pettiness and resentment, eh?'

The righteousness of others pisses me off to no end.

Well, she had the grace to look abashed, at least. 'I'm sorry, Severus; you're—'

'We might as well be strangers, now, anyway,' I muttered fiercely into my pint; discomfort, not doubt, compelling my self-justification.

It's true, though. How did relations between us deteriorate so quickly? Why did they? She doesn't feel the same way. She doesn't care about me… in the way that I would like — that's the bottom line. I can resent her for it… but do I need to blame her for it? I can be bitter about it… who wouldn't be?

But, perhaps, I've lost more than I realise in doing so.

I have a feeling this may be the strapline to my whole existence thus far.

17:45

At least I have a meeting with the ministerial dim-wits to look forward to.

Monday 15th October

15:15

Things have taken an unexpected turn.

Went to the meeting at the Department of Mysteries and it is as I anticipated — they are sorely missing my particular skill and talent at recruiting sharp minds.

Of course Wilson is long gone, as Miss Moran told me some weeks ago.

I had intended to tell them exactly where to shove their job offer, but the position they're offering is not precisely the same as I previously held. They want to offer me a consultee role. It seems I would only be required at the Ministry intermittently.

Now… Only a fool would turn their nose up at a second income. And when you're a man faced with homelessness by the end of the year, foolishness is not really an option. I've decided to consider it, anyway.

Hmm… a private consultancy business seems to have sprung up around me quite unexpectedly. Perhaps things are finally looking up. If I agree to the post, I'll be far too busy to dwell on more… personal matters…

Merlin; I'll be Minister before long.

Tuesday 16th October

14:56 — Work.

Should I take on extra responsibility, then what of the apothecary? Jess would be able to manage on his own if I were to be absent for a day or so. He seems reliable and trustworthy enough.

Takings for any day I'm away will be rigorously scrutinised, mind.

Wednesday 17th October

Why shouldn't I have two jobs, eh? I'll probably be condemning myself to the boredom I so reviled once upon a time, but...

When you have no social life to speak of, you might as well fill up your working one...

17:00

It's done. I've Owled my acceptance.

Hope enough time has passed for me not to seem desperate.

Friday 19th October

Bumped into Weasley in the Leaky tonight. Haven't seen him for a while. I was at the bar (where else?), when he appeared at my side.

'All right, Snape, mate? How's it going?'

'How many times… I'm not your mate, Weasley.'

He shrugged. 'Guess what?' he said, oblivious to my derision. 'I'm playing in the match on Saturday! I'm back on the team!'

Oh glorious heavenly beings, what extraordinary news!

'Wonderful.'

'And Harry tells me you're back at the Ministry. Things are finally looking up, eh, Snape?' He downed a huge gulp of his beer and laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. 'Oh, yes, things are looking up, indeed.'

Then he was gone. I stared after him, wondering if he'd fallen foul of my more potent stock at the Apothecary. What an idiot. I give him five minutes back on the starting line-up for the Cannons.

And when did Potter find out about my new job? I've told no one and I don't start until next month.

Hmm.

Monday 22nd October

Got a bit of a problem (when haven't I?)

Ginevra came into the apothecary, ostensibly to buy some supplies, but I've a feeling this was a secondary motive. I was engrossed a crossword and only managed a half-arsed greeting. When she approached me, I hoped she'd take what she'd come for and simply leave. No such bloody luck. As I wrapped up her purchases, and felt her eyes boring fiercely into me, I knew there was something she wanted to say.

And sure enough, a rush of outward breath was followed by an indignant appeal.

And, gah, made a right prick of myself

'Aren't you even going to enquire as to how Hermione is?' she asked, glaring.

I raised an eyebrow with measured indifference. 'Should I?' I questioned flippantly. I wanted to add a yawn, but felt that might be going a bit far.

Her mouth slackened slightly and she simply stared at me. Admittedly, I was a little thrown by the potency of her umbrage. It's over three months (!) since Granger binned me; it's not strange that she's not my immediate (outward) concern every time I come into contact with someone connected with her, is it? I may have said something to this effect and Ginevra's reaction was quite something to behold. Indeed, were it not for the counter between us, I fear she may have thrown out her fist and decked me.

'Selfish bastard,' she muttered with disgust. Her head shook disbelievingly. 'I thought… I thought you really cared about her, but it seems Ron was right.'

So saying, she turned and marched forcefully towards the door.

'Hang on,' I called out uncertainly, moving around the counter. 'You can't speak to me like that,' I hissed. 'Has something happened? Believe it or not, Mrs Potter, but I'm not actually psychic.'

She paused in the doorway and looked confused for a moment. 'What… You haven't heard about her parents, then?'

'Does it look like it?'

'They've split up — her mother's been having an affair…'

Well, well.

'And how, pray, was I supposed to know this?'

Her expression now looked faintly troubled. 'You met Ron in the Leaky the other night, didn't you?'

I nodded affirmatively.

'He, ah, said he told you what was going on, how upset Hermione has been, and that you… didn't seem to care.'

I have to admit, I was stunned. I still am vaguely stunned. Clearly, I'm losing my grip in my old age. My energies have been so focused on telling myself that I'm 'moving on' that I've completely missed Weasley double-crossing me. For that's what he's done, and it was written all over his sister's face too.

What snide comments has been dropping about me around Granger, eh?

He's picked his opportunity well. It's very clear-cut. The perfect chance to make himself indispensable, whilst she's vulnerable, and then throwing in the odd remark about my apparent indifference for good measure, as well.

Nice one, Weasley. Ginger prick. Wanker.

'Listen, I think you should go and see her.'

I looked at Ginevra in some surprise. 'Why?'

A shadow passed over her face and she looked away. 'Look, I should go. It's none of my business, really, I promised I'd— Good day to you.'

The door closed and I retreated behind the counter. I'm still confused. I've no idea what I should do.

Should I do anything, at all? Have I not already decided to wash my hands of the whole business? So she's having difficulty with her parents… What's my involvement supposed to be — the man who's barely spoken to her in the last three months or so? And so Weasley, by all accounts, is still trying to worm his way back in… He's found an opening, and he's used it…What exactly can I do to stop that? Me — the man who she, let's not forget, binned because she wasn't really that interested.

For crying out loud, I've been raking over the same old shit for weeks now. What happens to her is no longer my business, and yes, I think I'd far rather it stay that way than anything else.

There.

Decisive and straightforward.

I like it.

If she decides she wants Weasley back then that's her prerogative, isn't it?

I can't make her change her mind or…

Well, I could… but there are moral and legal hurdles to wrestle with, so…

It's her choice.

I've always underestimated the value of choice…

Anyway, didn't she say she didn't want him? But she's upset and Weasley's there to manipulate that… If I turn up there now, won't I be doing the same thing?

And if it's not Weasley, it'll be some other man, eventually, she'll get invo—

Oh God.

Tuesday 23rd October

10:02 — Apothecary.

What she does with herself is no longer anything to do with me.

12:06 — Lunch. Leaky.

What happens to her is none of my business.

14:00 — East Anglia. Delivering potions.

I'm washing my hands of it all. I'm moving on.

And now I shall endeavour to forget the whole sorry matter.

Wednesday 24th October

Argh!

Why does nothing I ever do go right? Why?

Serves me right for being a maudlin old fool, I suppose. Serves me right for having the self-discipline of a child in a sweet-shop. Problem is, I haven't been able to get Potter's wife from my mind. Her words, I hasten to add. Keep asking myself whether she was right — that I should present myself to Granger… Why would she suggest it, if she didn't think it would be welcomed? Surely she would know better than most?

Unless… Could always be delayed vengeance, I suppose, but I doubt it.

Anyway, after much (but clearly not enough) cogitating I ended up on the doorstep of Potter's abode. It was midday. It was midweek. Potter would be at work. Ginevra would, likely enough, be at home with the children.

So, little knowing my folly loomed large, I knocked the door.

Guess who answered?

Bloody Granger herself!

She flinched in surprise. 'Oh, hello… What are you doing here?'

'I was… I was looking for Mrs Potter.'

'Ginny?' A deep frown formed across her face. 'Harry and Ginny have gone away; I'm looking after the kids.'

I nodded, wishing an abyss would open up beneath me.

'I could take, ah, a message, I suppose…'

Fuck. Had to quickly think up a reason for being there. 'She, ah, had something on order at the Apothecary.'

'I'll pass it on to her, if you like?'

Oh God! How stupid was I going to look having to tell her that I'd forgotten to bring the package?

'Um…. It's…' I reached into my robe, hardly knowing what I was going to say, but I was saved from prevarication. Saved, but possibly condemned to eternal damnation, too, for Weasley, yes, Weasley, appeared in the hallway behind her. How gormless he always looks never fails to amaze me.

'Al's crying, Hermione, and I can't get him to stop. Can you sort him out? And George just Flooed; I said we'd meet him in Diagon Alley.'

The dawning realization I'd interrupted some little pseudo family outing left me vaguely sickened.

With an 'Excuse me, Severus,' and one parting look, Granger disappeared into the house and I was left with a single solitary Weasel in my sights. Resisting the urge to hex him, I decided I only wanted to get away from the place. Before I could do so, Weasley called to me.

His face had turned knowing and entirely self-satisfied. 'No, ah, hard feelings, eh, mate?' he murmured before closing the door.

No hard feelings?

It settles it. He needs sorting out.

Friday 26th October

21:45 — Withernsea.

Matters, if they can be deemed such, refuse to lie.

Ginevra has accosted me again. This time in Knockturn Alley of all places; and I have no explanation other than she must have followed me.

'We must stop meeting like this… Mrs Potter. You know how people like to talk.'

I don't think she was very happy that I was smirking as I spoke. Oh well.

'Listen,' she said briskly. 'It's my father's birthday next weekend — we're all going to the Leaky on the Saturday —'

'How lovely for —'

'What a coincidence it will be if you happen to be there, and let's face it, the amount you drink, it actually could hardly be considered a coincidence at all.'

Cheeky bint!

'There'll be lots of people around; perfect opportunity to talk to Hermione, all right?'

And with an 'I've got to go', she buggered off. Say what to Hermione? I wanted to shout after her. What the fuck is there to say? Congratulations for letting Weasley weasel his way back into favour like the slimy weasel he is? Congratulations for never failing to leave me feeling like a right prick every time I see you?

I'm sick of it. I'm certainly not going anywhere near the bloody Leaky on Saturday. I've got far better things to turn my attention to.

Monday 29th October

Bugger.

Things aren't looking good, because, as it stands, I'm currently locked up in a cell beneath the Wizengamot. And, incidentally, they haven't changed a jot.

The charge? Aurors caught Weasley and me duelling in the middle of Diagon Alley.

'Bugger' pretty much sums it all up, I think.

And I'm terrified — terrified because they took my diary from me when my possessions were confiscated. Forget having my wand taken — I'll die if the spells on my diary fail. I'm currently recording these thoughts via magical means. It's helping to take my mind off visions of pages of my diary being sent around the Ministry like some official piece of memoranda.

Oh God.

How long will I be stuck here? Not as if Weasley was hurt… a great deal, anyway.

16:41

Been stuck here for three hours now.

17:09

It all started when he came into the Apothecary this afternoon, chest puffed out, clad in Cannons garb, and with a face even a vicar would want to punch. If that was bad enough, he put on the counter a selection of cosmetically enhancing potions (that I only stock to be competitive, mind you) and grinned widely. 'All right, mate?'

'Weasley,' I ground out.

And then he dropped the bomb.

'Hermione and I are off out tonight. Thought perhaps you should know…'

I stared at him, resolving there and then that by hook or by crook, he'd be going nowhere with anyone.

He handed over some money and shrugged his shoulders at my look. 'Look, mate,' he said lifting his hands helplessly. 'All's fair, you know?'

I still stared.

'Hermione and me… You won't be too pissed off if we get back together, will you? I'd hate to think we'd upset you.' He proceeded to rest his forearms on the counter and leaned forward, shaking his head in thought. 'She was telling me, the other day, about some Muggle bloke called, um, Darmin, I think, yes, Darmin, and his theory about… Oh what did she call it…? She went on about it for an age… Oh, survival of the fittest!' He shrugged his shoulders again. 'That's me and you, Snape, you know? It's just nature, in the end; and we can't argue with that, eh?'

Smiling sympathetically, he took his purchases and left.

Needless to say, I was gobsmacked. But if there is anybody in this world who imagines I could let Ronald Weasley, full-time fuckwit extraordinaire, use, of all things, Charles Darwin's theory of natural selection as a justification for his winning Granger back, then they are misguided fools.

It simply could not be borne.

It would be a fair assessment of the situation to say I flew blindly around the counter and yanked the door off its hinges. And it would be quite apt to say a sudden chill of serenity seemed to swathe me as I clocked him dithering outside Madame Malkin's. I stepped forward to afford myself better aim, removed my wand and pointed it at him. Of course, I wouldn't strike him in the back, however.

Oh no.

'Weasley!' I called loudly, entirely ignoring the looks of others. 'It would appear you've forgotten something.'

He turned, and what, initially, was a confused frown melted beautifully into a look of complete surprise.

I hexed him, naturally, and when he'd crumpled uselessly to the floor, I went to stand over him. 'Spend five galleons today and you get a free hex, see?'

'Bastard!' he spat breathlessly, hurriedly scrambling for his wand.

Suppose I should have ended it there. Suppose I could have prevented him from reaching his wand. Suppose I could have walked away. I could have done many things, but what I did do was simply stand back and allow him to collect himself. Because, do you know what? I was up for it. I was more than up for it. I was prepared to show him a practical demonstration of survival of the fucking fittest, and more besides.

So we duelled. I'm not going to try and capture it with words because I'm not sure I could adequately express how delicious it was. Conditions, I grant, weren't ideal. A jeering crowd formed. Some ladies were panicking loudly. Flourish and Blott's shopfront was caught in the crossfire. And when we were tackled to the floor by a pair of Aurors, I did my shoulder in against the cobbles.

Bloody killing me it is, too.

Still, who won the duel?

Well, let's just say the Aurors, when they disarmed me, took two wands.

Ha.

17:56

How much bloody longer? Dying for a pint.

21:25 — Home. Finally.

Well, I'm out. I'm free. I'm liberated.

Yet... sort of wish I was still locked up. I wouldn't be able to do half the idiotic things I do if I were incarcerated.

Anyway, the story of release runs thus. I was lying down on the bench that ran the full width of the cell, dozing with boredom, when I heard the door open and close. I turned my head sharply, believing that I was to be confronted by an Auror, but… alas, to my eternal misfortune, a sign of a rather different form of captivity stood before me.

And she didn't look pleased.

For a split second, I thought I might have been dreaming. But as I righted myself, I knew I couldn't have imagined the jabbing pain in my shoulder, or the ripple of embarrassment that she should witness my predicament. And I'm quite sure my imagination could have come up with a far more enjoyable greeting than her looming over me and hissing 'What the hell has been going on?'

Her hands were on her hips and she had her stupid Wizengamot hat on, for crying out loud, and those awful bloody robes…

All right; all right. I keep on mentioning those bloody robes of hers — I can't help it. I suppose I've avoided dwelling on why they cause me such chagrin because it's… a bit unseemly. But yes, I see them and immediately wish I could rid her of them. There, I've said it.

…

I should cross it out, by right…

I digress.

'I thought Harry had made a mistake when he told me both you and Ron were currently being held for hexing the crap out of each other, for causing a public disturbance, and oh yes, for causing damage to Flourish and Blotts!'

'Calm down; no books were damaged.'

Oh dear. Her expression became thunderous. Evidently, the time for facetiousness was long gone.

'This, I might add, is a lot more than can be said for Ron. You gave him a real pasting, Severus.'

I think whatever was left of my cranky old heart shrivelled up and died then. Clearly, Weasley was her priority, and perhaps, always would be. Ginevra, I felt, had it wrong. I had it wrong.

'Why did you do it?'

I liked how convinced she was that it was me who started it.

'What does it matter? Go and tend to Weasley.'

I lay back down, closed my eyes and let the pointlessness of my actions wash over me. When there was only silence, I spoke again grumpily. 'Haven't you got some miscreant that needs defending in the courtroom?'

There was a soft thump and then the sound of her voice, somewhere near my ear. 'Yes,' she murmured with a hint of irony.

My eyes flew open and I looked to see she was kneeling on the floor, watching me. Unsettled, I returned to an upright position and wished she would leave. 'I don't require your assistance,' I pointed out as indifferently as I could.

'You want to stay in here all night, then, do you?'

'It's as good a place as any. No chance of this place falling into the sea, after all.'

I stole a quick glance at her. She was looking at her hands, but I thought a detected the sign of a smile on her face. For a good few minutes there was only silence between us, and oddly enough, I thought it the calmest interlude I've experienced in a long time. I wouldn't care how long I spent locked up if she was there too.

(Just when I think I've reached the limit of wretchedness, I always manage to plumb new depths.)

'I thought you and Ron were big pals these days?'

I glared at her harshly. 'You wash your mouth out, my girl! Pals, indeed; the very thought…'

She laughed, while I lamented how easy it is for us to fall back into a familiar camaraderie.

'He's an idiot,' she said, after a moment. 'But that doesn't excuse you attacking him.'

I said nothing. I barely heard her after the word 'idiot'. My senses were further impaired when she seated herself beside me. And when she took my hand and healed the scrapes across my knuckles with her wand, I felt like I might be on my last legs.

She appeared oblivious to my discomfort. Patting my fingers, she released me and then sprang to her feet. 'They won't keep you in overnight. Ron has —'

'Oh, I don't want any favours from him. I'd rather a spell in Azkaban than be beholden to him,' I spat fiercely.

'It's got nothing to do with Ron, all right? And I think it best if you stay away from each other in future.'

I stared at my hands. So I was to be beholden to her. She was to pull a few strings, was she? I felt rather hollow about it all, really. It must have been so bloody obvious that the only reason we duelled was because of her. Why can't it be the other way around? Why can't there be women brawling in the streets over me? Why am I always the one driven out of my mind by jealousy, eh? Why?

If she would just tell me to leave her alone. If she would just tell me that she never wants to see my face ever again, then I might be able to manage.

I thought she was going to leave, and I waited for the sound of it, but she remained still. I didn't dare look up to see what transfixed her so. Perhaps she was waiting for some sort of apology or thank you, and I debated internally what words I had in my arsenal that wouldn't sound too grudging or resentful.

We'll simply say it was a struggle.

I was reprieved, however. She said my name, and in such a quietly earnest way that I almost flinched. I lifted my head and she was standing there, hat now in hand, and looking for all the world like a little lost sheep.

'Um, would it be… Could we perhaps—'

Whatever she was about to say was lost as the door flung open and an Auror loomed in the doorway expectantly. Hermione shoved her hat back on her head, squared her shoulders, and marched out.

It came to pass that an hour or so later, I was back in Yorkshire.

Alone.

Yay.

AN: Nearly there : )