Chapter Two: Bleeding Hearts
Caelan examined her arm as her professor took his seat. He had left an impression on her. She could still see the spots where his fingers had held her in a death grip. The red marks emitted so much pain that it felt as if he was still holding on. She rubbed the spot over and over again as she absent-mindedly stared at Snape. He was no longer staring back, but she felt that--somehow, if she glared long and hard enough--she could set him on fire. Stanton noticed her behavior and was quite concerned for his beloved Chaser. He nudged her in the side again, but the smile he was wearing disappeared instantly as she whipped around and glared at him. He turned away.
"You shouldn't let him get to you, you know." She ignored his comment.
"I hate this school," was all that escaped her lips. Stanton's head snapped to meet her face--a face that he thought loved Hogwarts (and if not that, at least loved Quidditch; and perhaps even him).
"How can you say that? This is supposed to be your second home! What about your friends? All the good times? Quidditch for God's sake? Isn't that worth your time here?" Caelan rolled her eyes. Quidditch ran his life. It was sad in a way--how he put that game up on a pedestal--when he wasn't even that great at it. Or maybe she was just being biased.
"Even Quidditch is not worth this hell that I have to go through." Stanton couldn't believe his ears. What was she talking about? How could anyone not love Hogwarts?
"Caelan--" he started as he put his hand on her shoulder. The bell rang. She shrugged it off and gathered her things. Her arm still pulsated. She hoped he hadn't popped a blood vessel. That would just make her day. She turned to leave and Stanton followed close behind her, still concerned and bewildered at her comments. She was almost out of the door, almost safe, when she heard an icy black voice from behind her.
"Miss Decatur, a moment if you will."
He could see her heart drop through the floor. Her shoulders fell and her belongings sagged. He could hear her great sigh as if he had been standing right next to her. Like Stanton. The boy touched her shoulder again and whispered something into her ear. Probably something like, "Don't worry about that bastard. I'll save you a spot at dinner." In fact, that was exactly what Stanton said. And who said Snape didn't know his students well?
Caelan turned around very slowly as the class emptied out into the hall. She stayed fixated in her spot as Professor Snape gracefully got up from his seat and glided toward her. Neither of them spoke. He motioned her to follow him. He led her into his office. It was cluttered and slightly disorganized; it had a look like it once was impeccably clean, but had gotten increasingly messy over the years due to laziness--or perhaps something else. He took his seat behind a great oak desk; she remained standing. As soon as he sat down she began to ramble.
"Sir, please, if this has anything to do with what happened today let me just say that what I did, I did to protect my integrity, my pride--"
"A true Gryffindor," he mumbled. She stopped. Her mouth hung open. She took on a new persona when she began again.
"Am I going to get a detention?"
"Yes," he answered flatly. Caelan clenched her hands. Her nails dug into her palms. She was doing it again--trying to set him on fire with her mind.
"That-is-not-fair. If I were Hayden, I would not be receiving any punishment. Just because I'm a Gryffindor--" she paused in her rant to jab her pointing finger at the spot between his eyes. "You are discriminating against me." The man looked up from the slip he was writing out for her, and was slightly amused at her state.
"Miss Decatur, it would be wise if you did not make assumptions about me." Caelan lowered her finger. "You hit a fellow student. Whether you like it or not, Hogwarts does not allow that sort of behavior in the classroom." She took a step forward and said through gritted teeth,
"I did it in self defense."
"In what sense?" he challenged her. His dark eyes bore into her hardened sockets. She broke contact first.
"You don't know what its like." He put down his quill and folded his hands.
"Then please, enlighten me," he said light-heartedly. She spun around and glared at him.
"I don't appreciate your mockery, sir." It was a very brave move. Snape looked like he had just been slapped, but he let her continue without interruption. "No one knows what it's like. Not even my friends and fellow Gryffindors," he had distinctly heard her say that with malice. My my, he thought, this is intriguing. "The stares, the smirks--the comments and threats. Despite what Dumbledore says about this school being open to anyone who wishes to practice magic--he's wrong." She started to tremble. "It's unfair. I feel like I don't belong. Like I'm not worthy enough. And when someone calls you a-" she stopped. Tears were forming in her eyes. Snape felt uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and waited for her to continue. When she did she spoke slowly and with amazing imagery. "It's like ripping your own heart out of your chest and holding it in your hands." She cupped her hand as she continued. "And then stabbing it--over, and over, and over again," she described this with the stone cold face of a statue. Her other hand rose up and down in a stabbing motion. It stopped only after Snape cleared his throat, hinting for her to move on. "And then, instead of throwing it on the ground, or in the trash, you put it on your mantle--so it's always there, reminding you how unworthy you really are." There was an uneasy pause, and then Caelan could hear the sound of ripping paper. She looked up and noticed that her professor was replacing his quill and tossing the shredded bits of her detention slip in the trash. The look on her face screamed out, 'What?'. He almost laughed--almost.
"You'd be surprised how familiar I am with your analogy."
"Doubt it," she whispered. He stopped breathing. Here he was, taking pity on one of his students. One of his female students. One of his female Gryffindor students, and she didn't even appreciate it.
"My heart, pulled from my chest and stabbed over and over again, does not reside on my mantle." The girl looked up from her hands. "Instead, it was placed back in my chest. So it would always be with me." His hands grasped the sides of his desk, as if they were the only thing stopping him from being hurled from it. "No matter where I go, it is always there, reminding me, torturing me--" he drifted off. The girl studied him in awe of what he just described; it was a breakthrough for him. But it was short-lived. When he came back he said, "You are free to go. But this better not happen again." Caelan got up slowly from her position and walked rigidly toward the exit, careful not to knock anything over so he wouldn't have any reason to keep her there. But when she got to the door she stopped. Something had been bothering her ever since he began staring at her. She needed to know. So she turned around. He was looking out the window, his hands lying loosely on the table in front of him, he eyes gazing out into the evening sun. She could almost see the bleeding heart he was referring to.
"You should forget about her." He met her gaze and tilted his head. His hands pulled back into the folds of his robes and his heart closed up. He waited for her to continue. "The woman I remind you of. You should forget about her." The man's upper lip twitched.
"I'm afraid I do not know what you are referring to," he stated slowly and ominously. She knew she was digging a deep hole for herself, but she continued anyway.
"I've seen the way you look at me in class. You look hurt and confused, like I remind you of someone who hurt you. And the bleeding heart analogy kind of wrapped it up." He refused to meet her eyes--her soft, green eyes. So instead he stared at his desk. He could still feel her presence. She was nervous, but she was brave. He didn't know of anyone else who would speak to him like she was now. He wasn't sure if he could handle it. She wasn't sure if she was getting a reaction or not. She wasn't even sure if she was completely accurate, but she continued. "It's obvious she's not coming back, so you might as well forget about her." She paused, and when no sign of movement could be seen, she turned to leave.
"It's not that easy," he whispered. What was he doing? Letting a student get into his head like this. She smiled to herself before she turned around again.
"Sure it is--" he cut her off.
"If it was that easy I would have done it by now." He was glaring at her now. She backed away, sensing the malice in his voice and eyes. Maybe she had gone too far. Nah.
"Well if you are so easily reminded of her, why can't you just as easily forget?"
"Perhaps that is my problem. As long as you are around I can't forget. So perhaps you are my problem." Every muscle in his body tensed up, as every muscle in hers sank. What had she done? He was finally, almost opening up to someone. But she had gone far enough under his skin. He was scratching now. She just had to open her hole and ruin everything. She had a propensity for that sort of behavior. She turned and strolled out of his office, not caring if she knocked anything over--luckily she didn't. But when she slammed the door on the way out, bottles shook and tables rattled, and something fell from a shelf above the Potions master. It landed on his desk. It was a jewel--an emerald--tied to a leather string. It was flipped on its back. Through the layers of dust the letters S.S. + R. C. could be seen. The stone had lain dormant for 18 years. 'It's obvious she's not coming back.' the words rang in his ears, echoing throughout his brain, flowing down into his heart. His bleeding heart. He took the stone and hurled it with all his might against the wall. Unfortunately, it remained in tact as it fell to the floor. Severus Snape grabbed his greasy black hair. His body shook and his eyes were shut tight. But no matter how tightly they were closed, the tears still managed to slip silently out of them.
