((Lindsay's.))
Silence.
The deep, brooding emptiness filled the dungeons, seeming to carry with it a tangible ache. It was an eerie change from the incessant sound of footsteps that had echoed through the cold stone halls for weeks... Then, suddenly, they stopped.
Severus stood on the worn patch he had created in his carpet, pacing before the fireplace - back and forth, back and forth; fierce and touchy as a caged panther. His students had paid the price in full for even the smallest infraction, those past few weeks.
He had no such energy now. He slumped over the mantle, brooding into a glass of brandy, the embers dying in the hearth as the room went dark. He didn't care. Finishing the liquor in one swallow, he dashed the glass into the fire, and flames leapt up for a brief moment, lapping hungrily at the drops of alcohol.
He collapsed into a chair and covered his face with his hands. She had her friends in America to return to, but he was left just as alone as always - except now, he had something to miss. It was not a pleasant feeling.
Why couldn't he get past this?
Because you spent every waking hour with her, you drunken prat. The voice in his head reminded him... As if he needed reminding. She was always with you, and you loved every minute of it. You-
"Stop," he hissed at himself. He did not need to be told. He knew what that voice was going to say next. His eyes fell on the silver ring he still wore on his left hand, and he felt a pang of bitterness. "Dear God, I'm an ass."
"You're also a wizard, dear," his mirror yawned sleepily. "Don't judge yourself too unkindly, we can't all be pretty."
"Shut up." He snapped harshly, then blinked. "You blithering idiot." Rising quickly, he scratched a note to Dumbledore and left with purpose to reach the next Apparition point.
Though Severus had never before been to America - and after half a moment's consideration, decided he never wanted to be there again - it was no great trouble for the infamous Potions Master, Albus Dumbledore's pet bat, to find Regalus Academy. The reason for his presence there was a matter of great speculation amongst the American witches and wizards that greeted him upon his impromptu arrival, and he quickly shook them off, finding their rough, drawling accents irritating to his British ears.
"Excuse me," he accosted a passing student. "Can you tell me where to find Sabine Trefethen?"
The student stared at him dumbly.
Severus raised a brow. Surely his accent was not that difficult to understand; they did, after all, speak the same language... He hoped.
"Oh, you won't get anything out of her, mister." A passing youth said. "Been hit with the Hornet's Hearing Hex, she has. Can't hear a thing when you speak to her except this buzzing..." He gestured to his own ears. "Professor Trefethen, you say? Oh, that's an easy one. Just go up the stairs behind you, take a left, and it's the first door past the bust of Elena the Eerie." The student went on his way, and Severus was quick to follow the instructions.
The door was not latched when he found it, and he pushed it open, watching a female ghost make an exit through the wall. There was a tall woman standing against the window...
Sabine. She seemed to have lost weight, he noted with some concern, which on a body as lean as hers was not prudent. He felt an immediate compulsion to spirit her back to Britain, where a person was fed properly... But then again, he smiled wryly, he hadn't been eating either.
The smile stayed as he magically produced a mug of French-Colombian, which he had not touched since that last night.
"With all due respect, Ms. Trefethen," He commented in a quiet purr, "You look as if you could use a cup of coffee."