Author's Note: For those of you who read "The Fortunate Accident" I'd like to say that I definitely intend on finishing it. I didn't abandon it for this story, as Ricky feared, and will not abandon it for any other story.

This is my first try at romance outside of the Lily/James world, so forgive me if it's not as good as your usual Snape story. The idea intrigued me and I felt that since I've been cooped up in Lily/James-land for a couple of years, it was safe for me to venture into the equally interesting world of Snape.

Pertaining to updates...we'll have to see about the space in between. This, as well as being my first Snape story, is my first shot at juggling fics. I'll find a balance, I'm sure.

EDIT REGARDING HALF-BLOOD PRINCE: First and foremost, I was right. I was SO right. For those of you who've read it, you know what I mean. I knew it for MONTHS before the book came out. I'm sickeningly proud of myself.

Regarding the story and why I think it still has a possibility (BUT DO NOT CLICK UNLESS YOU HAVE READ HBP!): http / www. livejournal. com /users /garland graves/ 3409. html (Hopefully it'll work, as I've broken up the link. If it doesn't work, feel free to e-mail me.)

I still believe, after reading the theory in the link, that Snape is fully capable to love. (Though I was definitely in the "completely shocked and not thinking much" stage after my first read.) If you do not, this is fine. Go find a story better suited for you.

Dedications: Oh, who else?

For Ricky, who provides unconditional support. You're the best cheering squad anyone could ask for.

Prologue: Driven to a Journal

This woman has driven me to a diary. No...not a diary; that's too effeminate. Journal. She's driven me to a journal. Actually, the shocking thing is not so much the journal, but the woman herself. I never thought I'd have a woman--girlfriend, wife, whatever. But she pried her way into my life and wormed herself into my heart. I had little say in the matter.

She had to be charming, had to be clever, had to make me laugh and enjoy myself. Though most of the laughter I conducted in private. While I was with her, her sense of humor seemed odd and even corny at times, but afterward while reviewing our conversations in my head, I couldn't help but chortle at the things she said. Some of the comments she made were just...astoundingly hilarious. I never let on to her, though. I exuded the air of one who found his companion to be an annoyance; she saw right through that. A person can't keep it a secret when he's so elated about seeing someone, no matter how convincing a facade he thinks he has.

I don't know which of us fell for the other first. She claims it was her, but I'm not so certain. Deep down, I've been fond of her since our first conversation. I am much more than simply fond now. Fond doesn't begin to cover it. Her presence is my fuel. Yes--that's a start.

She's the only family I've had who's ever tried to love me. My father grew to hate the poor witch with whom he had a child and my mother and he together hated me as a result. She had loved my father greatly before my birth and he had supposedly adored her as well. He turned on her right quick, however, as soon as I entered the picture. His affluent, Muggle relatives despised the idea of a half-wizard mutt in the family and rumors of disinheritance sprang up; my father couldn't have that. He dropped my mother and me like hot potatoes and ran off with his money to find a more suitable, Muggle bride who would produce the children both he and his family desired.

I think my mother was more heart broken than anything. But if she didn't hate me, she did a splendid job concealing any feelings of motherly affection she might have possessed.

Back to my family. My real family. And before you run off thinking I had some sort of incestuous relationship, allow me to clarify. I call her family for two reasons, the first being that I love her as I've never loved any blood relative of mine; as you can imagine, my love for my mother evaporated rapidly. The second--equally significant--reason is that she's pregnant.

I know. I nearly fainted when she told me. It was an accident, of course. I would never have been so bold as to plan something like that so suddenly. Sometimes I still wonder if I'll be ready when the time comes. There's no bump on her belly yet, which soothes my nerves; I have much time left to prepare for a baby.

Mentally, naturally, as I have plenty of gold and bedrooms.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not opposed to the idea of a child. Especially with her. Every man just needs his time to brace himself. So in an attempt to relieve myself of the anxieties that accompany impending fatherhood, I'm creating this journal to relive the past few months--to firmly and vividly implant in my mind the reasons for which I love her.

Hopefully, I'll work up the courage one day to pass it on to my child. I want it to be aware of what its mother has done for me--how much she's helped me. And I want it to know how much I love her, so there'll be no questions, no uncertainty. I never want my child to fear that I'll leave it, as my father left me.

And if I don't work up the courage, it'll be one hell of a stroll down memory lane.

Her name is Sophie, the woman I love, and this is our story.

O O O