Author's Note: Okay, so here we have my first complete fanfiction...at least, the first that I am posting here. I hope that it's enjoyable—to a point, of course, since it's not actually supposed to inspire happy feelings. I'd like to thank Kris for putting up with me and Lydia for her help. So, without further ado...

EDIT: I just noticed that some of the dashes didn't copy correctly, which probably affects readability. Sorry! (I think I've now changed them all, but they're rather hard to notice.)

In Waiting

DAY 1:

The stares of the students and staff alike seemed to be suffocating Severus. He'd never felt this way before, and he had no idea why he did now. He realized he ought to give some sort of speech, but he couldn't muster up the desire to care. "Eat your food," he bit out, disgusted at the world—and most of all, himself—though eating was not something of which he felt able to do much.

Everyone in the hall had glared at him since they'd come into the Hall, through the Sorting, and during the Feast. He felt their eyes on him and they made him feel dirty, somehow. He did not deserve to be here, sitting in the seat that was Albus Dumbledore's, but he had no choice. Perhaps, if he kept telling himself that, he might actually believe it.

DAY 3:

Severus sat at the Headmaster's desk. It didn't truly belong to him, but he had work to do. Truthfully, he was escaping everyone. He wondered if—the previous Headmaster had ever felt the same way. No, he had probably just been legitimately busy. He ran a hand through his hair, which was greasier than usual, he noted. He'd begun to neglect his appearance more so than usual, because he didn't care anymore. It wasn't as if he could stand himself in the first place, after all.

Glancing out the window, he saw that the sky had begun to darken. Soon, he was required to make an appearance in the Great Hall for supper. He spent the next few minutes schooling his face into a bland, uncaring expression. It would be foolish of him to allow everyone in the bloody place to know what he was feeling. He had to hold on, to help eradicate the Dark Lord. He had a role to play here.

With that thought in mind, he made his way down to the Great Hall, where he would sit and poke, half-heartedly at his food. He assumed that the professors merely didn't care enough to say something. It didn't truly faze him, in any event, that nobody was left to care. No, he had killed the last person that might have—but that was a path his thoughts too often followed, and he did not have time to wallow in self-pity which he did not deserve in the first place. He could tell that this would become routine.

DAY 16:

A feeling of weariness was just starting to set in; everyone seemed to feel it, save for the Carrows. Then again, they were the ones creating the chaos. Severus had it on good authority that they routinely used the Cruciatus curse on students—and during class, at that. He had once hated the students for being dunderheads, but now he was ashamed that he had to let this go on. He had enough experience with that particular Unforgivable that he knew how horrible it was—and for a child to feel that? It was unacceptable.

Severus was getting tired—tired of keeping up appearances; tired because he couldn't sleep. His nightmares were bad, but he was afraid to become dependent on Dreamless Sleep potions. That wouldn't do at all. He'd just have to bear it, like everything else his life had given to him—or rather, that he had chosen, for he had, in a way, chosen this. He would damn himself if he could; maybe he already had.

DAY 35:

Students and staff had gone from glaring to making outright disparaging remarks. Severus supposed he couldn't blame them. Last year, he would have gone around and taken countless points, but now it didn't even matter. As long as they weren't stupid enough to say anything in front of the Carrows, he did not care whatsoever.

More students were battered and bruised; the Carrows were mostly staying away from the teachers though—after all, they could fight back, unlike most of the students. Those two were despicable, but he could do nothing about that. He suspected they got off on it. He also suspected that the Dark Lord would suspect something if he expressly didn't…'get off on it' as well.

Today, the Dark Lord...checked up on him. Severus was not certain whether he was pleased, but he hoped so.

DAY 54:

Severus glanced in his small mirror, the glamour firmly in place. If someone had told him, even the previous year, that he'd resort to using a glamour, he would have become enraged. As it was, he never knew when the Dark Lord would check up on him, or send someone to do it. He couldn't look like a skeleton, really, and he was afraid that he was beginning to, truly.

He couldn't sleep, still, so he took Dreamless Sleep about twice a week. He couldn't muster up the will to eat; he took nutrient potions and consumed just as much as he needed to survive. He had to survive, after all. He just had to help Potter on his quest, and then he'd have fulfilled his purpose. Not until then could he succumb...but he sure as hell didn't deserve an easy time of this surviving business.

DAY 60:

Today was Hallowe'en, but the only celebrations going on were the ones in which the Carrows were participating. THey included using more Dark curses on the students than normal. Again, Severus watched, unable to do anything about it. Very occasionally, a student would come to him-usually broken, and he would not be able to do anything but mildly suggest visiting Poppy Pomfrey. The Infirmiry was full to the brim of students, though. Madam Pomfrey certainly had her work cut out for her, and she did not appear to like it. Why should she? She probably resented it; if she'd known why Severus had to put up this façade, would she feel differently? It wasn't as if it mattered, because he couldn't do anything about it.

At the pitiful Feast, where nobody (save the obvious) was happy, the food was probably not very good (Severus didn't know as he hadn't actually eaten any), and it was almost deadly quiet, Severus got a glimpse of what it might be like if the Dark Lord won. It gave him just a little bit of resolve. He couldn't subject generations to this torture.

DAY 114:

Even with the spell, Severus was freezing cold. He was out in the woods, having gotten the sword to Potter, as he had to do. When he saw the boy, he felt the familiar feeling of loathing crawling up in tendrils, but that gave way to the usual exhaustion. He had to make his way back quickly, in case the Dark Lord inquired…but he was so tired. No, this was unacceptable. He had to get back to Hogwarts. In that mindset, he dragged himself back, making sure the glamours were strong. He cursed himself for having become weak, having succumbed to self-pity. Alb—the Headmaster would have…he didn't quite know what the man would have done, truly. It was not acceptable, in any event.

As he saw his usual doe Patronus, he remembered, yet again, why he was doing this in the first place. If anything, it made him feel worse.

DAY 134:

It was still rather cold outside, but Severus had started keeping food down better. He had to be a little more than skin and bones to survive, after all. At the very least, it had to appear as though he had control over the school. That wasn't quite true—not at all, if he'd admit it (which he wouldn't)—but if the Dark Lord thought he had no control over the school…well, he was sure that something ill would come of it.

The students were more resolute than he, luckily. The Carrows weren't lightening up much, though he'd told them that they couldn't do too much damage. After all, there was no reason to rile up the "other side" if it wasn't necessary.

Severus hated himself. He truly did. He caught sight of himself in a small mirror, then turned toward it. He was still himself, of course. He couldn't say that he didn't recognize himself. It was unnerving, anyway.

Seconds later, the reflective surface was shattered into hundreds of pieces. Thus began his habit of breaking mirrors. He had to deal with what he had done every day anyway, why did he have to see himself on top of it?

The portraits had all either left or been covered up; he didn't want them to see him in any sort of vulnerable state. It was bad enough that he was ever vulnerable, but sometimes he became pensive and thought of the old Headmaster. Such times never really ended well; usually he either broke something or got pissed. Neither were responsible, so he made sure not to think of Al—the old Headmaster often. He still could not think the name of the one he murdered. He also could not hate him for forcing it, though he wished he could.

It might make this all a bit easier to bear.

DAY 201:

Everything was continuing in the same vein. Except, it wasn't. This wasn't working anymore for Severus. He could barely bear the palpable hate anymore. Everyone mistrusted him, and it was suffocating.

He didn't know when, but without realizing it, he'd started digging his nails into his arm—hard. It grounded him enough. He wouldn't lower himself to self-flagellation—he had more self-respect than that, but not much.

He thought he should be used to the way everyone thought of him. He'd lived most of his life being hated by just about everyone—except the two people whose deaths he'd caused. That was it, really. After Lily, he'd felt like this, but then Alb—the Headmaster had given him understanding, and hadn't hated him. It kept him from doing anything disastrous to himself. Now, there was absolutely nobody, and there never would be.

Very, very occasionally, he wondered what he'd done to deserve this. Then he remembered his idiocy as a child, and it made him want to claw at his own skin.

DAY 232:

Where was Potter? What was he doing? Severus wondered often, these days, what the boy was doing. He wished that Potter knew he was on the same side, only so he could have some insight as to what was going on, on that front.

He'd heard mutterings of course—and he'd heard about the Gringotts break-in. It was something. He'd heard of a few other instances, of course, but he had no idea how much was true. He was stuck here, just trying to survive. Then again, wasn't everyone? It was high time he stopped thinking of himself as anything special, except...did he ever?

Merlin, why was he even entertaining this ridiculous train of thought? He had…forms to fill out, after all. Now the Dark Lord wanted forms. Well, fine.

To be on the safe side, Severus added some Calming Drought into his coffee. He'd stopped drinking tea altogether.

DAY 243:

This was it. This would be the end. Thank Merlin, because Severus wasn't sure he could handle anymore of this. He was tired, oh so tired, and felt weak, which he absolutely abhorred but about which he couldn't seem to do anything.

He had to find Potter, now. He knew the boy was here, in the school, but nobody would give up his location, damn it.

This was his last time in the office, he knew it. As such, he uncovered all the portraits and such, then went to his private quarters, sat on his bed, and admitted, aloud, his culpability. This was something from which he needed to be free, for the moment, and though he'd never truly be, he hoped someone, somewhere would understand, and he wouldn't go straight to Hell. Not that he believed it, but he did hope, very occasionally.

Later, he found himself in the Shrieking Shack, with the Dark Lord spouting nonsense. Before he knew it, he'd been bitten by the horrid snake. Pain laced through him, but he still needed Potter there.

Thank Merlin, there he was. Idiot boy, the one who could save them all. Except him. He was already damned, so… "Look at me," he told the boy, and Potter did, with Lily's beautiful green eyes.

It was in that moment that he realized he'd done…everything he could, in the end, and now Potter might actually kill the bastard that he had called Lord. He felt reality slipping away; darkness overcame him, and he succumbed. Peace.

~Fin~