DESPERADO (2)
Title: Desperado
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: It may be raining, but there’s a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late
Pairing: Severus Snape/OFC
Rating: What about Teen?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: This story has been written out of fan-appreciation. I own nothing but the characters I invented (clearly not Snape, Harry Potter, Dumbledore ecc.) and the poor excuse for a plot I patched together.
1. The Man Who Couldn't Cry
AN: A big thanks to my beta anti_social_ite! You've been great - as always.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
From "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran
“Hello,” Abigail greeted him good-humouredly, when she waltzed inside the room. She was in unusually good spirits today.
Snape just nodded in response to her greeting as was usually his custom. “Good day to you too,” he said with a certain amount of reserved politeness, waiting patiently for her reaction to his words.
Over the past two weeks he had learned that she was quite an emotional person, though she tried to keep up the façade of a person that always kept her cool. “You can talk…” she remarked excitedly. Judging from what he knew about her, she didn’t like him much, but she still managed to be genuinely happy for him upon hearing about his recovery. It was just the kind of person she was.
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. Why she was fussing about something minor like this was beyond him.
“Wow! That’s a big deal. Aren’t you…I don’t know…happy about it?” she asked walking up to his bed.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a pleasant development.”
“A pleasant development?!” she repeated his words somewhat disdainfully. “So how come you don’t sound pleased?”
He didn’t respond. As expected he ignored her question. She didn’t call herself beat yet, however. “It’s okay to be happy about something, you know,” Abigail shot him an odd look that clearly told him she thought him to be rather ungrateful and, above all, insufferable.
“I’ve enjoyed the book you gave me,” he abruptly changed the topic.
She blinked, looking at him somewhat confused upon that sudden twist of conversation. “I didn’t expect you would. I don’t know a lot about you, but I didn’t assume you would enjoy reading some of a new-age-author.”
“Is he now?” he frowned, eyeing the book suspiciously.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, fortunately he was subtle about it.”
She threw him a lopsided grin, which was clearly meant to be understood ironically. “Most definitely! Did you read that part about Joy and Sorrow?”
“It was in the book, right? So you can safely assume I read it,” he gave her a sharp look.
“You’re acerbic,” Abigail observed. “And rude,” she paused a little thinking, “and also somewhat inept at making conversation.”
“So what?”
“It’s amusing.”
“Well, I’m glad to be able to amuse you.”
“Aren’t you now?” she grinned and walked away over to her aunt’s bed.
Their talks had become ever more frequent. At first it had seemed like she felt that common human decency required her to make small-talk with him, now that she had found out he had regained his voice, but soon their conversations became longer and less impersonal.
For some reason, and that was puzzling him, she found it amusing when he was annoyed. What perplexed him even more was the fact that Abigail didn’t seem to be intimidated by his abrasive manners. Glares and sarcastic comments usually worked well with his students. They would cower and squirm under the scrutiny of his sharp eyes, while all she did was throw him a smug grin and retort with an equally derisive verbal barb of her own. Her behaviour towards him was unprecedented. Maybe that was what intrigued him and got him talking in the first place. She, of course, had another theory.
“No, really you’re easy to talk to…”
“Didn’t you want to say talk at?” He arched his eyebrow at her. “Pay attention to those prepositions sometimes they make all the difference in the world.”
“Is that so, Professor? For some reason that must have skipped my notice up until now. I do own a book shop, you know. But then again it only came into my possession by accident. Did I already mention I’m illiterate? It’s really a tragic situation,” she rolled her eyes at him.
“I doubt that. You read quite fluently,” he remarked.
“I’m satisfied to hear that my reading levels meet your standards, but may I inform you very politely and respectfully that you may very well be the rudest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” she said, smiling at him amusedly.
“I was not being rude,” he replied somewhat indignantly.
“So far I have come to experience only two out of your doubtlessly extensive repertoire of moods - vexed and ill-humoured.”
“Well, there is a third.”
“And what might that be?”
“Humorous,” he said in all dead-seriousness, his face perfectly expressionless.
She laughed. “Careful, Severus! Joking might cost you your reputation.”
“There’s not much left of it anyway,” he said darkly. He had the talent to kill the mood immediately like no other. The smile froze on her face and her laughter died down.
“I’m sorry. It seems like I’ve managed to put my foot in it again,” she said regretfully.
“It doesn’t matter,” he waved her apology off, like it was some obnoxious fly buzzing around his head. “So what did you want to say before?” Snape asked, deliberately changing topic.
“Oh, that. Well,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “I think when you first get to talking with another person you’ve got all this expectations and misconceptions and there’s also the pressure of having to leave a good first impression. I guess we didn’t have that. It’s save to say we left the worst kind of first impression on each other, didn’t we? How’s that for a good ice breaker?”
Abigail drew the door closed behind her and started walking down the long corridor, her high heels clicking on the floor. The corners of her mouth were slowly curling into a satisfied smile. She frowned, tried to shake off the thought, but didn’t succeed, then stopped walking all together. How had this happened? Why was she suddenly feeling so happy?
A nurse passed her on the corridor, unaware of the other woman’s dilemma. Brief greetings were exchanged, then she was gone again, leaving Abigail alone with her thoughts. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
It had been so easy to hate him. That what she wanted to do from the start, straight from the moment she had seen that tattoo on his arm, but yet again there she was smiling because she had enjoyed talking to him.
Did she like him? A man who managed to be obviously unlikable and subtly likeable at the same time. The subtle part was in the way he sometimes smiled when he knew she wasn’t looking, the way he was so quick-witted and smart. He was the verbal sparring partner she had never had and never known she was looking for.
Still his past, that murky little thing, was somewhere lurking at her. She had a feeling it would sooner or later catch up with them, yet she would have to trust for now: a thing she had trouble doing after all that had happened. It was understandable, really, after being on the run for a little longer than a year only to be found and tortured by Death Eaters in the end. They never had gotten very far with the torturing bit actually. They had beaten her up and mocked her, but never even drawn their wands. They probably would have done much worse, had they not been summoned by the Dark Lord. She probably was still alive, thanks to pure luck and good timing. Had they caught her any other night, she probably would be dead by now.
So, yes, she wasn’t particularly fond of the idea that he had been a Death Eater, but there was still that Potter kid to speak in his favour. Well, kid was a bit off actually. He was already a young man. Thinking that made her feel old, though she was only in her early thirties.
Alright, then friendship it was. She nodded and started walking again.
The day he was released held a couple of surprises for him. The first one being, that he still had the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts. Earlier that day he had received a letter from Minerva McGonagall, headmistress by now, in which she expressed her delight upon hearing of his speedy recovery, wishing he would soon return to school and start teaching again. Of course, he would accept. Though he felt a strong dislike for each and every one of those little dim witted tykes at Hogwarts, he still drew comfort from the familiar surroundings of his potions lab, where, after a long school day, he could indulge in one of his experiments or just hang after his thoughts. He didn’t know any other life and he doubted he even wanted to.
The second surprise was a parcel wrapped in simple brown paper. One of the nurses, coincidentally the most annoying one - he had never bothered to learn there names just attributed them different levels of obnoxiousness - handed it to him with the comment “From your lady friend” with a sickening sweet smile. He just glared at her and ripped it out of her hands.
He only opened it when he was out of hospital bounds, meticulously peeling away the wrapping. It was a leather bound tome upon which the title of the book, “De Profundis”, was imprinted in gilded letters. He ran his fingers over it appreciatively, before he opened the first page. On it there was something written in loopy, rather girlish letters. Doubtlessly a message from her. He had never seen her writing, but he would have pictured it like that.
It read: “Dear Severus.” He had never allowed her to call him by his first name, but strangely she just seemed to assume it was okay to do so. Apparently it was some kind of natural given to her. “I have a feeling this will meet your taste more than the prose you had to overhear me read to my aunt in the course of the last weeks. Should you run out of reading material, you know where to find me...”
She had made sure he would be able to do so by strategically placing her card inside the book. He took it in his hand and looked at it suspiciously as if it was going to bite him. It was quite tastefully done. The front of it was glossy black with her bookshop’s name and address on it written in white letters, while the back was just plain white. She had written something on it. At first he frowned when he read it, then a lopsided smirk briefly flitted over his face, before he safely stowed it away inside his pocket.
“We even cater to formerly evil minions.” Nobody would have been able to call him that and live except for her. It was just the kind of insolence he expected from her. In fact, it was the kind of insolence he actually indulged when it came to her, because he found it to be…he briefly deliberated his final judgement…he found it to be rather endearing.
He had finished the book in one night. She had been right, it seemed like it had been written for him. That she had guessed as much intuitively, though, kept him from taking her up on her offer to go see her. So he let himself get distracted by the familiar routine of grading essays, preparing lessons and assigning detention. Living at a boarding school, it was quite easy to isolate himself from the rest of the world. Hogwarts was a fully functional microcosm that provided its inhabitants with everything they needed: a library, food, Quidditch matches, extensive amounts of gossip, which was actually not something he was keen on, but apparently it was a necessary evil…
The first day he was back it felt like nothing had changed. He once again donned his familiar long black robes and when he stepped into the classroom the familiar sent of chalk, wood mixed with a slightly acidy chemical note that seemed to have crept into every chink of the Potions Classroom, thanks to countless experiments that had been performed there, immediately surrounded him. He was home. It was like a glove that fit.
So for a while it was comfortable to take refuge in the familiar, but somehow not a single evening went by, he didn’t hold her card in his hand, turning it over thoughtfully. Was he really going to push away the one friend he had made in how long…ten years? Longer?
His decision to finally visit Diagon Alley came upon him rather impulsively. One evening he had simply had enough of sitting around and thinking about passed up opportunities. Without giving it much thought he threw over his cloak and breezed out of the castle. Once out of grounds he disapparated and soon found himself in Diagon Ally.
The shops were about to close, it was a weekday and very few people were doing some last minute shopping. He found her shop easily enough. He had passed it a couple of times before the war. Though he had always found the books displayed in the shop window rather interesting, he had always admonished himself silently not to let his gaze linger for too long. It would not have been advisable for a Death Eater to stare at a shop window with Muggle books. Surely the Dark Lord would have frowned upon that.
After a brief moment of hesitation he entered the shop, sweeping in through the front door, his black cloak billowing behind him dramatically. It would have doubtlessly been a flawless entry, but unfortunately it was marred by the loud music booming through the shop. Abigail was standing in the middle of the aisle, her back facing him, singing along to the song at the top of her lungs.
Caught up in the rhythm of the music, she soon started dancing as well. The way she was moving was ever so slightly reminiscent of a snake dance. Her movements were fluent like waves, until the moment the song culminated into a booming brass section. He had to bite his cheek not to start laughing out loud. A minute ago he would have even gone as far a calling her graceful, but the dance she was now performing was oddly reminiscent of one of those tribal dances. Doubtlessly there would be rain tomorrow if she continued like this.
As if it was not enough already, the infamous song she was bellowing out was apparently called “Bitch” or something equally absurd, because the refrain was “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother.”
This would be enough to ridicule her for a lifetime. Suddenly he was extremely pleased he had chosen this particular moment for his visit. Now, however, it was time to make his presence known. Realising she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the noise of the stereo, he drew his wand and pointed it at the offensive electronic device. “Silencio!” he hissed. Immediately the music died down.
She stopped moving and looked around in puzzlement, first at the stereo that had sudden gone silent. Turning around, her eyes met his. He had never seen someone blush more profusely. Her mouth was opening and closing as she was struggling with words.
“Well, I supposed you’re certainly wishing now you hadn’t forwarded your invitation,” he commented dryly, not able to keep a certain amount of derision out of his voice.
She coughed. “Severus?” She asked, giving him an astonished once-over as if she was making sure he was really there.
“Yes,” he responded savouring the baffled look on her face.
“You look good. Rested.”
“And you look flustered,” he remarked evenly.
“Do I?” she rubbed her neck embarrassedly. “How long have you been standing there?”
He threw her a mocking glance and to her great surprise she discovered he was smirking ever so slightly.
“Bugger,” she whispered under her breath, while the tips of her ears grew slightly pink. “Well, what can I do for you today, Severus? Except for humiliating myself in front of you and affording you the amusement of a lifetime, of course,” Abigail said, slowly beginning to become irritated with him.
“Which already made the visit worthwhile, I must say.”
Abigail almost let out a frustrated groan, but bit her tongue. “So? What’s it going to be?” She asked brusquely, slowly losing her patience with him.
“Do you have any other recommendations?” He asked rather formally.
“Only the ones that practically force themselves on me,” Abigail said looking at him pointedly. “Blake, Byron, Keats, Coleridge, Shelley and just a dash of Rossetti.”
He frowned her, which encouraged her to clarify the situation further. “Tailors take measure too, don’t they?”
About half an hour, which was well past closing hour, they had assembled a neat stack of books. After they had deposited them on the counter, she scurried behind it and started rummaging about busily.
“Bellini’s Compendium of Potions and Herbs,” Abigail muttered to herself as she hoisted a large catalogue on the table. She put on her glasses, opened the book and traced the columns with her index finger. “Not in store. That’s a pity,” she mumbled. “But I know where to get…I’ll just have to floo…”
Severus decided to clear his throat to remind her of his presence. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she smiled. “I zoned out again, didn’t I? Well, about the book. I can get it for you, but it’s going to take a couple of days. Would you like to have it delivered?”
“I’m surprised you should be able to provide a copy at all. Mr. Slug down the street told me…”
“Oh, that old bat! He lacks the certain diplomatic finesse necessary to get the job done…”
“Pray tell, what kind of diplomatic finesse is required to acquire one of those rare copies of ‘Bellini’s Compendium’?”
She threw him a conspiratorial smile. “First of all, you should be able to speak Italian, secondly you should be able to sweet talk, and thirdly, and most importantly, you should be a woman. If I remember correctly all of the above don’t apply to Old Slug, which is probably why he couldn’t manage to get one…So delivery?”
“Er…Yes, thank you.”
“Give me a week or so.”
“What about those,” he indicated the stack of books sitting on the counter in front of him. “How much do I owe you?”
She wrinkled her nose in disapproval, clearly displeased with the concept of talking money from him, though she couldn’t exactly afford to be squeamish about that. After all this was a bookshop, not a library. “They are 50 percent off,” she said quickly.
He gave her a sharp look. “They are not,” he said slowly.
“They are if I say so. Oh, and by the way, it’s supposed to work like this - you as the customer ask for a lower prize, you’re not supposed to raise the prize,” she explained calmly.
TBC
Oh, I forgot to say, the song that Abby sings along to is "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: It may be raining, but there’s a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late
Pairing: Severus Snape/OFC
Rating: What about Teen?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: This story has been written out of fan-appreciation. I own nothing but the characters I invented (clearly not Snape, Harry Potter, Dumbledore ecc.) and the poor excuse for a plot I patched together.
1. The Man Who Couldn't Cry
AN: A big thanks to my beta anti_social_ite! You've been great - as always.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
From "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran
“Hello,” Abigail greeted him good-humouredly, when she waltzed inside the room. She was in unusually good spirits today.
Snape just nodded in response to her greeting as was usually his custom. “Good day to you too,” he said with a certain amount of reserved politeness, waiting patiently for her reaction to his words.
Over the past two weeks he had learned that she was quite an emotional person, though she tried to keep up the façade of a person that always kept her cool. “You can talk…” she remarked excitedly. Judging from what he knew about her, she didn’t like him much, but she still managed to be genuinely happy for him upon hearing about his recovery. It was just the kind of person she was.
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. Why she was fussing about something minor like this was beyond him.
“Wow! That’s a big deal. Aren’t you…I don’t know…happy about it?” she asked walking up to his bed.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a pleasant development.”
“A pleasant development?!” she repeated his words somewhat disdainfully. “So how come you don’t sound pleased?”
He didn’t respond. As expected he ignored her question. She didn’t call herself beat yet, however. “It’s okay to be happy about something, you know,” Abigail shot him an odd look that clearly told him she thought him to be rather ungrateful and, above all, insufferable.
“I’ve enjoyed the book you gave me,” he abruptly changed the topic.
She blinked, looking at him somewhat confused upon that sudden twist of conversation. “I didn’t expect you would. I don’t know a lot about you, but I didn’t assume you would enjoy reading some of a new-age-author.”
“Is he now?” he frowned, eyeing the book suspiciously.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, fortunately he was subtle about it.”
She threw him a lopsided grin, which was clearly meant to be understood ironically. “Most definitely! Did you read that part about Joy and Sorrow?”
“It was in the book, right? So you can safely assume I read it,” he gave her a sharp look.
“You’re acerbic,” Abigail observed. “And rude,” she paused a little thinking, “and also somewhat inept at making conversation.”
“So what?”
“It’s amusing.”
“Well, I’m glad to be able to amuse you.”
“Aren’t you now?” she grinned and walked away over to her aunt’s bed.
Their talks had become ever more frequent. At first it had seemed like she felt that common human decency required her to make small-talk with him, now that she had found out he had regained his voice, but soon their conversations became longer and less impersonal.
For some reason, and that was puzzling him, she found it amusing when he was annoyed. What perplexed him even more was the fact that Abigail didn’t seem to be intimidated by his abrasive manners. Glares and sarcastic comments usually worked well with his students. They would cower and squirm under the scrutiny of his sharp eyes, while all she did was throw him a smug grin and retort with an equally derisive verbal barb of her own. Her behaviour towards him was unprecedented. Maybe that was what intrigued him and got him talking in the first place. She, of course, had another theory.
“No, really you’re easy to talk to…”
“Didn’t you want to say talk at?” He arched his eyebrow at her. “Pay attention to those prepositions sometimes they make all the difference in the world.”
“Is that so, Professor? For some reason that must have skipped my notice up until now. I do own a book shop, you know. But then again it only came into my possession by accident. Did I already mention I’m illiterate? It’s really a tragic situation,” she rolled her eyes at him.
“I doubt that. You read quite fluently,” he remarked.
“I’m satisfied to hear that my reading levels meet your standards, but may I inform you very politely and respectfully that you may very well be the rudest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” she said, smiling at him amusedly.
“I was not being rude,” he replied somewhat indignantly.
“So far I have come to experience only two out of your doubtlessly extensive repertoire of moods - vexed and ill-humoured.”
“Well, there is a third.”
“And what might that be?”
“Humorous,” he said in all dead-seriousness, his face perfectly expressionless.
She laughed. “Careful, Severus! Joking might cost you your reputation.”
“There’s not much left of it anyway,” he said darkly. He had the talent to kill the mood immediately like no other. The smile froze on her face and her laughter died down.
“I’m sorry. It seems like I’ve managed to put my foot in it again,” she said regretfully.
“It doesn’t matter,” he waved her apology off, like it was some obnoxious fly buzzing around his head. “So what did you want to say before?” Snape asked, deliberately changing topic.
“Oh, that. Well,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “I think when you first get to talking with another person you’ve got all this expectations and misconceptions and there’s also the pressure of having to leave a good first impression. I guess we didn’t have that. It’s save to say we left the worst kind of first impression on each other, didn’t we? How’s that for a good ice breaker?”
Abigail drew the door closed behind her and started walking down the long corridor, her high heels clicking on the floor. The corners of her mouth were slowly curling into a satisfied smile. She frowned, tried to shake off the thought, but didn’t succeed, then stopped walking all together. How had this happened? Why was she suddenly feeling so happy?
A nurse passed her on the corridor, unaware of the other woman’s dilemma. Brief greetings were exchanged, then she was gone again, leaving Abigail alone with her thoughts. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
It had been so easy to hate him. That what she wanted to do from the start, straight from the moment she had seen that tattoo on his arm, but yet again there she was smiling because she had enjoyed talking to him.
Did she like him? A man who managed to be obviously unlikable and subtly likeable at the same time. The subtle part was in the way he sometimes smiled when he knew she wasn’t looking, the way he was so quick-witted and smart. He was the verbal sparring partner she had never had and never known she was looking for.
Still his past, that murky little thing, was somewhere lurking at her. She had a feeling it would sooner or later catch up with them, yet she would have to trust for now: a thing she had trouble doing after all that had happened. It was understandable, really, after being on the run for a little longer than a year only to be found and tortured by Death Eaters in the end. They never had gotten very far with the torturing bit actually. They had beaten her up and mocked her, but never even drawn their wands. They probably would have done much worse, had they not been summoned by the Dark Lord. She probably was still alive, thanks to pure luck and good timing. Had they caught her any other night, she probably would be dead by now.
So, yes, she wasn’t particularly fond of the idea that he had been a Death Eater, but there was still that Potter kid to speak in his favour. Well, kid was a bit off actually. He was already a young man. Thinking that made her feel old, though she was only in her early thirties.
Alright, then friendship it was. She nodded and started walking again.
The day he was released held a couple of surprises for him. The first one being, that he still had the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts. Earlier that day he had received a letter from Minerva McGonagall, headmistress by now, in which she expressed her delight upon hearing of his speedy recovery, wishing he would soon return to school and start teaching again. Of course, he would accept. Though he felt a strong dislike for each and every one of those little dim witted tykes at Hogwarts, he still drew comfort from the familiar surroundings of his potions lab, where, after a long school day, he could indulge in one of his experiments or just hang after his thoughts. He didn’t know any other life and he doubted he even wanted to.
The second surprise was a parcel wrapped in simple brown paper. One of the nurses, coincidentally the most annoying one - he had never bothered to learn there names just attributed them different levels of obnoxiousness - handed it to him with the comment “From your lady friend” with a sickening sweet smile. He just glared at her and ripped it out of her hands.
He only opened it when he was out of hospital bounds, meticulously peeling away the wrapping. It was a leather bound tome upon which the title of the book, “De Profundis”, was imprinted in gilded letters. He ran his fingers over it appreciatively, before he opened the first page. On it there was something written in loopy, rather girlish letters. Doubtlessly a message from her. He had never seen her writing, but he would have pictured it like that.
It read: “Dear Severus.” He had never allowed her to call him by his first name, but strangely she just seemed to assume it was okay to do so. Apparently it was some kind of natural given to her. “I have a feeling this will meet your taste more than the prose you had to overhear me read to my aunt in the course of the last weeks. Should you run out of reading material, you know where to find me...”
She had made sure he would be able to do so by strategically placing her card inside the book. He took it in his hand and looked at it suspiciously as if it was going to bite him. It was quite tastefully done. The front of it was glossy black with her bookshop’s name and address on it written in white letters, while the back was just plain white. She had written something on it. At first he frowned when he read it, then a lopsided smirk briefly flitted over his face, before he safely stowed it away inside his pocket.
“We even cater to formerly evil minions.” Nobody would have been able to call him that and live except for her. It was just the kind of insolence he expected from her. In fact, it was the kind of insolence he actually indulged when it came to her, because he found it to be…he briefly deliberated his final judgement…he found it to be rather endearing.
He had finished the book in one night. She had been right, it seemed like it had been written for him. That she had guessed as much intuitively, though, kept him from taking her up on her offer to go see her. So he let himself get distracted by the familiar routine of grading essays, preparing lessons and assigning detention. Living at a boarding school, it was quite easy to isolate himself from the rest of the world. Hogwarts was a fully functional microcosm that provided its inhabitants with everything they needed: a library, food, Quidditch matches, extensive amounts of gossip, which was actually not something he was keen on, but apparently it was a necessary evil…
The first day he was back it felt like nothing had changed. He once again donned his familiar long black robes and when he stepped into the classroom the familiar sent of chalk, wood mixed with a slightly acidy chemical note that seemed to have crept into every chink of the Potions Classroom, thanks to countless experiments that had been performed there, immediately surrounded him. He was home. It was like a glove that fit.
So for a while it was comfortable to take refuge in the familiar, but somehow not a single evening went by, he didn’t hold her card in his hand, turning it over thoughtfully. Was he really going to push away the one friend he had made in how long…ten years? Longer?
His decision to finally visit Diagon Alley came upon him rather impulsively. One evening he had simply had enough of sitting around and thinking about passed up opportunities. Without giving it much thought he threw over his cloak and breezed out of the castle. Once out of grounds he disapparated and soon found himself in Diagon Ally.
The shops were about to close, it was a weekday and very few people were doing some last minute shopping. He found her shop easily enough. He had passed it a couple of times before the war. Though he had always found the books displayed in the shop window rather interesting, he had always admonished himself silently not to let his gaze linger for too long. It would not have been advisable for a Death Eater to stare at a shop window with Muggle books. Surely the Dark Lord would have frowned upon that.
After a brief moment of hesitation he entered the shop, sweeping in through the front door, his black cloak billowing behind him dramatically. It would have doubtlessly been a flawless entry, but unfortunately it was marred by the loud music booming through the shop. Abigail was standing in the middle of the aisle, her back facing him, singing along to the song at the top of her lungs.
Caught up in the rhythm of the music, she soon started dancing as well. The way she was moving was ever so slightly reminiscent of a snake dance. Her movements were fluent like waves, until the moment the song culminated into a booming brass section. He had to bite his cheek not to start laughing out loud. A minute ago he would have even gone as far a calling her graceful, but the dance she was now performing was oddly reminiscent of one of those tribal dances. Doubtlessly there would be rain tomorrow if she continued like this.
As if it was not enough already, the infamous song she was bellowing out was apparently called “Bitch” or something equally absurd, because the refrain was “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother.”
This would be enough to ridicule her for a lifetime. Suddenly he was extremely pleased he had chosen this particular moment for his visit. Now, however, it was time to make his presence known. Realising she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the noise of the stereo, he drew his wand and pointed it at the offensive electronic device. “Silencio!” he hissed. Immediately the music died down.
She stopped moving and looked around in puzzlement, first at the stereo that had sudden gone silent. Turning around, her eyes met his. He had never seen someone blush more profusely. Her mouth was opening and closing as she was struggling with words.
“Well, I supposed you’re certainly wishing now you hadn’t forwarded your invitation,” he commented dryly, not able to keep a certain amount of derision out of his voice.
She coughed. “Severus?” She asked, giving him an astonished once-over as if she was making sure he was really there.
“Yes,” he responded savouring the baffled look on her face.
“You look good. Rested.”
“And you look flustered,” he remarked evenly.
“Do I?” she rubbed her neck embarrassedly. “How long have you been standing there?”
He threw her a mocking glance and to her great surprise she discovered he was smirking ever so slightly.
“Bugger,” she whispered under her breath, while the tips of her ears grew slightly pink. “Well, what can I do for you today, Severus? Except for humiliating myself in front of you and affording you the amusement of a lifetime, of course,” Abigail said, slowly beginning to become irritated with him.
“Which already made the visit worthwhile, I must say.”
Abigail almost let out a frustrated groan, but bit her tongue. “So? What’s it going to be?” She asked brusquely, slowly losing her patience with him.
“Do you have any other recommendations?” He asked rather formally.
“Only the ones that practically force themselves on me,” Abigail said looking at him pointedly. “Blake, Byron, Keats, Coleridge, Shelley and just a dash of Rossetti.”
He frowned her, which encouraged her to clarify the situation further. “Tailors take measure too, don’t they?”
About half an hour, which was well past closing hour, they had assembled a neat stack of books. After they had deposited them on the counter, she scurried behind it and started rummaging about busily.
“Bellini’s Compendium of Potions and Herbs,” Abigail muttered to herself as she hoisted a large catalogue on the table. She put on her glasses, opened the book and traced the columns with her index finger. “Not in store. That’s a pity,” she mumbled. “But I know where to get…I’ll just have to floo…”
Severus decided to clear his throat to remind her of his presence. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she smiled. “I zoned out again, didn’t I? Well, about the book. I can get it for you, but it’s going to take a couple of days. Would you like to have it delivered?”
“I’m surprised you should be able to provide a copy at all. Mr. Slug down the street told me…”
“Oh, that old bat! He lacks the certain diplomatic finesse necessary to get the job done…”
“Pray tell, what kind of diplomatic finesse is required to acquire one of those rare copies of ‘Bellini’s Compendium’?”
She threw him a conspiratorial smile. “First of all, you should be able to speak Italian, secondly you should be able to sweet talk, and thirdly, and most importantly, you should be a woman. If I remember correctly all of the above don’t apply to Old Slug, which is probably why he couldn’t manage to get one…So delivery?”
“Er…Yes, thank you.”
“Give me a week or so.”
“What about those,” he indicated the stack of books sitting on the counter in front of him. “How much do I owe you?”
She wrinkled her nose in disapproval, clearly displeased with the concept of talking money from him, though she couldn’t exactly afford to be squeamish about that. After all this was a bookshop, not a library. “They are 50 percent off,” she said quickly.
He gave her a sharp look. “They are not,” he said slowly.
“They are if I say so. Oh, and by the way, it’s supposed to work like this - you as the customer ask for a lower prize, you’re not supposed to raise the prize,” she explained calmly.
TBC
Oh, I forgot to say, the song that Abby sings along to is "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks.