Disclaimer: The character of Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling. Any familiar characters or situations found herein are copyright or Ms. Rowling and Warner Brothers Pictures. No copyright infringment is intended and none should be inferred. This piece is for entertainment non-profit purposes only.

From the Mind of the Half-Blood Prince

A/N: This story is a collection of free verse poems inspired by JK Rowling's character Severus Snape. They were a challenge to myself to write, within the period of an hour and fifteen minutes (the time frame of a very boring university class) as many one page 'stories' as possible. Upon typing them up I realized that they were more poetry than prose - so here they are, presented to you as a collection of three free-versepoems (the first of which is below). I would recommend having a good working knowledge of Snape's character (post HBP specifically) when you read these, for they will be a great deal more enjoyable and make a great deal more sense if you catch the underlying meaning hidden in his words.

This first piece, entitled Sectum, was an attempt to get into Snape's mind as a youth, during the long hours he likely spent trying to perfect his magic. His was far from an enjoyable childhood, however; knowing that, I tried to capture that emotion amongst his logic and frustration at having to use something as stupid as feelings to correctly channel a spell. Being such a rational person, he must also possess a deep emotional core that allows him to tap into his creative side.


I can't get it right.

There's something integral
To the spell matrix
That I don't know,
I can't seem to find.

It always happens this way.

No matter what I attempt,
The incantation never

It's not the kind of thing
You discover
In a routine
And logical manner.
Sometimes they appear
In the strangest
Of places.

You'd never
Think to look.
It takes an open mind
To uncover
Them most of the time.

Sometimes I don't even know
What the spell
Is that I'm trying
To cast.
When that happens,
All I have to go on is a


Spell work is like an art.
A vague, ambiguous idea
Jumps into your mind
And sits there,


For you to react.
You don't get any clues.
Instead, you follow

You let your mind travel
On its own,
Let the feeling
And the magic
Through your body
As it tries to find
The proper conduit.

You can't force it, though.
Little steps come first.

On the tongue.
In the mind.

You know
you have it.

Paint on canvas.


On the wall.


It's always a surprise
What will be created
When I try to forget
The world.

This time it's pain.