"Severus, my friend, are you ready for this year?" Dumbledore asked me. The question confused me.
"Albus, when am I not ready? It's the same monotonous bullshit every year. A pathetic bunch of neanderthals who can't tell the difference between their asshole and a boiling cauldron making fools of themselves," I complained. Dumbledore gave me a quizzical glance. I continued, "Potions always made sense to me. Of course, maybe it only made sense to me because I had Lily beside me.." I trailed off as realization came crashing down, threatening to stop my breathing. This was the year. Lily's son was coming to Hogwarts. As the panic flowed through my body, I realized I was not ready for this. Not ready at all.
"I can't do this. He'll be… What does he… His…God, no. Just…" After that, I was utterly incoherent. He'll be like his father. I just know he will. Arrogant little prat. He'll have stamped every bit of my beautiful Lily out of himself. But what if he's just like her? I don't know which one would be worse. My head felt ready to burst, and I had to get away before total self-destruction was complete. "No."
I spun quickly and fleeted from the room, not bothering to walk at a normal pace. I couldn't take it. Dumbledore couldn't see me falling apart. It's been almost 10 years. And all my fault. If I'd listened to Lily in school and just… stayed with her, stayed with good people, it wouldn't have happened. 9 years and 10 months exactly without my beautiful Lily. The light in her beautiful eyes, the rosey colour to her cheeks, the beautiful red in her hair. And now she's just rotting away, and its my fault.
Every time another thought would come into my head, it felt as though another hole was ripped open in my chest. One particular musing hit me hard, and my knees quivered and gave out. Lying on the floor, I realized that even once I die, there will be nothing in the world that will help me see her again. After everything I've done for power, there's no way I'll ever be with her. Lovely, amazing, caring, sweet Lily would never make it where I'm going. There's no way that she's feeling the unforgiving flames that I will feel once I meet my final hour. Why I hadn't thought of this before, I'll never understand. I'd just always longed for the day I die so that I could join her at last but now I realize that I never will.
I grabbed a glass and some mead and poured much more than probably necessary, After downing the drink in one gulp, threw the glass against the wall, and watched the shards of glass fall into their new home on the floor. I didn't care because nothing matters. And nothing matters because she's gone. I laid in wait for the alcohol to kick in to put me to sleep. But nothing stops the memories. Not even unconsciousness.