Sunday, 3:30am, Dec. 8th
I am largely tempted to simply recite today's activities in outline form, but I know Albus would not accept it. Rather than tempt his dubious wrath, I shall relate the day's tiresome adventures before allowing myself to go to bed. There is too much running through my mind as it is to be able to sleep without assistance.
There were two portions to this absurdly long day; one was the Weasley twins' detention, and the other was a meeting with Lucius Malfoy. I would be hard pressed to decide which was more taxing on my time - presiding over idiots, or being led by one. Perhaps I should leave that assessment to someone more qualified.
There was a brief breakfast; a boring detention in which mssrs. Fred and George Weasley handled undiluted bubotuber pus and turned it into something useful - I heard them muttering invectives at me as they exited down the hall, relieving the boredom slightly. This was followed by an utterly uneventful lunch, and then came the owl post.
Owls come swooping in over the heads of the students, bringing an abrupt end to most conversations and fuelling spontaneous bouts of greedy cheer. Naturally, I expect nothing by owl post. Those who need to speak with me do so by other, less conspicuous means, so it comes as something of a surprise when a large, tawny owl collared with what appears to be real gold dives directly toward me and deposits an envelope between my wine and my soup.
Its front bears the embossed Malfoy family crest.
What is this foolishness? He knows better than to send me messages in this manner. Already annoyed, I tear open the envelope to find the last thing I expect: a formal, gilded invitation, with dancing ink flames, dragons plummeting all over the page, and garishly ostentatious wording.
To the illustrious professor Snape, friend of the Malfoys and supporter of those things which matter,
Oh gods. There is simply no feasible way that I can read this sensibly in front of anyone. The other teachers are all trying to be surreptitious about watching me and failing miserably.
"Excuse me," I say to Minerva - the least subtle of my presently curious audience, as she's staring at me directly - and without another word, hurry down the dias and out of the Great Hall to my own quiet, cool dungeon.
En route, I glance once again at the invitation.
May our note of felicitation find you in the best of health, the best of feeling, and the best of times!
Who wrote this drivel? A Hufflepuff on too much eggnog?
It is our pleasure to announce a most glorious occasion! Tonight, on Saturday the 7th at 12:00am midnight, we will celebrate that indelible, delectable, unforgettable moment in time when he takes one more step toward adulthood.
In other words, he's turning sixteen over the summer and they're going to have a party now because by summertime, we may be in all-out war. I loathe such social obligations. Lucius knows this; I have told him this, shown it on countless occasions, but is he listening? No.
I refuse to attend.
You are hereby cordially invited - nay, required to attend -
Damn.
- the ensuing celebration. Be sure to remember Draco's new status and bring with you something appropriate to his age!
Blah blah, Hogsmeade, blah blah blah, upstairs in the Three Broomsticks, etcetera and so forth. Wonderful. I'm sure Draco is ecstatic. I'm probably expected to escort him personally tonight; the permission form his parents enclosed indicate as much. Damn this whole situation. I will HAVE to attend.
So he wants a gift appropriate to his age and one that will please his parents? Fine. He gets veritaserum in a jar. That was easy.
Leaving the school at ten PM is barely worth the trouble it takes, but our choice is to either do that or leave far earlier and then have nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon. Given these options, I chose to stay.
Draco, naturally, was eager as he's ever been to do anything. He hopped about, making snide remarks about Granger and mudbloods and Potter and Quidditch and mudbloods again once more, and then reiterating his gripes from the beginning all over again. Infuriating child; but I suppose I was not much better at his age.
Although I DO know I was quieter.
The walk to Hogsmeade is dull, without any of the usual melodrama that can accompany such outings. By the time we arrive at the Three Broomsticks, everyone else has already arrived, and the lights of the inn are the only source of light on the street. A nod to Rosmerta - the woman looks about as thrilled as I am about this entire situation - and we climb the stairs.
The room bursts into applause as Draco walks through the door. He accepts the adulation, strutting in his dress robes, chin up. His expression is as pleased as though surviving another year were his doing alone. Idiot boy. Idiotic, beloved boy. Half the Death Eaters turned out for this occasion; of course, given WHO Draco is, that should not really be surprising.
And I suppose it is not. It is simply... tedious.
Should I even bother to write most of this, Albus? Nothing of great import occurred; it was simply tedious, so very, very tedious. Draco was celebrated, I was hated, the evening finally came to an end. That is all there is to it, isn't there? You've put me in such a difficult position, Albus. Spy for you, your trust in me; and yet the Order does not trust me, like me, welcome me. They never will, I think.
And yet, neither do the Dark Lord's own - even though he himself trusts me completely.
I understand, and yet I do not. Largely, I don't really care what they all think; you trust me, the Dark Lord trusts me. The rest are naught but window dressing. And yet there are times - such as this impromptu party - when it would be nice to spend an evening with those who are my peers without constantly battling verbally for my dignity.
Lucius simply pulled me aside and told me: 'things are afoot.' Merlin's beard, that could mean anything.
I am growing morose. This is not something you wish to read, and neither do I (should the occasion ever arise when I opt to review this nonsense), and so I will end the account here. Draco was lauded, we came back to Hogwarts just before 4 AM, no Death Eater business was discussed. The end.
Finis
Friday, 9:30pm, Dec. 13th
For Merlin's SAKE, Albus! How much longer do I have to continue this putrescent mental diarrhea? This is NOT funny!
So here I am. I would much rather be dealing with the aftermath of this evening's Quidditch game and my own students' depression over it, but there are apparently much more droll things you'd rather have me do. And so, ever the obedient potions master, I shall indeed continue to do so, even though there is NO point to this absurdity whatsoever, and I am wasting good parchment.
And ink.
And time.
And patience.
Damn the world to hell.
I suppose I should sum up the week thus far. Detention was served by both the Weasleys and Longbottom without incident, for which I am grateful. My OWLS students are still not putting forth the effort they should be, which puts me and this school to shame. This entire generation is mad. They have no concept of the future, of long-term results, of life beyond Quidditch games and what they will have left to make of themselves once they've completed throwing away the most important years of their educational careers.
Am I the only one who sees this? I should not be. And yet, it appears that I am. For whatever reason, the parents of my own generation have failed to instill in their children the belief that life is what one makes of it.
I should consign them all to Bedlam and go live in a cave.
Finis
Thursday, 11:30pm, Dec. 26th
Today... I do not know what to say.
An attack came on the Ministry yesterday. This in itself was not a dreadful shock, given the holiday involved, and the fact that maximum impact was clearly intended. No, what concerns me is that I was not told it was going to happen.
Albus, you may not realize this; but for something this important to be kept from me means that I have slipped in some way. It appears that I have lost points, somehow, within the Dark Lord's ranks, and this concerns me. It means that I am in danger. I am going to have to take steps to correct this, Albus, or I will shortly be of no use to anybody.
And no, I am not telling you in person. You can read it here. In case I am going to my death, I would really rather not have a meeting with you in my mind for the Dark Lord to dig out of me before the pain begins.
And no - I don't particularly care if you do understand. This is something I must do.
Finis
Saturday, 11:58pm, Dec. 28th
Albus, I am happy to report that all has gone well. The Dark Lord's domain -
So close. It's so close to Hogwarts. Merlin, but that amuses me; I wonder what Albus would do if he knew.
- which, unfortunately, I still cannot pinpoint thanks to whomever their Secret Keeper is, was deserted enough that I was able to deal with the Dark Lord without distractions. Even more fortunately, he was pleased to see me.
"Severussss."
Oh gods. I know that look. This will not be pleasant.
"There is word, Severus - word from yet more of my family that you have betrayed us."
"...my lord - you know this is not true. False. Falsehoods, spoken by those who are jealous that you trust me - "
"But should I trust you, Severus? Should I? Or perhaps... am I the one being deceived?"
It seems that he had not wanted me involved for much the same reason I did not tell you I was going to go: so that, if you did happen to attempt to search my mind, my meeting with him would not be there.
It's really quite amusing, Albus, if is possessed of true gallows humor - an irony that even now makes me smile tersely, even as it makes me shake. It seems that today is a day of forgetting my skill with Occlumency. That either means I am so good at it that no one sees it's there, or that I my abilities slipping. Do I really need to say that I would prefer the former?
The Cruciatus.
Unappreciated. So effective when used right - and the Dark Lord knows, oh yes, he knows, just how to use it right.
I have known some who claimed it could be used in extreme sexual situations to heighten the experience. To them I say that the very idea is a true form madness.
"Aaah!" My screams rise to the ceiling and are utterly worthless; they neither urge him on nor engender his pity, and he does not stop until he is certain that I am too... pained... to be able to use my Occlumency against him. After all, he knows just how good at it I am. He is the one who taught it to me.
"Severus." He approaches, from his throne; I cannot push myself upright or I would kneel. I WANT to kneel. Maybe he'll see that in my eyes - it would be good, I think, if he saw that in my eyes -
I believe, Albus, that what I really need to do is pass on some sort of 'tip' or information that you would not mind losing but that would help to cement my position among the Death Eaters. I also need to do it soon. Of course, I would not even begin to guess what you would be willing to give up; but given that they believe I am spying on you, and that I have told them nothing of any real value in at least six weeks, I think it is time for me to say something they will consider worthwhile.
The Dark Lord trusts me, yes; but the fact that the others do not is putting me in a dangerous position.
"Severus. You doubt. So many times, you doubt." His over-long fingers caress my hair, almost kindly, almost gently, even though he well knows that after the Cruciatus, every inch of skin is too sensitive to be touched. He well knows. His pain is... meted out carefully.
"I don't doubt you, my lord," I say, my voice haggard. At least I can form words now. At first, I could not as he held my head in his hands, my neck twisted at a horrible angle, and ate into my eyes. My thoughts. My mind.
"No. You doubt yourself. Your own loyalties. Ah; Severus. You make me wonder, at times, where your heart truly lies."
I would dare hide nothing from him, or so he presumes. He would assume nothing but openness from me, in the face of such pain. After all, his skill with legilimency is legend - no rational person could ever believe it was possible to keep thoughts hidden from the Dark Lord.
Never mind that with such confidence often comes a lack of... practice.
As per your request, however, I must say that I do not believe I am willing to teach Potter Occlumency again next year. I am willing to oversee it, and I am willing to aid whomever ends up with the unlucky job of teaching him, but I will not do it myself.
Your flattery IS quite appreciated, but really, Albus. I cannot stand the boy, and he cannot stand me. He has proven to me for all time that he cannot be trusted, especially not alone in my office. The entire session would be wasted.
His touch is gentle now - truly gentle. The potion he pours between my lips absolves me of pain, slides strength back down my muscles, and he is pleased. He is pleased, and so am I. I have passed his test.
"Even with such pain, Severus, you are still my own."
"Yes, my lord."
"Very few are willing to suffer for me. To live for me, to die for me, oh yes - they will do those things. But to suffer... ah. Severus... you are one of a rare breed."
"Yes, my lord. Thank you." And I am that - just as he says.
To be anything else to either one of them would be to suicide.
By the door, I can see some of the other Death Eaters - Bellatrix, Macnair, a few others - listening and displeased with the sudden favor I've received.
The fools. Favor such as this is paid for in blood.
I don't know, Albus, perhaps I am growing tired of these games; this never-ending, eternal chess match between good and evil, and I myself in such a strange position that half of the people on either side don't know whose side I am on.
My occlumency is not necessary here. The obedience I give to Albus... the Dark Lord has never truly uncovered the reason for that, and he never will. It is too far outside his experience.
The others... have their guesses. But none of them, save Lucius, know me well enough to truly understand that I hedge my bets. A fool is he who does not lock both the front and back doors before going to sleep.
I am rambling on; how this turned into a personal missive to you, I have no idea, but sometimes, Albus, I tire of it all. Even though I know that someday it will all be made clear.
"Someday, Severus, it will all be made clear. Someday no one - not even you - will have reason to doubt." He has given me a new assignment - new questions to ask, new information to find out.
Of course, I won't succeed in gathering all of it; that would be impossible. It merely all depends on how much everyone is willing to lose.
Reason to doubt, says he; yes. I do have reason to doubt. The Dark Lord knows this, but so does Albus Dumbledore.
It is that very weakness in me - that very blindness to some of my own human traits - that makes me so useful - so APPARENTLY useful - to both mortal deities.
For now, I've had it, and I am going to bed. Tomorrow morning, I believe I shall update you on the plans and posits I heard while there. And for the last time, get somebody ELSE to teach Potter the blasted Occlumency. Goodnight.
I leave them all there, finally, relieved to be free. To have done my duty to everyone - and cemented my positions where I can be truly useful - is indeed a job well-done. In this game, I can genuinely say that I do not know who is going to win, but if I have anything to say about it, I know that my piece will be standing at the end. Alone, if need be.
That is the nature of survival.
Finis.