DISCLAIMER:            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, To the Honour of the Mother is well worth reading.

Severus III Prior to lunch…

Albus is at present speaking to the students affected so wretchedly by death. Three Slytherin families decimated and debrided to the core. In the aftermath of the carnage, I have a student missing a much-loved twin and cousins deprived of their whole families. The Malvern boy need not have died, but was visiting with his friend from Beauxbatons.

Senseless, worthless loss.

Of the list of regrets that grow, my most pressing is that I could not speak to them myself. One cannot be an undisclosed spy and show any kind of remorse to 'supposed' traitors to the cause of purity.

I am nothing. No one person should be as I am. But that I have sentient thought, I could be Imperioed to perform my duties and quite wonder why I am not more controlled.

Perhaps Voldemort enjoys the figurative emasculation of a pawn?

I have no doubt that Minerva, Filius and Gaea Sprout are likewise trying to find platitudes to explain the sudden, shocking loss of innocence – that gritty demonstration of the depravity of war, that sees some of the more blatant members of the cadre, smirking at others misfortune.

I would enjoy giving back even half of the mayhem done to these stupid children, but it would only prove that Riddle has eviscerated my soul to the point where the line between good and evil is forever blurred.

Hogsmeade was cancelled this morning, for which I am eternally grateful. I would have sooner given myself away than try to debase myself further with an act of malicious glee at the grief around me. Gryffindor and Slytherin may always sit on opposite poles, but to have had Mr Malfoy receive poison laced lollies, would have lacked subtlety – subtlety I can ill afford to be without.

I would then have to deal with Lucius and he scares me more than Voldemort.

Has my soul become so calloused that the thought of eliminating a child is such a ripe thought?

After lunch…

I walked into the Great Hall and the incessant chatter ceased – immediately. Then the hissing started, led by Potter, of course. Mr Weasley and Mr Finnegan restrained him, but it was a close call.

Minerva had already confiscated all of the students' wands prior to lunch; and given the volatility of the invective Potter was throwing around, I owe Minerva a large bottle of spiced rum…again.

I'm not sure which is preferable. Depressed Potter or Suicidal Maniac, Potter.

I sat between Minerva and Gaea, who had obviously planned my positioning as a show of strength and support.

I was grateful, but couldn't help wishing that a large hole had opened under my feet, swallowing me and rendering me insensate.

I could not eat – the thought of food was sufficient to cause purgative effects and I had to leave the Hall quickly. This lack of manners only gave cause to see my exit as fury and anathema against Potter.

Sometimes, without thought to a plan, the inconsistencies of life conspire successfully.

Mid afternoon…

I've just returned from an aimless walk around the castle. I had hoped to chance upon Minerva, Gaea or Albus, but they were either hiding in their rooms or hiding from me. Neither option strikes me as particularly palatable.

I want to know what happened…I need to know.

The names of the affected just keep rolling around and I can see the students in my minds eye.

Sylvian, Thomas, Malvern, Fletcher, Zal and perhaps in terms of greatest loss…Granger.

The name of the other family is unknown to me…some poor Muggle family who frequented the dental practice belonging to Miss Granger's parents.

If I were Potter, I would have aimed for my jugular as well.

I can ill afford to sit here and write meaningless queries. I really need to find Minerva.

If I decant the spiced rum, Minerva will find me – must be the feline sensitivity to alcohol.

15 minutes later…

Trust Minerva to sniff out her favourite tipple from the other side of Hogwarts.

I must go, though I do believe I will actually write further on this subject.

I have no idea why that doesn't seem so insane anymore…I must have passed the point of no return.