Relocation
But a few hours later, Snape found himself standing in his now empty chambers, looking for what would probably be the last time at what had been his home for fifteen years. Fifteen years, and all that he had accumulated in that time was now securely packed in a sleek leather suitcase resting at his side.
"Will Professor be needing anything else?" one of the house elves asked cautiously.
"No. nothing more. You may go," he replied flatly, his voice trailing off as his eyes rested on the door that had led to his private laboratory. His chambers were just rooms, places he passed through, slept in, ate in; he had never assigned them any real significance. But his laboratory. that had been his home, truly, for the past fifteen years. That's where he had felt alive, purposeful, and- and worthy. Worthy of the trust and affection he had always received from Dumbledore, and the respect he had finally received after he turned on Voldemort.
Unable to fight the urge, Severus found himself drifting towards the ebony door, his hand lovingly caressing the handle, but not turning it; he knew he could not bear to see the empty walls that had once been lined with shelves and shelves of carefully organized ingredients, the empty floor that had once supported his workstations and cauldrons and burners, and the dark ceiling that he had occasionally charmed to mimic the nighttime sky. All empty now, magically cleaned, leaving no sign that he had ever been there, that he had ever lived there. He could not bear to see it, he could not bring his hand that now clutched the silver handle almost painfully to turn the lever and swing the door inwards. As strong as Severus thought he was, he found he was not strong enough for that. Instead, he leaned his forehead against the smooth black wood, and allowed his shoulders to shake with silent, dry sobs. No tears, though; not from Severus Lanzer Snape. Besides. what was there, really, to mourn? He was setting out on a new mission, possibly a better one, and he was not leaving behind a place that he had been happy in. In fact, he wasn't leaving behind anything at all.
It wasn't until he had boarded a plane at Heathrow, embarking on the journey that would take him eventually to Norman, Oklahoma, that he realized he was mourning not the loss inherent to any relocation, but the fact that, in his case, there had been nothing to lose.
One last connection, he thought grimly as he strode down one the O'Hare concourses. Only one more hideous flight, and I'll be there.
Severus had found, much to his disgust, that the Muggle way of long- distance traveling left him quite. well, nauseous. He had almost vomited soon after take-off from Heathrow, and had had several near misses since. The former Potions master, soon to be chemistry professor, had belatedly realized that his clothing was also attracting untoward attention. Although he had not been foolish enough to wear wizarding robes, he had still worn his nineteenth century style suit, complete with black frock coat and a black ascot. This, apparently, was no longer popular attire among Muggles. Adults stared, adolescents snickered, and children actually pointed at him as he clumsily made his connections in the huge, unfamiliar airports. How ridiculously complicated the whole affair was turning out to be!
"Final boarding call for flight 227 to Oklahoma City. Final call." With a muttered curse, Severus ran the rest of the way to the terminal, and reached the flight attendant just before she shut the doors to the walkway. She flashed him a stunning smile.
"You're just in time," she teased as she stepped aside. He ignored her completely (blondes, especially fake ones, did not warrant his attention.) It was lucky for him that he did not drink the Coke that same stewardess later brought him.
An Indian woman, he thought to himself. What does that mean I ought to be looking for? When I get off the plane at Will Rogers, would there be a teepee set-up on the concourse or something? And what kind of Indian name was Neera, anyway?
No time for more deliberation- he was getting off the plane. He anxiously (though he never would have admitted it) scanned the crowd, but saw no ponies or blankets or anything remotely stereotypical. People ran into each others' arms, lovers swung their squealing beloved's around, grandparents hefted toddlers and kissed them on their pudgy cheeks.
"Professor Snape?" a voice questioned in obvious disbelief. He turned quickly, his body language betraying the relief he would not allow to show in his face.
"Oh," he said abruptly when he saw the woman who had addressed him. "Er." he added eloquently.
"I'm Neera Agimudie," the middle-aged Indian woman informed him.
"I'm. Professor Snape," he replied jerkily. She smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth.
"You were expecting me to be a Native American, weren't you?"
"Well."
Neera laughed again. "I am from Calcutta, and I am sorry if you are disappointed." Snape almost blushed before he regained his composure. What the hell's the matter with you? He thought irritably. Is every muggle going to disconcert you so?
"To the campus, then?" Snape hinted, his voice silky and genial once more.
"You did not check any baggage?" she questioned as they began to head down the busy concourse. Severus noticed for the first time that Neera was over a head shorter than he was, and he found this strangely comforting. This sudden upheaval had left the normally composed wizard absolutely reeling, and the bloody muggle skyplanes, or whatever the hell they were called, had made his discomfiture and disorientation almost unbearable. And the damned connections inside those damned airports that seemed the size of Manchester, and the damn cheerful stewardesses, and the curious muggles, and then the confusing ethnicity of the woman supposed to meet him. this thought made him glance down at her, and he deduced from her expectant gaze that he was supposed to say something. Severus struggled to remember her question.
"No, I only have this."
Neera arched her eyebrow at him. "I've always heard Brits packed lightly, but this seems almost ridiculous. You do realize you're Faculty in Residence rooms won't be furnished?"
The tall wizard shrugged carelessly. "I can buy furniture once I arrive." The woman shook her head again as they exited the airport and headed towards the enormous parking garage. Severus had to resist the urge to clap his hands over his ears to block out all the unnecessary noise; he was accustomed, as all witches and wizards were, to the quiet that comes with having no electricity, cars, planes, or machinery. The muggle world seemed so damn. loud.
Severus felt a headache coming on.
But a few hours later, Snape found himself standing in his now empty chambers, looking for what would probably be the last time at what had been his home for fifteen years. Fifteen years, and all that he had accumulated in that time was now securely packed in a sleek leather suitcase resting at his side.
"Will Professor be needing anything else?" one of the house elves asked cautiously.
"No. nothing more. You may go," he replied flatly, his voice trailing off as his eyes rested on the door that had led to his private laboratory. His chambers were just rooms, places he passed through, slept in, ate in; he had never assigned them any real significance. But his laboratory. that had been his home, truly, for the past fifteen years. That's where he had felt alive, purposeful, and- and worthy. Worthy of the trust and affection he had always received from Dumbledore, and the respect he had finally received after he turned on Voldemort.
Unable to fight the urge, Severus found himself drifting towards the ebony door, his hand lovingly caressing the handle, but not turning it; he knew he could not bear to see the empty walls that had once been lined with shelves and shelves of carefully organized ingredients, the empty floor that had once supported his workstations and cauldrons and burners, and the dark ceiling that he had occasionally charmed to mimic the nighttime sky. All empty now, magically cleaned, leaving no sign that he had ever been there, that he had ever lived there. He could not bear to see it, he could not bring his hand that now clutched the silver handle almost painfully to turn the lever and swing the door inwards. As strong as Severus thought he was, he found he was not strong enough for that. Instead, he leaned his forehead against the smooth black wood, and allowed his shoulders to shake with silent, dry sobs. No tears, though; not from Severus Lanzer Snape. Besides. what was there, really, to mourn? He was setting out on a new mission, possibly a better one, and he was not leaving behind a place that he had been happy in. In fact, he wasn't leaving behind anything at all.
It wasn't until he had boarded a plane at Heathrow, embarking on the journey that would take him eventually to Norman, Oklahoma, that he realized he was mourning not the loss inherent to any relocation, but the fact that, in his case, there had been nothing to lose.
One last connection, he thought grimly as he strode down one the O'Hare concourses. Only one more hideous flight, and I'll be there.
Severus had found, much to his disgust, that the Muggle way of long- distance traveling left him quite. well, nauseous. He had almost vomited soon after take-off from Heathrow, and had had several near misses since. The former Potions master, soon to be chemistry professor, had belatedly realized that his clothing was also attracting untoward attention. Although he had not been foolish enough to wear wizarding robes, he had still worn his nineteenth century style suit, complete with black frock coat and a black ascot. This, apparently, was no longer popular attire among Muggles. Adults stared, adolescents snickered, and children actually pointed at him as he clumsily made his connections in the huge, unfamiliar airports. How ridiculously complicated the whole affair was turning out to be!
"Final boarding call for flight 227 to Oklahoma City. Final call." With a muttered curse, Severus ran the rest of the way to the terminal, and reached the flight attendant just before she shut the doors to the walkway. She flashed him a stunning smile.
"You're just in time," she teased as she stepped aside. He ignored her completely (blondes, especially fake ones, did not warrant his attention.) It was lucky for him that he did not drink the Coke that same stewardess later brought him.
An Indian woman, he thought to himself. What does that mean I ought to be looking for? When I get off the plane at Will Rogers, would there be a teepee set-up on the concourse or something? And what kind of Indian name was Neera, anyway?
No time for more deliberation- he was getting off the plane. He anxiously (though he never would have admitted it) scanned the crowd, but saw no ponies or blankets or anything remotely stereotypical. People ran into each others' arms, lovers swung their squealing beloved's around, grandparents hefted toddlers and kissed them on their pudgy cheeks.
"Professor Snape?" a voice questioned in obvious disbelief. He turned quickly, his body language betraying the relief he would not allow to show in his face.
"Oh," he said abruptly when he saw the woman who had addressed him. "Er." he added eloquently.
"I'm Neera Agimudie," the middle-aged Indian woman informed him.
"I'm. Professor Snape," he replied jerkily. She smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth.
"You were expecting me to be a Native American, weren't you?"
"Well."
Neera laughed again. "I am from Calcutta, and I am sorry if you are disappointed." Snape almost blushed before he regained his composure. What the hell's the matter with you? He thought irritably. Is every muggle going to disconcert you so?
"To the campus, then?" Snape hinted, his voice silky and genial once more.
"You did not check any baggage?" she questioned as they began to head down the busy concourse. Severus noticed for the first time that Neera was over a head shorter than he was, and he found this strangely comforting. This sudden upheaval had left the normally composed wizard absolutely reeling, and the bloody muggle skyplanes, or whatever the hell they were called, had made his discomfiture and disorientation almost unbearable. And the damned connections inside those damned airports that seemed the size of Manchester, and the damn cheerful stewardesses, and the curious muggles, and then the confusing ethnicity of the woman supposed to meet him. this thought made him glance down at her, and he deduced from her expectant gaze that he was supposed to say something. Severus struggled to remember her question.
"No, I only have this."
Neera arched her eyebrow at him. "I've always heard Brits packed lightly, but this seems almost ridiculous. You do realize you're Faculty in Residence rooms won't be furnished?"
The tall wizard shrugged carelessly. "I can buy furniture once I arrive." The woman shook her head again as they exited the airport and headed towards the enormous parking garage. Severus had to resist the urge to clap his hands over his ears to block out all the unnecessary noise; he was accustomed, as all witches and wizards were, to the quiet that comes with having no electricity, cars, planes, or machinery. The muggle world seemed so damn. loud.
Severus felt a headache coming on.
