At Any Moment

A very short prologue...

If one were to look wistfully at the world, they would find within the unappreciated essence of time, moments that ebb and flow like a gentle tide or raging torrent. Such would be the state of the world if one were to look closer at the play of human interaction, the sylphlike quality of memories, interspersed with the more horrifying aspects of a world gone wrong. It was into such a world that a mischievous spirit interrupted what could have been maudlin, but soon became so much more...

Hogwarts fair we call to you

Hide this power and strength renew

We The Four do thus beseech thee

Warded from war and travail be we

Arcanus be the name bestowed

Warded in since time doth flow

He be Master of this fortress

Guardian, watcher and restorer

At a time of great upheaval

Will your gifts be released

And from that moment forth

Five markers must you seek

Look for keys to advantage all

Five to mark the magical realm

Friend or foe the five must be

To offer aid or succour thee

One who would suffer, though gifted be

The first worthiest gift for he

Passage marked and like a book laid bare

The key to peace be for him to share

Lovers old and lovers new

Renew tired souls and speak most true

The second worthiest gift for she

Forgiveness be the key

Evil marked and evil planned

Depravity be his sentinel vice

Tainted, poisoned and reviled

Worthy not, but one of five

Release be his key

Will to fight and need to prove

Tenacity sparks courage true

Stubborn countenance, intellect and joy

Foresight be her key

Wisdom, power and good intent

Great honour does Arcanus give

Friend, confidante, conduit he

Resilience be naught save guide

Houses four held united

Aid the five whose toil must start

Sentient though we know not how

Arcanus, friend, defend us all

Influence none save to write

Good counsel keep, wise choice hold tight

Should evil claim the fortress fair

Your duty shall forever cease this lair

Ghosts and guardians chosen thus

House allegiance protects their trust

All must e'er thwart evil's plans

Dark will strike if naught are just

Should none prove worthy

Dark times will dawn

And all will be as evils pawn

Know well that wisdom, health and light

Must e'er be vigilant over might.

Severus I

I feel the world, as I knew it closing in on me. The precipice seems intent on urging me to its edge and I have yet to work out why that does not leave me with unbridled terror. Were I to rationalise my feelings, though many think them absent within my very soul, I doubt I would be penning such ramblings. I would be... well I'm not entirely sure what I'd be doing, but idly scraping ink across parchment surely would fit low on my list. Well at least I hope it would. So why am I doing this, whatever this is, if in my rational thoughts I see no sense to it?

I don't honestly know.

For some obscure reason writing my fears, longings and trepidation at the turn of events in my corner of the world, suddenly seems the most pressing priority of many thousands that haunt both sleep and waking hours.

I've never been one to keep a journal of musings. Seems like an utter waste of time and effort to dissect the day into a neat little story, seeking only to demote importance and promote mediocrity. Much like my teaching hours in effect.

My teaching, now there's a joke - at my expense no less. To seek the tiniest grain of intelligence amongst the swill of...well swill actually.

Longbottom.

He is the bane of my existence and an irksome trick on the part of the Fates to give me no respite at all. He proves the adage of not needing brains to breathe, each and every day. How he has not managed to blow the castle from its foundations never ceases to amaze me and yet, the fact that the castle still rests upon its rock at least offers some quaint comfort. He, not Voldemort will be the death of me.

I can hear the Fates laughing from here.

And if they would laugh at such a droll joke, then the next will have them reaching for...

I still don't know why I'm writing in this stupid book. I can see no relevance or how this suddenly makes me a better person. I've turned into a rambling pathetic fool.

I've had enough of this nonsense!

Two days later...

I am an idiot. I threw the last contrivance of my pathetic life in the fire, and then satisfyingly threw this journal across the room. I dented its brass edges and the leather cover looks more scraped, but that could have been when I stood on it and tried to grind it into the stonework.

It could be, but I'm not sure. If I piss myself off again I may find out the answer.

I thought Longbottom was the bane of my existence, but I was lying. She is. She is just so infuriatingly bright - it's scary really. She makes me want to scream, shout, applaud and murder her, all in the one breath.

I hate her, understand her, dare I say - like her and given half a chance I'd cheerfully fuck her too.

I still can't believe I'm writing this down. I'm not just pathetic. I'm a pathetic old pervert with delusions of grandeur and I don't care.

There! I've written it down. Are you satisfied now?

You aren't, are you? You won't be, dare I say it - happy, until I root out and write down every particle of my pathetic non-existence.

I'm a mere puppet. Controlled, cajoled and led astray by two master puppeteers. I'm not even entirely sure which one is good and which is evil any more. I'm hedging in the belief that that they are the polar opposites of each other. They are my angel and my devil and I haven't a clue, which is which.

It's long past the hour I should be abed. I won't continue with this exercise. It was interesting in a morose sort of way. No grand ideas, no witty repartee, no fucking idea really.

I've pissed myself off again.