Chapter Three: Just in Case
Severus grabbed his face and wiped the disgraceful tears from his shallow cheeks. It had been a long time since he had cried, and he wasn't about to make it a habit again. He sat and stared for quite a while, trying to forget about everything. But his mind kept drifting back to what Caelan had said.
'It's obvious she's not coming back.'
She was right. If she hadn't come back by now she was never coming back. All he needed to do was accept that, and then maybe his life could be normal again.
But it wasn't that easy. There was a place, deep inside his heart, where a small hint of hope still resided. Maybe she would come back. She would run into his arms and say it was all a mistake and they would kiss. He could almost taste her sweet lips upon his own. He had tried to forget, he tried almost every ten seconds, but it was no use. No matter how often he told himself that she was never coming back, a part of him still had hope.
But that part also enraged him. He stopped staring—his eyes were now ablaze—and swept his arms over his desk. Parchment and ink flew in every direction, shattering on the floor and creating a mess. He yanked open his bottom drawer and pulled a bottle from it. He wasn't usually the drinking type. But recent events had turned him to that sort of behavior. He pulled the top out and took a long, slow swig of the alcohol. It burned as it slid down his throat. It was disgusting and bitter, and something he didn't particularly enjoy doing. But he did it anyway. Anything to get his mind off of her. When he dragged the bottle from his lips he coughed. He slammed the whisky down onto his desk and gasped for air. Alcohol was poison, but he didn't care. He didn't care if it killed him.
He sat back in his chair, the bottle hanging loosely from his fingers. His robes draped over his body and his hair covered his face. He brushed it back with his long, pale fingers as he brought the bottle back up to his eyes. He looked intently at the label, which promised 'a good time' to any and all that drank its contents. He smiled. What a lie. He stuffed the cork back into the hole at the top of the bottle and threw it back into the drawer. No amount of drinking could give him 'a good time', especially when he was alone. He got up from his chair and straightened his robes. As he brushed back his hair his eyes fell upon the necklace lying on the stone floor of his office. He glided over and picked it up. It was heavier than he remembered. He should've destroyed it. But that place in his heart told him to hang on to it. Just in case. He hadn't worn it in a long time. But something, some deep power within him, took control of his hands. They took hold of the string and let the emerald dangle in front of him. Then they slowly put the jewel around his neck, tucking it under his shirt, away from prying eyes. He picked up the parchment and the inkbottle that had fallen on the floor during his fit, and with a wave of his wand the ink stains disappeared. Then he strode out of the room, with the emerald bouncing against his chest with every step, like a second heart beat to match his own.
Just in case.
***
The sights and smells that filled the Great Hall that evening were incredibly intense. And the noise was excruciating. Snape's hands instinctively covered his ears as he took his seat at the table for dinner. He let them fall slowly as he became accustomed to the sounds of the students. There were so many of them--almost too many. He glanced around, surveying each of the tables. His eyes stopped at the Gryffindor table. There was Caelan, poking at her food while Stanton Raigo talked into her ear. It was obvious he annoyed her. He smirked at the sight. Three seats down sat Harry Potter and his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Snape scowled. He was surprised they hadn't gotten themselves in trouble yet this year. But it was only the second month into the term; there was still plenty of time for that. An obnoxious sound came from his left. Albus Dumbledore was having a fit of laughter. This did not help Snape's mood. He went for his goblet and drank the sweet juice that occupied it; it was quite welcome after the harsh whiskey. When he put it down he noticed a few of the students were looking at him strangely. He glared at them and they turned away, but the curious feeling still lingered in the air around him.
"Severus?" asked Professor Sprout from his immediate left.
"Yes?" he replied, irritated.
"Is there something wrong with your shirt?" Severus looked down. Underneath his pitch-black clothing a dull green light could be seen. His heart stopped. The fork in his hand dropped onto the table. Time stood still. Nothing seemed to move, except his head. He looked up just as the doors to the Hall swung slowly open.
