Part Five

Start: Journal Three

He's gone, that bastard, he left. I mean, I knew he would, why stay? More so, why stay with me? But still. At least the apathy is gone.

In its place has come, what I've decided to call, longing. And pain. Great, immeasurable, pain. Worse than any physical torture I have endured. Worse than any emotional or mental strain I've withstood. And gods, does it hurt. I know why he left, I mean, it's obvious. I would have left, were I in his shoes. Nonetheless, I still find myself asking 'why why, why, why, why!?' when I sit up at night.

Insomnia? You bet. I've had that going on since the end of sixth year. I want to die. Well, no, I don't. I enjoy life. I want the part of me, the whole of me, which burns and aches and chafes and screams and howls, to be dead.

If I could cut from my heart the part of me that's in love with him, I would. The problem is; I'd have to cut my whole heart from out my body.

I've been brewing and spell-making and studying like crazy, but there's always a part of my mind constantly going over every single bit of conversation that he and I have ever played a part in.

I am insane. I was insane, I knew that. Hell, he knew that. We all know that Harry-fucking-Potter is insane. But now I think my senses have unraveled as well as my mind. I smelled him this morning!

I was making my tea when all the sudden it hit my like a strong gust of wind, and I was caught up in a wave of delectable smell, intoxicating to a point where my hunger went over the edge.

Look at me! What; is he food now? What I meant, of course, was a completely different kind of hunger.

And last week I thought I caught a glimpse of his robe wiping around the corner, and a month ago I thought I heard his sardonic voice.

That voice, if I ever hear it again, will be enough to undo me, I swear. I doubt that, if he ever came around, and he spoke one syllable, I would not be able to control myself.

Okay, it's been a year. Maybe two. I don't know. But I still haven't heard or read a word from him. It's driving me insane…well, more so than I was, anyway. I don't know; maybe he's dead, or he's found some other…lover…or something of that nature. Or maybe they captured him, and he's in Azkaban.

I've had very little news from the outside world these past years (?) so you could see why I'm unsure. Hermione visits often, but I've sort of come to doubt if she'd tell me if he had died, or become imprisioned.

She probably fears for my health, and thus keeps such disturbing and mentally shattering news from me at all costs. Or something. At least, if said thing had happened, she would. Maybe. I'm not sure.

Anyway, I've discovered two new potions, enhanced the dreamless sleep draught (to a point where it will even block out MY nightmares. Shocking, eh?) and created a vast amount of new spells. I guess being cooped up for so long has given me major time to do all that.

Now, don't get me wrong. I still go out into the world. Just…not among people. I walk out, deep and far into the woods that back my home, at night, during the day; whenever.

I've explored every inch of the woods within a hundred miles of my home, and still there's more, so I keep going. I've kept up my tan—which I've had ever since I can remember, despite lack of sunlight—by doing this, though maybe it would stay even if I never set foot outside again. Who knows?

But the sunlight and nature does me good; I actually enjoy myself out there, free as any other animal that inhabits the area.

A walk such as the ones I've described sounds appealing, at the moment. I believe I will go for one now.

End: Journal Three

A subtle noise can be all that there is of a hint, a hint of what is to be, or what is not to be. A hint of demise, a hint of rebirth, and a subtle noise can change someone's world.

Harry heard a subtle noise as he retired from his potions at the magic ticking hour of 3am, not yet weary, but too disoriented to work with potions at the moment. Said subtle noise crept up on his consciousness, undetected. At first he did not hear it. Then his mind slowly began to process the fact that the noise was not, in all reality, a common one.

He turned to get a good look behind him—for that was indeed where the noise was coming from—and just as he did so, the noise made itself known, began its course of change.

A strong forced crashed into him, pressing him t the wall. At first he assumed this was another nightmare, but when there wasn't immediate pain, he was unsure, and thus thought it to be an attack. He grappled for his wand, but the quick hands that had searched him immediately upon contact had already drawn it from him.

Harry was pretty much convinced of an attack right now, but another notion continued to naggle at his mind, unsure, hopeful, even.

He was unused to hope, and thus she shoved the thought away without giving time to recognize what it stood for, completely unaware as to what it meant, what the thought was. For a moment he felt a tinge of regret, knowing that in thrusting aside hope, he made whatever it promised or wished for that much more impossible.

Harry was right; it was an attack. But not one that he was used to undergoing. Sure, some of the girls at Hogwarts had ambushed him in the halls in this manner, thinking he would like the idea of what they had in mind.

But this; this was quite different. This was stronger, more…heated, was his only description word.

After he realized that this was an attack on him, sexually, the first thing he noticed that his attacker was male. The next thing he noticed was that this, everything about this was familiar and well received, his body reacting to the touch of the other man, like it hadn't done for so, so long.

Harry knew now, or at least, he knew somewhere. The part of his mind that insisted it was in charge did not believe it for a second, but the rest of him knew. His body, his mind, his soul, if he still had one.

Harry shushed the quiet voice in his mind that resisted the mans identity, quelled the intensity of the protest until it was a whisper, then an echo, and then finally gone.

He reacted to the mans touch as he had years ago, that one night, in that one dark, desolate place. His vocal chords worked, his body screamed and ached in intervals, and his mind reeled in all of the pleasure from this one man, his presence, his scent, his touch.

He woke up amongst rumpled bed sheets, tangled in then, actually, to find that Snape was no longer beside him. He rotated his eyes up and around, ignoring the white splotch—which was all his right eye could see—as the pillow. Finally he caught sight of him standing over the bed on the left side, and he rolled himself over to greet the man with a smile.

"Good morning," he said in a soft, contented voice.

"Good morning," Snape said calmly. The look on his face was not a look, but a mask, once again, and Harry felt himself sink, as if heavily weighted.

"Oh," he said; his words just a breath of air with barely recognizable words mixed in. He sounded resigned, like the sigh of a person who lost a bet, or an intense game of chess. Snape smiled at him, not a full-on-real smile, and not a smirk. The smile was eerie, as if it was mixed with derision and something else. Caring, maybe, compassion.

"Avada Kedavra!" the man said, his voice strong and unwavering, but oddly quiet.

Harry smiled his brilliant smile once more, and then he was gone.

A/N: So yeah, I wasn't sure how to make this into a happy ending that was realistic, so I just killed 'em… sorry about that, you must be mad at me. When I got the inspiration to kill Harry, it was perfect, because I was on the phone with my wife, Kate, at the time. I think I was sorta just babbling, telling her I was unsure about where to go with this, and she's nodding and offering suggestions as we tried to come up with something.

Then I'm like 'oh, I know!'

And she gets all excited 'what? What is it?"

'He kills him! Snape kills Harry!'

And she's silent for a moment, and then she squees and goes 'omg perfect!' only she actually said the words, not the omg, but the full words, and I'm just lazy. Erm…so this is the author note I gave to myself to remind me what to do, and I thought it quite funny, so here it is…:

Authoress note to self: Snape comes to Harry they do the xxx (don't forget the explosion!) then the old Avada Kedavra, flash of green, Harry goes xx , all dead and such, and muahahahaha! Angsty ending to and angsty story in an angsty world!

The angst was, of course, probably…I don't know…channeled? Channeled into this story because of all the angst in real life. Northern Uganda, Darfur, Virginia Tech, angst angst angst! I freaking feed off of it. Well, actually, the real-life stuff made me all depressed so I channeled all that angst into this, and now I'm happy again! Yay!