~Monday 4 January - Late Evening - Cold, Star filled sky

The last few days with my Mother were much the same as New Years Day. She still has yet to fully regain consciousness, but when I take her hands and recite prayers with her in Latin she seems to stir and is able to speak. Though the prayers themselves bring no comfort to me, it is enough to hear her speak words that do not pertain to my father once in a while. She still thinks that I am him, and that I suspect is unlikely to change.

Classes resumed today. Thought they would have done well to have held off for until tomorrow. Today was long awaited trial of the Crouch boy, Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. The students were far too preoccupied to focus on lessons - as was most of the staff. No one spoke unless it was to speculate upon the outcome.

News of the verdict reached the school by late afternoon, just before the end of classes. Word spread quickly as it always does, The Evening Prophet had yet to be delivered or even printed - but everyone already knew.

Few were surprised to learn that the Lestranges were convicted of their crime. The real shock came once everyone learned that the Crouch boy had been found guilty as well. Many assumed that Crouch would send his son to prison just to uphold his reputation, while others expected him produce evidence to prove his sons innocence to save face. The thought of a father condemning his own son is unthinkable to some - but not to me. I of all people would not be shocked to hear that a father would so easily cast off his own son.

As to the trial, it was an awful scene by all accounts. The Lestranges were insolent till then end - proudly proclaiming their guilt and their willingness to wait for The Dark Lord's return, sickening for to thing of all that they have done...

The boy was another story. The say he wept and cried out for his father and mother to help him. He sobbed as he insisted upon his innocence - saying again and again "I'm your son!"

Crouch was unmoved. He declared angrily that he had no son. The whole of the Wizengamot watched as they dragged the screaming boy from the court. His mother sobbed then collapsed, and all the while Crouch did nothing.

Awful. I still doubt the tales they tell of the boy's involvement. I never saw him when I was in league with the Death Eaters, not that I knew all of his followers of course... so much of my time was spent in isolation. He could have been I suppose. I do feel sorry for him however - if he is in fact innocent. I know what it is to grow up under the yoke of a man like that. I wonder, would my father have even granted me a trial?

What difference does it make? His poor mother - her's is the true figure of tragedy. The tyrannical father - the fallen son, always it is the mother who suffers and is forgotten. All of the mothers who -

Wait - I'd nearly forgotten, for it occurred long before the events of the trial became known to us all. Something good did happen today. I saw Minerva in the Staff Room early this morning. She was knitting using the Muggle method. I put me in such a good mood just to see her.

Half in jest I said to her. "I never knew you knitted, particularly in that fashion." I couldn't help but to grin wickedly, I had just teased Minerva Mcgonagall after all..

She merely raised an eye brow at me. I really did miss her.

~Tuesday 5 January - Afternoon

As per my usual apathy, I attempted to silence the discussions concerning the trail only once during my morning class. After that I simply spoke over them. Seeing I speak so softly, I suspect that less than half of the class heard me.

I wish I could say that I cared, but I do not. My thoughts stray back to my mother. I worry that she will die suddenly when I am not there. They keep assuring me that she has a month at least but that does little to ease my nerves. What kind of a son am I to just leave her? Why should I stay here pretending to teach those arrogant little pricks who have no desire to learn anyway!? I am not even a real professor - I am a spy. I know I must look after her son, but he does not need me now.

Yes I understand after having attended the Malfoy party that there will be a danger to him at some point. I do mean to be vigilant and tell Dumbledore all that I can of their doings - but what else can I do? He will not permit me to kill the remaining Death Eaters, and while I do now see why that would be folly, I still do not see know why I must persist in this foolish charade. I am useless as a professor.

I hate how trapped I feel. Fuck it. Guilty or not, The Crouch boy is the lucky one. I never wanted this. I begged for Azkaban...

~Wednesday 6 January - Sunset

Their was a thrush outside of my window just now. I heard him sing and felt some remembrance of life stir within me. The days are getting longer as well, if only by minutes. I have been keeping note this since the winter solstice. I will take what little comforts I can.

The prats still persist in calling me "Snape" or worse I am called "Severus" by the most insolent among them. It is mostly the seventh year Slytherins who do this. Surly they recall that I was a lonely, bullied boy in the Common Room with only books or my few Death Eater friends for company. I should stop them from calling me by my first name, but how can I stop them? Shall I employ the tactics that I used to stop Potter and his friends when they teased me and called me names? I wasn't exactly successful in defending myself back then so how am I to do it now?. I suppose I should be grateful that no one has called me "Snivellus" as of yet - though I am sure it is coming. My money is on Matilda.

~Thursday 7 January - Saint Mungos with my Mother

I've literally been worried sick all day. I am constantly barraged by nightmares and premonitions of her death and there is nothing for it. I was calm when I asked for Dumbledore's permission to visit her tonight, lest I allow him to see me so unhinged. Even still he must have noticed. I hate him.

He said that I could stay with her as late as I wish so long as I return in time for for classes in the morning. Dumbledore offered first to have O'Malley to cover for me. I declined this, for though I resent it all bitterly, it is my burden to bear.

I will sleep here tonight, and perhaps then I will not be visited by nearly as many nightmares.

~Friday January 8 - Saint Mungos, The Closed Ward - very late

I was close. Matilda didn't go so far as to call me Snivellus today, but she did the next best thing. The bitch questioned my lineage and blood status in front of everyone.

Midway through my lecture on Veritaserum I noticed that she had raised her hand. I tried to ignore this, but after a minute or so it was like some scab that I couldn't help but to pick at. I ignore her no longer "What is it Miss Westin?"

"Is it true Snape," she began, vainglorious as ever, "Was your father a Muggle?"

I glared at her - unable to speak for a moment, though I allowed no shock or fury to cross my face. "If you must know he was."

I thought this blunt answer and cold tone would put an end it but instead she grew all the more smug. Several students began to laugh, "Really?" she pressed on, "And is it true your father currently works in - what is it that the Muggles call it? I forget, is it a factory?"

I nearly hexed her. The bitch had done it. Everyone had long known that I was a Half-Blood, and certainly a great majority of the students had known that I was of low birth - but for her to discuss - that bastard - to name him as the origin of my loathsome blood status and to inform everyone that he worked in a factory was beyond too far - even for her. The moment the words had escaped her lips I nearly died of shame, but somehow - without even thinking - answered her with no hesitation or emotion, "My father is dead Miss Westin. He no longer works anywhere."

That instantly wiped the smile off her face. Her mouth hung open a moment, clearly she was not expecting such a response. The other students sat dumbfounded and were ultimately silenced as well. My irreverence over the death of my father terrified them. I must say I rather enjoyed those few moments in spite of my fury.

It was all short lived of course. During my afternoon class - two Gryffindor boys well on their way to becoming the new Marauders got into a fight, spilling an entire caldron full of Swelling Solution all over themselves and three other students in the process. It was a fucking disaster.

I hate today. The only saving grace was that Dumbledore and I barely spoke during our weekly meeting. I feared that he would want to chat about Monday's trial, or worse - that he might bring up tomorrow.

I am with my mother now. She has been asleep this whole evening. No chance that she will bring it up either.

~Saturday January 9 - The Closed Ward, Night

Twenty two. I don't feel any different, nor should I. Nothing has changed, and I haven't marked the occasion, nor has anyone in ages. No one is left to do so anyway.

When I was in Hogwarts, I would ignore the day - preferring to tell no one. If no one knew, then it would be my secret, and that was power. If people knew, that was a weakness, for then I would be forced to face the fact that no one remembered or cared. Lily certainly ignored it after what I said to her. My poor mother, she was too far gone to remember by the time I had reached 15 - and the other one... he would be the last person to celebrate the date of my birth.

Just now I was remembering the last time that someone surprised me with gifts and a party... and how a few years later when I was drunk in Hogsmeade - and that is when I realized that I had been absentmindedly running my hand over the back of my neck. I do this far too often, I really have to stop that. It's still there, whether I see it or not. Perhaps that is fitting - no I have to end this train of thought - I am too unhinged already..

I should sleep now. I need today to end.

~Sunday 10 January - Early morning sunlight - My Room

I dreamed last night that I was in the house with my mother. She was still dying but at the very least she was in her own bed and we were not here. Would that I could bring her there or to Hogwarts. I cannot take care of her at the house, nor can Madame Pomfrey do so at the school

I will be back there soon. Dumbledore said that he will come to collect me at four this afternoon to take me to Saint Mungos. I hate being there, but every day when the time comes to leave, I never want to go. It is too upsetting to see her sometimes. Then of course I will worry about her the moment I am gone. What if she dies? What if she dies an I am not there?

I am so torn.

~Monday 11 January - Morning - the Potions Classroom

I can't believe that just happened. I don't even know how to feel. I feel guilty. This is too much. I never expected anything like this, ever.

I went into the Staff Room this morning. I was still half asleep when I opened the door and found Minerva was there - standing with her arms folded glaring at me. She looked just as she had when we would show up late to Transfiguration. Her lips were pursed so tightly - I was in trouble and I knew it. I'd completely forgotten that I was a professor. "Is something wrong?" I asked. I even sounded like a timid student when I spoke.

She raised an eye brow as she spoke sharply, "For future reference Severus, you might want to let people know when it is your birthday."

"What?" I was in total shock.

Still she did not move, and her keen eyes remained fixed upon my face. Only then did I notice that she held a bundle of black fabric in her arms - her knitting from last week.

"I-" what could I possibly say to her, "I'm sorry." It was all I could think of. I didn't think she would have cared one way or the other.

Again she raised an eye brow, but this time smiled at me. "I will forgive you, but only this once." At that she threw her knitting at me. I caught it without thinking for I feared any harm coming to her hard work. "Happy Birthday Severus." She said finally breaking into muffled laughter. Still I struggled to catch what I realized was a thick, black scarf. It was so long that I only managed to catch half of it in my arms.

Scarf. Oh dear God this was, "you-"

"Yes I knitted it for you. It was the least I could do."

"How did you even know - Thank you, I mean. That was so thoughtful, you shouldn't have." I must have sounded like such an idiot. I had no idea how to respond at all.

"I knew it was your birthday because it was in your school records," she said, half amused and half exasperated.

"But, that must have been ages ago," I was still so confused. "I mean, since you would have had to read through them."

"It was only a few months ago." Now she was exasperated - she shook her head at me when she spoke, "Albus had asked me to retrieve them when you were hired. It is a standard procedure."

I struggled for some cleaver comeback, but I could only manage to tell her, "I am sorry. I just didn't think..."

I was in trouble again, she gave me that look. "Oh stop that. You are a part of the Hogwarts school. Just as Albus says, we are a family. Honestly Severus."

I thanked her again, and for once, I didn't hate it when Dumbledore was right.

It is such a wonderful scarf, and I was saying just a few days ago how cold I was. Already I love the thing more than I can say. October the forth. That is her birthday. I must somehow make something for her that is equally wonderful.

~Monday 11 January - Dark - Late night in my room.

I suspect now that the students had spent the better half of their holidays preparing their plots and schemes against me. In addition Matilda Westin's attempts to discredit me in class, new rumors of Slytherin's Legendary beast abound - terrifying the younger, more vulnerable students. I noticed the whispers a few days ago, but more and more of my younger students, particularly Slytherins are now frantically discussing - not only the existence of the thing, but actual sightings - which is absolutely absurd.

There is no monster. I cannot stand it. Stories about that ridiculous monster have been used to frighten first years for centuries. Most everyone at the school see this as nothing more than a harmless joke, but those of us who understand what it is to be so small and to feel out of place, we know better. What everyone fails to see is the fact that this is an attack against Salazar Slytherin. To say that he left a violent creature in place to terrorize students only helps to spread more fear and hatred towards him - and indeed the entire House of Slytherin.

It is disgraceful now to see this rumor be embellished and spread further by Slytherin students - to be used against other Slytherins. It makes me truly sick, because I know they are only doing this to get back at me. Were Horace Slughorn still head of Slytherin House, none of this would be happening. They hate me. They want me to step down due to my failures, or better yet to see me sacked.

The joke is on them, for I can neither step down nor be fired - though I wish I could be. I understand why they hate me of course. Slytherin is known for wealth and power, and I have neither. Horace took bribes from them I know, and I can not be swayed. He could have helped them because he had more connections than anyone else in the Wizarding World. Through his endless friends and acquaintances he could help his students to attain any position they desired when they left Hogwarts. I can not do that.

Every now and then, I do catch myself thinking upon my own position. At times I think my self fairly fortunate to have such a lofty position as the Head of Slytherin House considering my background. I always wanted to do great things, and while this is certainly not what I wanted, it is something.

I always catch myself in the end though, for it is so ridiculous. I am not qualified - not for this. I should be writing, I should be developing new potions in my own private study. I should have devoted my life to research. There wouldn't have been a lot of money, but I could have achieved... something. I have to forget that now. What is the point of thinking about what could have been when it is my fault that everything was ruined in the first place?

I don't dare dream of having a career that I love after what I have done. I don't dare dream even of developing new potions in my spare time when I have dozens of terrified eleven year olds milling about the school, searching for fissures and signs of claw marks...

~Tuesday 12 January - Dark - Late night in my room.

I couldn't sleep last night. I kept waking up thinking that she had died and when I did manage to sleep - I dreamed it as well. So vivid were my dreams, I could actually hear the Healers, standing by my bed and telling me how she had passed on unexpectedly. Once I sat up - staring around the room with my heart pounding as I tried to figure out where the hell I was. Where am I, what is happening!? It was a dream - it was a dream! It was, wasn't it?

At breakfast I kept looking up to Dumbledore in terror. He knows - but if something had happened in the night he would have told me - he would not keep such a thing from me.

He only glanced at me - smiling for the sake of the staff and the students I am sure.

Fuck. My hands shook so much as I tried to force myself to eat. Minerva looked over at me quizzically but said nothing. What she must think of me - and after she had been so kind to give me a gift for my birthday - which still makes me feel awkward in her presence. I tried that much harder to not be terrified - but that only made me more nervous. I nearly knocked over her water goblet for Christ Sakes.

I spoke to the class as little as possible - lest they hear any hint of it in my voice. Every sound filled me with fear - for it might well have been the owl coming to herald her death. All I could see was my mother - then Lily - then my mother again. One student raised her hand to ask a question unexpectedly and I nearly hexed her.

"What is it." I snapped. He was unfazed but still I felt bad for having it. I keep snapping at them and I can not help it. It is one thing to be short with a forth year Gryffindor on the Quidditch team, but it is quite another to lose my temper with a first year Hufflepuff. I thought that boy might cry.

Well fuck them I want to cry as well - but I am not permitted to show emotion - am I!?

I bit my lip and clenched my hands into fists beneath my desk as I gave the instructions to my sixth year N.E.W.T. class. It was all I could do not to scream. I spoke slowly, I told them exactly how to prepare the Mandrake roots so that none of them would ask me any questions afterwards no matter how dense they might have been.

I had almost finished. One step remained in my explanation - and then her hand shot up.

Joan Ogden. I could have killed her.

I took several deep breaths, ignored her and tried to finish my sentence - she did not wait, "Hey Severus," she called out over my words.

I stopped talking - the entire class fell silent. My chest tightened - rage consumed me as I shot her an ice cold, hateful stare. I could feel my eyes narrowing in preparation to literally kill her, and she knew it.

She was afraid of me then, but so determined was she to go ahead with whatever cleaver quip she had planned that she spoke out anyway - though she could not do so with out a great deal of nervous laugher. "I was wondering, you know if you could tell us about your mother."

Today - of all days I clutched the edge of the desk while in my mind I began to loosen the chain that held a basket of herbs above her head - and then suddenly my rage gave way to clarity. Yes. Joan asked after my mother, just days after Matilda asked after my father. This was in no way related to my Mother's illness - this was still all part of their perverse fucking plot to unhinge me - and it was working.

"What do you want to know?" I said as if from a dreamlike state with no emotion.

This unnerved her even more. She giggled and whatever speech she had planned fell completely apart into teenage girl babble. "Um, her last name was, you know, it was Prince was it? And she was a Slytherin - thing is, I mean we all know most of the true Slytherin families and we'd never heard much about the Prince family - I was wondering about her lineage."

"Then I suggest you try the library and borrow a book about the names of all the known Wizarding families. " I said dryly and with no hesitation. "In the meantime you might want to focus on your abysmal potion making skills seeing as you are consistently so far behind your classmates." A heavy Silence fell across the room as the color drained from her face. I felt a sick satisfaction, and yet it was not enough, I was neglecting something - "Five points from Slytherin for referring to me by my first name."

That was it. I had done it. I had gained control over them and not one student spoke out of turn after that. There will be repercussions for this I am certain. So long as they take it out on me it will not be so terrible. If there is another incident like the one unleashed upon Swanhilde I will feel awful.

So is that it then? Is that how I am to alleviate my terror at losing my mother? Am I to terrorize my students? Joan deserved it - I haven't the patients to feel guilty tonight. Not tonight.

~Thursday January 14 - My Room early evening. It rained today.

The last few days have been uneventful. I was with my mother last night. The students had been quiet - until just now.

On my way to my room, I came upon Joan Ogden and Elwin snogging in the hall. I so wanted to take house points from them, but as I approached the pair broke it off on their own accord. They seemed to be arguing. I hid behind a suit of armor for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I could not hear what it was that they were saying, but it sounded rather serious. Joan was irritated by something he had done or said - and he looked deeply troubled.

I wanted no part of that so I came back to my room. Besides, I wanted to write about something else - something far more pleasant. I've been waiting to write about it all day.

Last night I dreamed about Lily. It was brief, but it seemed so real. I was sitting alone in the Staff room reading the Daily Prophet. She sat beside me with her head on my shoulder.

I could actually feel her. She was so warm and so alive - it hurts me now to think upon it - but in my dream - none of it had ever happened. She was with me. It was the single greatest thing to have happened to me in ages, and I don't care that it wasn't real. It was real - it is real - the only thing that is real.

God I cannot wait for this week to be over, for the students to fall silent so that I might be alone with my thoughts of her. Perhaps my mother will speak this weekend, not to me of course, just speech in general. I have given up hope that she will recognize me.

~Sunday January 17 - Night.

My mother remains unchanged. She spoke little this weekend. I prayed with her. I told her stories about better times, but nothing changes. Back here in Hogwarts again and the fear that I might lose her has crippled me once again. I do not want to sleep.

~Monday January 18 - Biting cold wind - gray skies

I am still on edge about my mother. All I can do to take my mind from her is to think of Lily - and that is a dangerous thing. Her face, her eyes, her laugher. My heart aches from it. I do not know which is worse - to think of her or to worry after my mother. There is nothing else to think of. There is no escape. Anxiety or heartsickness mingled with guilt. I don't know what to do.

And yet still I have to be stoic and stand before the little gits every day as they look up at me from their desks. What do they want? Stop looking at me.

~Tuesday January 19 - Closed Ward with my Mother

Lily is safe in Heaven - dead with Potter, the man that she loves. When I die, I will not be going to the same place. What if I did somehow end up seeing her in the afterlife? What would she say to me? Would if she even speak to me at all? Seeing as she ceased to speak to me over one simple slip of the tongue, I find it unlikely that she would be anymore forgiving this time around, not when I caused her death. I caused the death of the man that she loved and left her infant son an orphan.

Even if I had remained silent and innocent of murder I would still not see any form of Heaven, not without her. I would still be forced to watch her and Potter together forever in eternity. I would be in Hell, and if she were to be with me, she would be in Hell. I reasoned this out years ago.

It is not possible for Heaven to exist. Heaven for one is to be with another person. But that other person - forced to be with the one who desires them - would think themselves to be in Hell. So how than can Heaven exist? It doesn't.

Still I am tormented. I do believe that there is some form of an afterlife, and I know my soul will not be released. I will be punished for what I have done.

~Wednesday January 20 - Snowfall - Late Night in My Room.

It was quiet today, no trouble from the students - no screams or even raised voices in my classroom. It was eery, and it did no end once I'd gotten to Saint Mungos either. There were no words from my mother and the Healers all around us spoke in hushed tones as if they did not wish to be heard.

I kept glancing over my shoulder looking for trouble - just as I had when the students fell silent. The students are never at a loss for words, unless they are up to something. And the Healers, could they be hiding something? Is it pity that drives them to whisper?

It is freaking me out. Something bad is about to happen. I swear it is so quiet that I can hear the snow falling outside my window. Something is wrong. My hands shake and there is nothing for it - something is terribly wrong.

~Thursday January 21 - My Room - Night

I had to. I had to take it or else I would never have gotten through classes. It will wear off soon. Classes have ended and I am in my room now. I will not survive Saint Mungos tonight - and I certainly can not be in the Great Hall.

The silence. I was right. When I entered The Staff room everyone present fell silent. Some averted their gaze, but anyone who dared look up at me did so only to look upon me with pity.

They know. They don't know of course. The other professors only think that we were friends. Certainly they knew us to be lab partners, to have come from the same town and...

At first I thought it was my mother - when I saw their faces. She is dead. The Prophet - for they were all reading it. I knew, I just knew that they had published an article about my mother and...

My heart hammered, my trembling hands threatened to give me away as I reached for the rolled up copy of the paper nearest to me -

Lily.

That was the first and last thing that I saw - for after that I was frozen. I bit my lip and forced myself to seem not to care as I took a seat in the armchair - gripping it for dear life as I did.

Lily and James Potter. The sight of the words still turn my heart to ice. But this was to be set in stone. They mean to make a monument - for her, for him and for her son. A monument to celebrate their lives and their sacrifice. They mean to place it in Godrics Hollow, near the house where I...

I was as still as a stone myself - to the other professors who still watched me from the corners of their eyes. But inside I was on fire - screaming with a fury and a pain that even now hours later I cannot even begin put into words. I wanted nothing more than to run. My thoughts turned dark and I longed to use my abhorrent spell of Sectumsempra to cut my my arms and my chest - it wasn't enough - my thoughts turned darker and I thought of the tower. That is when I knew that wouldn't make it.

I blinked as a doll and moved like a mechanical toy. Placing the paper back down on the table, I stood up and made for my stores. Slughorn's stores by all rights not mine, but no they are mine. Shaking like a leaf as tears began to form in my eyes I took the bottle from the shelf and unstoppered it. I took too much calming draught but I had to.

I made it through the day but it will wear off soon. I mean to be outside when it happens. I mean to be lost and alone in the Forbidden Forrest - for when it hits me I am going to run, If I scream in the forrest, and I mean to - only the monsters will hear me.

~Friday January 22- My Room - Early morning - the Sun has returned

I ran hard last night. It was dark and still snowing. I'm not sure how it happened. Everything was moving too quickly. Ice it must have been, for I felt the heal of my boot slam hard onto something slick. A frozen root and than the next thing I remember was slamming head first into a tree. I can still feel it, the split through my head as if the blow divided my skull just between my eyes. I lay on the ground for a few moments trying to understand what had happened. I didn't even recall falling.

I am tired and my thoughts are too fuzzy. They would tell me that I have a concussion I know but what is there for it? I must still teach and spy on the Malfoy family and their allies. My health and my life mean nothing. I am a soldier. I have no feelings. That unbearable pain inside of me is nothing. I am going to teach now.

~Friday January 22 - My Room - Near Midnight

Back in my room, just back from my mandatory meeting with Dumbledore. He suspects something, as usual. He kept asking me if there was anything that I wanted to talk to him about.

"No Sir."

After enough nodding and pretending to listen to him as he told some pointless story about some stupid letter he received from an old friend he let me go. I am so sick of everything. Just let me see my mother and let me be...

He only asks this for fear that I might fail the mission. He doesn't truly care what happens to me otherwise.

~Saturday January 23 - Saint Mungos

I sat with my mother. The Healers were whispering again. There was news in the whispers. They spoke of Pettigrew, or a monument that is likely to be built for him, but only in whispers. It was then that I understood the silence. No one wants to speak of the monument to her - to both of them. It is almost as great of a tabu for them to mention her as it is for them to say the name of the Dark Lord. Of course they avoid it since calls to mind all the lives that were lost or destroyed by him. They do not want to be reminded of the cost...

I want to hate them. I want to be angry at them for having the option to move on and forget. The hollow ache inside of me will remind me every moment of every day of the terrible cost that...

No. It is wrong of me to take out my fury upon the Healers - when they of all people should have a right to want to forget. Death is quick and not nearly as complicated as caring for the permanently injured victims of the war. Their work is a daily reminder of the cost.

So be it. Let them make monuments. Let them erect hard stone effigies in every corner of the Wizarding World. They will see, and in time forget the insignificant details. They will see only the face of a beautiful woman who was lost. Her face, covered in snow, shadow and eventually moss. Long, bitter years will pass. The wind and rain will whittle away the features of her face. Not a soul will remain to remember her laughter and in time even her name will be lost to all memory. Only a weathered form of a stone woman with out a face will remain and that is how they will remember her...