Severus seriously wondered why this was a chapter. Contrary to what he had informed Lucius, he actually had little to no packing to do. He stuffed his three sets of robes and one nightshirt into a suitcase and was in the process of zipping it shut when he threw up all over everything, effectively ending that task.
Severus went to the bathroom for some Pepto Bismol before finding out that he had run out of the original kind and all he had left was some light purple colored stuff that he seriously doubted was any good. It had a one day warranty and smelled of mothballs when he took off the lid. Severus's throat made a hurk sound, so he chugged the stuff in a cold panic and then fell on the floor, feeling lyme-diseased. just like a couple of summers ago when Severus did, in fact, contract lyme disease while retrieving a piece of mail from where it had been chucked in the woods beyond his house by the half-blind postage man. The woods beyond his house was only a few scraggly, pollution deadened trees. Severus had never figured that one out. The point was that he hadn't woken up for days that time, which he so couldn't afford now.
With the incentive of not passing out for days on his mind, Severus found an antiseptic potion and strategically applied it to his eye. First he tried cotton balls, but unfortunately, he was a blinker and got too frustrated after being unable to get the job done for the thousandth time. When his hand started having random spasms, he dropped the sodden cotton ball on the floor and had to take a break to breath heavily and swear before going onward. Luckily, the second one did the trick.
For the next two hours, Severus walked around his house with a cotton ball full of healing potion taped over his eye, pretending he was a wounded unit and might not make it through the winter. Occasionally, he found something else to pack and stuffed it into his dilapidated bag, which sagged sadly and now smelled faintly of vomit.
It was about lunchtime by the time Severus ran out of things to pack, but all he had was a expired can of peas with a leak and a hard biscuit. His stomach felt much too queasy anyhow, so he settled for peeling the cotton ball off of his eye to test the healing process. Much to Severus's delight, he was able to see some slightly blurry shapes that he guessed were furniture pieces, even though he technically had no furniture in his kitchen. He decided to skip the eyepatch part of the healing process, and let his eye air out. It no longer hurt, but he bumped into chairs three times and had to grab an owl to keep from falling on the third.
Wait…Severus stared at the owl in his hand out of his good non-blind eye. Seeing as he didn't own an owl of his own, he was pretty sure it hadn't been in his house until recently, although it was possible that he had been mistaking it for a fruit dish until recently. The owl was going through the process known to man as asphyxiation, which Severus only noticed when it screamed weakly. He let it go and took the letter attached to its leg, which was now crumpled to the max.
Severus, the letter read.
That's my name, don't wear it out, Severus thought dumbly, giving a hoarse chuckle before moving to the next line, which was far too clumped together for his bum eye to handle. He recognized the handwriting immediately, however: Dumbledore. Pretending he had dyslexia, Severus read the rest of the crumpled parchment.
Hopefully you are coming back to school this year, if you know what's good for you! I've saved you a tin of lemon drops, so don't be late!
Severus stopped. He was fairly sure the first two lines made little to no sense, but he decided to carry on courageously.
This year, I have decided to ignore your request to be Defense Teacher. I have found someone for the job slot that I am just delighted with, and I cannot wait for you and the rest of the staff to meet him. Also, you keep forgetting to send me your birth certificate. Just because you sent it to me once and I made multiple copies to reassure the staff, does not mean you are exempt from that part of the application in subsequent years. Your short essay segment was also the same as last year's, and again you went over the word limit by several pages. It does not speak to me, as I cannot relate to wanting to be a dark wizard with mysterious power, and/or to the logistics of slicing things open. (the part about hating beards was interesting though…I wonder if there is any symbolism in that piece? You mention long white ones in particular). Once again, however, I regrettably have to say that this career path would undoubtedly bring out the worst in you.
Try again next year, or take a break, which would probably be best for both of us, and any endangered beards. Meanwhile, I suggest once again that you enlist in some light (or super-intensive, shock-powered) therapy, and I look forward to seeing you again in a mere day.
Travel safely, Severus!
Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore
Severus stared at the letter for a good solid minute, before crumpling it up to make it look more authentic and sticking it on his rejection board. He stepped back and looked at it for a while, before stepping back in and underlining the word SOMEDAY, which stood out in bold at the top of the board. Then he went back to trying to budge the stuck zipper on his suitcase, while wondering when Dumbledore would realize he was growing incredibly predictable.
That night, Severus remembered that he'd already packed his nightshirt in his suitcase, and feared that if he opened it again he would never be able to close it. He then had to face the decision of whether to sleep in the nude or to keep his clothes on. His sheets were stale enough so that it didn't matter either way; he kept forgetting to take them to the Laundromat every summer, and when he returned he kept finding new spots on the sheets. He ultimately decided to sleep in his clothes so that he wouldn't have to worry about getting dressed the next morning, but mostly because his room had a cracked mirror in it, and there were few things Severus hated more than having to see himself naked, even through one blur-eye. He crunched into his stale biscuit, which turned out to be five stale pieces of ham stuck together, and fell asleep wishing he had some firewhiskey to wash it down with, or, alternatively, a toothbrush.