The Strange Case of Professor Snape and Mr. Clyde

Disclaimer: I don't ownanything. Obviously. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

Hello, everybody! Bundlesojoy here.This is my first foray into the Harry Potter forum…I'm a bit nervous, I admit, but let's see how this goes. I do hope you like it!

So yeah, mine is one of those "Sevvie Keeps a Diary" kinda stories, and yes, I admit, he's a bit OOC. He's a little whinier than he is in canon, and a little more understanding. But let's see what becomes of it.

Summary: Craving intellectual stimulation within the humdrum confines of teaching, Snape decides to split his soul in half—with a potion. What results, however, is not what he expects…

CHAPTER 1

Day 1: excerpts from the Diary of Severus Snape

Pre production

…episode one of experiment has now commenced. Utilizing the logic of the horcrux, it is legitimate to conclude that every soul has separate parts—it is possible to contain layered personalities. My quest has now become to separate my soul without engaging in killing, although daily sojourns with Longbottom have made the aforesaid appear most tempting. However, have resolved to avoid tantalizing distractions, so must confine Longbottom torturing to platonic level.

My general idea: A potion which suppresses certain stratums of the mind while unleashing others. Will begin collecting ingredients tomorrow.

For now, must adjourn to the blasted Great Hall to—how does Dumbledore phrase it? To socialize with "colleagues". Meaning forcing grimaces as McGonagal victimizes me yet again with her dreadful Bulgarian Warlock joke. But must bear it and appear pleasant. Otherwise, shall not receive hearty share of Shepard's Pie; I'm prohibited from eating in isolation.

Dislike notion of prostituting self for supper. However, with no given alternative, must submit.

The Diary of Severus Snape: Day 2

Excellent day. Double potions with Gryffindor first years. Perversely delicious—twenty points annihilated when some little monstrosity commented quietly on appearance as I swished by (note to self: do not look like a creepy vampire—no fangs, you little bugger). Things got better. I rounded on him. Second note to self: adore earth shattering effect on petrified prepubescent wizards.

And then, ten more points! (the word "poof!" is crossed out after this) because I told him he was giving me a headache, an egregious offence because I was clearly far more useful to wizardkind than he would ever be. Headache, I indicated, would hinder my intellectual progress.

This was a lie, of course, actually felt fit as a fiddle—but I'm the one who brews the Veritaserum, so no harm done.

Anyway, things continued to get better. Had a period with the Gryffindor fifth years, my favorite. The class with Saint Potter and his army of disciples. Longbottom was particularly exceptional today. Simple healing draft ended in fireworks and tears. Of course, I found way to blame Granger, and then, subsequently, the big man, the head cheese, Potter (Granger should have helped Longbottom, Potter shouldn't have distracted Granger). Congratulated self on twisted logic. Smirked and docked off fifty points as Little Mister Lightning Bolt himself gave me a steely look. How I enjoy using him as a human voodoo doll for his dratted father! Hope (and suspect) James Potter is twitching in his grave.

Longbottom, it seemed, was mentally beyond repair. Didn't even blubber or look petrified as per usual when I condemned him to detention. V. odd. Usually he's jelly on my highly polished boots. Completely spent. Maybe he suspected the end was near; he has no idea, of course, that I thrive and feed off his misery by sucking out his happiness. Hang on—

Perhaps I'm a dementor.

Cool.

The Diary of Severus Snape: Day Three.

Horrendous. Woeful day, lamentable day. Lunch with Trelawney when McGonagal wasn't there. Damn her. At least the old Gryffindor prune's fractionally tolerable. But Trelawney—can't even deal with her in small doses.

Every time I see her, I itch for a bottle of Muggle insecticide. And they say I look like a giant bat? Hah. But my loathing isn't confined to her unsavory appearance. That overgrown doxy is… even more miserable, if possible, than I. Spent the entirety of the meal entertaining her horrifically idiotic predictions. For me, it was "you shall meet a tragic accident." Right. Sometimes it's quite pathetic, actually—hardly any of them ever come true. For an insane moment, considered throwing self down stairs for her benefit, then reconsidered and reacquainted self with reality (thank Merlin).

The sight of her staring at me out of those immense eyes…it's enough to give a grown ex-Death Eater the heebie jeebies.

On a slightly ambiguous note, double potions with Slytherins today. Boy, do I like 'em. I like 'em mean, I like 'em nasty. They usually coddle themselves into a malicious little stupor in which I am generally delighted to partake, and that's always fun. However, today it was with the Ravenclaws, who are obscenely boring: there's little satisfaction in needling them. Nevertheless, briefly entertaining moment: Pansy Parkinson and Cho Chang got into a bit of a scuffle over the Draft of Agitation. I'd seen Parkinson slipping spoonfuls into Chang's water bottle, after which Chang got into a bit of an uproar…possibly the first remotely entertaining thing a Ravenclaw has ever done. Rounded on her, of course, in that beastly, exquisite way that I do, and took thirty points plus a detention. However, things randomly turned for the worse when Chang exploded into a veritable Niagara Falls. V. unexpected, took a moment to soothe my nerves. It was at the very end of the class, and everyone left quickly. I let Parkinson slip—after all, she's practically Malfoy's mistress—but still had to deal with Chang. How revolting. The girl simply would not stop bawling. I threatened her several times with detention for dancing the Macarena on my frail nerves, but it only made her worse. Since a pacifying potion would be quite illegal, and since Dumbledore would surely stunt my liberties further if he found me upsetting a student so profusely, I decided to employ that ridiculously abstract concept that Gryffindors are so fond of: I tried being nice.

Well, sort of. Told Miss Chang that if she ever bawled in my presence again, it'd be a hundred points. Waived the detention (a personal first…the future Miss Scarhead should be pleased and ashamed). Then (truly awkward) gruffly put a hand on her shoulder (for a second!) and told her to wipe her nose (very runny—disgusting!) and get on to her next class.

She gave me sort of confused look of watery adoration. It was…terrifying. Went next to the staff lounge and pulled out Dumbledore's secret Mercy Pint (accessible only if the prospective drinker is truly depressed. It's hard to come by during exam week) and came to the following conclusion:

Hogwarts is no place for a man.

On the plus side: afterwards, obnoxiously persecuted a gaggle of Gryffindor third years for no conceivable reason. I'm really getting good. Also, collected ingredients for my potion. Expect to begin tomorrow.

The Diary of Severus Snape: Day Four

Set up ingredients to all the correct amounts. Cleaned cauldron with a cleansing charm, had a cup of tea while waiting. Hot, strong, and v. bitter. Just the way I like it.

Did detention with Longbottom. Watched him quail as he scrubbed seventeen (extra large!) week-old, scummy cauldrons. It was like feeding my ego cream puffs.

Went back to quarters under pretense of grading papers. Actually spent the hour brooding over dark good looks and the terrible misfortune of being consigned to the horrors of educating dunderheads. Had a glass of brandy to make self feel better. Eventually decided that "dark good looks" was bit of a stretch. Actually meant "features better suited to a grumpy old mountain goat."

Started stewing potion. Thought of Lucius Malfoy, with his manor house and attractive wife. Thought of self, with no manor house, and no attractive wife to speak of. Concluded moments later that I have a castle instead, which isn't too bad, with lots of women living inside it. Felt considerably better. Neglected to consider that said castle is hardly my own, and that the lots of women are actually throngs of juvenile nightmares, like Miss Chang.

SO—BLOODY—DEPRESSED.