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The rest of the day was no better than the morning. With his mind filled with murderous and angry thoughts, Snape was especially harsh on his students and himself. His half-under-his-breath mutterings, instead of fading, increased. In the back of his mind he wished to be so rabid Dumbledore would dismiss him.
Thoughts of that nature made him cringe.
Finally, his day was done.
Carefully he gathered up and replaced his personal artifacts from the classroom to his office. The routine of it, sorting, straightening, and inventorying, calmed him a bit. He took a second to think over the next week's lessons. That focussed him a little more, and he locked his office behind him feeling more composed than throughout the rest of the day.
Swiftly he made his way through the corridors to the teachers wing. He had a vague idea where she was staying, and didn't care. As long as it was far enough away that he didn't have to see her or hear her, all was well. The weekend stretched before him, he simply had to avoid her.
Snape whispered an unlocking spell on the iron latch of his door, and entered. He sighed with relief, thinking he should have a bath, and then a long sleep. He'd brought a special potion from his office to be assured his slumber would be dreamless.
"Man. It takes you forever to get up here. Classes have been done for forty five minutes."
The semi-peace he'd managed to achieve evaporated. Black rage again filled him. He glared at her, comfortably lounging in front of the fire.
"What are you doing?! How did you get in here?!"
"Those Muggles. They come up with the most amazing stuff." Idly she fingered a set of lock-picking tools.
He watched those artistic fingers hold up one instrument after another. A lock of hair escaped from behind her ear, shining copper in the fire light. Snape shook his head, rattling loose the anger again. "How dare you invade my personal quarters?!"
"Big Bad, can't you at least be polite?" she asked in reply.
"WHAT?!"
"Oh, come on. You know how," she continued. Mimicking his voice, she said to herself, "Why, hello, Celeste. It's been so long since I've seen you. How have you been? Very well, thank you. And yourself, Severus?"
His anger made him tremble. His normally pallid cheeks were decorated with bright spots of color. He took deep painful breaths and crossed the room in only a few strides. Snape grabbed her upper arms and yanked her to her feet.
Celeste yelped.
"Get out," he spit, literally, at her.
Face to face with him, his pupils dilated and his pants shaking them both, Celeste relented. She dropped her eyes.
"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I found this-" she managed to pull a small bit of paper from her robe, he glanced at it, "- and it got me thinking. About old times. I thought you might want it."
Snape released her. Her arms felt bruised.
He looked drained. "Get out," he managed to croak, refusing to look at her again.
The paper fluttered from her hand. Celeste slowly made her way to the door. She paused before going through.
"Take care of yourself, Big Bad," she whispered. "I'll . . . see you around."
"Don't call me that," Snape said under his breath.
But she was gone.
His head feeling stoned, Snape's knees agreed and gave out. On the floor he found the slip of paper-a small photograph, actually. A photograph of Celeste. And himself, long ago and far away. Laughing. Kissing. Happy.
A tortured cry twisted its way from his throat, and sobs choked him.
Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to crush the picture.
The rest of the day was no better than the morning. With his mind filled with murderous and angry thoughts, Snape was especially harsh on his students and himself. His half-under-his-breath mutterings, instead of fading, increased. In the back of his mind he wished to be so rabid Dumbledore would dismiss him.
Thoughts of that nature made him cringe.
Finally, his day was done.
Carefully he gathered up and replaced his personal artifacts from the classroom to his office. The routine of it, sorting, straightening, and inventorying, calmed him a bit. He took a second to think over the next week's lessons. That focussed him a little more, and he locked his office behind him feeling more composed than throughout the rest of the day.
Swiftly he made his way through the corridors to the teachers wing. He had a vague idea where she was staying, and didn't care. As long as it was far enough away that he didn't have to see her or hear her, all was well. The weekend stretched before him, he simply had to avoid her.
Snape whispered an unlocking spell on the iron latch of his door, and entered. He sighed with relief, thinking he should have a bath, and then a long sleep. He'd brought a special potion from his office to be assured his slumber would be dreamless.
"Man. It takes you forever to get up here. Classes have been done for forty five minutes."
The semi-peace he'd managed to achieve evaporated. Black rage again filled him. He glared at her, comfortably lounging in front of the fire.
"What are you doing?! How did you get in here?!"
"Those Muggles. They come up with the most amazing stuff." Idly she fingered a set of lock-picking tools.
He watched those artistic fingers hold up one instrument after another. A lock of hair escaped from behind her ear, shining copper in the fire light. Snape shook his head, rattling loose the anger again. "How dare you invade my personal quarters?!"
"Big Bad, can't you at least be polite?" she asked in reply.
"WHAT?!"
"Oh, come on. You know how," she continued. Mimicking his voice, she said to herself, "Why, hello, Celeste. It's been so long since I've seen you. How have you been? Very well, thank you. And yourself, Severus?"
His anger made him tremble. His normally pallid cheeks were decorated with bright spots of color. He took deep painful breaths and crossed the room in only a few strides. Snape grabbed her upper arms and yanked her to her feet.
Celeste yelped.
"Get out," he spit, literally, at her.
Face to face with him, his pupils dilated and his pants shaking them both, Celeste relented. She dropped her eyes.
"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I found this-" she managed to pull a small bit of paper from her robe, he glanced at it, "- and it got me thinking. About old times. I thought you might want it."
Snape released her. Her arms felt bruised.
He looked drained. "Get out," he managed to croak, refusing to look at her again.
The paper fluttered from her hand. Celeste slowly made her way to the door. She paused before going through.
"Take care of yourself, Big Bad," she whispered. "I'll . . . see you around."
"Don't call me that," Snape said under his breath.
But she was gone.
His head feeling stoned, Snape's knees agreed and gave out. On the floor he found the slip of paper-a small photograph, actually. A photograph of Celeste. And himself, long ago and far away. Laughing. Kissing. Happy.
A tortured cry twisted its way from his throat, and sobs choked him.
Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to crush the picture.