Fic: Suggested for This Season (Severus/Kingsley)
This is the outcome of the motivation I found (finally, for the first time since February) in early August. I'm grateful to rarepair_shorts and to yletylyf, who wished for Severus/Kingsley, among other pairings. Here it is finally: a new fic by me that's longer than 2K words (too long, as 2K was the recommended maximum for the event).
Author: paulamcg
Title: Suggested for This Season
Pairing: Severus/Kingsley
Rating: PG-13 (for some language)
Word Count: 2500
Summary: On the day after November's full moon in 1993, Severus has nothing against checking out how much can be gained by meeting the Auror who is not welcome at Hogwarts.
Notes: This was written for yletylyf at the Rare Pair Shorts Summer Wishlists 2022. Dearest Lety, thank you for suggesting this pairing! I hope there's something in this little story that appeals to you. Thank you for the beta, justtoarguewithyou! All the remaining mistakes and oddities are mine.
Read here on AO3,
here in the LJ community,
or right here:
Suggested for This Season
"Of course. In case you believe it is necessary that one of us talk to him.”
Choosing my words carefully, I've stripped my voice of any emotion. My eyes stray from the parchment on Dumbledore's desk to the wanted poster that has been framed and hung opposite to the office's southern window, where the low late-November sun illuminates Black's mad grimace.
Not to him, I clarify in my mind, and that amuses me. Just to this wizard sent by the Ministry. The point is that nobody shall talk to Black.
"Excellent! I'll appreciate your conversing with Auror Shacklebolt in Hogsmeade without delay. I might not ask this much of you, if dear Remus were not indisposed, unfortunately -" Dumbledore picks the bowl of sherbet lemons from his desk, holds it out and, after barely waiting for the expression of decline he expects from me, pops one in his mouth. "Perhaps... because your fine potion may keep him harmless but not from suffering."
It's obvious that I am counted on as the more suitable man to repel Shacklebolt, at least in one sense, and to stop the Ministry from interfering more. Dumbledore's twinkly wink, which accompanied his first mention of the visitor's name, has conveyed permission for an additional agenda of my own.
I need no further instructions on how to negotiate, but I want to conclude this exchange by confirming the attitude and the goal the two of us have in common. "If I'm not mistaken, you've shared my view that no Aurors are needed at Hogwarts, or in Hogsmeade."
"You are correct. The Dementors are perfectly capable of dealing with the fugitive as soon as there is enough..." Dumbledore lifts a gentle gaze to the poster, and flinches. "Ah... enough happiness in his mind to attract them."
A brilliant old manipulator or not, Dumbledore is too sentimental and assumes that an encounter with Lupin will evoke joy in Black. I, however, have tested Lupin's faithfulness and found him acutely lustful and touch-starved. The most rewarding strategy must be to raise another strong emotion - jealousy - by fucking him in locations where Black might be watching.
The muddy lane freezes in front of my strides. Thanks to this ingenious spell, I'll arrive in Hogsmeade with my shoes and hems spotless, my black elegance perfect, pure.
In the darkening landscape there remains an odd ruddy glow, and I'm tempted to glance up. Yes, the radiance is reflected from a lacy veil of clouds, onto which the early sunset is bleeding its last plasma, glorious... but irritating in its cocky splendour: golden and scarlet.
Ah, to possess such pomp, to embrace or to subdue it!
Humbug! I only enjoy playing those games while preparing the prey for the soul-sucking monsters. And why not start planning another clandestine rendezvous in the Forbidden Forest... Or around here, just behind this thorny hedge? On a more wintry night, but soon, so that the scrawny body will be still weak due to the transformation, too, and shivering, pressed under mine, against frozen ground...
No, I must stop fantasising about Lupin, and getting all aroused now, on my way to a barely promising encounter, most probably only a boring professional meeting. Think about his ugly patched robes and his equally ugly, scarred skin. Think about what he is!
That shouldn't be too hard to remember. Now here's the moon rising, gibbous: with only a thin sliver snipped off by some celestial canine beasts.
In the white moonlight the cobblestones glisten silvery - except where Madam Puddifoot's lamps spread a warm rosy blanket on them. There's also an inviting spectrum of colours in the window display next to the tea shop. And some time for indulging in checking out - albeit only through the glass - the styles suggested for this season by Gladrags Wizardwear.
Ah, to try on these silken dress robes in all hues of summer's wildflowers! And perhaps one of the heavy cloaks, outwardly austere, with only the lining of fur dyed to such blossoming opulence...
A mirror placed behind the decorative exhibition reveals the backs of the flashy garments - and my pale, black-clad figure.
Now that my income would allow me to buy at least some of the pretty clothes I fancy - both in wizarding and Muggle fashion - I'm stuck with this style that secures my respectability. This style of espionage, of remorse and of mourning.
Mourning the friend who was no longer mine. Mourning men who had never been mine - and some of whom are not quite dead, just perhaps worse than...
This serious guise can now help me gain respect from the visiting Auror. No matter if he happens to be only a couple of years younger and perhaps remembers me from school - as a loner in threadbare robes, ridiculed by even those who sought to benefit from my talents.
Shacklebolt obviously chooses to arrive rather late than early.
It's a short enough walk from the Three Broomsticks, where he's taken a room. Having suggested by owl that we have our conversation in Puddifoot's, I expected him to be already waiting there.
But the tea shop looks as deserted as it must be nowadays whenever no students are allowed to leave Hogwarts. The prospect of privacy was, of course, the reason -
"Professor Snape, I assume. Good evening!" The deep, mellow voice in its slow rhythm rings out so pleasantly that the sudden presence doesn't startle me at all.
Fully in control of my reaction, I turn to face... "Mr Shacklebolt."
And his handsomeness startles me (so that I barely manage to distinguish its components: his height and the poise with which he carries his picotee blue, bronze-embroidered cloak, and the luminous smile that contrasts with the dark complexion). Dumbledore might have mentioned it - perhaps with the caveat that this wizard isn't his type, as he's always preferred golden-haired specimens - if I had expressed any reluctance to meet the Auror.
I'd have got a warning. But I've done well without any.
The choice of the venue has been my first move. His response to having been invited to share an evening in such romantic surroundings can reveal whether the two of us play for the same team.
"Ready for our negotiations in the charming tea shop, sir?" Shacklebolt's broad hand holds mine in a firm grasp and seems reluctant to slide away. "Or would you mind first going in here with me and examining this fine winter collection?"
Is he making fun of me? I hope not. His wide eyes are sincere, and I refrain from narrowing mine in suspicion.
"You haven't checked out Gladrags Wizardwear yet, have you, Mr Shacklebolt?"
"No, not yet. It's taken all my time here today to listen to the publicans' complaints about the Dementors -"
He pauses after the door has closed and the bell above it stopped chiming, and addresses the shopkeeper. "Good evening! We have only a moment and would like to just take a look at those fur-lined cloaks by ourselves. Thank you...
"I haven't been up here since I left school, and that was two years after you. I had my OWLs at the time of your legendary Potions NEWT. Perhaps you can't remember me, sir?"
Now Shacklebolt's attractive features are beautified further by a boyish grin. Combined with the praise and the politeness, this prompts me to take my next, perhaps daring steps. Taking them literally, too.
Circling a cloak stand to the side where Shacklebolt is caressing some sapphire blue fur lining, I venture close enough to breathe in his spicy aftershave while saying, "You'd better call me Severus! And your outfit helps me, too, remember more clearly. You, Kingsley, still favour the Ravenclaw colours, don't you? And not sticking to any standard uniform?"
"The Auror uniform is drab. Your Professor look is classy, at least."
"Thank you."
"But it won't surprise me if I discover in you a secret fondness for some vibrant colours."
Oh. A genuine smile - one of my own at that - must have already escaped me, and I agree to nod as well. Could it be that I've finally met someone who sees a connection between me and beauty?
"I wonder if..." Keeping my cool, I hope this comes out both aloof and personal enough. "You believe in limiting ourselves to our House colours?"
"I'm branching out." Kingsley's cheerful voice gives way to a confidential whisper as he adds, "Also to Muggle fashion. But in green alone there's a lot to experiment with. Something like emerald would be... too flashy?"
He's pulled out his wand (at least twelve inches, and off-white - of living elm wood, where sap still flows?) and there's friendly encouragement in the way he levitates green-lined cloaks for my assessment.
"In what I'll flash in public," I respond with a chuckle, "I think I'd rather start with myrtle and... yes, this combination of myrtle and honeydew."
"Ah, tones from nature! You name them so accurately and have a good eye."
"Thanks."
Taking off my fully black cloak, I now feel confident to reveal the uncompromised sleekness beneath. And I can't help also remembering that Gilderoy admired the rows of tiny buttons, which the fool failed to open with his wand... Called them sexy, in any case.
"I wouldn't have spotted this one, but it's really a refined choice. Perhaps the most sophisticated among..." Kingsley (too) no longer resorts to his wand, but reaches to manually spread the cloak over my shoulders. "May I?"
It's not hard at all to refrain from staring constantly at Kingsley's shapely shaved head. I want to feast my eyes also on the slivers of colour visible above it: on the two cloaks that seem to be entwined, hanging on the same hook next to Puddifoot's door.
He notices, and almost embarrasses me by glancing behind him. "You don't regret your purchase, do you, Severus?"
At least he doesn't ask if I'm worried that someone could steal my expensive new cloak. And he's mentioned my name, unnecessarily, and pronounced it slowly, caressing each syllable.
"Of course not. Just assessing how well the tones fit together. Mine, with yours, too." The light, bright chartreuse shines against not only my deep serene dark green, but against his blue as well. "Your picotee blue."
"Picotee?"
"A picotee's a flowering vine. Produces stunning dark blue star-shaped flowers."
"A vine? Creeper?" Or does he ask playfully if I've implied that he's creepy?
I acknowledge a potential joke with a grin. "Let's call it a climber, Kingsley. A blue picotee's a vigorous and ambitious climber. That's something that appeals to me. Besides, this climber's also called..." I hope Kingsley pays attention to my pause - and, this time, too, to the direction of my eyes, which now focus on his right earlobe, the one adorned with a gold loop that twinkles, promising... "A morning glory."
However sure I am now that there is a chance for a one-nighter, even in case Kingsley has a partner in London, the following steps towards it need to wait.
The moment when Madam herself approaches, levitating a three-tiered tray, is the right timing for... "Talking about ambition - your ambitious career in the Ministry, Mr Shacklebolt... we'd better now deal with - and soon be done with - the issue of this mission to Hogsmeade."
Kingsley frowns. "To Hogwarts, Professor Snape."
"No, thank you," I, conveniently, get a chance to say, with a gesture declining Madam's offer of milk in my tea, and with a meaningful look into Kingsley's eyes.
Kingsley lifts his eyebrows. He goes on stirring his tea while I pull out my wand and start Summoning voicelessly the most select tiny delicacies from the tray: two of each kind to Kingsley's plate, and two to mine.
After a brief silence, and with the first taste of vanilla and cinnamon lingering on my tongue, I say, "Since I am the one not here for the first time, you're wise to heed my recommendations."
"I agree this is a delicious combination." Kingsley forks another piece of chocolate-coated melon.
"Indeed, just as... there can be two items handled pleasantly in tonight's agenda. As for the one that concerns others besides the two of us... Headmaster Dumbledore has grudgingly accepted the Dementors at the entrances to the grounds. Now he declines the offer of any Auror's aid at Hogwarts as unnecessary. If you reported that you have not been allowed to search for the murderer where you deem it necessary, a conflict might escalate. And your superiors would not be happy to hear that the Dementors, too, are no longer welcome here."
Kingsley's wide, intelligent eyes are grave now, but not unkind.
"Perhaps I can keep reporting sincerely that the situation is in control." The rhythm of his speech has become even slower than what I've found characteristic of him. "If you keep reporting to me. My superiors will continue to send me here regularly in any case. Perhaps twice a month."
"To be frank, Headmaster Dumbledore would rather no Auror came to Hogsmeade, either, to chase this convict. Your visiting only the village could constitute a satisfying compromise. As for my reporting, so far there has been a single sighting. The Dementors are most likely to catch the convict soon."
"He's no convict."
"Sorry?"
"You know Sirius Black was never convicted. Never had a trial."
"A fugitive, a murderer - no matter what you call him."
"Maybe it matters. It would be interesting to interrogate him - to have him plead his case, finally."
"After twelve years in Azkaban, he can't possibly have the mind left for... Never mind!" Smirking, I raise my tea cup. "We have reached an agreement. Do you think this is an adequate toast to celebrate that?"
Kingsley responds not only by touching his cup to mine, but also by pressing his leg against the leg I've shifted forward under the table.
"I brought a bottle of Fairy Fizz from London. Meant it as a gift for the Headmaster." His low voice turns into softest murmur. "Now there's that and perhaps more for the two of us to share, if you'd like to follow me to my room in the Three Broomsticks. It's the one right above the entrance, and I'll leave it open for your Apparation."
Turning my head so as to catch Madam's eye and to nod to her, I keep my leg firmly against Kingsley's. "Let me take care of the bill. It's on Hogwarts, of course."
As he starts standing up, I hurry to do the same and reach out my hand to shake his. "Excellent, Mr Shacklebolt. Let me hear when next you come to Hogsmeade!"
"Certainly. Goodbye, Professor Snape."
Having placed a Galleon on the table, I face the window so as to check out my reflection when I put on the cloak: to admire the swirl of the fabric and the flash of its lining with its semi-public rather than secret colours. Behind my own figure and the less refined, kitschy interior, in the depth of the evening's dark, I can discern the luminosity of a smile beamed back to me as an invitation.
An enticement like that is superfluous. It obviously serves my purposes to keep this Auror busy with shopping together, with coffee dates, and with some more intimate pleasures.
Author: paulamcg
Title: Suggested for This Season
Pairing: Severus/Kingsley
Rating: PG-13 (for some language)
Word Count: 2500
Summary: On the day after November's full moon in 1993, Severus has nothing against checking out how much can be gained by meeting the Auror who is not welcome at Hogwarts.
Notes: This was written for yletylyf at the Rare Pair Shorts Summer Wishlists 2022. Dearest Lety, thank you for suggesting this pairing! I hope there's something in this little story that appeals to you. Thank you for the beta, justtoarguewithyou! All the remaining mistakes and oddities are mine.
Read here on AO3,
here in the LJ community,
or right here:
Suggested for This Season
"Of course. In case you believe it is necessary that one of us talk to him.”
Choosing my words carefully, I've stripped my voice of any emotion. My eyes stray from the parchment on Dumbledore's desk to the wanted poster that has been framed and hung opposite to the office's southern window, where the low late-November sun illuminates Black's mad grimace.
Not to him, I clarify in my mind, and that amuses me. Just to this wizard sent by the Ministry. The point is that nobody shall talk to Black.
"Excellent! I'll appreciate your conversing with Auror Shacklebolt in Hogsmeade without delay. I might not ask this much of you, if dear Remus were not indisposed, unfortunately -" Dumbledore picks the bowl of sherbet lemons from his desk, holds it out and, after barely waiting for the expression of decline he expects from me, pops one in his mouth. "Perhaps... because your fine potion may keep him harmless but not from suffering."
It's obvious that I am counted on as the more suitable man to repel Shacklebolt, at least in one sense, and to stop the Ministry from interfering more. Dumbledore's twinkly wink, which accompanied his first mention of the visitor's name, has conveyed permission for an additional agenda of my own.
I need no further instructions on how to negotiate, but I want to conclude this exchange by confirming the attitude and the goal the two of us have in common. "If I'm not mistaken, you've shared my view that no Aurors are needed at Hogwarts, or in Hogsmeade."
"You are correct. The Dementors are perfectly capable of dealing with the fugitive as soon as there is enough..." Dumbledore lifts a gentle gaze to the poster, and flinches. "Ah... enough happiness in his mind to attract them."
A brilliant old manipulator or not, Dumbledore is too sentimental and assumes that an encounter with Lupin will evoke joy in Black. I, however, have tested Lupin's faithfulness and found him acutely lustful and touch-starved. The most rewarding strategy must be to raise another strong emotion - jealousy - by fucking him in locations where Black might be watching.
The muddy lane freezes in front of my strides. Thanks to this ingenious spell, I'll arrive in Hogsmeade with my shoes and hems spotless, my black elegance perfect, pure.
In the darkening landscape there remains an odd ruddy glow, and I'm tempted to glance up. Yes, the radiance is reflected from a lacy veil of clouds, onto which the early sunset is bleeding its last plasma, glorious... but irritating in its cocky splendour: golden and scarlet.
Ah, to possess such pomp, to embrace or to subdue it!
Humbug! I only enjoy playing those games while preparing the prey for the soul-sucking monsters. And why not start planning another clandestine rendezvous in the Forbidden Forest... Or around here, just behind this thorny hedge? On a more wintry night, but soon, so that the scrawny body will be still weak due to the transformation, too, and shivering, pressed under mine, against frozen ground...
No, I must stop fantasising about Lupin, and getting all aroused now, on my way to a barely promising encounter, most probably only a boring professional meeting. Think about his ugly patched robes and his equally ugly, scarred skin. Think about what he is!
That shouldn't be too hard to remember. Now here's the moon rising, gibbous: with only a thin sliver snipped off by some celestial canine beasts.
In the white moonlight the cobblestones glisten silvery - except where Madam Puddifoot's lamps spread a warm rosy blanket on them. There's also an inviting spectrum of colours in the window display next to the tea shop. And some time for indulging in checking out - albeit only through the glass - the styles suggested for this season by Gladrags Wizardwear.
Ah, to try on these silken dress robes in all hues of summer's wildflowers! And perhaps one of the heavy cloaks, outwardly austere, with only the lining of fur dyed to such blossoming opulence...
A mirror placed behind the decorative exhibition reveals the backs of the flashy garments - and my pale, black-clad figure.
Now that my income would allow me to buy at least some of the pretty clothes I fancy - both in wizarding and Muggle fashion - I'm stuck with this style that secures my respectability. This style of espionage, of remorse and of mourning.
Mourning the friend who was no longer mine. Mourning men who had never been mine - and some of whom are not quite dead, just perhaps worse than...
This serious guise can now help me gain respect from the visiting Auror. No matter if he happens to be only a couple of years younger and perhaps remembers me from school - as a loner in threadbare robes, ridiculed by even those who sought to benefit from my talents.
Shacklebolt obviously chooses to arrive rather late than early.
It's a short enough walk from the Three Broomsticks, where he's taken a room. Having suggested by owl that we have our conversation in Puddifoot's, I expected him to be already waiting there.
But the tea shop looks as deserted as it must be nowadays whenever no students are allowed to leave Hogwarts. The prospect of privacy was, of course, the reason -
"Professor Snape, I assume. Good evening!" The deep, mellow voice in its slow rhythm rings out so pleasantly that the sudden presence doesn't startle me at all.
Fully in control of my reaction, I turn to face... "Mr Shacklebolt."
And his handsomeness startles me (so that I barely manage to distinguish its components: his height and the poise with which he carries his picotee blue, bronze-embroidered cloak, and the luminous smile that contrasts with the dark complexion). Dumbledore might have mentioned it - perhaps with the caveat that this wizard isn't his type, as he's always preferred golden-haired specimens - if I had expressed any reluctance to meet the Auror.
I'd have got a warning. But I've done well without any.
The choice of the venue has been my first move. His response to having been invited to share an evening in such romantic surroundings can reveal whether the two of us play for the same team.
"Ready for our negotiations in the charming tea shop, sir?" Shacklebolt's broad hand holds mine in a firm grasp and seems reluctant to slide away. "Or would you mind first going in here with me and examining this fine winter collection?"
Is he making fun of me? I hope not. His wide eyes are sincere, and I refrain from narrowing mine in suspicion.
"You haven't checked out Gladrags Wizardwear yet, have you, Mr Shacklebolt?"
"No, not yet. It's taken all my time here today to listen to the publicans' complaints about the Dementors -"
He pauses after the door has closed and the bell above it stopped chiming, and addresses the shopkeeper. "Good evening! We have only a moment and would like to just take a look at those fur-lined cloaks by ourselves. Thank you...
"I haven't been up here since I left school, and that was two years after you. I had my OWLs at the time of your legendary Potions NEWT. Perhaps you can't remember me, sir?"
Now Shacklebolt's attractive features are beautified further by a boyish grin. Combined with the praise and the politeness, this prompts me to take my next, perhaps daring steps. Taking them literally, too.
Circling a cloak stand to the side where Shacklebolt is caressing some sapphire blue fur lining, I venture close enough to breathe in his spicy aftershave while saying, "You'd better call me Severus! And your outfit helps me, too, remember more clearly. You, Kingsley, still favour the Ravenclaw colours, don't you? And not sticking to any standard uniform?"
"The Auror uniform is drab. Your Professor look is classy, at least."
"Thank you."
"But it won't surprise me if I discover in you a secret fondness for some vibrant colours."
Oh. A genuine smile - one of my own at that - must have already escaped me, and I agree to nod as well. Could it be that I've finally met someone who sees a connection between me and beauty?
"I wonder if..." Keeping my cool, I hope this comes out both aloof and personal enough. "You believe in limiting ourselves to our House colours?"
"I'm branching out." Kingsley's cheerful voice gives way to a confidential whisper as he adds, "Also to Muggle fashion. But in green alone there's a lot to experiment with. Something like emerald would be... too flashy?"
He's pulled out his wand (at least twelve inches, and off-white - of living elm wood, where sap still flows?) and there's friendly encouragement in the way he levitates green-lined cloaks for my assessment.
"In what I'll flash in public," I respond with a chuckle, "I think I'd rather start with myrtle and... yes, this combination of myrtle and honeydew."
"Ah, tones from nature! You name them so accurately and have a good eye."
"Thanks."
Taking off my fully black cloak, I now feel confident to reveal the uncompromised sleekness beneath. And I can't help also remembering that Gilderoy admired the rows of tiny buttons, which the fool failed to open with his wand... Called them sexy, in any case.
"I wouldn't have spotted this one, but it's really a refined choice. Perhaps the most sophisticated among..." Kingsley (too) no longer resorts to his wand, but reaches to manually spread the cloak over my shoulders. "May I?"
It's not hard at all to refrain from staring constantly at Kingsley's shapely shaved head. I want to feast my eyes also on the slivers of colour visible above it: on the two cloaks that seem to be entwined, hanging on the same hook next to Puddifoot's door.
He notices, and almost embarrasses me by glancing behind him. "You don't regret your purchase, do you, Severus?"
At least he doesn't ask if I'm worried that someone could steal my expensive new cloak. And he's mentioned my name, unnecessarily, and pronounced it slowly, caressing each syllable.
"Of course not. Just assessing how well the tones fit together. Mine, with yours, too." The light, bright chartreuse shines against not only my deep serene dark green, but against his blue as well. "Your picotee blue."
"Picotee?"
"A picotee's a flowering vine. Produces stunning dark blue star-shaped flowers."
"A vine? Creeper?" Or does he ask playfully if I've implied that he's creepy?
I acknowledge a potential joke with a grin. "Let's call it a climber, Kingsley. A blue picotee's a vigorous and ambitious climber. That's something that appeals to me. Besides, this climber's also called..." I hope Kingsley pays attention to my pause - and, this time, too, to the direction of my eyes, which now focus on his right earlobe, the one adorned with a gold loop that twinkles, promising... "A morning glory."
However sure I am now that there is a chance for a one-nighter, even in case Kingsley has a partner in London, the following steps towards it need to wait.
The moment when Madam herself approaches, levitating a three-tiered tray, is the right timing for... "Talking about ambition - your ambitious career in the Ministry, Mr Shacklebolt... we'd better now deal with - and soon be done with - the issue of this mission to Hogsmeade."
Kingsley frowns. "To Hogwarts, Professor Snape."
"No, thank you," I, conveniently, get a chance to say, with a gesture declining Madam's offer of milk in my tea, and with a meaningful look into Kingsley's eyes.
Kingsley lifts his eyebrows. He goes on stirring his tea while I pull out my wand and start Summoning voicelessly the most select tiny delicacies from the tray: two of each kind to Kingsley's plate, and two to mine.
After a brief silence, and with the first taste of vanilla and cinnamon lingering on my tongue, I say, "Since I am the one not here for the first time, you're wise to heed my recommendations."
"I agree this is a delicious combination." Kingsley forks another piece of chocolate-coated melon.
"Indeed, just as... there can be two items handled pleasantly in tonight's agenda. As for the one that concerns others besides the two of us... Headmaster Dumbledore has grudgingly accepted the Dementors at the entrances to the grounds. Now he declines the offer of any Auror's aid at Hogwarts as unnecessary. If you reported that you have not been allowed to search for the murderer where you deem it necessary, a conflict might escalate. And your superiors would not be happy to hear that the Dementors, too, are no longer welcome here."
Kingsley's wide, intelligent eyes are grave now, but not unkind.
"Perhaps I can keep reporting sincerely that the situation is in control." The rhythm of his speech has become even slower than what I've found characteristic of him. "If you keep reporting to me. My superiors will continue to send me here regularly in any case. Perhaps twice a month."
"To be frank, Headmaster Dumbledore would rather no Auror came to Hogsmeade, either, to chase this convict. Your visiting only the village could constitute a satisfying compromise. As for my reporting, so far there has been a single sighting. The Dementors are most likely to catch the convict soon."
"He's no convict."
"Sorry?"
"You know Sirius Black was never convicted. Never had a trial."
"A fugitive, a murderer - no matter what you call him."
"Maybe it matters. It would be interesting to interrogate him - to have him plead his case, finally."
"After twelve years in Azkaban, he can't possibly have the mind left for... Never mind!" Smirking, I raise my tea cup. "We have reached an agreement. Do you think this is an adequate toast to celebrate that?"
Kingsley responds not only by touching his cup to mine, but also by pressing his leg against the leg I've shifted forward under the table.
"I brought a bottle of Fairy Fizz from London. Meant it as a gift for the Headmaster." His low voice turns into softest murmur. "Now there's that and perhaps more for the two of us to share, if you'd like to follow me to my room in the Three Broomsticks. It's the one right above the entrance, and I'll leave it open for your Apparation."
Turning my head so as to catch Madam's eye and to nod to her, I keep my leg firmly against Kingsley's. "Let me take care of the bill. It's on Hogwarts, of course."
As he starts standing up, I hurry to do the same and reach out my hand to shake his. "Excellent, Mr Shacklebolt. Let me hear when next you come to Hogsmeade!"
"Certainly. Goodbye, Professor Snape."
Having placed a Galleon on the table, I face the window so as to check out my reflection when I put on the cloak: to admire the swirl of the fabric and the flash of its lining with its semi-public rather than secret colours. Behind my own figure and the less refined, kitschy interior, in the depth of the evening's dark, I can discern the luminosity of a smile beamed back to me as an invitation.
An enticement like that is superfluous. It obviously serves my purposes to keep this Auror busy with shopping together, with coffee dates, and with some more intimate pleasures.