Severus Snape sat perched on the armchair closest to the roaring fire, but felt none of its warmth.
He peered out of the lone window in the sitting room of the house at Spinner's End, attempting to see something, anything, past the grime and pounding rain. He was not successful.
The haggard-looking man bit back a bitter chuckle at the irony of his situation; he had always envisioned hell as flames licking up his sides as he screamed in torment for all of eternity. Instead, hell had appeared to him in the form of Britain's relentless precipitation.
Hermione was gone; forever, presumably. Probably. For six weeks he had barely moved from his spot in the dreary room, waiting – for what, he wasn't quite sure.
He knew she wouldn't return. As brilliant as she was, she was positively thick when it came to what was best for her. To Severus's great misfortune, she had finally figured out that he was no good for her. She could find a darling soul to replace his impoverished one.
No, Severus wasn't waiting for the love of his life to come back to him and remain with him for all of eternity. That was a romantic notion, and his long-hardened heart could not handle such fantasy.
He absently swirled the now-cold, untouched black coffee with a spoon that sat in his favorite mug. When he had awoken to find Hermione missing that spring morning, he had flung it upon the ground. Although he had managed a quick "Reparo" almost immediately, the mug had seemed reluctant to heal, and now bore a scar along its handle.
She had given it to him as a birthday present eons ago. It had a Muggle character by the name of Grumpy painted on it, and she had giggled wildly upon presenting it to him. She had joyfully explained to him how it suit his personality perfectly; he had immediately pounced on her, and she had dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter on their green bedspread.
Yes, that was all over now. The joy was gone. The light and the laughter and the love were all gone with the memory of Hermione.
As much as Severus wished he could just go numb, he could feel his soul peeling away. Forget those stories told by the Church to warn people of the dangers of sin, and forget those images of fire and the devil. This was hell; the ninth level, to be precise. He had lost everything that mattered. She was gone.
He choked as the sobs finally wracked his chest, and tried to pretend the tears streaming down his long nose were a leak in the roof.