Title: Healing Scrawls

Author: Mairi Nathaira

Rating: R

Category: AU/AR, EWE, Angst, Humour, Post-War

Notes: Written for HP Spring Fling 2010. Many thanks to Tjwritter and Ayla Pascal for helping me figure out a plot for this! Many thanks to Ayla for the great beta job!

Summary: Ron survives the war without his family and his best friends. Bitter and miserable, his counsellor suggests he starts writing down his feelings.

Pairing: RW/SS with mention of NL/LL and SF/OFC

Warnings: Cross-gen (45/25)

Dedications: Seraphimerising

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Warner Brothers and the wonderful JK Rowling. I do not own them, despite the fact I wish I could own SS, RL, and SB. The only thing that belongs to me is the story itself.

Feedback: All comments and criticisms are welcomed there. If it's flame then don't bother for I will put them in my trashcan or blog about it and laugh at you.

We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to. — W. Somerset Maugham

February 14, 2005

I hate my life. And I hate the colour pink — and maroon — representing this repulsive holiday. Red and white I can tolerate, but not those other colours. End of story.

February 25, 2005

Okay. I got bitched out by my counsellor.

If you can call Luna giving me a long lecture on Nargles bitching. I shudder to think of receiving another three hour talk on the existence of those things, so I may as well try this so-called therapy of writing down my feelings in a book nobody else reads but me.

Bloody hell. This writing stuff down thing is more difficult than I've guessed. I mean . . . fuck. How do I write down the fact that I hate being the only survivor from my family? How do I write down my true feelings on how I feel about losing my two best friends in that awful war? Sometimes I wonder why I'm the one who survived. It's not like it's a great feeling to have.

I don't understand why Luna's making me do this. I mean I already express my emotions by singing in bars and playing the piano. How much more does she want to me do? Not to mention, I do talk to her twice a week and put up with her ramblings which are random and not-very-helpful to me. Also, it's really painful leaving her office which is at Hogwarts. She's a counsellor for the school, and she also accepts non-Hogwarts patients. So to go there on a regular basis and see students in uniforms . . . it brings back too many painful memories of my own Hogwarts days where I've had many adventures with Harry and Hermione.

Maybe I'll introduce a hag to Seamus next time as payback. He keeps wanting me to set him up with girls, and since he's introduced me to Luna . . .

Not that she's bad or anything, but she does drive me nuts.

Anyway, this sucks. And my hand hurts. I haven't written this much in ages.

March 1, 2005

Happy fucking birthday to me. I'm a quarter-of-a-century old. My eyes are red, and they look as if I poked them thousands times. I'd drunk half a bottle of firewhiskey, and I'm still not drunk.

Okay, 'm slightly pished — if this awful writin of mine is of any indication. Plus things are a bit fuzy, but I don't know whether that's because of the alcohol or because I've been crying here and there. I can'tt remember how many shots I've had. I think it's five . . . or maybe twenny?

I haven't work today. My boss insisted, but I wish I had. The distraction would have been welcomed, but no! My boss just had to threatened to fire me if I didn't take the day off. I wish I never listened to him! It's not fun celebrating a day like today by myself in my messy flat and with my piano plus music sheets all over the place. Also, the chess pieces are annoyyed with me. The white king's threatened to get umbrellas for his troops if I don't stop crying. What a meanie.

Really, this writing down my feeling thing is crud. It's not helping. Alcohol works a lot better, if you ask me. If Hermione were alive, she'd probably slap me for drinking so much. As well as Harry. And Ginny. And my mum. Especially Mum. She never liked alcohol much. Dad driven her nuts by sneaking in some alcohol . . . but that was not going to happen again. Ever.

Whatever. Maybe I'll just start singing at the top of my lungs and annoy my neighboors.

Again, happy birthday to me. Not.

Three hours later . . .

Crap. There's a saliva stain here. I must have fallen asleep.

March 15, 2005

Luna's evil. She still tells me to write in this thing even after I've told her that it's not helping. She's told me to keep doing it. She's even told me to give this book a name.

Why do I have to name a book? It's just a ruddy inanimate object. I don't need to give it human characteristics, right? But Luna's quite adamant that I do. She's even told me to think of a name in front of her. I've finally uttered a name, and I guess this book is now called "Kemp".

So hullo, Kemp. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Man. Luna's something else. She's the one who needs a counsellor, I think.

March 20, 2005

Kemp, remind me to throw dungbombs into Seamus' mouth one day.

He's being such an almighty prick now that he's got him a pretty girl by his side. I think he's worse than Draco Malfoy times ten.

Last thing I want to hear is of him and that girl doing some BDSM activity in a hotel room. Or about her boob size. Or about him and her doing anything.

Just no. I don't need these images in my head. Though they are a form of distraction, I suppose.

April 1, 2005

I walked through Diagon Alley today, and I passed by the twins' old place. Then when I was going through some of my stuff, I found one of their Extendable Ears. I tried it out against my flat's wall. It was still in a good working condition, surprisingly. I could hear everything my neighbours talked about. Doing this brought back memories of us trying it out in Grimmauld Place. Fred and George really were brilliant with their ideas. The creations they came up with were ingenious. I honestly hated being their test subjects back then, but now I really wouldn't mind one of them giving me some sweets that would have some nasty side-effects.

At work, someone requested me to play a Weird Sisters' song. It just had to be one of Ginny's favourites. I wanted to politely decline that person, but in the end I played it. Playing the song on the piano was a challenge. I had to force my fingers to hit the keys, and when I had to sing, my voice cracked a bit at the beginning, but I didn't stop. I just sang that ruddy song, and towards the end, I had to fight back tears. When I finished, I took a break. I hid myself in one of the back rooms, and I spelled the door locked and cast a silencing charm. I needed that moment of privacy as I broke down.

I . . . I know crying is something we have to do once in a while as a human, but I hate it. I hate it when I can't control my emotions.

You would think seven years would be a long time to get over your losses.

Whoever said time heals all wounds are liars. Time doesn't heal wounds, dammit. It just doesn't.

April 8, 2005

Do you know how weird it is to call you Kemp? Well, whatever her loonyness wishes of me to do, I better do it.

Speaking of weird, I had a mind-boggling dream.

In this strange dream, I saw myself sporting a vulture-sized nose, and my arms had transformed into huge bat wings.

What's this supposed to mean, I have no idea. I know dreams are part of our subconscious, but why must we dream things that make no sense? At least this dream has made no sense to me.

I've told Luna about the dream. She thinks that I'll end up meeting a deformed-looking Nargle.

Seamus, on the other hand, thinks I'll turn into something called Pinokio and some Batman thing.

So if I'm not wallowing in my angst, am I surrounded by people who cannot interpret dreams in a serious manner?

I guess it's a good thing I'm not dreaming about that maroon-coloured dress robes.

April 20, 2005

I'm going to fucking kill Seamus.

In his drunken form, he slipped me this weird concoction into my drink at the bar tonight. At first nothing happened. It just tasted a bit bitter. But then when someone asked me something about ten minutes later, I opened my mouth and discovered a terrible thing.

Thanks to that bloody bastard, I've lost my voice!

Fucking hell! If Seamus doesn't find the antidote for this, I'm going to do more than just kill him! I'll hang him by his balls, get a woodpecker to peck his family jewels, and make sure he cannot get it up for the rest of his miserable life!

April 22, 2005

I still don't have my voice. My career has come to an end at the moment. My boss understands and has given me some time off, but that doesn't make me feel any better.

Seamus still hasn't found the antidote.

Kemp, if I go to Azkaban for murder, you know why.

April 30, 2005

St Mungo's got the worse healers on the Isle. They don't know anything about regaining lost voices. They're so fucking hopeless.

They made me take these disgusting potions. One of them made me breathe out fire like some Hungarian Horntail. Another potion made me lose sight for about ten minutes. The last one they made me take gave me hives.

Why is my life such a pain?

And as much as I've got used to writing in here, it's not fun carrying a notebook and a pen everywhere I go to communicate with people.

Neville offered me some herbal remedies — something with an unpronounceable name. I had hoped it would work, but they didn't. Instead, it just gave me pimples and turned my hair maroon. I stared at my reflection for a good thirty minutes. My mouth dropped open, and I looked absolutely horrified. I kept my temper, though. No need to lash out to him when he was just trying to help. Thankfully, those ghastly effects disappeared in a couple of hours.

Seamus, after claiming he couldn't find the antidote, had disappeared to France with his girlfriend for a while. I guess for his sake that was a good thing. He would be dead otherwise.

The next time he shows his face around here, I'll do the following:

1. Punch him until he's unrecognisable.
2. Kick him in the balls.
3. Give him a potion that renders him impotent for the rest of his life.
4. Steal his expensive, top of the line broom and break it. Preferably over his noggin.
5. Send out word that his cock is the size of a peanut.

Well, I won't be that violent, but these are ideas, right? I feel a bit better writing that short list, at least.

May 2, 2005

Still no voice.

I almost didn't want to write today, but I figured I should. Today happened to be the seventh anniversary of the battle that ended that war. There was going to be a remembrance ceremony of some sort — they've had one every year — but I didn't see any point in attending it. It was not something I really wanted to participate.

I honestly don't know what to write or what to say, though. All I can say is that I miss my family and I miss Harry and Hermione. I hate being a survivor, but I know they wouldn't want me to become some drunk and die in a ditch somewhere, but at times it's tempting. Like today.

Luna has suggested I get a pet. I still have Pig, but she's suggested I get a crup or something. After having Scabbers, though, I'm a bit wary on keeping a pet . . .

I hate this. I hate this feeling of loneliness. It's such a suffocating feeling that all I want to do is scream. But I can't. All I can do right now is just write and just think by myself.

May 6, 2005

Luna referred me to a Potions master. She didn't tell me who it was, but she just gave me an address to the person's residence.

I hope whoever this Potions master is can help me regain my voice. Hopefully tomorrow will give me a much better chance than what I've been given lately. I'll keep my fingers crossed, Kemp.

May 7, 2005

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

I'm never listening to Luna ever again!

May 8, 2005

Okay, now that I'm a bit calmer, let me see if I can write something more than just "fuck".

I went to the Potions master's house — well it was more like a cottage — and guess who greeted me at the door?

Severus Snape.

Yes, the Severus Snape. He looked rather surprised and put off at seeing me, and I probably didn't look any better since I had the most disgusted expression on my face when I saw him.

Ugh, just ugh! Why him? Luna's seriously demented! How can she trust him to get my voice back?

Unfortunately, I didn't get to go past his front door. After the initial shock, he just slammed the door in my face, and I ended up Apparating back to my own flat. All day long, I stomped around my place and pounded on my piano. I probably aggravated my neighbours, but screw them! Why did she refer me to that overgrown bat?

Earlier today, I stormed into Luna's office, and I wrote my anger out to her. My pen ended up breaking since I used so much force, but I think she understood my message to her. She didn't get upset, but she only looked at me with that serene look of hers and said, "Everything will work out, Ron. Just work with Severus. He'll find a cure for your vocal problems."

She thinks everything will work out. Maybe in her world, but it's not going to work out in real life. And she's called him Severus. Since when has she turned all buddy-buddy with Snape? And why are they on a first-name basis? Then again, I can't fathom anybody calling that greasy git "Severus", even if that's his given name.

Anyway, regardless of what she says, I'm not going back to that git's place. I'll find some other way to get my voice back.

May 13, 2005


Nobody else can help me. I've tried other specialists in the wizarding world and even asked some Muggle doctors. They can't do anything.

I give up.

Looks like I'll have to go see that git after all. Why me? Kemp, what have I done wrong in my life to deserve this?

May 14, 2005

I went back to Snape's cottage, and like before, he greeted me at the door with his scowling face. We stared at each other for a few minutes, and I studied his face. His nose, which had always been crooked, looked more crooked than before. Maybe in the war, someone gave him a good punch? Served the git right. Aside from that ghastly nose, I noticed a few more wrinkles on his thin face than years ago. Or at least I didn't remember them. I'd never really had the chance nor the desire to look at him closely in the past.

His black hair was still greasy as ever. What did he do? Cleaned his hair with oil instead of water? I didn't know his exact hair washing procedure, but it really was grimy looking . . . but I'd also noticed a few strands of grey sprinkling the shiny blackness here and there.

It's strange seeing that considering he really isn't that old. He's only about twenty or so years older than me, making him to be forty-five at least. I guess the ageing process hasn't been that kind to him.

Anyway, his lips were turned up into his customary sneer, and I had to fight back my own look of revulsion towards him. I kept my face neutral as possible, and I gave him a challenging look. Our standoff went on for a few more seconds, and that was when I saw that his eyes were different. They looked softer. Well, no. Not softer, but they appeared more tired and weary.

It's an interesting contrast when I stop to think about it.

Well, back to our staring contest. I wasn't sure who broke the contact first, but he stepped aside and let me in. Before I could take my first step, he said, "Try not to bring in mud, Weasley, and do keep your hands to yourself once inside!"

I rolled my eyes, made sure there was no mud on my shoes, and kept my hands to my sides. He gestured towards a sofa. A black leather sofa that looked really uninviting and cold. When my arse touched the sofa, I could feel the iciness of the furniture spreading all over my body, and I had to suppress my shiver of discomfort.

As I cursed inside my head, I looked at the table in front of me and saw a long piece of parchment and some quill and ink arranged neatly there.

I raised my eyebrow at Snape, and he said in biting tones, "I'm going to ask you a few questions about your current condition, and you will write down the question and the answer for me. Understand?"

A few questions? Hah! Try thousands of questions! By the time I'd finished writing down details after details of how I lost my voice and whatnot, it looked like I wrote a sodding symphony or two for Beethoven or Wagner. I mean I did want my voice back, but what did it matter what brand of beer I had drank that day? I wanted to throw the quill in his face, but I didn't since he was probably the only person who could help me gain my voice at this point.

I handed over the parchment when he finally asked the last question, and my fingers and my wrist were throbbing. He then dismissed me in a bored drawl, telling me to come back tomorrow for more questioning. I couldn't believe it. What he asked me today wasn't enough?

Standing up, I forced myself to not throw anything onto the table. With a stiff nod towards Snape, who wasn't even looking at me now, I started to head for the door when he stopped me by saying, "Weasley? Do be on time tomorrow. And if you can try to get a sample of Mr Finnigan's concoction that would make you less useless."

Anger bubbled inside of me as I stalked off to the door. I reached it and was about to slam it when I heard him call, "Don't slam my door like an uncivilised gorilla, Weasley."

How the hell did he know that? Did he gain some power that Trelawney seemed to have missed out on?

Now . . . just how am I supposed to get a hold of that Seamus? He doesn't answer to owl correspondence, he's somewhere in France, and he knows I'm pissed off at him. He'll be in hiding — that bugger. Perhaps Luna will have an idea . . .

May 15, 2005

Luna said she'd take care of Seamus. Then she practically shoved me out the door of her office and told me, "Don't keep Severus waiting, Ron! He'll never admit it, but he likes the company I send him."

I gaped at her closed door, and then I went my way to Snape's cottage. His grumpiness made me feel just as angry as I walked back and sat on that freezing sofa. He first asked, "Did you bring the concoction?"

I shook my head and wrote on a new piece of parchment, Luna will take care of it.

He snorted and muttered, "You can't do it yourself?"

That made me furious as I scribbled on the parchment, It was her idea! And besides, I can find Seamus if I want to!

"Spare me your exaggerations," Snape said unkindly.

Spare me your sermon and just hurry up and ask me the questions you need to ask me!

"Someone seems to be in a hurry. You must have an important date to keep."

I blushed at that, even though I had no reasons to. I quickly wrote down, Will you just ask me the sodding questions already?

An unreadable expression came on his face, and he said, "Please refrain from using obscenities in my cottage."

I couldn't believe he was lecturing me about using obscenities. Actually since when did "sodding" become an obscenity? I stifled back a sigh and wrote, Fine. Now, what are the questions?

The next hour or so passed slowly as he asked me a million questions. It was boring, but at the same time, it wasn't horrible either. I was just glad to finally stop writing when he asked the last one. I handed over the parchment to Snape, and he read it closely. A look of distaste came on his face, and he grumbled, "Your penmanship hasn't changed since you were a student, but at least this one's a tiny bit easier to read compared to yesterday's writing."

As I fumed to myself, thinking he was such an arse who was incapable of being nice even a bit, I sat and waited for him to tell me what to do next. A few minutes passed before he looked up at me. "Still here?" he asked in a curt voice. "We're done for today. Come back in two days . . . with your medical files from St Mungo's."

He waved a dismissive hand at me, and I walked out. Before I reached the door, I turned around and watched him scribble a note here and there on what I had written. His head was bowed, and his greasy hair framed his face, which I couldn't see, but I could see that his body was stiff except for his moving hand. It moved quite elegantly.

Ever so slightly, he looked up, and before he could yell at me, I left the cottage, cursing at myself for staring at Snape like that and for getting caught. Why had I stared at him? Why didn't I just quickly leave? Just what was the matter with me?

May 16, 2005

Kemp, I'm so fucking bored. Without my job, I have all the free time in the world. But I'm sick of playing the piano, sick of trying to write new songs, sick of meeting friends whom I have to write to communicate with, and am just sick of lounging around with alcohol!

I want my voice back so my life can return to normal!

I'll repeat myself since I have nothing better to do. I'm so fucking B-O-R-D. No, wait. That doesn't look right. It's B-O-R-E-D. Damn alcohol!

May 17, 2005

I must be crazy. Let me explain my realisation.

Today, I brought my medical files to Snape. He went through it and asked me more questions. Then, he even had me open my mouth so he could inspect the back of throat or something. He had one of those sticks to hold my tongue down. I thought he'd be rough and everything, but he was surprisingly gentle with that stick. Too bad his expression didn't look gentle. He looked as if he wanted to stab me with that stick, but luckily for me, he didn't.

But anyway, after he finished everything, he told me that he'd try to figure out an antidote, but it would be much easier if he had a sample of that liquid I consumed. I hope Luna can find that damned bastard.

Then Snape told me to go. Instead of leaving, I wrote on a different parchment, Can I stay and help you with anything?

I watched him as he stared at the question. His scowl actually disappeared, and he looked at me in disbelief and asked, "Why would I want your help when you couldn't handle my class?"

I shrugged before writing, That was years ago. I might be better at it now.

I wasn't, really, but I didn't want to leave yet. There was nothing for me to do, and if I left now, I'd just go bonkers at my flat. I really needed something to do and helping Snape out with minor stuff was better than nothing. Well. It was either that or go and listen to Luna prattle on about Nargles or something. Between Snape and her, I decided Snape was the lesser of two evils — as strange as that might sound. Also, if he did get my voice back, I didn't want to be in his debt for the rest of my life, so I figured I'd help him out here and there as a form of payment to get out of his debt.

We both looked at each other. Both of us were standing, and we were both the same height, so our eyes met easily. I stared into his dark eyes, and if possible, I saw it darken. In a low, guttural voice, he responded, "Fine. Make yourself useful by organising those piles of parchment into my files in that cabinet. It's in alphabetical order. When you finish, I'll need you to clean and sanitise all those glass containers in the sink."

I nodded. I could do all that. Snape stalked off first, and then I began to organise the parchments as he requested. As I did that, I noticed a chess set hiding off in a corner of the room. Seeing that surprised me. I didn't think he'd like chess. An idea came to me as I pondered on getting him to play a game with me.

If he's a good player, as good as me, then it will be a fun challenge to play him. If he sucks . . . then it's one thing I can be better at than him!

But first, I better prove to him that I'm not that incapable of helping him out a bit.

May 24, 2005

Luna still hasn't got a hold of Seamus yet. Where the fuck is he? Is he under the Fidelius Charm for some bizarre reason?

In the meantime, Snape got me hunting down some rare herbs with Neville in the Forbidden Forest. It was one of those herbs that only appear on the night of the full moon. So last night I had the privilege of hunting down a plant with Neville.

We did find it, but it took all night.

At least Snape got that herb. He didn't break out into a grin or anything, but it looked as if his face went a bit soft when we handed that herb over.

It wasn't a bad look on him. Too bad he quickly started scowling again.

Gosh, it's difficult trying to please some people. Whatever. I'm ready for some kip.

June 1, 2005

Snape's been keeping me busy with stuff. He also lets me run errands; I deliver his potions for some of the older folks living on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, which aren't far from where Snape lives. I've found out that while he charges for business that requires his potions, for the elder wizards and witches, he gladly does it for free.

I'm surprised by his generosity. But then again, Snape, despite his "wonderful" personality as I've learned, can be quite unpredictable and shocking by the way he acts.

After the war, he survived Nagini's bite. The truth of his true allegiance came out, and he was named one of the many heroes of this war . . . along with me, Neville, and others. I didn't like the attention, but I think Snape hated it more since he'd resigned from Hogwarts and threatened the press that if they didn't back off, he'd curse the "bumbling fools at the Prophet who disregards privacy of those who wants it".

His threat worked, and the press began to leave him alone. Snape disappeared away from public view after that. A few years went with no words of him, but then he reappeared and started his freelancing work with potions.

During that time, he and Luna started to work with each other. This was when he apparently moved on with his life.

I find it weird that someone like Snape can move on with his life. Whereas I'm still stuck in a rut. I'm still unable to really let go of the past, let go of all those death . . .

It's strange, Kemp. It's funny how Snape, of all people, is capable of moving on. I want to ask how he did it, but I've a feeling he'll blast me to Saturn before telling me anything. It's good to see that he's predictable in some ways, at least!

By the way . . . Snape didn't tell me any of this. Luna did.

And why am I defending myself to a book?

June 13, 2005

With the full moon coming, Snape was going to work on the Wolfsbane Potion for a couple of people. He'd banned me from his workroom, saying he needed his full concentration. So I was out in the sitting room, organising some files as usual.

The afternoon passed, and it was nearing supper time when he came out of his workroom. He actually looked astonished to see me still here. Before he could say anything, though, Luna came in carrying a vial.

"Here," she said cheerfully. "I finally tracked down Seamus in a Mona Lisa painting in Paris. Apparently his girlfriend didn't like his philandering ways, so she punished him by spelling him trapped in the painting. I got him out and asked him to re-create the concoction, so here it is!"

Both Snape and I stared at her owlishly, and we exchanged a look. We weren't sure if she was joking or not, but I figured it'd probably be safer to not ask. Snape probably thought the same way since he silently took the vial from her hand.

"Hopefully this will help you, Severus!" She glanced at her watch. "I've got to go! I promised Neville a good meal and some good sex! Good thing he likes to do it rough at times."

I grimaced. She only grinned at me and then dreamily walked off, closing the door behind her.

Snape shook his head and grumbled too softly for me to hear, still holding the vial. I watched his dark eyes studying its content, some green-coloured liquid. He told me, "As it's getting late, I'll look at this tomorrow."

I agreed. I could see that he looked rather exhausted from working all day. A shame since I was going to offer to cook us some supper.

Sort of. I can't cook that well, but I can cook a few dishes decently. At least Neville has found them decent, and he's quite a picky eater . . .

But I want to cook for Snape as another way to help him out. He's too thin. He needs some meat on his bones.

Oh, fuck. I'm acting like my mother, aren't I? Not that it's a bad thing, but something about this doesn't quite add up.

June 14, 2005

Snape looked quite horrid when I came to his place today. It seemed as if he'd stayed up all night long.

He answered my questioning glance by thrusting a steamy vial of some purple potion at me. "Here," he said crisply, "is the antidote."

I couldn't believe it, Kemp. Even though he was tired the night before, he still stayed up to create my antidote? Wow. I was really thankful about that.

My momentary shock and gratefulness disappeared when I took the potion and sniffed at it. It smelled quite foul. I grimaced, and I looked at him. I really didn't want to drink it up since I had a bad feeling it'd taste just the way it smelled. Pinching my nose and throwing my head back, I gulped down the content.

How disgusting was it? Terribly revolting. Imagine twenty dungbombs mixed with garlic and ginger. It was that awful. I wanted to puke up what I swallowed, but I forced myself to keep it down.

I had let out a loud "Yuuuuuuuuuuck!". Can you imagine it? I'd lost my voice for a long time, and that was the first thing I said after regaining it back?

Snape gave me what passed as an amused look on him.

I coughed and spluttered before I told him thanks. My voice sounded scratchy and unused. "T-tha . . . thanks."

I felt Snape's eyes sweeping over me, and he told me, "I must return to the Wolfsbane Potion."

That was my cue to leave, and I did.

My voice was back, but I felt empty. Why?

June 16, 2005

Well, fuck me. I miss that greasy git. I actually miss his surly personality. Have I lost my bloody mind?

June 23, 2005

I went back to singing and playing for the regulars at my job. They cheered when they saw me. Apparently my temporary replacement was Millicent Bulstrode, and I knew for a fact that her voice was terrible. Horribly off-key. I wonder what my boss was smoking when he decided to let her take my spot.

Oh, well. It's done with.

I've just come back from my meeting with Luna. She still encourages me to write in here, and she has congratulated me on my voice coming back. But now I'm craving McDonald's. Especially their milkshakes. But I don't want to eat alone. I think I'll buy some and take it with me to Snape. I wonder if he's ever had them. Can't hurt to try. At worse, he'll just kick me out after throwing a hex at me.

June 24, 2005

Amazing. Snape just accepted the food without giving me a hard time. He didn't hex me, nor did he kick me out. He did scowl at me and asked why I brought over "such indedible pieces of rubbish that are passed as food" though.

He still tried the burgers and the fries, complaining it was too greasy (irony, Kemp?), and then we settled for a game of chess. I met my lifelong chess partner; he was that bloody good at it. It was a tough match, but in the end, I somehow won, and he gave me a murderous look.

I'm not surprised he's a sore loser. Sore loser or not, that match has completely exhausted me mentally and physically. I need sleep.

June 26, 2005

An interesting conversation took place between Snape and me at his cottage today. I had nothing to do until work started, so I decided to visit him. I decided to write this in the following format since I couldn't be arsed to add in descriptions and stuff. And besides, it's faster.

S: Why do you keep coming back here, Weasley?
R: To help you with whatever you need help with. Is that a problem?
S: You have your voice. I'm sure you have other stuff to do now.
R: As weird as this'll sound, I find myself . . .
S: Just say it. Otherwise you're wasting my time!
R: I like being around you.
S: I beg your pardon?
R: I . . . I got used to your snarky attitude.
S: Snarky? Is that even an actual word?
R: I think so. I mean that word does fit you. Somehow.
S: I have a feeling I shouldn't accept that as a compliment.
R: Well . . . well . . . er, you want to beat me at chess one day?
S: You said I'm snarky. Now you're assuming I want to beat you in a game?
R: You did have a very sour look on your face when I defeated you.
S: Impertinent brat.
R: I think cheeky sounds better than that.
S: . . . Well, you're here. Might as well make yourself useful.

In the end, he had me do filing, labelling, and chopping. Only he had to remind me to not chop so sloppily. Some things just never change.

But now I can't help but wonder just why I want to be with him. I mean . . . he's snarky and cantankerous, yet I feel some sort of a strange connection between us. It's as if I feel like he understands my pain of being alone. Of course, I think his is a choice for the most part, but for me, it's not a choice. Yet I'm also aware of some sort of weariness about him that I also have.

Bah. It's three in the morning. I don't think I make sense this late. Or early. Whatever.

June 30, 2005

I had a revelation today.

And it was all thanks to Luna.

According to her, I like Snape.

. . . Kemp, I think she's right. And I think I need a drink.

July 4, 2005

I still haven't gotten over my shock at the simple fact of me liking Snape. I haven't gone back to his place yet since I've discovered my attraction to him. It's fucked up. I mean, I've had my share of one night stands and lovers of both genders, but to like someone like him? When I lost my voice, have I also lost my brain?

Maybe this is a phase. Maybe this'll disappear in a few days.

July 7, 2005

I visited Snape, and he actually asked me why I hadn't come by lately. A blush nearly ruined it all for me, but I kept it at bay, and I just told him that I was busy with work. I don't think he believed me, but he didn't try to do Leglimency on me — which I appreciate!

We worked quietly together, and I found myself studying him discreetly as possible. He was brewing something that required all of his concentration. His eyebrows were closely knitted together, and his thin lips kept moving as he muttered to himself. His stained fingers gripped the stirrer tightly as his arms moved quite gracefully in counter-clockwise direction. The steam from the cauldron obscured his face a bit, but I could see it was red and wet from the heat. His lank hair was tied back for once, which gave me a good view of his high cheekbones and his hairless face.

I was really glad I wore robes. They hid my body's reaction from him.

Later, he sent me away to do some delivery. As I walked towards Hogsmeade, I tried to come up with a list of reasons why I like Snape. My list is a bit . . . illogical.

1. He's tall and slim, though a bit too thin, I think.
2. He's no Lockhart, but he's handsome in his own way. I mean, aside from his too big nose and his greasy hair . . . at least he has these intense eyes. Looking in them sends shiver down my spine. I think it's a combination of fear and lust.
3. He's intelligent. His chess and potions skills say a lot about him. Plus, he did create some spells, too. Albeit, dangerous ones.
4. His personality is strangely enticing. Okay, I don't exactly enjoy his bitching when he's in a PMS-y mood, but at least he's not fake like Fudge or Skeeter.
5. I just find him attractive, somehow. Somehow.

ARGH. That whole saying about how love isn't easy to understand? Multiply that about a hundred, and that will explain my feelings towards Snape.

Or maybe a thousand.

July 9, 2005

I might not understand my feelings towards Snape, but I'm certain of one thing: I have to make the first move in this whole thing.

Therefore, I have plans tonight that involve cooking a homemade meal and providing alcohol.

We'll see how this goes.

July 11, 2005

Oh, Merlin.

I think I bollocksed it up terribly.

And just when everything was going well, too! I just had to go and fuck it all up!

After I helped him with his work, I told him I was going to cook us some bangers and mash. I knew that was a favourite dish of his, so it was a good thing I can cook that decently! Well, dinner passed with us talking about random subjects about potions, music (he apparently likes Muggle classical music and is fond of Chopin), the Ministry, and chess. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Just us two bantering and conversing like normal.

After we finished our meal, we cleaned up and went to his sitting room for some scotch. We were on that freezing sofa together. I ended up drinking a bit too much, and now I deeply regretted that.

In my slightly pissed state, I leaned over and kissed him. His lips were chapped, but they felt so good against mine. So warm. I backed away first with a silly grin on my face, but that quickly disappeared when I saw a stormy look in his eyes. The lips that I had just kissed seconds ago parted, and he hissed, "This is not funny, Weasley."

That was when I realised I had fucked up. When I stood, the room spun around me. My mouth had gone dry, but I still managed to say "Sorry", and then I hightailed out of his cottage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I don't even know if he fancies blokes! I've snogged him without thinking! It's obvious he hates it! Shite, I'm a dunderhead!

July 15, 2005

Since the day I became an idiot, I didn't leave my flat, and I purposely didn't go to my appointment with Luna today. My truancy must have given her the idea to come to my flat and pound my door down.

She found me in my bed, the covers all thrown around me. I would have never guessed it with her slight build, but she managed to yank me out of bed and told me to come have tea with her in my sitting room.

She just took over my flat like she owned it.

I've decided that if she ever gets mad, I don't want to be around her when it happens.

Anyway, as I nursed over my cup of tea, she dragged the story out of me. When I finished, she and I talked.

L: Severus came to me, asking if you'd drown yourself in the Thames. He sent me a message saying "If that Weasley killed himself without giving me any explanation for that indecent act, I will personally bring him back alive and kill him myself." Why didn't you just tell him what you felt, Ron?
R: He's the one who said, "This is not funny, Weasley"! With that statement, do you think I'd really tell him how I feel? I mean, it's obvious he didn't like it!
L: Ron, he was just trying to figure out if that was a joke or not. You know how sensitive his kinds are.
R: I wasn't aware he was part of a "kind".
L: Of course he is! He's like a dangerous beast who, once tamed, can be the most loyal person ever.
R: Say what?
L: I'm just saying that he's a bit too uptight and protective of himself, so he'll come off quite standoffish, but that was not his intention.
R: You're confusing me.
L: I'm just trying to tell you that I think he fancies you, too. Just less openly so.
R: Wait, wait, wait. He likes me?
L: I would imagine so. Why else would he come to my office to inquire about you?
R: But, but, but . . .
L: Oh! I think there might be Nargles near here. You're repeating stuff in triplets . . . that's a guaranteed sign that Nargles are nearby!
R: Luna . . .
L: I shall go look for them. Go see Severus, okay?

Just like that she left me as I stared after her incredulously.

If what she's said is true — not about the Nargles, but about Snape — then I think I have plenty to think about.

July 18, 2005

I finally found the courage to go visit Snape — er, Severus. Since I like him, I realised I should start calling him that instead of "Snape".

When I reached the door, I hesitated. I was so tempted to just go back to my flat and forget about this, but I knocked on the door instead of barging in like I had the last few weeks. I held my breath as I waited for him to answer. It felt like ages before he came to the door, and when he did, I saw a magnificent scowl etched on his face. I nearly lost my nerves before blurting, "I like you, Severus Snape! There, I admit it!"

Right after I said that, I wanted to really die and sink into a hole. Of all the things to say, I had to say something that probably made me look like a nincompoop.

I wasn't sure what Severus would do after my pitiful declaration. To be honest, I had expected him to throw something sharp at me, but to his credit, he only stepped aside and said, "Let's talk inside." His scowl had transformed into a blank expression; even his eyes were shuttered, and I wasn't able to guess what he was thinking then.

We sat at his cold sofa, but there was a gigantic space between us. I waited for him to start, and after what felt like long, agonising hours, he gave me a bloody speech along the lines of:

If you are really telling the truth here about your infatuation with me, then say your blessing since I would have tortured you until you lost your voice permanently, and this time I would have not bothered to help you get it back. Honestly, Weasley, just what are you thinking? I can see that you are not under the Imperius, so I know you are in charge of your own words and actions. You say you like me, but I am having trouble deciphering a logical reason for all this. You are a former student of mine — not to mention I am also two decades older than you at least — so I cannot fathom why you have developed these insane claims. Although you are quite idiotic and are a dunderhead, I know you are capable of finding someone better out there for you. Please spare me your foolish babbling and just get straight to the point.

I'm not sure if that's exactly what he's said, but that's definitely the gist of it. A lot of underhanded compliments with underlying insults. How's it possible that he can manage to compliment and insult me? I mean, seriously, I think that's a gift of his along with his potions skill.

Another long moment of silence passed between us before I said my own statement.

Look, I'm not quite sure why this suddenly came to this, but I do like you. I'm well aware that you were my teacher and the whole age gap thing. But I like you. You're temperamental, but you're blunt, and I respect that. You don't mince words, but I know you're actually a decent person . . . you just express it in your own way. Also, I'm attracted to you, yes. I like your intelligence. Your personality has grown on me, and I really have enjoyed your company these past couple of months.

When the war ended, I had lost my family and my two best friends. For these seven long years, I've felt empty and miserable. But then when I started to be with you and Kemp, I found myself changing somehow. I feel less depressed, and I found myself liking you.

I don't know whether you feel the same or not, but if you do . . . I'd like to . . . to . . . date you. Court you. Whatever the term you prefer.

When I finished, I kind of expected him to give me a declaration of love back at me. You know what he said instead? He asked, "Who's Kemp?"

I was about to bang my head on the table when I glanced into his eyes. I saw something that looked like jealousy. Let's just say that gave me some hope as I responded, "Oh, just a book I write in."

"I'm being compared to a diary?" I rolled my eyes. I didn't think Snape could sound so childish, but he sounded put off right then and there.

"It was Luna's suggestion, okay?"

Once I said that, he nodded soberly. "That explains it all."

"Yes," I said.

By then, I was unsure of what to do or say next, but he heaved a huge sigh and said, "You know I am not going to change into a sentimental fool, right?"

I had to prevent a grin from escaping me. Hearing that Snapeish statement just made me want to burst out laughing. I didn't, though. I reached out the touch his face, my fingers touching the flyaway strands from his loose ponytail (which were greasy, but it didn't feel as bad as I'd imagined), and I gently stroked his cheeks. In a soft voice, I muttered, "I wouldn't expect anything like that from you. Though I can't help but wonder if you'll be this cantankerous in bed."

He smirked at me. That smirk gives me much to look forward to, and even more so after he proclaimed, "You'll have to see for yourself."

After that, he had to go back to his work, and I felt like I had come back home when I started my usual routine of helping him out.

Kemp, this . . . this has turned out much better than I expected. I know being with him is not going to be easy than being with a more cheerful person, but I really couldn't be arsed to be with anyone that's not Severus.

I've been smitten by him.

July 28, 2005

You know, Kemp. Writing in you has helped me a lot. But I don't think I'll write all the wonderful and steamy details of my night with Severus in here. I don't see the point. It will take more than mere words to describe my feelings and emotions on what I've experienced as the most intense and passionate love-making session in my life.

It was that fucking good, Kemp.

Though I think I've nearly pulled my back out from all that exertion. At least with that excuse, I can get more kisses from Severus. He's such a great kisser. One snog from him will heal me from any ailments!

On a second thought, I think I will jot down some details of that fantastic sex I've had. If I ever have amnesia or go senile, this entry will at least allow me to remember some bits of it!

Let me start from the beginning. First, we had dinner, and then we retired to his sitting room. We were back on that freezing sofa, but this time I remembered to cast a warming charm on it, which my arse and back thanked considerably. Anyway, we were lounging there, and we were both unsure what to do next. I knew I was nervous and uncertain; I really didn't want to fuck anything up.

But then I wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders, and I could feel him stiffen. Just as I was about to take my arm back, he turned his head slightly to look at me. His face had a hard look to it, but his eyes told another story. They were lit with desires and wants, and I felt like I was being smouldered by its depth.

Severus kissed me first, and I had to admit it was a bit awkward . . . we both had to adjust our angles since his nose was in the way, but once that was figured out . . .

I know I'm repeating myself, Kemp, but Severus is a GREAT kisser. The way he used that tongue — swirling and rubbing against mine, tasting the peppermint tea he had minutes ago — it was bloody brilliant.

When we broke the kiss — well, when I had to since I was about to die from oxygen deprivation — he told me in his velvety voice to move this to the bedroom. I was not about to disagree to that proposition, so we both resumed another round of snogging on top of his bed. Severus was on his back, and I was on top of him, my body fitting perfectly against his. The more we snogged, the more I had turned hard, and I could feel his own hardness against mine, and when he moved his hips against mine, I nearly fainted from the pleasure.

Together, we stripped our clothes off — fine, we ripped our clothes off — and when we were naked from heads to toes, Severus insisted to stop wallowing in doubt and take the next step. I wasn't quite expecting that. See, I thought he would naturally want to be on the top, what with his forceful personality and whatnot, but I guess that wasn't the case in sex. I didn't question it; I couldn't question it since I was too eager to take the next step.

There was a small vial of lubricant on his nightstand — one he made naturally — and when I poured some on my finger, I had to force myself to not rush this. I didn't want to hurt him any more than necessary. I knew from experience that being on the bottom was not always pleasant no matter how many times one went through it.

But Merlin, it was really difficult to hold back when I prepared him, and it was really a challenge to not thrust quickly when I finally went inside. It was so intense and powerful that I nearly blacked out again. However, I kept my head clear. I looked down at him, looked down at the way his hair was sprawled out on the pillow, the way his pale fingers clenched at the sheets, and the way his chest heaved as he relaxed himself.

It was a sight to behold. I couldn't stop staring at him. It was just beautiful.

Severus broke that spell by urging me to continue, and I complied. As I moved, I kissed him again and again, and he kissed back, his hands grabbing and holding onto my back. His moans and mine combined together until it was one. When we reached our climaxes, he came first with me following him few seconds later.

If anything ever happens to us in the future, I don't think I can ever forget this experience. I never want to forget, but just in case I do, I have this to remember with.

But I think it's time for me to stop writing for now. As embarrassing as this might sound, I've got turned on by writing these recollections. That pain in my back is now replaced with arousal in my stomach. I've got to go find Severus now to see if we can do a repeat of all I've just written!

July 31, 2005

Today was Harry's birthday. After seven years of avoiding the depressing place, I decided to finally pay my visit to his grave. Despite his grumblings, Severus came with me to the cemetery. I bought flowers and some Chocolate Frogs for Harry. Severus went off to visit Dumbledore's grave to give me privacy. I sat in front of the grave and eyed the 1980 to 1998 on the tombstone. Eighteen years. Those two numbers sadden me, and I felt tears in my eyes, but I busied myself pulling out weeds and making his grave look nicer. Then I talked to him.

I told him about Severus. I told him about my adventures of losing my voice. I told him everything about how miserable I was these seven years. But now that I have Severus . . . I could stop living and clinging to the past that would never come back. I told him all that, and I told him that I hoped he was happy wherever he was now. And of course, I wished him a happy birthday.

When I finished, I visited everybody else. I pretty much talked with all of them, told them pretty much the same thing I told Harry. As I talked with each member of my family, I felt lightness in my heart, which slowly spread all over me.

I'll always miss my friends and family, but at least now I have Severus with me. And Luna and Neville. And even Seamus. I have great friends, a good job, and a wonderful lover.

I can finally move on, Kemp. Luna's right about writing down my feelings, and I think I'll keep doing this whenever I can.

But for now, I think I shall go see if Severus wants to go for a round of chess. He still has yet to beat me, but we've got time. We're wizards, and we still have a hundred or so years left in our lives. He'll beat me one day.

Words: 9612

Completed April 4, 2010