From the Diary of a Half-Blood Prince.

19th – 20th November, 1975:

Oh, Diary, tonight I felt it! This poor Prince is on the cusp – nay, the precipice of greatness. For tonight I was permitted an audience with my Lady Fair! The crimson-haired avatar of Aphrodite Herself appeared before me, resplendent in her radiance, in her benevolence. This flower of muggles, so wondrous to behold – my own Lily! And she heard the full measure of my love for her in verse; verse that her most humble servant composed in her honour. This happy meeting unfolded thus-wise:

I, as has been my wont lo this entire week, sat in waiting to see my Lady Love below the steps of foul Gryffindor Tower. For this past summer I had become resolved: I knew that one day, had I the will and perseverance to see it through, I could rescue this maid from those scarlet-clad simpering fools with nought but my undying love to act as beacon to guide her. And so, whilst on the Hogwarts Express (after rebuffing the attacks of my main competition to her Heart and his band of ruffians), I composed the following declaration of love, in the modern style that she prefers.

To A Fair Flower, So Close To Bloom

Beauteous flower of Surrey,
Of crimson fringe and golden smile
From whom one gaze of emerald can bring to one's ears
The joy of a sparrows call. To one's eyes
The bliss of a summer's sunset: To one's arms
The anticipation of twilight's chill: And to one's heart
Life itself.

Would'st thou but take pity upon this
Thy servant
Who in thy wondrous shadow has languished
Since we were nought but buds
For while it is my heart's finest joy but
To walk meekly in your wake, one sweet
One rapturous moment, shall my poor life complete.

Lo these long years have I loved thee,
Sweet flower
Chastely, devoutly, truly. And though I am not worthy
Honour would I bring thee
By my sword and wand
And had we nought else in this life upon which to cling
My love is strong, and would protect thee.

Yet would thou in a moment
Prefer our comp'ny part.
Then grant thee this I would freely.
As would I grant you ought within my poor means.
For I shall love thee.

Two long months I perfected this verse. Two long weeks I waited to deliver it, until I could no longer stand the sight of Potter's preening, nor that of Black's blaggardry. So this past Monday night, a vigil I sat. After hours, when all was still but the passion in my heart for my Flower, my One, I sat. And then, 'round the Witching Hour, was I removed from my vigil by that wizened shrew McGonagall, and sent to my own dungeon. Undaunted, I endeavoured the following night. Yet last night provided me nought but the same unhappy end.

To-night, however, my perseverance finally harvested its hard-won fruits. For the rest of my days, I shan't need a pensieve to recall this happy occasion, branded as it is to my memory with the hot iron of passion, and healed with the salve of my Lady-Love's glance.

T'was that virago McGonagall once again who found me. Yet I did not go passively as I had the past two nights. Nay, I stayed my ground – let the Maenads tear me limb from limb! The Muses will sing my praises, my lyre to the heavens shall they commit! Yet there was no need for wands. For as I relayed the true intent, the pure desire of my heart to McGonagall, her heart and manner did soften. She smiled and bade me keep my vigil.

And even now my hand quakes to recall the moment. For not twenty minutes later came the laughing form of my heart's desire. My flower – my Lily-Love. And the heart of Orpheus himself, upon seeing his Eurydice ascend from the Underworld, could not have been as glad nor as enchanted as was mine upon seeing Lily. Ah, pure Lily. Paragon of all that is fair and beautiful in this World. She descended the stairs of Gryffindor Tower in a flannel nightshirt so fine it might have been gossamer. House shoes protected her delicate feet from the cold stone floor, and a housecoat protected her modesty. The paint of cold-cream was present upon her golden visage, and her crimson locks were as resplendent in their playful untidiness as e'er had they been in their fanciest habillage.

She gazed at me severely, and for a moment I thought she herself would shoo me away. Yet she opened her mouth to address me, and the song of the nightingale herself would ill compare to the dulcet tones that proceeded hence:

"Damnit, Severus. This is the third time this week McGonagall's caught you after curfew on the steps here. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?"

A fool I was to worry. T'was only her maiden's modesty that brought her ire. I gathered my courage and answered.

"But, my sweet Lily, I have – "

"Yes, yes. McGonagall told me all about it. A poem. Gah! Just get on with it, will you?"

So anxious she was to hear the musings of my heart! And who was I to deny her? So, recalling the hours of practice I had devoted to this very moment, I recited the verse for her. And I would be remiss, dear Diary, were I not to mention that the last verse brought forth the tears of love, of pain, and of… well, I did cry. A little. Nonetheless, my heart fluttered with anticipation at her reaction to the confessions of my love for her.

"What did you think, my Lily?" I asked, trembling.

"It was lovely, Sev. (Oh! To hear her call me that! What Bliss!). Now goodnight." She turned to head back to her tower, yet I, the greedy one, wanted just one more moment in which to gaze upon her.

"What did you really think?"

"I enjoyed your use of metaphor and onomatopoeia, but you need to work on your metre," she replied, as if she had been composing this answer in her heart forever – so coolly she delivered it. "Now goodnight."

"But… But Lily!" I called out to her modestly retreating form (no doubt unwilling to leave herself in my company, as raw and unfettered as were our passions) "It was free verse!"

Author's Note: Okay, I'm just having a bit of fun. This came about as the result of a few conversations between Sara Winters and myself. For her take on EmoPoet!Snape, read her marvellous one-shot "The Prank".

I imagine our dear Severus would be quite well-versed in Classical Mythology, so if there's a reference you don't get (for instance, the bit about Muses and Maenads), go read up on the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. And if you'll all excuse me now, it's time to don my asbestos suit to protect me from the flames of a thousand Snape-o-philes.