Disclaimers: I own nothing but the silly idea. Lawyers, keep away! -hiding behind a stone-

A/N: I don't know when you guys celebrate Mother's Day; but I reckon you do at some time of the year. Where I live, Mother's Day is over long ago, but since I wrote this sentimental thing on Mother's Day, I've decided I don't feel like waiting another year.


Mother's Day Thoughts

"Happy Mother's Day", he whispered, his harsh voice unusually soft and emotional. The wind was rather strong at the moment, and the sun was shining, and despite the fact that it was middle of May, it was rather chilly. He pondered over this fact, and almost chuckled at the thought of how shocked those dunderheads – oh excuse me, students – would be if they saw him here in the bright sunlight. And more so, if they knew his reason. But he never chuckles, not even when the scar headed dunderhead fails a potion. Chuckling, smiling, and being nice is not his way of acting.

He sat down in the grass and sighed. Why would he keep doing this every year?

Because he had loved her, a voice in his head said, sounding frighteningly like Dumbledore. "Because she loved you, her only child."

But still – she would never know if he kept coming, or if he didn't. She was dead, and had been so for twenty-one years. But that was, actually, all that his logical mind could say. It didn't change the fact that he had loved her.

The big issue was why he had loved her, and why he only began to realise it when she had died. Was it because she had been killed by – his father? Maybe, he thougt, turning his face away from the sun. There were no trees on the little hill where he was sitting, and to him, used to the darkness of his dungeons as he was, the sunlight was somewhat irritating. There was a big stone, however, on which you, if you would lift the secret spell, could read "Amelia Snape, December 23rd 1942 – May 8th 1979". The man, who had recently reached and passed the age of his mother, leaned back against the stone, without lifting the spell – he knew by heart even the little poem that was carved into the stone. Shouldn't he, regarding as he was the one who had carved it?

- - - -

It was an ironical twist of fate that she had died on what the Muggles celebrated as "Mother's Day". It had been a beautiful Sunday in early May, and the young man, having graduated from Hogwarts a year before, had come home from a very exciting potions expermient (it had taken all night to carry out) early in the morning. The first thing he heard when he had apparated to the door of the little shack he lived in with his family was his father's yelling and his mother's screams. Like so many times before they were fighting, over money, half bloods, clothes, house elves, or whatever Augustus Snape felt that was not to his satisfaction.

But this time it wasn't just Augustus Snape yelling at his wife. He was angry at his son, too, because he had not appeared at the Death Eater's meeting in the evening before. He was mad at his wife, because she, in his opinion, had failed in the education of the son.

The yong man came home, only to find his mother dying in the corner of her bedroom, while his father left for a consultation with his Master.

The last words she said to her son that day was "Leave them". He could barely hear them, and for days he thought he had misunderstood her. After spreading her ashes on the top of this lovely little hill, and preparing the stone, however, he realized that she had meant what she had said. He went back to Dumbledore, got his mercy, and fought against his father.

- - - -

But how come that he only now realized that he loved her? He sighed again, and stood. Reaching into his robes, he took the little flower that he had picked in the rosegarden of Hogwarts and he put it down beside the stone. He tried to withstand it, but he had to see the words again. He lifted the spell and stared at them for a moment, trying to fathom how he, as it had seemed without a trace of emotions, could have written those words on the stone.

It was a declaraion of love; a love that he, at that time, had not even understood that he felt.

The day slowly turned into evening, and the man put the hiding spell on the stone once again. He would lift it again in a year, on the next Mother's Day, but before that he would try not to think about her.

She was, after all, the only woman he hade ever loved.

FIN


A/N 2: I'm not speculating. This is not the way I believe it all to be, this is not my explenation as to why Snape is the way he is. All I wanted was to write something as complex as Snape and Mother's Day. This is the result. I so much hope he's not OOC, because I know how much I hate – oh well, dislike a little – to read such stuff myself.

Waenthoronien