McKay (scribbulus_ink) wrote in time_of_storms, @ 2005-10-01 12:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | chronological, joint |
December 18, 1996
Original poster: werwolfoflondon
Note: This is a flashback scene; it's actually the first TOS scene we wrote to establish the characters and their dynamic. This scene has been alluded to in past episodes, and we decided to go ahead and post it so the references would make sense.
Music: The Show Must Go On (Moulin Rouge version because I don't have the original Queen version in mp3 format).
This is not the way things are supposed to be.
Severus glared the thin dregs of the amber liquid in his glass as though his current predicament - if not his mental state - was the fault of the alcohol. It wasn't, of course, nor had the whiskey done much to blunt the fierce surge of anger, resentment and pain - yes, dammit, pain - that sat upon him with a weight more heavy than any he had ever known. How Albus could have asked him to do... that... was beyond him. Especially after all Severus had done for the Order. Especially now.
Snarling, Severus drained the last of his drink, feeling the liquid burn its way down his throat to his stomach. It didn't burn as much as the first glass had, nor the second, and Severus had hoped that a third - or was it fourth? - would be able to take the edge off his emotions. For once, he wanted to escape. For the first time in his life, he was trying to flee from his problems, seeking solace in the sweet release that had helped so many. But like so many pleasures in life, this one, too, was eluding Severus, and he barely resisted the urge to shatter the glass in his hand, the way that Albus Dumbledore had so firmly and callously shattered Severus.
"Not bloody fair," he muttered, before picking up the bottle that stood upon the table, and filling his tumbler once again. Even if the pain remained, Severus knew that eventually that if he drank enough, he would pass out into blessed oblivion. And at this point, he would just have to take what he could get.
Remus was just passing through the pub on his way to Diagon Alley; his stomach growled at the scent of rich rabbit stew that wafted to him as soon as he opened the door, but he couldn't stop and eat, not for lack of time but for lack of money. The wages he'd saved from his year of teaching were dwindling quickly, and the anti-werewolf employment laws had seen to it that he couldn't find a job to supplement his meagre savings.
Of course, finding a job was beyond him now in another way; trying to infiltrate the werewolves and convince them that he was on their side was a full time occupation, albeit a non-paying one. He'd worked hard to earn a measure of trust, but he still had an uphill battle, especially with Greyback, and he knew he couldn't afford to stop watching his back yet.
He flicked his gaze around the room as he walked through, partly out of curiosity, partly out of caution, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Snape sitting alone at a table, hunched, miserable looking as usual, and if Remus wasn't mistaken, well on his way to being good and pissed. He hesitated, debating about the wisdom of stopping to talk. They weren't exactly on good terms, but seeing him like this alarmed Remus; Snape didn't seem the type to drown his sorrows, and if Snape lost control in the wrong company, it could be dangerous. At least, he thought as he approached Snape's table slowly, with both of them acting as spies, neither side could be suspicious of seeing them together. That much was safe, even if there was a very real danger that Snape might hex his balls off just for saying hello.