The Diary of a Nobody

Monday 3rd October

13:54 — Yorkshire.

Have had a rather interesting thought…

I expect Weasley, as the uncle to Potter's child, shall be attending this ridiculously superfluous naming ceremony.

(I realise it's unfortunate I'm actually wasting my thoughts on this occasion.)

Hmm…

I just… I just have a rather overwhelming urge to see Weasley's face upon my turning up at Grimmauld Place. Think it would be an enjoyable picture, indeed.

But still, pissing Weasley off is probably not reason enough for me to put myself through the tedium that is any event Potter throws.

Would be an excuse to get out of the house, though.

Shows how desperate I am.

However, I cannot leave my father unattended for too long, so this pondering is all redundant really.

Thursday 6th October

14:12

Granger still hasn't been back here since the incident of her birthday. Goes from one extreme to the other, doesn't it? One minute I can't take a step out of the front door without bumping into her, and the next, nothing.

Am uncomfortably aware this sounds like I'm complaining.

I hasten to add that this says less about Granger than it does about my complete and utter boredom here in Yorkshire. There is literally no one to talk to. Can't even have a stilted, awkward and vague conversation with my father these days.

His condition seems to be noticeably deteriorating. He's been in his own little world for the majority of the time recently; one where I, clearly, have no place, for he looks right through me usually.

The nurse suggested I could consider hospitalising him. In his current state, he is unlikely to even notice the change, she said. I wonder if she thinks I can't cope? That I am out of my depth…?

Regardless, I can see the point of her suggestion, and I thought about it, but there is nothing more they can do for him in hospital that can't be done here. And… I feel I should respect his wishes, even if he can't remember ever making them.

I can manage. I've come this far, and I'm not the type to take the easy option.

Have been able to be quite productive, however, during the last few days. While my father is in this state of confusion, he is more willing to drink the potions I make. He, of course, has no idea they are potions; I just tell him it's his medicine. I could tell him I'm his doctor and he wouldn't know any different.

Have had to be careful regarding the nurse, of course; but she never lingers once she has seen to my father, so I think I shall be all right. As long as she never asks to go into the kitchen, anyway.

So, have spent the last few days brewing supplies of medicinal potions, including Dreamless Sleep. Always handy. Also brewed a cross between a wit-sharpening potion and a clarity potion.

I developed the recipe some time ago, thinking that it might aid my father better during his 'episodes' than the Muggle medicine, but, of course, if it didn't come in tablet-form, in a labelled plastic bottle, he didn't want to know.

Wanted to know what was in it, he did, and as soon as the words 'armadillo bile' passed my lips, he told me to get lost.

Like any of the incomprehensible crap they put in Muggle drugs is any more prepossessing than armadillo bile!

Anyway, I wondered whether I should try again. Wouldn't cure him, of course, but it might help to clear his mind for a time.

And then I thought—would clarity be any better for him? Maybe the fog of the illness is easier for him to bear than anything else. Maybe it's a relief not to remember.

Oh, what do I know, really…?

But sometimes… I feel like I might like to forget…

Monday 10th October

11:30 —Hospital.

My father has had to be admitted into hospital.

The nurse reckons he has developed an infection and so she has suggested he spend a few days under the care of the doctors. I can't deny the prospect of a few days off doesn't fill me with a certain sense of relief.

He did not go quietly, however.

'I don' bloody wan' ta go ta 'ospital!' he shouted. 'If I go in there, I'll never come back out!'

So much for him not being aware of the change, then.

The nurse had to resort to sweet-talking him. I'm glad one of us was able, because there was fat fucking chance of me charming him into co-operation.

'Are yer comin' wi' us, Philip?'

So I was Philip, again.

Uncle Phil… I don't have many memories of Philip Snape, except a general impression that he was a rather questionable character (can be said of many Snapes, mind). In any case, I'm not sure I want to know precisely why I should remind my father of his brother. Hope it's just physical resemblance.

The prospect of setting foot into a Muggle hospital was not an enticing one, but… I could hardly leave him to it.

And so… into the ambulance I got…

An experience, I might add, I shall endeavour never to repeat.

Tuesday 11th October

Shall be going to visit my father shortly.

Visit will consist of me sitting silently next to his bed, while he lies there, probably grumbling to himself.

Thrilling.

They're going to keep him in for a few days, which means, in theory, I could go to Potter's tomorrow afternoon, after all…

Ugh. If I didn't know better, I'd say my father has done this on purpose, just to torment me.

Just man up, Snape. Just admit that a tiny, barely credible part of you would prefer to go to Potter's than sit alone twiddling your thumbs.

There…. Have admitted it and the world has not imploded…

Shame.

Wednesday 12th October

18:30 — Hospital.

So I went to Potter's.

And it was no shifty, awkward entrance I made. Oh no. I walked in like I owned the place.

There was a reason for my performance, of course; a ginger reason. Once in, I noticed several things and the main point of interest was, above all, Weasley's staggered expression when he caught my eye.

Loved it. A job well done, I thought.

He wasn't the only one to look at me. There were a few covert glances, in fact. I think Potter must have kept the decision as to his son's middle name rather quiet. Wish I'd gone to the actual ceremony now, to collate how many gasps there were.

Ha! Well, despite my unwavering disapproval of Potter's choice, I must say, I do enjoy putting people off-kilter.

Minerva marched over to me straight away, cutting directly to the heart of the matter. 'Severus, why did you never say Harry would be naming his son after you!'

'You never said I had to inform you of ever minor detail pertaining to my good self.'

'It's hardly minor, Severus! Harry gave this flowery speech at the ceremony and spoke like you and he are bosom buddies. You could have knocked me down with a feather, I can tell you!'

Lord; a speech? Thank fuck I didn't go to the ceremony!

And bosom buddies? I've possibly never been more offended in my life.

'I'll thank you not to defame my character by implying what you just did, Minerva,' I said smoothly.

She blew out a breath. 'Albus Severus…' she said quietly to herself, shaking her head in wonder. 'Whatever next?'

'Sickening, isn't it?'

Potter really hasn't considered the connotations of what he has created. A hybrid of me and Dumbledore, even in name only, is, frankly, something to be avoided at all costs, I would think.

'Tell me, how was Weasley during the event?'

'Ronald?' she clarified. 'Well… now that I think on it, he looked a bit… peaky, actually. Why?'

I smiled inwardly. 'Oh, no reason.'

Weasley must be loving having a nephew named after the man who dropped him headfirst into the shit! I'm actually considering commending Potter for it!

Hmm… that would be rather hasty…

Anyway, it was not Weasley but Granger I was interested in seeing next. I felt there was a bone I needed to pick with her. I scanned the room and found her sitting with Albus… the child in question… in her arms. I watched her determinedly until she deigned to glance up from the infant. When she saw me, however, to my astonishment, she blushed violently and started to fidget.

Very odd behaviour from her, I thought.

I began towards her, and, evidently, she guessed my intentions for she dumped the child back with its mother and stood. She was not quick enough, however.

'Granger,' I said sharply, and she tried to look like she hadn't been mapping out escape routes. 'My father has been sitting at his window every day, anticipating your return.'

'What?' she exclaimed, pale with dismay. 'Really?'

I nodded solemnly.

'Oh dear; I'm very sorry. I've just been so… very busy… Um… work has been hectic and…'

I've seen first-year Hufflepuffs tell better tales. I raised my eyebrows sceptically.

'Fine,' she admitted, lowering her voice. 'Look, I was a bit embarrassed after turning up on your doorstep that night and getting pissed.'

The only thing that went through my mind was, 'Oh.' Hadn't expected that line of defence.

'I can't remember half the things I said…'

'All right for some, then,' I muttered dryly and her cheeks darkened again.

'Oh God, I can't stop cringing when I think about it,' she blurted, putting a hand over her eyes.

I considered that she didn't really have a lot to be embarrassed for, so the fact that she obviously was left me feeling oddly… pleased… Not sure if that is the precise word I am looking for… but it'll do.

More than that, I rather enjoyed the fact that I had bore witness to her moment of weakness. Not for any callous reason on my part; no, simply that of all the places she could have gone…

Am unsure whether I have to include my father in that equation… Or even the house, for that matter—the happenstance of it being on her favourite walk. Oh God, am I now relegated to third on the list…?

'We've all done things we wouldn't normally do without a push from other quarters. In your case, the bottle. Besides, maybe we're both equal on the embarrassment front, now…?'

I was being generous; magnanimous, even, but no, she had to take advantage of me, didn't she!

Her face suddenly brightened and she laughed loudly. 'You mean that stunt you pulled with the car?'

'If you've told anyone…'

'By the way, I forgot to ask before, but just who is Stanley Pumphrey?'

She's a cow.

She laughed again, but worryingly, I wasn't all that bothered. Especially as I could see Weasley watching us. If anything, it only spurred me to prolong her amusement.

'Met him whilst out hugging trees, didn't I.'

Her chuckles became groans. 'I remember mentioning trees, because I had a bit of a nightmare that night—I dreamt I tried to hug the Whomping Willow!'

I snorted. 'Maybe that's all it needs—a bit of affection.'

Suddenly—inexplicably, ridiculously—I wished I were a tree. Think I might be desperate, after all. Before I could dwell on the point, or attempt to decipher the meaning behind her suddenly wistful expression, Weasley was standing next to us.

'Are you laughing at me?' he demanded curtly.

'So what if we are?' I spat immediately.

'Get lost, Snape. What are you even doing here? Harry only named Albus after you because he feels sorry for you.'

'Ron!' Granger snapped.

'What?' he asked flippantly.

'Severus and I were having a private conversation, actually; nothing whatsoever to do with you, all right?'

Weasley glared at the both of us before stalking off angrily, but, of course, the damage had been done. Granger was no longer in any mood for laughing. Her expression was pinched and strained, and eventually, she muttered that she needed to do something. She disappeared, leaving me standing there, frustrated and annoyed.

I became more so when Potter cornered me. 'What have you been doing with yourself lately, then?'

'Nothing,' I answered shortly.

'How's your—'

'Excuse me.'

I walked off, out of the room and into the passage, following a certain ginger abomination. He was heading towards the kitchen—to stuff his gormless face, probably—but he stopped mid-step when he heard my tread.

The split second it took for him to turn around was all the time I had in which to wonder at what I was playing at.

'You can stand and glare at me all you want, Snape; I'm not afraid of you.'

He turned to go and I stepped forward. 'You should be.'

'Why?'

'Why don't you just leave Granger alone, eh? She obviously cannot stand you any longer.'

'It's got fuck all to do with you. So why don't you do us all a favour and do one?'

Whatever reply I had planned was curtailed by an interruption from another quarter.

'Is, ah…everything all right?' This was Potter's wife.

Wasn't sure whether to be grateful or to resent her timing. 'Perfectly, Mrs Potter.' I moved past her, back into the party, preparing to think I may have made a mistake in talking to Weasley in such a way. What if he tells Granger what I said?

What if…

Well, I'm allowed to be concerned, aren't I? After all, Weasley did punch me. I shall simply say I fear he may have become a little unhinged.

But if… If this is an excuse, then what is my true reason for approaching him?

Will not think about it.

I just can't help it if the sight of him fills me with contempt. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I didn't stay much longer at Potter's. I beat a hasty retreat when Potter's eldest, along with Lupin's child and some other Weasley spawn came barrelling into the room, chasing each other with toy broomsticks and wands. And when Potter joined in, showing as much, if not more, enthusiasm than the children, I knew it was time for me to depart.

Lest the inappropriately snide comment I longed to make pass my lips.

I can be polite and considerate when I want to be; it's just rare that I ever do.

Saturday 15th October

15:09

My father returned home yesterday, but I can't say the hospital stay has done much for him. Have had to place wards on his bedroom. Naturally, he knows nothing whatsoever about it.

Earlier today, a loud crashing noise from above roused me from my reading. I rushed up the stairs, muttering to myself: 'What have you done now?'

I went silent when I saw him lying on the landing, clearly having fallen.

'What are you doing out of bed?' I asked roughly. 'You should have shouted if you needed anything.'

I reached down and clasped his arm, but he immediately wrenched himself free with a strength that surprised me.

'Ger off,' he snarled. 'I can manage, all righ'? There's nowt wrong wi' me!'

I let him struggle for a moment before putting my hands under his arms and hauling upwards. On his feet, he lurched away from me.

'I don' need any 'elp!'

He glared at me, and I could tell he had no idea who I was. Wasn't even Philip now. I clenched my jaw and followed him into his bedroom. He slumped onto the bed, breathing heavily. 'Go away!' he shouted, but the words that followed were such a messy jumble that I was momentarily taken aback. For his own part, he seemed unaware that he was talking nonsense and allowed himself to continue getting riled up.

I tamped down the impatience I am apt to feel and sought, no doubt inadequately, to calm the situation. 'Father… Tobias, why don't you—'

To my astonishment, he suddenly grabbed the clock off his bedside table and threw it towards me. I ducked and it smashed against the wall. Instinctively, I'd snatched out my wand, and his eyes widened fearfully in response to seeing it.

I was frozen for a time, furiously trying to calm myself down, then.

He seemed to give in first. He lay down quietly, with his back to me. When nothing further was forthcoming, I turned and left, casting the spells that would let me know if he managed to cross the threshold of his bedroom unaided again.

I returned downstairs, but forgot my reading. My mind was far too tumultuous to concentrate on anything properly.

I have a ton of booklets and leaflets that the nurse gave me, several years ago now, detailing the ins and outs of my father's condition. I have read through them, of course, and know that these incidents are to be expected, but…

Oh, I don't know…

It's only going to get worse… Maybe I should prepare to admit I'm out of my depth, after all.

But what then?

Monday 17th October

I ventured into Diagon Alley this morning, taking advantage of the nurse being with my father. Since his behaviour has become even more erratic, it would be highly irresponsible for me to leave him alone for any length of time.

So I Apparated away this morning, hoping that my slowly dwindling sanity might recuperate by a change of scene, however brief.

I went to Gringott's to change some money and to check on my resources. My sanity is not the only thing dwindling, it seems. Yet another problem to add to an ever bloody growing list.

I was heading to the Apothecary when I saw the front page of the Daily Prophet on a news stand.

The Weasleys' divorce is now finalised, then. Well, it's one bright spot in an otherwise shitty few weeks to imagine Weasley crying into his beer over the state of his life. I like to think that is how it is, anyway. And judging from his previous behaviour, I would think I'm not too wide of the mark.

As for Granger, well… I'm not sure what she might be doing. Do not like to think she might be crying into her beer. Forced myself to put any further thought of her from my mind, though. Have enough to preoccupy me as it is.

I returned to Withernsea to find the nurse waiting for me

'I think we should talk, Mr Snape,' she said plainly.

A hundred and one reasons as to what she might want to discuss passed through my mind, and each one of them was entirely ridiculous and unreasonable. Was I failing to adequately provide for my father? Did she want to accuse me of something? Neglect?

'About what?' I asked sharply.

Her expression became soft and gentle. 'About you. How are you coping? The stress of—'

'I assure you, I am fine,' I said hurriedly.

Dear lord!

Needless to say, I felt highly uncomfortable; not least because I could see, behind her, that I'd left One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi on the arm of my chair. I'm well aware what connotations 'magical' fungi have in the Muggle world. My defence, should I need one, would just have to be that I'm really, very stressed…

'I can arrange for you to talk to someone who is experienced in—'

'No, no!' Her suggestion made me quail inwardly with alarm. 'Honestly, there is no need.'

I tried to look reassuring, but my face is highly unused to that expression….

'Well, you know where to find me, if you change your mind.'

I nodded and let her out of the house.

Would rather have a nervous breakdown than go to some touchy-feely Muggle and talk about my feelings.

A close shave, indeed.

17:15

I wonder if the nurse thinks I'm weird?

Don't know why I'm wondering about her perception of me, all of a sudden… It's not often that I bother myself with the impression I make on others.

Hmm…

Friday 21st October

Oh my God.

Opened the paper today to find a two-page spread on 'Finding Your Self Worth'.

Immediately, I flicked onwards, wanting to rise above such rubbish… except, my curiosity got the better of me. I flicked back, and I read. I read it all. I was certain it was a load of tosh when I finished, mind.

According to this article, one is encouraged to 'daydream' about their goals or desires. What?

To improve self-esteem, I am… a person is supposed to determine what it is they like about themselves. Try standing in front of a mirror, it said, and say out loud 'I like myself.'

Oh, it's that easy is it? Problem bloody solved because you stand in front of bloody mirror and say you like yourself. Who knew narcissism was the way to get you through all the crap?

Apparently, it's all about 'finding your true identity'.

What a joke.

Make a list about what I like about myself? Merlin.

I'll stick with my 'destructive' thoughts, thanks.

Tuesday 25th October

20:00 — Yorkshire. About to drown my sorrows…

Nightmare of a day.

The first, well, three-quarters of it were unremarkable. Mid-evening, however, Granger turned up on my doorstep. From her attire, I could tell that she must have come straight from work.

'I was in the area and thought I'd drop by, if that's all right? I've been trying to ditch reporters all day…'

At this point, my mood had still been moderately equable, so I just nodded.

'I'm not sure what they want to see, really. Celebration? Tears? Regret? Who knows?'

Regret? Surely not?

'Do you want a drink?' I picked up the bottle of fire whisky I already had on the go.

She looked indecisive, before agreeing to a 'small one'. I watched her cheeks flush at the first sip and then I studied her further. For some reason, I always take note of her work robes. I think it's because they signify to me that she has done well for herself. Regardless of the state of her personal life, she has done well for herself.

I ponder whether there will ever come a time when I can say the same for myself (I'm not going to hold my breath).

In this moment of quiet, I sensed from her expression that she could hear the sound of talking emanating from upstairs. Seemed she was too polite to enquire as to this odd occurrence, although I could tell she wanted to.

'He's talking to my mother,' I explained bluntly, maybe wanting to make her uncomfortable.

A flash of confusion passed over her face. 'Oh? I didn't—'

'My mother died in the eighties.'

Her face fell. 'Oh; I see… I'm sorry…'

I nodded stiffly, not particularly enjoying the pity on her face. Goes to show how eager I was to leave this topic, for my next words were: 'How's Potter?'

Even she looked surprised; not half as surprised as I was, though, I bet. In my defence, it was the only thing I could think of at such short notice.

'Fine… thank you. I'll tell him you were asking after him.'

Oh Merlin.

She smirked to herself.

I frowned distastefully. 'Must you? He might get the wrong impression.'

'You know, it's not Harry's fault that he's always looked for parental figures in his life,' she explained airily.

I stared at her, horrified by the insinuation she had made. 'Are you joking?'

The humour in her expression faded and she shook her head minutely. 'Actually, no.' She smiled apologetically.

I have possibly never been more disturbed in my life, and let's face it, that is saying something, indeed. My expression must have more than communicated my unease at this pronouncement, because she also looked a little bit awkward; as if she wished she hadn't said anything.

She's not the only one!

I looked at my watch. 'Excuse me…' I muttered vaguely, 'I need to see if my father wants Emmerdale on.'

She let out a laugh and I looked sharply at her.

'Sorry,' she said contritely. 'That's just… possibly the most incongruous thing I've ever heard you say.'

Reasonable enough, I suppose.

I escaped up the stairs, muttering to myself angrily about fucking parental figures.

And worse; fucking father figures.

Why did she have to tell me this? It's not funny as a joke, and it's certainly not funny as the truth! Is it really how Potter sees me? Well, God, he's really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, isn't he?

It can't be right, because it's just too wrong. Potter clearly needs some psychiatric help, I think.

I paused for breath at the doorway to my father's room. Of course, he has long since stopped following his television programmes, so I went in and simply stalked over to the window. Anything to give me time to regain my equilibrium.

After a moment, I said: 'Do you want anything, father?'

He didn't reply and I looked at him. He was quiet now and simply staring into nothingness. Nothing particularly new there. His eyes moved to me in time and he then began to mutter to himself, unintelligibly, and I resisted the urge to sigh loudly. I thought he might get into one of his delusions, but after several moments, his expression cleared a tad.

'Pass me the… um… the…'

His mouth opened and closed several times but nothing came out. He looked at me wildly, before pointing to the newspaper at the end of his bed. Automatically, I picked it up and handed it to him, feeling distinctly unsettled.

He took the paper, stared at it, but with a whimper of frustration, flung it away from him and collapsed onto his pillow. I watched him for a time, my heart beginning to beat hard when I realised his shoulders were shaking and that he was… crying.

Proper sobs.

I suddenly felt very cold inside, and, in all honesty, I hardly knew what to do with myself, let alone what to do with him. I know very well what I should have done. But I just do not have it within me to provide that sort of… comfort… for him. Instead, I fled downstairs.

Granger was on her feet when I appeared. 'Is everything all right?' she asked, wide-eyed, no doubt, at the sound of my father's distress.

I couldn't say anything. All I wanted to do was get out of there. I walked out into the garden, wishing I could carry on walking and never stop, but I paused by the wall and breathed in a lungful of fresh air.

I've never seen him like that before. How am I supposed to deal with it?

'Se—'

'I don't want to hear it; I think you should go home.'

Why did she have to be here when this happened? Why does she have to bear witness to my every moment of deficiency?

She did not heed my words. With a rising sense of anger, I heard her tread going up the stairs. I pushed away from the wall, fully prepared to tear after her and demand to know what she thought she was doing—why she thought she should interfere. But for all my desire to get her away from my father, when I reached the door, I halted in my tracks.

I couldn't face it. Not at that moment, anyway. It was far easier to let her deal with it.

A few moments later, she was back, asking me if he would take a Calming Draught. I retrieved a phial from the kitchen and forced myself to join her upstairs, the prospect of having something practical to do easing my disquiet slightly.

I watched her speak to him brightly, in a way that I, of course, cannot. As to the effect it had on my father, well, he was no more responsive, but maybe that isn't the point.

'Leave me be,' he said eventually.

When we returned back downstairs, I could barely bring myself to look at Granger. She, naturally, could not let me pretend the last half an hour hadn't happened, as I'd hoped to do.

'There's no shame in it,' she said cautiously, after a moment. 'I'd be more surprised if you were not affected by it all.'

Instinctively, I wanted to refute any notion that I was affected by anything, but I wouldn't have been fooling anyone. And I suppose I was relieved she did not think me entirely callous, but I was vexed, all the same, over the possibility she might have been unduly charitable about my behaviour.

As I am sure there is probably more I can do—more effort I could make, with regard to my father.

'It's a lot for one person to take on…' she continued slowly. 'It's commendable—'

I interrupted her with a groan, throwing myself into my chair and rubbing a hand over my brow. I can't stand any sort of praise; certainly not when it's quiet and sincere and implies I'm some altruistic soul.

When, really, it's just guilt and selfishness driving me onwards.

'I think it's commendable,' she pressed in a firm tone.

I clenched my fist, feeling like I was about to spontaneously combust from a potent mixture of embarrassment, shame, and unfortunately, pleasure.

'I should probably go; will you be all right?'

Surprising how few times I've actually been asked that question before.

'Perfectly.'

She smiled a little pensively.

Oh, I was fine, except for the bloody inconvenient impulse I had to do something upon the moment her departure. To do what precisely, I just don't know. Barricade the door to prevent her exit? Stun her? Hex her? Shout at her? Blurt out a declaration?

Talk about a moment of madness!

It was a relief when the door finally closed and the sound of her Disapparation could be heard—a relief because I had managed to reinforce my self control and keep my gob resolutely shut until I was alone again.

I mean, really; can things get any worse?

Can they?

Unfortunately, in my experience… then, yes; probably…