DESPERADO (3)
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?
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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
2. Take Me As I Am
AN: A big thanks to my beta anti_social_ite! You've been great - as always.
Seconds after the bell had rung the students started pouring out of the classroom. She had to quickly step aside not to be caught up in the stampede. The children, most of them around 12, were merrily chatting among each other and she caught shreds of their conversations when they passed her. “Oi, mate what’s up with the greasy git? He almost seems human nowadays. He didn’t even scowl when Chandler’s caldron boiled over.”
“But he quietly took those 10 points from Ravenclaw nevertheless.”
“Still. No glares, no tirades, no nothing.”
“You think that’s an improvement?”
“Sure, maybe he finally went and got himself that long overdue heart transplant at St. Mungo’s.”
“I doubt that.”
Abigail grinned broadly at their exchange and the kids shot her funny looks when they passed her by. She was wearing Muggle clothes - a pair of ripped, washed out blue jeans and a white blouse. Her appearance was decidedly odd for a magical school. That and the fact that she obviously had business with Professor Snape, who in their opinion wasn’t even aware of the existence of women, was enough to let their imagination run wild. They shot her suspicious looks and started whispering as they continued their way down the hall. Abigail watched them go with a pensive look on her face, then quickly stepped inside the by now empty classroom.
“Knock knock?” she called out into the large room. The wooden floor boards were creaking underneath her feet. She sniffled a little, inhaling the acrid stench of a potion experiment gone wrong. The other cauldrons were still simmering on unflinchingly. What were they brewing? Strengthening Solution, the board read, every inch of it covered with Severus’s neat writing. She advanced towards his desk, adjusting her grip on “Bellini’s Compendium” that was neatly wrapped in a piece of red cloth.
It was a quite heavy tome. In retrospect she should have probably shrunken it for the trip, but sometimes magic books, especially old ones, reacted badly towards charms, so she had decided against it. She deposited it on the desk, only then noticing the door on the wall behind it. It was left ajar and probably led to some sort of repository for the potions ingredients.
“Severus?” Abigail called out questioningly once again, before she made her way over to the board. She grabbed a piece of chalk and drew a doodle on the left topmost corner of the board, only to erase it seconds later. Waiting was not her forte, because she tended to lose her patience pretty quickly, so she started pacing up and down the classroom in order to occupy herself. While she walked down the rows of tables, she absent-mindedly started playing around with the chalk, throwing it from one hand into the other.
Unbeknownst to her, he swept into the room, just as she was marvelling at the clumsy carvings some student had left on a table in the back row.
“Abigail,” he said evenly.
She turned around with a smile on her face, of which he felt entirely undeserving. “Severus!” she called out and advanced a few steps in his direction. Her enthusiasm was as unnerving as ever.
“Potions accident?” she asked curiously.
“You have quite a talent for stating the obvious,” he remarked ill-humouredly. “Chandler decided to grace us with yet another display of his idiocy.”
“Oh, come on! It can’t be that bad.”
“He wanted to add scurvy grass to Strengthening Solution,” he pointed out, his left eyebrow raised cynically.
Abigail cringed. “Point taken. Even I know that’s not a very smart idea and I’m certainly not a potions expert,” she made a wave in the general direction of the desk, “By the way I brought you Bellini’s compendium.”
“Thank you,” he said noticing the tome that was lying on his desk for the first time. Snape carefully, almost reverently wrapped it out of the red cloth. “It’s perfect,” he remarked, with something akin to wonder in his voice, as his hand caressed its cover.
“I know,” she said smugly. “Impressed?”
“Very nearly,” the hint of a smirk was audible in his voice.
“Impressed enough to go and have dinner with me?” Abigail asked. “You do have a break now, haven’t you?”
He briefly pondered her proposal. “I do, but I don’t think I will. I’ve seen quite enough of those little brats for today.”
“Seriously now?! You let me come up all the way here and don’t even offer me dinner?” She looked slightly miffed, but when her eyes fell on the cauldron next to her, her expression changed into one of pure mischief. “I wonder what would happen if a piece of chalk dropped into that cauldron,” Abigail said innocently.
“The potion would coagulate and then explode, covering the whole lab including us in with sticky slim,” he growled.
“Sounds very dramatic,” she extended her arm holding the piece of chalk right over the cauldron.
“I was just talking hypothetically, you know. It’s probably just the hunger talking. I feel positively starved. People tend to say a lot of silly things on a sugar low. It slightly chilly in here, isn’t it? I feel a bit weak in the knees,” Abigail raised her free hand to her forehead in a mock dramatic gesture.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Snape shot her a warning glance.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Besides all you have to do to avert catastrophe is have dinner with me.”
“Hand me the piece of chalk this instant!” He demanded a little more vehemently, walking towards her with an outstretched hand. Doubtlessly his students would have been squirming in terror by now, but somehow his authoritarian behaviour only managed to bring out the worst in her.
“Feeling weaker by the minute,” she said looking at him pointedly.
“I hope you’re aware of the fact that, should you actually decide to go through with this, you will spend the rest of the evening on your hands and knees scrubbing this classroom clean.”
“You forgot. I’m not one of your students. You can’t give me detention.”
“You could have fooled me. Maybe it was your childish behaviour that let me misjudge your maturity momentarily,” he retorted. “Besides you can’t simply waltz inside this classroom and destroy school property.”
“You’re being overly dramatic. The explosion would only make a mess. That’s all. Big deal!”
“Nevertheless you would have to clean it up.”
“And who’s going to make sure I do?”
“A rather redundant question, don't you think? I'll be all too happy to oversee your work.”
“Of course.” She threw him a smug grin. “Don’t you have better things to do than hanging around in the Potions Classroom after hours?”
“As a matter of fact I do. So I'd rather you didn't go through with your silly little scheme.”
“So? What’s it going to be then? Dinner or detention? It’s really a lose-lose situation for you if you look at it that way. But at least during dinner I'll be too busy eating to constantly pester you with my annoying chattering.”
“You do have a point,” he conceded. "And you drive a rather hard bargain, I must add."
“Exactly. But that’s what got you the compendium in the first place. So?”
He regarded her pensively for a second, then spoke his verdict. “Alright.” He once again extended his hand impatiently. “Since I relented to your childish antics, would you please be so kind as to give me the piece of chalk now?”
“Of course,” she laid it into his palm. Her fingertips brushed against his skin and lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Her heart sped up. Their eyes met and for a brief moment they were both at loss for words. Then she quickly retracted her hand, as if it had been burned.
“Alright.” Her voice sounded somewhat breathy when she spoke again. “Can we go now?” Abigail crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him challengingly. She had never noticed up until now how tall he was. Yet again they had never been this close. Her fingertips were still tingling treacherously. She balled her hand into a fist and opened it again. There wasn’t much of an improvement.
“Yes, of course, let me just put away the book quickly.” He turned abruptly, grabbed the book from the desk and swept out of the room. He was only gone for a few seconds, but that was enough time for her to mentally berate herself for acting like some silly smitten teenage girl.
When he returned, he quickly breezed passed her. “Are you coming or are you just going to stand there gaping all day?” he called over his shoulder, as he zestfully pushed the door open that led out of the classroom.
“Coming,” she called out and hurried to catch up with him. After he had locked the door behind them, he strode down the corridor, his black ropes billowing behind him. She was having some trouble keeping up with him, though she was wearing sneakers.
“Would you mind not turning this into an Olympic discipline?” Abigail called out to him.
“It’s called walking, not creeping. Just try to keep up,” he said dismissively.
“If you’re worried about the gossip my appearance might cause, just think what kind of gossip you turning up to dinner with a flushed and sweaty woman will encourage.”
Upon that he abruptly stopped walking and waited for her to walk up next to him. Maybe she was imagining things, but could it be that there was a touch of pink to his cheeks? Had she managed to embarrass Severus Snape with something as casual as a sexual innuendo?
The rest of their walk to the Great Hall was spent in silence. Having arrived there, he motioned her with a courteous gesture to enter first, which left her slightly suspicious. The reason for his sudden display of manners was all too quickly revealed to her. When he entered behind her all heads turned in their direction.
“I hope you’re happy now,” he whispered to her under his breath as he ushered her into the general direction the teachers’ table that was at the other side of the hall.
“I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”
“Well, as you can see it apparently is. But not to worry the best is yet to come…”
She was soon to find out what his cryptic words meant. Most of the other teachers were practically doing a double-take at her sight.
A stout grey-haired woman with brown ropes jumped to her feet, over-enthusiastic to shake her hand. “Who is this charming friend of yours, Severus?” she called out extending her hand to Abigail, while everybody at the table had fallen quiet, intently waiting for what Snape would have to say.
“Abigail Carter, may I present Madame Sprout, our resident Herbology teacher.”
“How do you do?” Abigail said politely and soon her hand was clasped in the iron grip of the other woman.
“Oh, it’s such a pleasure to meet you!” Sprout droned out.
“Of course it is,” Snape sighed under his breath and rolled his eyes.
“Hooch,” Sprout called out over the table, “Will you come over here so that our Miss Carter here can sit next to Snape?”
The other woman nodded her consent and quickly made her way over. Introductions were repeated, hands were shaken and then they were ushered over to the middle of the table. “I’m so sorry,” Abigail whispered to Severus as he led her over to their chairs. “I didn’t know they would make such a fuss.” She could tell by the way he scowled that he was deeply displeased with the whole situation.
“Too late to be sorry now.”
He pulled her chair out for her. A gesture she knew he made only, not to please her, but because it was expected of him.
“Headmistress,” he nodded at McGonagall, who was sitting to his left, before he sat down himself.
“Severus,” the older woman reciprocated the curt nod, then turned her attention to Abigail.
“As I have already gathered from previous conversation your name is Abigail Carter.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said.
“Welcome to our table, Miss Carter.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“You’re not one of the students. You may call me Minerva,” the headmistress said, emphasizing her words with one short and energetic nod.
“I’m Abigail."
Soon their conversation was interrupted by a steaming plate of delicious pumpkin soup placed in front of them and suddenly Abigail didn’t feel that sorry for having badgered Severus into taking her to dinner anymore. After all, the sensation they had created when they had entered together had ebbed down by now.
“So how did you two meet?” Professor Flitwick to her right piped in.
“I was visiting my aunt at St.Mungo’s. She shared a room with Severus.”
Flitwick raised an eyebrow at the woman’s casual use of his colleague’s first name, but didn’t comment on it. Very few people were on first name basis with the brooding Potions Master.
“What’s your aunt’s name?” McGonagall enquired.
“Miriam Priestly.”
“The Miriam Priestly?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Are you into charms yourself?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m not particularly talented when it comes to charms. I majored in Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes. I own a bookshop in Diagon Alley.”
“Carter?” the headmistress repeated pensively. “Horacio Carter? Didn’t your father go to Hogwarts as well? He was there back when I first started teaching. Bright young man. If I recall correctly he was a Slytherin.”
“Yes, he was.” Abigail answered monosyllabically. Her father was not a subject she was particularly fond talking about.
The unemotional tone of her voice caught Snape’s attention. He had known her only for a short time, but her discomfort was almost palpable to him.
“What became of him?” McGonagall enquired curiously.
“Well, he met my mother, a Muggle by the way, they married. His family was not particularly fond of that idea. Pure bloods, you see. He was a good man, but however much he rebelled in his youth, he just couldn't shake off the twenty odd years worth of conservative thinking, deeply ingrained in his mind. He didn’t exactly encourage me to explore my Muggle roots. Unfortunately the more he tried to talk me out of it, the more I got interested in it.”
The way she rattled down her tale, Snape had a feeling she was glossing over the more delicate parts of her history.
“Well, I can’t see what should be wrong with trying to find out more about one’s roots,” the older woman remarked.
“That’s very kind of you to say.”
“I hope Mr. Carter eventually came to his senses. After all you seem to be a quite accomplished young lady.”
“Yes, it’s all settled now,” she said quizzically, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“I’m going to walk you back to Hogsmeade. Visitors sometimes have trouble remembering the way. And we don’t want you to have an unpleasant encounter with the Whomping Willow or accidentally end up in the Forbidden Forest, do we?”
Abigail looked at him quizzically, trying to find out why she was suddenly deserving of his kindness. She was almost positive he was up to something. Ever since dinner, he had given her those strange looks.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” she finally said pointedly.
“I wouldn’t have offered to accompany you in the first place, if I hadn’t been willing to.”
Night had fallen by now and they started walking the dimly lit corridors of the school side by side. Unlike early this evening, he tried to adapt to her speed and didn’t storm ahead.
“Is everything alright? You’re not mad anymore, are you?” she shot him a sidelong glance. His edged features were accentuated by the semi-darkness that surrounded them. He didn’t respond immediately so she continued talking. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have badgered you into taking me to dinner. Really! I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve just said so, haven’t I?”
He paused for a long time and just when she thought they would spend the rest of the way in silence, he started talking again. “So your father was a Slytherin…”
“Yes.”
“And he went to Hogwarts. Maybe I’ve met him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re only seven years older than me, so that’s highly unlikely…”
“How come we never crossed paths back then?”
“Maybe because I’ve never been to Hogwarts.”
“Home-schooled?”
“Yes. Anything wrong with that?”
“No, not really.”
“But the way you said it…”
“Slightly irritable today, are we?” he shot her a mocking glance. “Is it that time of the month yet?”
“I’m just not comfortable talking about the past. That’s all. Or should we talk about yours?” she asked pointedly.
He frowned at her in disapproval. “I noticed that you were acting unusual when you were talking about your father during dinner. I was worried.”
“Were you really now?” They had stopped walking by now. She looked at him sharply, trying to figure out whether he told the truth. As expected, he met her gaze unwaveringly. She couldn’t read anything in those black eyes of his. The flickering light in the corridor, which stemmed from the candelabras hovering overhead, made him look decidedly eerie. Shadows fell on his face, erasing the little softness that was there. He did not like the Severus she knew. She could almost imagine why the students were so afraid of him.
“Yes,” he said finally. His voice was for once free of its ever present mocking undertone. Its sincere timbre crept under her skin and made her want to believe what he had just said.
“Well, you can ask me about my past if I can ask you about yours…”
He tilted his head a little, regarding her pensively with narrowed eyes for a few seconds. “If that’s what necessary to get you talking…Just don’t expect me to answer all of your nagging little questions.”
She knew for a fact that making such a compromise must have cost him quite an effort. He wasn’t very talkative in general, but when it came to his past the term ‘silent as the grave’ very much applied. Whenever their conversation skirted close to that topic, he always tried to stir her away from it as good as he could. She respected his unspoken wish, also because usually the present mattered to her more than the past.
Abigail let out a long drawn sigh. “My father kicked me out of his house when I was 16. I announced back then that I wanted to live with my grandparents for a while to better get to know the Muggle way of life. For one whole year I lived without any magic. It was quite fascinating really. We always think things would fall apart without it, but they don’t,” she gave him a taxing look as if she was waiting for him to make a comment, but to her surprise he remained silent.
“When I returned, my father had calmed down enough to talk to me again. Mother was delighted. Unfortunately not much had changed. I had become only more adamant in my wish to learn more about Muggle culture, while my father wished me to study something respectable like Charms or Divination and so forth. Apparently my decision for Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes was the last straw for him. He disinherited me. I was never to see him or my mother again until I had come to my senses. Mum cried for weeks. Well, that was at least what Aunt Miriam told me, since I wasn’t welcome anymore…”
As far as she was concerned that was the end of the story. Talking about her past had cost her a lot of strength. She had bitten back on the self-loathing and guilt for his sake, because she knew her turning into a sopping mess would have made him extremely uncomfortable. Come to think of it, it would have made her extremely uncomfortable losing it in front of him.
“I see,” he said after a while. In proportion to what she had just told him it was disappointing response. “Have you talked to your father ever since?”
“No, he died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well…,” she drew in a long and shaky breath. “That’s what life is like. There’s rarely a happy ending.”
“The tragedy is just that we always hope for one.”
“Another disappointed idealist,” she looked at him in surprise.
“Something like that…Your books suggested there’s hope for us yet. What was it again? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”
“You actually paid attention.” Abigail was impressed.
“St. Mungo’s isn’t exactly entertaining. There was nothing better to do,” he casually shrugged his shoulders, trying to gloss over this one little crack in his abrasive and uncaring façade.
“So what do you think? Is it true?” For some reason he was determined to find out what she thought about it.
“I hope it is. You?”
“I don’t know if I can sum up the energy for hoping again.”
“I think you can. It would be really sad if you couldn’t,” she threw him a little smile. A small twitch of his mouth was the only indication he tried to reciprocate it.
They had reached the apparition spot. It was a clear autumn night. The air was crisp and there were no clouds up in the sky for the full moon to hide behind. Somewhere far in the background the dark silhouette of the Whomping Willow delineated against the dark blue night sky.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Thanks for walking me here.”
“Welcome.”
“I’ll be seeing you then?” Abigail asked insecurely.
“One can assume as much.”
She laughed. “Always such a bundle of joy, you are.”
Caught up in that light-hearted moment, she impulsively reached out to take him in her arms as a goodbye. To her it was no big deal, because she always hugged her friends. Besides no one had ever given off the vibe of someone who was in a dire need of a hug as much as this man right in front of him.
She could feel him stiffen in her embrace, but didn’t let go.
“You need to relax, Severus. After all this is not some kind of sinister ploy to ram a dagger in your back,” she joked, trying at least to get him to lower his guard a little.
To her surprise he did and his arms, which had up until now hung at his sides impassively reached out to encircle her as well. It was a simple gesture, but made her feel happy nonetheless. Despite the cool night air she suddenly felt warm and tingly.
“You smell nice,” she remarked when she stepped back. “Potions and soap.”
He gave her an odd look. “That’s not something most people would find pleasant.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Clearly not.”
“What’s that got to mean?”
“Don’t you have places to be?”
“Not right now, no.”
“So you’d rather stand around in the cold and argue about nonsensical things.”
She flashed him one of those bright grins she knew he found unnerving. “Yes.”
“You’re infuriating,” he said darkly.
“That’s also not something most people would find pleasant. Yet again you’re still standing here…”
“I never said I found you pleasant,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving into a smug little grin.
She had never seen him laugh, let alone grin, so she was momentarily taken aback. He was quite an intimidating man, but not when he smiled. It made her believe that deep down he was more than a sarcastic curmudgeon. It wasn’t something she hadn’t long suspected or she wouldn’t be friends with him.
“If that’s all it takes to get you to shut up…” he remarked.
“At least one way out of many,” she said, throwing him one last cheeky smile before she disapparated, leaving behind a pensive Potions Master. He spent his way back to the castle contemplating all possible meanings of this sentence. Some of them made him smile a little.
TBC
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?
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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
2. Take Me As I Am
AN: A big thanks to my beta anti_social_ite! You've been great - as always.
Seconds after the bell had rung the students started pouring out of the classroom. She had to quickly step aside not to be caught up in the stampede. The children, most of them around 12, were merrily chatting among each other and she caught shreds of their conversations when they passed her. “Oi, mate what’s up with the greasy git? He almost seems human nowadays. He didn’t even scowl when Chandler’s caldron boiled over.”
“But he quietly took those 10 points from Ravenclaw nevertheless.”
“Still. No glares, no tirades, no nothing.”
“You think that’s an improvement?”
“Sure, maybe he finally went and got himself that long overdue heart transplant at St. Mungo’s.”
“I doubt that.”
Abigail grinned broadly at their exchange and the kids shot her funny looks when they passed her by. She was wearing Muggle clothes - a pair of ripped, washed out blue jeans and a white blouse. Her appearance was decidedly odd for a magical school. That and the fact that she obviously had business with Professor Snape, who in their opinion wasn’t even aware of the existence of women, was enough to let their imagination run wild. They shot her suspicious looks and started whispering as they continued their way down the hall. Abigail watched them go with a pensive look on her face, then quickly stepped inside the by now empty classroom.
“Knock knock?” she called out into the large room. The wooden floor boards were creaking underneath her feet. She sniffled a little, inhaling the acrid stench of a potion experiment gone wrong. The other cauldrons were still simmering on unflinchingly. What were they brewing? Strengthening Solution, the board read, every inch of it covered with Severus’s neat writing. She advanced towards his desk, adjusting her grip on “Bellini’s Compendium” that was neatly wrapped in a piece of red cloth.
It was a quite heavy tome. In retrospect she should have probably shrunken it for the trip, but sometimes magic books, especially old ones, reacted badly towards charms, so she had decided against it. She deposited it on the desk, only then noticing the door on the wall behind it. It was left ajar and probably led to some sort of repository for the potions ingredients.
“Severus?” Abigail called out questioningly once again, before she made her way over to the board. She grabbed a piece of chalk and drew a doodle on the left topmost corner of the board, only to erase it seconds later. Waiting was not her forte, because she tended to lose her patience pretty quickly, so she started pacing up and down the classroom in order to occupy herself. While she walked down the rows of tables, she absent-mindedly started playing around with the chalk, throwing it from one hand into the other.
Unbeknownst to her, he swept into the room, just as she was marvelling at the clumsy carvings some student had left on a table in the back row.
“Abigail,” he said evenly.
She turned around with a smile on her face, of which he felt entirely undeserving. “Severus!” she called out and advanced a few steps in his direction. Her enthusiasm was as unnerving as ever.
“Potions accident?” she asked curiously.
“You have quite a talent for stating the obvious,” he remarked ill-humouredly. “Chandler decided to grace us with yet another display of his idiocy.”
“Oh, come on! It can’t be that bad.”
“He wanted to add scurvy grass to Strengthening Solution,” he pointed out, his left eyebrow raised cynically.
Abigail cringed. “Point taken. Even I know that’s not a very smart idea and I’m certainly not a potions expert,” she made a wave in the general direction of the desk, “By the way I brought you Bellini’s compendium.”
“Thank you,” he said noticing the tome that was lying on his desk for the first time. Snape carefully, almost reverently wrapped it out of the red cloth. “It’s perfect,” he remarked, with something akin to wonder in his voice, as his hand caressed its cover.
“I know,” she said smugly. “Impressed?”
“Very nearly,” the hint of a smirk was audible in his voice.
“Impressed enough to go and have dinner with me?” Abigail asked. “You do have a break now, haven’t you?”
He briefly pondered her proposal. “I do, but I don’t think I will. I’ve seen quite enough of those little brats for today.”
“Seriously now?! You let me come up all the way here and don’t even offer me dinner?” She looked slightly miffed, but when her eyes fell on the cauldron next to her, her expression changed into one of pure mischief. “I wonder what would happen if a piece of chalk dropped into that cauldron,” Abigail said innocently.
“The potion would coagulate and then explode, covering the whole lab including us in with sticky slim,” he growled.
“Sounds very dramatic,” she extended her arm holding the piece of chalk right over the cauldron.
“I was just talking hypothetically, you know. It’s probably just the hunger talking. I feel positively starved. People tend to say a lot of silly things on a sugar low. It slightly chilly in here, isn’t it? I feel a bit weak in the knees,” Abigail raised her free hand to her forehead in a mock dramatic gesture.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Snape shot her a warning glance.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Besides all you have to do to avert catastrophe is have dinner with me.”
“Hand me the piece of chalk this instant!” He demanded a little more vehemently, walking towards her with an outstretched hand. Doubtlessly his students would have been squirming in terror by now, but somehow his authoritarian behaviour only managed to bring out the worst in her.
“Feeling weaker by the minute,” she said looking at him pointedly.
“I hope you’re aware of the fact that, should you actually decide to go through with this, you will spend the rest of the evening on your hands and knees scrubbing this classroom clean.”
“You forgot. I’m not one of your students. You can’t give me detention.”
“You could have fooled me. Maybe it was your childish behaviour that let me misjudge your maturity momentarily,” he retorted. “Besides you can’t simply waltz inside this classroom and destroy school property.”
“You’re being overly dramatic. The explosion would only make a mess. That’s all. Big deal!”
“Nevertheless you would have to clean it up.”
“And who’s going to make sure I do?”
“A rather redundant question, don't you think? I'll be all too happy to oversee your work.”
“Of course.” She threw him a smug grin. “Don’t you have better things to do than hanging around in the Potions Classroom after hours?”
“As a matter of fact I do. So I'd rather you didn't go through with your silly little scheme.”
“So? What’s it going to be then? Dinner or detention? It’s really a lose-lose situation for you if you look at it that way. But at least during dinner I'll be too busy eating to constantly pester you with my annoying chattering.”
“You do have a point,” he conceded. "And you drive a rather hard bargain, I must add."
“Exactly. But that’s what got you the compendium in the first place. So?”
He regarded her pensively for a second, then spoke his verdict. “Alright.” He once again extended his hand impatiently. “Since I relented to your childish antics, would you please be so kind as to give me the piece of chalk now?”
“Of course,” she laid it into his palm. Her fingertips brushed against his skin and lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Her heart sped up. Their eyes met and for a brief moment they were both at loss for words. Then she quickly retracted her hand, as if it had been burned.
“Alright.” Her voice sounded somewhat breathy when she spoke again. “Can we go now?” Abigail crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him challengingly. She had never noticed up until now how tall he was. Yet again they had never been this close. Her fingertips were still tingling treacherously. She balled her hand into a fist and opened it again. There wasn’t much of an improvement.
“Yes, of course, let me just put away the book quickly.” He turned abruptly, grabbed the book from the desk and swept out of the room. He was only gone for a few seconds, but that was enough time for her to mentally berate herself for acting like some silly smitten teenage girl.
When he returned, he quickly breezed passed her. “Are you coming or are you just going to stand there gaping all day?” he called over his shoulder, as he zestfully pushed the door open that led out of the classroom.
“Coming,” she called out and hurried to catch up with him. After he had locked the door behind them, he strode down the corridor, his black ropes billowing behind him. She was having some trouble keeping up with him, though she was wearing sneakers.
“Would you mind not turning this into an Olympic discipline?” Abigail called out to him.
“It’s called walking, not creeping. Just try to keep up,” he said dismissively.
“If you’re worried about the gossip my appearance might cause, just think what kind of gossip you turning up to dinner with a flushed and sweaty woman will encourage.”
Upon that he abruptly stopped walking and waited for her to walk up next to him. Maybe she was imagining things, but could it be that there was a touch of pink to his cheeks? Had she managed to embarrass Severus Snape with something as casual as a sexual innuendo?
The rest of their walk to the Great Hall was spent in silence. Having arrived there, he motioned her with a courteous gesture to enter first, which left her slightly suspicious. The reason for his sudden display of manners was all too quickly revealed to her. When he entered behind her all heads turned in their direction.
“I hope you’re happy now,” he whispered to her under his breath as he ushered her into the general direction the teachers’ table that was at the other side of the hall.
“I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”
“Well, as you can see it apparently is. But not to worry the best is yet to come…”
She was soon to find out what his cryptic words meant. Most of the other teachers were practically doing a double-take at her sight.
A stout grey-haired woman with brown ropes jumped to her feet, over-enthusiastic to shake her hand. “Who is this charming friend of yours, Severus?” she called out extending her hand to Abigail, while everybody at the table had fallen quiet, intently waiting for what Snape would have to say.
“Abigail Carter, may I present Madame Sprout, our resident Herbology teacher.”
“How do you do?” Abigail said politely and soon her hand was clasped in the iron grip of the other woman.
“Oh, it’s such a pleasure to meet you!” Sprout droned out.
“Of course it is,” Snape sighed under his breath and rolled his eyes.
“Hooch,” Sprout called out over the table, “Will you come over here so that our Miss Carter here can sit next to Snape?”
The other woman nodded her consent and quickly made her way over. Introductions were repeated, hands were shaken and then they were ushered over to the middle of the table. “I’m so sorry,” Abigail whispered to Severus as he led her over to their chairs. “I didn’t know they would make such a fuss.” She could tell by the way he scowled that he was deeply displeased with the whole situation.
“Too late to be sorry now.”
He pulled her chair out for her. A gesture she knew he made only, not to please her, but because it was expected of him.
“Headmistress,” he nodded at McGonagall, who was sitting to his left, before he sat down himself.
“Severus,” the older woman reciprocated the curt nod, then turned her attention to Abigail.
“As I have already gathered from previous conversation your name is Abigail Carter.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said.
“Welcome to our table, Miss Carter.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“You’re not one of the students. You may call me Minerva,” the headmistress said, emphasizing her words with one short and energetic nod.
“I’m Abigail."
Soon their conversation was interrupted by a steaming plate of delicious pumpkin soup placed in front of them and suddenly Abigail didn’t feel that sorry for having badgered Severus into taking her to dinner anymore. After all, the sensation they had created when they had entered together had ebbed down by now.
“So how did you two meet?” Professor Flitwick to her right piped in.
“I was visiting my aunt at St.Mungo’s. She shared a room with Severus.”
Flitwick raised an eyebrow at the woman’s casual use of his colleague’s first name, but didn’t comment on it. Very few people were on first name basis with the brooding Potions Master.
“What’s your aunt’s name?” McGonagall enquired.
“Miriam Priestly.”
“The Miriam Priestly?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Are you into charms yourself?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m not particularly talented when it comes to charms. I majored in Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes. I own a bookshop in Diagon Alley.”
“Carter?” the headmistress repeated pensively. “Horacio Carter? Didn’t your father go to Hogwarts as well? He was there back when I first started teaching. Bright young man. If I recall correctly he was a Slytherin.”
“Yes, he was.” Abigail answered monosyllabically. Her father was not a subject she was particularly fond talking about.
The unemotional tone of her voice caught Snape’s attention. He had known her only for a short time, but her discomfort was almost palpable to him.
“What became of him?” McGonagall enquired curiously.
“Well, he met my mother, a Muggle by the way, they married. His family was not particularly fond of that idea. Pure bloods, you see. He was a good man, but however much he rebelled in his youth, he just couldn't shake off the twenty odd years worth of conservative thinking, deeply ingrained in his mind. He didn’t exactly encourage me to explore my Muggle roots. Unfortunately the more he tried to talk me out of it, the more I got interested in it.”
The way she rattled down her tale, Snape had a feeling she was glossing over the more delicate parts of her history.
“Well, I can’t see what should be wrong with trying to find out more about one’s roots,” the older woman remarked.
“That’s very kind of you to say.”
“I hope Mr. Carter eventually came to his senses. After all you seem to be a quite accomplished young lady.”
“Yes, it’s all settled now,” she said quizzically, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“I’m going to walk you back to Hogsmeade. Visitors sometimes have trouble remembering the way. And we don’t want you to have an unpleasant encounter with the Whomping Willow or accidentally end up in the Forbidden Forest, do we?”
Abigail looked at him quizzically, trying to find out why she was suddenly deserving of his kindness. She was almost positive he was up to something. Ever since dinner, he had given her those strange looks.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” she finally said pointedly.
“I wouldn’t have offered to accompany you in the first place, if I hadn’t been willing to.”
Night had fallen by now and they started walking the dimly lit corridors of the school side by side. Unlike early this evening, he tried to adapt to her speed and didn’t storm ahead.
“Is everything alright? You’re not mad anymore, are you?” she shot him a sidelong glance. His edged features were accentuated by the semi-darkness that surrounded them. He didn’t respond immediately so she continued talking. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have badgered you into taking me to dinner. Really! I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve just said so, haven’t I?”
He paused for a long time and just when she thought they would spend the rest of the way in silence, he started talking again. “So your father was a Slytherin…”
“Yes.”
“And he went to Hogwarts. Maybe I’ve met him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re only seven years older than me, so that’s highly unlikely…”
“How come we never crossed paths back then?”
“Maybe because I’ve never been to Hogwarts.”
“Home-schooled?”
“Yes. Anything wrong with that?”
“No, not really.”
“But the way you said it…”
“Slightly irritable today, are we?” he shot her a mocking glance. “Is it that time of the month yet?”
“I’m just not comfortable talking about the past. That’s all. Or should we talk about yours?” she asked pointedly.
He frowned at her in disapproval. “I noticed that you were acting unusual when you were talking about your father during dinner. I was worried.”
“Were you really now?” They had stopped walking by now. She looked at him sharply, trying to figure out whether he told the truth. As expected, he met her gaze unwaveringly. She couldn’t read anything in those black eyes of his. The flickering light in the corridor, which stemmed from the candelabras hovering overhead, made him look decidedly eerie. Shadows fell on his face, erasing the little softness that was there. He did not like the Severus she knew. She could almost imagine why the students were so afraid of him.
“Yes,” he said finally. His voice was for once free of its ever present mocking undertone. Its sincere timbre crept under her skin and made her want to believe what he had just said.
“Well, you can ask me about my past if I can ask you about yours…”
He tilted his head a little, regarding her pensively with narrowed eyes for a few seconds. “If that’s what necessary to get you talking…Just don’t expect me to answer all of your nagging little questions.”
She knew for a fact that making such a compromise must have cost him quite an effort. He wasn’t very talkative in general, but when it came to his past the term ‘silent as the grave’ very much applied. Whenever their conversation skirted close to that topic, he always tried to stir her away from it as good as he could. She respected his unspoken wish, also because usually the present mattered to her more than the past.
Abigail let out a long drawn sigh. “My father kicked me out of his house when I was 16. I announced back then that I wanted to live with my grandparents for a while to better get to know the Muggle way of life. For one whole year I lived without any magic. It was quite fascinating really. We always think things would fall apart without it, but they don’t,” she gave him a taxing look as if she was waiting for him to make a comment, but to her surprise he remained silent.
“When I returned, my father had calmed down enough to talk to me again. Mother was delighted. Unfortunately not much had changed. I had become only more adamant in my wish to learn more about Muggle culture, while my father wished me to study something respectable like Charms or Divination and so forth. Apparently my decision for Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes was the last straw for him. He disinherited me. I was never to see him or my mother again until I had come to my senses. Mum cried for weeks. Well, that was at least what Aunt Miriam told me, since I wasn’t welcome anymore…”
As far as she was concerned that was the end of the story. Talking about her past had cost her a lot of strength. She had bitten back on the self-loathing and guilt for his sake, because she knew her turning into a sopping mess would have made him extremely uncomfortable. Come to think of it, it would have made her extremely uncomfortable losing it in front of him.
“I see,” he said after a while. In proportion to what she had just told him it was disappointing response. “Have you talked to your father ever since?”
“No, he died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well…,” she drew in a long and shaky breath. “That’s what life is like. There’s rarely a happy ending.”
“The tragedy is just that we always hope for one.”
“Another disappointed idealist,” she looked at him in surprise.
“Something like that…Your books suggested there’s hope for us yet. What was it again? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”
“You actually paid attention.” Abigail was impressed.
“St. Mungo’s isn’t exactly entertaining. There was nothing better to do,” he casually shrugged his shoulders, trying to gloss over this one little crack in his abrasive and uncaring façade.
“So what do you think? Is it true?” For some reason he was determined to find out what she thought about it.
“I hope it is. You?”
“I don’t know if I can sum up the energy for hoping again.”
“I think you can. It would be really sad if you couldn’t,” she threw him a little smile. A small twitch of his mouth was the only indication he tried to reciprocate it.
They had reached the apparition spot. It was a clear autumn night. The air was crisp and there were no clouds up in the sky for the full moon to hide behind. Somewhere far in the background the dark silhouette of the Whomping Willow delineated against the dark blue night sky.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Thanks for walking me here.”
“Welcome.”
“I’ll be seeing you then?” Abigail asked insecurely.
“One can assume as much.”
She laughed. “Always such a bundle of joy, you are.”
Caught up in that light-hearted moment, she impulsively reached out to take him in her arms as a goodbye. To her it was no big deal, because she always hugged her friends. Besides no one had ever given off the vibe of someone who was in a dire need of a hug as much as this man right in front of him.
She could feel him stiffen in her embrace, but didn’t let go.
“You need to relax, Severus. After all this is not some kind of sinister ploy to ram a dagger in your back,” she joked, trying at least to get him to lower his guard a little.
To her surprise he did and his arms, which had up until now hung at his sides impassively reached out to encircle her as well. It was a simple gesture, but made her feel happy nonetheless. Despite the cool night air she suddenly felt warm and tingly.
“You smell nice,” she remarked when she stepped back. “Potions and soap.”
He gave her an odd look. “That’s not something most people would find pleasant.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Clearly not.”
“What’s that got to mean?”
“Don’t you have places to be?”
“Not right now, no.”
“So you’d rather stand around in the cold and argue about nonsensical things.”
She flashed him one of those bright grins she knew he found unnerving. “Yes.”
“You’re infuriating,” he said darkly.
“That’s also not something most people would find pleasant. Yet again you’re still standing here…”
“I never said I found you pleasant,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving into a smug little grin.
She had never seen him laugh, let alone grin, so she was momentarily taken aback. He was quite an intimidating man, but not when he smiled. It made her believe that deep down he was more than a sarcastic curmudgeon. It wasn’t something she hadn’t long suspected or she wouldn’t be friends with him.
“If that’s all it takes to get you to shut up…” he remarked.
“At least one way out of many,” she said, throwing him one last cheeky smile before she disapparated, leaving behind a pensive Potions Master. He spent his way back to the castle contemplating all possible meanings of this sentence. Some of them made him smile a little.
TBC