July 30th - Mid-Afternoon, Diagon Alley

[naught_common]

Theodore had given in to impulse and gone home after meeting Weasley Female by the lake. He’d taken the safety off the dueling dummy and had subsequently spent several hours in simulated combat. When he emerged from the dungeon, bruised and slightly bloody, he had felt infinitely better

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[stoppered_death]

The problem with working off one's frustration, tension and boredom in the Potions lab - even in labs as lavishly stocked as the ones Voldemort had given him - was that it made a hell of a hole in the ingredients.

Simple materials could always be procured by house elves, but as for the more dangerous, rare, complex or delicate ones - the majority of the ingredients he used these days - Snape certainly couldn't trust House Elves not to bollocks things up. Of course, he trusted anything the other Death Eaters would procure for his use, even lessIt left Snape with little choice but to make occasional forays into various Apothecaries. Naturally, he varied his disguise every time. He even altered the methods he used to disguise himself: unpredictable combinations of Polyjuice and other appearance-altering potions, glamours, and even Muggle disguises and prosthetics. Though the latter strategy was certainly the most inconvenient, it was likely to be the last that would occur to his Ever-So-Pureblooded rivals for Voldemort's favour

[naught_common]

Theodore stood for several moments simply watching the crowds pass. Most people seemed to be traveling in pairs or small groups. There was very little small talk and even less laughter. One woman looked at him and crossed the street. Theodore simultaneously thought that that was entirely uncalled for and wondered if he was beginning to resemble his father. He curled his fingers unconsciously around the hem of his sleeves, pulling them further over his hands. His wand slid down his arm, teasing the palm of his right hand.

Standing still in the sunlight while wearing black was not conducive to being inconspicuous. Therefore, Theodore picked a random direction and began walking. He passed Ollivander's dark shop, a pub and Quality Quidditch Supplies. The latter gave him pause, and he stood briefly in front of the window, staring at the latest racing broom as if he was an 11-year-old child again.

[stoppered_death]

One of the multitude of drawbacks to being in disguise was that the crowds certainly didn't part before Snape, pushed back gratifyingly by invisible waves of fear and revulsion, as they always used to do when he was a Professor.

But those days were gone, and would never return again; so now Snape had to resign himself to being buffeted to and fro, forced to weave his much shorter, weaker body in between the passers-by, rather than jabbing his way through with sharp elbows and bony knees.

By the time Snape was bumped aside by a fat man bulldozing his way through to the pub, his never copious supply of patience was wearing decidedly thin. When he rebounded off someone who was actually blocking traffic by standing and gawping like a firstie in a shop-window, for that instant it was all Snape could do not to hex him into internal haemorrhaging without even bothering with word or wand.

Then, through the fluffy fringes of his own borrowed hair, he saw the traffic hazard's face.

Well, well, well, if it isn't Mis-ter Theodore Nott. I

[naught_common]

People generally avoided coming into uninvited contact with him. Biting back a snarl, Theo looked at the crowd that appeared to have materialized around him. Theodore hadn't realized he was actually creating a hazard. The woman was wailing and he'd been trained to be a gentleman. Bending his arm without thought, Theodore offered it to the teetering witch at his side. Smiling as she grasped him.

"I do apologize," he said, "are you injured?" He looked solicitiously at her and silently wondered who had dressed the woman and if it were possible that she'd lost some sort of bet.