Chapter Six: Foolish Games
Barely visible, the hooded man leaned against the old brick wall, bathing in its recessed shadow. He'd been there for hours now; the sun long since having set on the Watford street. Most Muggles had wisely returned home before the fog that wisped around him could chill their bones as it did his. Still, he paid it no notice, the only sign of movement a forefinger rubbing his lower lip.
The motion ceased, replaced by a slight furrowing of the brow as he took in the small wooden door that had just appeared in the wall of a local laundromat. The two Muggle customers within continued their washing and drying, paying the new addition no heed at all…simply unaware of its presence.
A corner of Steven’s lips pulled into the faintest of smiles. The spiky haired young man, with the assortment of safety pins through his clothes, and the neatly attired elderly woman paid little notice to the assortment of odd customers that exited through the new portal. Considering the alarming appearance of some of them, it truly said something about the power of magic over the Muggle mind.
The emergence of a rather short man with a pointed nose from the doorway brought the watching wizard's full attention back to the door. The familiar surge of eager anticipation coursed through him as it always did when he was about to embark on a new phase of an investigation.
The only irritant was that it had taken him just over a week to get this far.
On receiving Dumbledore's letter eight days ago, Steven had bid his farewells to his nephew and their charge and after giving a set of strict instructions to Paidea's house-elf, had made his way immediately to Hogwarts to meet with the elderly wizard. Once there, he had had been told in detail what had been briefly outlined to him in the letter. The Reflectus used in the attack did indeed appear to be the work of Maximillian Nevermoon, a former...acquaintance…of Steven’s, as Dumbledore had put it. A man who was supposedly dead for almost two and half years -- a death that had turned Steven’s world upside down.
He had tried not to show to the headmaster just how stunned and disoriented he had been, but it seemed he was just as good at hiding his reactions now as he had been when the old man had taught him Transfiguration in school all those years ago.
After an hour, the two men had decided that Steven's best course of action was to consult with a young wizard of dubious reputation by the name of Mundungus Fletcher. A thief, pickpocket and fence, he had an intimate understanding of the underground of the Wizarding world and could point Steven where he needed to go...for a fee.
His meeting with Fletcher had been fruitful but aggravating, testing the limits of even his already strained good humour. After paying the unsavoury young man a good deal more than Steven had bargained for, he was rewarded with the name of a possible contact who might know someone who could have an idea where this bloke he wanted to find was...and a location -- a tavern called The Wicker Man. Naturally, there was a catch.
This tavern was no ordinary tavern. For the safety of its patrons and their less than legal business, it tended to shift location every night, the disconnected entrance appearing within a certain window of opportunity. Unfortunately, unless you were really in the loop…which thanks to a certain light-fingered incident Mundungus was not…there really was no knowing where the pub would show up.
Luckily for the Auror, Fletcher could still give him a few possible locations…again for the right price. And gritting his teeth, Steven had paid him, gotten his list, and even the password, though the wretch had finally seen the end of his patience when attempting to bargain for that. Steven smirked to himself at the memory; the boils should go down in three or four days.
He checked the time. Midnight. He was as likely to find his quarry now as he ever was. Adjusting his hood, he made his way across the street and past the laundering Muggles. Three raps on the ancient looking wooden door later and the recitation of the password -- Lost Opportunity -- saw him inside the noisy, dimly lit tavern.
Not unexpectedly, there were one or two oddities about The Wicker Man. To begin with, it was as if a mass of design styles had been gathered up by some giant hand and glued together higgledy piggedly. Here there were traditional English pub leather booths, there Parisian style café tables or medieval oak tables and benches, and over there heavily shadowed Moroccan style alcoves, their tables deeply inset into the whitewashed walls.
Then there was the matter of the noise emanating from the crowd. For there wasn’t a crowd. At most there were perhaps twenty people in the large bar. Inhabiting the gloom, there were goblins, wizards, witches, and perhaps a few half-breeds, but the buzz that was being magically created would have normally required at least three times that number. An effective way to ensure discretion of conversation, Steven thought as he seated himself at the long, polished mahogany bar, pushed back his hood, and ordered a pint of ale.
The bartender who served him was a sharp faced little man of indeterminate years with slicked back hair and a handlebar moustache that twitched involuntarily every minute or so. The hair at the back of his neck at full attention, Steven could feel his and several other pairs of eyes on him.
"Anythin’ else I can getcha?" the bartender queried.
"Just the pint, thank you." Steven smiled and shook his head, slipping the older man several coins. "For your trouble."
As the little man looked down, his moustache twitched again at the sight of the gold under Steven's fingers. His own smaller hand slipped out and covered it. "Mighty civil of yeh, I'm sure." He sniffed as he pocketed them, returning to cleaning his glasses but standing a good deal closer to Steven now.
Sipping on his ale, the Auror looked out around the bar, taking in the surrounds. Catching the barkeep's eye, Steven gave him his most winning smile. No smile returned; however, the gold did purchase him a slight cock of the head, the barkeep showing he was willing to listen to whatever it was the younger man had to say next. The Auror steeled himself. He was a ridiculously bad actor, he knew, and undercover work was really not his forte, but he had to give this a shot.
"You seem like a wise man...knows who's who and what's what..." A gold coin appeared in his hand and he twirled it in his fingers.
"Do I now?" the bartender murmured, no hint of a smile in his eyes or around the mouth. "Perhaps I am...perhaps not. But seeing as yeh think I know who's who and what's what...would you like to know what I'm thinking right now?"
"Oh, I could hazard a guess," Steven said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm a suspicious newcomer free with his gold and soon with his questions. You may even think I'm in law enforcement, and you may be quite right. Or..." He took a long sip of his ale and leaned in, his voice now carrying an edge. "I may be an agent of the Dark Lord." His eyes grew hard until he shrugged lightly. “Or I could just be here on business. No matter what you are thinking, unless you are quite the Legilimens, you really have no idea. But you know what I think? I think for the right price you'll tell me exactly what I wish to know...or...” A vague hint of menace entered the air before, rather bewilderingly, his grin returned in full force. “You could miss out on a very profitable opportunity."
The bartender regarded him silently and then cracked a small smile, bending his head. "If yeh are one of His lot, then yeh wouldn't be the first one I've seen off. But I’m thinkin’ yeh’re not; for if yeh were a dabbler in the Dark Arts, yeh’d have sense enough to recognise that if yeh raise your wand anywhere around my pub there would be no more of yeh left than a pile of smokin’ ashes to regret it." Retrieving Steven's glass, he topped it up and pushed it back to him. "I've not survived in this business fifty years with men and creatures that'd give the likes of yeh night sweats not to know someone out of his element when I see him.
"So...yeh're either venturing here looking for something or someone of great importance to you personally...or yeh are the law." His voice dropped down on the last word. "Seeing as yeh've given me the first amusement I've had in a month, I'm going to choose not to believe my gut and assume yeh're here on 'personal' business." He arched an eyebrow. "Ask...and if it's not too much, I'll see what I can do you for."
"Sounds awfully fair," Steven agreed, still smiling while making a mental note to add warts to Fletcher's ails for not telling him about the potential of becoming a dust bunny. Taking a sip of his ale, he leaned a bit closer. "You see, I'm looking for this woman..."
“To contact, bargain with, kill, buy, or shag?” the bartender responded as casually as if he had been asking what kind of potatoes he’d like with his dinner.
Steven merely arched an eyebrow, repressing a shudder at the idea of shagging his contact. "Bargain," he replied, sipping his drink.
The moustache twitched. "All right." He picked up another glass to wash and clean. "And what might this lady's name be, then?"
"Brody," Steven replied, glancing around the room again. "Red-head, tall...bit of a looker."
Sharp eyes returned to him, the bartender’s years of perceptiveness brought to bear upon the Auror. "Yeh'd best be telling me the truth. Ariadne Brody is well liked around here, and none of these fine people will take kindly to yeh messin’ with her. Just a friendly warning." He jerked his head towards one of the Moroccan alcoves at the far end of the bar, his gaze still on Steven. "Down there."
Inwardly sighing with relief, Steven nodded, his expression serious. "Many thanks...and not to worry." Finishing his drink, he gave the barman another coin and preparing for his next challenge, made his way to the booth. Whereupon, he walked smack into the chest of one of the largest men he had ever seen as he stepped directly in front of him.
He had to have been seven feet two inches at least, and so perfectly proportioned that he had to undoubtedly have at least some giant blood in him. Muscles fairly bulged out from under jacket and trousers, which were softly tanned suede leather under a white silk shirt. Dark brown knee length boots and a matching sleeveless robe of dark brown completed the ensemble.
A mane of sleek and tidy blond hair hung to his shoulders, and twin pale blue eyes stared down at Steven from a tanned and surprisingly good looking face. Two exceedingly large arms folded, biceps bulging, across the man's chest right in front of Steven's face as he stared wordlessly at him, waiting.
"My...you are a big fella," the Auror murmured, rubbing his nose a little. Arching his eyebrow, he straightened, folded his arms, and stared straight back at the other man. "I'm here to see Miss Brody." His words were short and to the point and there was a definite hint that the tall man was not going to get much more out of him than that. There was a momentary pause before the man nodded and stepped back, affording Steven the view of a slender, athletic young woman. For once Mundungus had not exaggerated; she was indeed a 'bit of a looker'.
Ariadne Brody was in possession of a head of flame red hair that Arthur Weasley's family could only have gazed upon in envy. Sharp green eyes were set in slender features that might well have been described as aristocratic if it were not for the jaunty smile that she wore. Clad in a wide collared white shirt under her button up robes, she appeared tall and nicely packaged with only just the hint of cleavage on display -- no doubt to provide distraction and therefore advantage in her dealings with her mostly male patrons. Leaning back against her giant companion as he resumed his seat, she lounged in the booth, the fingers of one hand circling the rim of her straight glass slowly as she appraised the new arrival.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," she said in a pleasant contralto flavoured with a mild southern Irish accent.
Steven smiled at her from where he stood. "No, for I would most certainly would have remembered if we had."
Her lips turned up a little more at his charm. "Ariadne Brody," she introduced herself.
"Steven Prince," he replied, taking her in and weighing up any potential threats.
"You're quite safe, Mr. Prince." Amusement touched her voice. "Neither Fionn nor I carry weapons…not here. And of course neither do you, do you?" she enquired lightly.
He doubted she was telling the truth, though with as big a man as Fionn...did she really need to? That man was a walking weapon. "Of course not," he replied. "I'm just a man looking for some simple information...and willing to pay nicely for it."
"Oh good." She sipped on the Firewhisky slowly. "I do enjoy it when a customer is upfront with me. So now it will just be a formality when Fionn searches you, won't it?" A full beamed smile was aimed at him as the glass lowered.
"Of course," he said without hesitation as his eyes turned to Fionn, his smile widening. "But be gentle...it's my first time."
A second later, he found himself unceremoniously pushed face first against the rough wall, the giant performing a vigorous and intensive search -- turning and repositioning him like he weighed nothing, while frisking and probing him thoroughly, all to the intense amusement of those present. Satisfied and leaving Steven rather mussed, he returned to sit by his female companion, his arms folding across his chest once more.
"Thank you, Mr. Prince." Ariadne indicated a seat. "That was most civil of you."
"You’re quite welcome," the dark haired man replied, straightening his clothes and shaking his hair back into shape as he sat. "No bother at all. Quite bracing really." Running his fingers a few more times through his black mane, he smiled, inwardly relieved the jerry-rigged concealment spells had worked and the giant hadn't found the two short daggers, as well as one or two other items, concealed on his person. "And now we all trust each other, I humbly suggest we forego the sing-a-long and get straight to business?"
Her smile hardened in an instant. "Mr. Prince, business began the moment you approached." The glass scraped over the wood of the table as she pushed it away slowly. "I don't do 'sing-a-longs' and I don't take insults."
Steven's lively baritone laugh filled the enclosure. "Quite right too. And, of course, no offence was meant. In fact, I quite enjoy a good sing-a-long...a nice rendition of ‘Roll Out the Wizard’? Perhaps later?" he suggested and as she blinked, he leaned forward, looking completely serious. "I have it on good authority that you might know a thing or two about these." Fishing a hand into his robes, he pulled out the pieces of the destroyed Reflectus he'd received from Dumbledore. "Before it was ruined, it did a smashing job relaying my little instructions to my partner, but then he had to go and break it. You really can't get quality like this anymore and I was told you might know somewhere I could. I would be profoundly grateful if you could point me in the right direction."
Drawing the pieces towards her, she gazed at them before picking one piece up, turning it back and forth to examine it carefully. "Interesting." Sharp eyes turned towards him. "I'm not surprised your partner broke it, Mr. Prince. I'd be in a hurry, too, to escape any fire hot enough to char the edges of such a strongly magic imbued piece as this."
"He should have been more careful with it," he sniffed, his tone irked. "Don't get me wrong...I am glad he is all right...but such equipment is near impossible to replace!"
"Surely." She placed the piece back on the table. "Being as they are completely banned by every Ministry of Magic this side of China."
Steven nodded adamantly. "Exactly!"
"And I suppose you are also aware that even the possession of these few mementos," she pushed the pieces back towards him, "carries with them a mandatory twenty-five year stretch amidst the comforts of Azkaban."
He sighed long-sufferingly and gave her a look. "Of course I know the risks." His eyebrow arched. "Now can you assist me or not?"
"Mr. Prince, I was referring to my own safety, not yours," she replied, her jaw tightening again. "I remind you, you came to me seeking a favour. If you do not wish to move at my pace...you are free to leave me at any time. It is no hardship to me, I assure you."
He sighed and sat back, relenting. "Very well...we shall play it your way."
Ariadne's piercingly green eyes remained on him. "I am sorry you find my company tedious, Mr. Prince. So I shall be as blunt as you like -- two thousand Galleons."
His eyebrow arched. "Two thousand?" he repeated coolly.
She leaned back against her companion. “The information is valuable.”
“Just for information?” He sniffed and gazed at his fingernails. "One thousand."
"Now you are the one wasting my time, Mr. Prince. Two thousand..." she insisted with a sigh, "and not a Knut less. That is, unless you would rather deal in some other commodity?"
He smiled suddenly, giving him the appearance and genuine feel of someone who was possibly a touch deranged. "Oh come...bartering is the spice of life. The give...the take...the thrill of the deal?" He pouted a little as she remained silent. "I was rather looking forward to that bit. But all right, you win -- two thousand it is."
Her brow creased ever so slightly. "Mr. Prince..." she queried, "are you sure you weren't caught up in that explosion? A little flak to the head or an awkward landing perhaps?"
He appeared completely mystified. "No...no. I was miles away...why do you ask?"
She turned her head slightly to look at Fionn, who shrugged lightly. Shaking her head, she turned her eyes back to Steven, slipping back into business mode. "Never mind, Mr. Prince. I'll be needing the money from you upfront, of course."
"Of course," he agreed, fishing around in his pockets before pulling two bags from his boots and four from his robes.
The two with him in the booth exchanged glances once more, the giant looking a deal more perturbed this time as his search had obviously proved lacking. "I trust, Mr. Prince..." Ariadne said quietly, "that whatever spell you used to conceal that gold from Fionn's search doesn't also conceal a weapon."
Steven blinked, his face beatific. "Why on earth would I conceal a weapon? Don't like them...messy things. I'm just a simple businessman."
Ariadne's lips curled in a mirthless smile. "Yes…and I'm a Leprechaun," she answered. "Speaking of which." She pulled one of the magically load-reducing bags open and reached in to take a handful of the coins, spreading them on the table and handing one at random to Fionn. The coin was tiny in his huge hands as the big man held it up to the light, his pale eyes narrowing as he turned the coin this way and that. "There's a lot of stunts pulled with Leprechaun gold, Mr. Prince," Ariadne said. "It's not that I mistrust you...I simply mistrust everyone."
"Then I shall not feel the least bit offended," he replied, secretly glad he hadn't decided to try that particular trick.
The quasi-giant's expert eye finished its perusal and he handed the coin back to his red-haired partner with a terse nod. "Very good," she pronounced, gathering up the coins and pushing the other bags towards Fionn for him to examine. "I shall refrain from questioning your sanity further in coming in to a place like this with so much cash on you.
"The one who can help is not, I'm afraid, one of my regular contacts." She picked up her glass again. "He casts a wider net and deals with a rather more atypical clientele then we average smugglers. You may not have heard of Wigglesworth’s, the Muggle department store in Birmingham?
“Run by Sinister Wigglesworth, it’s an excellent cover to track magical artefacts lost to the Muggle world. It used to be both him and his brother, but he disappeared two years ago in the search to acquire a Nundu for private collectors. Probably just as well, as Dexter’s use for Muggles was beginning to take a darker turn…he never was the most appealing of men,” she mused. “Ask any Brummy; they'll know how to direct you."
"And shall I tell him you sent me?" Steven enquired.
"If you wish." She smiled. "It won't do you any good, though. As I say, his is a more exclusive clientele. If you wish to be seen by him, I'd suggest a more notable introduction."
"Such as?" he prompted, keeping on the charm.
"Mr. Prince,” she laughed to herself, “refined for this place I might be, but do I look like a walking social register? I'm a smuggler and purveyor of information, not a PR consultant. If you have a highly connected friend or patron, I suggest you use his or her name. If not...then you may join the rest of the plebs queuing outside Sinister's office."
He smiled cheerily at the woman, internally already planning a trip back to Dumbledore to see what could be arranged. "I think I have one or two with whom I can gloss the way. My thanks to you, Miss Brody, and your perfectly silent friend." Gathering the broken pieces of the Reflectus, he shoved them back into assorted pockets.
"You're welcome, Mr. Prince, it was a pleasure to meet you," she extended her hand, "and an even greater pleasure to see you leave."
Taking her hand, he shook it with a smile and with a wink to Fionn, rose to his feet and left. With his head lowered and the hood covering his eyes, no one saw the thankful glint in them nor, as the door shut behind him, the gradually triumphant smirk on his lips.
The flower filled meadow beside the cottage overlooked the deep blue of the sea on one side and the sweep down to the verdant valley on the other. It was both picturesque and an excellent vantage point to watch for intruders, and yet Snape wasn't entirely sure why he was here.
He eyed Paidea surreptitiously as she laid out the picnic she had requested he join her on. A request that had followed her avoiding him like a manure flavoured Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean for the previous forty-eight hours, ever since he'd kissed her on the beach. From that moment to this, everything had been tense. Short sporadic questions and answers followed by silence or her locked in her room, reading or working on speeches. He had been stunned when, just as he was settling down to annotate his Potions textbook, her door had opened and she'd breezed out with a smile, asking him if he enjoyed al fresco dining.
And now he was sitting on a blanket with a basket of food Elly had packed, quietly bemused. Keeping himself still, he waited, half expecting her to say something along the lines of ‘I've been in touch with the Ministry and they're sending someone down to replace you. Thanks for everything and enjoy your life.’
These past two days had been horrendous with him constantly berating himself for his ill timed approach of her or for his even having such feelings in the first place. But he still didn't want to leave...though a part of him felt it was inevitable. He shifted a little and glanced at her again, waiting for the boom to be lowered.
She smiled up at him, the breeze blowing tendrils of her hair and the ribbons that were woven into it. "And what have you been working on these past couple days? I have seen you with that Potions book...have you been given an assignment for school?"
"No..." He shook his head, doing a reasonable job of keeping the wariness from his voice. "I have my own projects. I just tamper with them from time to time."
She nodded, offering him a sandwich from a platter. "Like what?" she enquired, appearing genuinely interested.
"Improving antidotes...enhancing elixirs..." He took a sandwich slowly and placed it on his plate. "It varies, depending on my mood or what has caught my interest. Sometimes, I just work on my own spells instead."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Your spells? You have invented spells?"
He looked down, having said more than he intended to in his edgy state. "One...or two..."
Taking a sandwich herself, she helped herself to some fruit. "That's very impressive," she told him, her tone mirroring her words. "I have not heard of anyone inventing a new spell for quite some time...except perhaps...well, 'He We Do Not Speak Of.'" She shuddered a little. "You must be quite the prodigy. Your family and teachers must be very proud."
He cringed slightly. "They don't know. No one does, except you now. You're not going to tell the Headmaster when you see him, are you?" The question came quickly.
Her brow furrowed. "Why would I do that?" Her smile grew softer. "Besides, I highly doubt I shall be seeing Albus Dumbledore any time soon. And I must say I feel rather privileged that you've cared to share this with me. I shan't betray your trust."
He relaxed a little, rebuking himself for the slip but knowing it had come from a lingering desire to impress her. "I shouldn't have told you, what with you being a government official. I wouldn't want to compromise you in any way." The kiss flashed through his mind. "That is, having to report on things like this...and not…"
"Severus...relax.” She reached out and touched his hand, which had the exact opposite effect. “We are still friends and I'm under no obligation to tell them anything of the sort. Unless they are Dark Arts spells and you use them to harm anyone." She gave him a teasing smile and turned back to her food, releasing his hand and trying to ignore how the simple touch had made her entire body tingle.
He gazed at his hand for a moment more, resolving and smoothing the frown on his face at the thought of how she might react if she knew of the malevolent power of his Sectumsempra spell. Not to mention one or two others still in their infancy.
But as he took a bite of his sandwich, he picked up on something else she had said -- Friends. They were 'friends.' Even as he realised he probably wasn't going to be sent away, his heart sank at the word all would-be lovers dreaded to hear.
"It's good," he mumbled, forcing the words from his mouth to break the bitterness of his thoughts. "The sandwich."
Pouring out two glasses of wine, she handed one to him. "I’m glad you like it and shall most certainly pass on your compliments to Elly.” She gazed down at the food around them. “There are cheese and crackers, fruit...pate...and I think some..." A most avaricious gleam formed in her eyes. "Chocolate cake."
He regarded the salacious expression on her face, and despite the depression sitting on him, just managed to keep the amusement from his face at an example of one of the more unusual items he had discovered about her during this time together. "I wonder what the Wizarding world would think if they knew that the idealistic star of the diplomatic world could be bribed into almost anything by a devil’s food cake with hot fudge sauce."
A full bellied laugh escaped her lips, her eyes shining. "Yes...well, that is your secret to keep," she told him with a wink. Taking a sip from her wine, she looked out over the flower-filled meadow.
She had decided that morning that she was going to cease tip-toeing around her companion. The tension had been so thick after her mistake, it could have been cut with a knife. It was not only disquieting but downright irritating. It was not his fault she had caved in to her desires, and she shouldn't keep treating him as though it was. And so she'd decided to make a peace offering -- to take him out of the cottage and get him in the sunshine...to allow him to stop looking like a plant that had been kept in the shadows and allow him to flourish.
She also had simply wanted to spend time with him again. It had been a surprise, though not a huge one, to find that she had missed his company over those last two days…that she had been flourishing under his quiet light. These newfound revelations and current upheaval of her life were hard enough to handle as it was without self-inflicted solitary confinement. And so, she decided that if he agreed, she would put away the diplomatic veneer and just allow herself to be...herself. Within newly careful limits, that is.
But even now, as she took another sip of her wine and popped a cube of cheese into her mouth, she could feel his eyes on her...and it made her tingle pleasantly, a little whisper inside making it clear that it no longer felt uncomfortable or unwelcome...quite the opposite. Still, she insisted inwardly to herself, she could handle it.
"It is clear you never went to Hogwarts." He sipped on his wine. "If you had, you'd know better than to tell your secrets to a Slytherin." The more she appeared to feel at ease, the more his tone seemed to relax. "We're inclined to use such information to our advantage."
Her eyes turned back to his, the smile still on her lips though a little more sly. "Yes, well...I choose to see the individual and not what House they belong to. If I were to believe the propaganda, then you would be a power hungry, untrustworthy prat. But I have yet to see any of that. At the risk of insulting your Slytherin nature, so far, you have been loyal, kind, and thoughtful…though perhaps a pinch caustic and sarcastic at times." Her eyes glittered mischievously as she popped another cube of cheese into her mouth.
He raised an eyebrow. "Just a pinch?"
"Mmmmm," she agreed, still chewing and held up her hand, her forefinger and thumb parallel. "Just a little."
His eyebrow rose still further. "No..." he reached up and widened the gap between her finger and thumb, "more like that. Even at its weakest, sarcasm is a Slytherin specialty."
She lowered the gap again, taking an extra millimetre off it for good measure and barely repressing the laugh that threatened to bubble up again in her. "No...I think perhaps...this much," she managed levelly.
He gazed at her. "Madam Diplomat, you overstep yourself. Be wary lest I spirit away your chocolate cake in revenge."
Popping another cube of cheese into her mouth, she giggled. "I dare you."
"I see,” he said quietly as he put down his glass. “A poor move. From you I would've expected more...diplomacy." He held up his hand and whipped the entire chocolate cake from the basket with the other. Leaning back, he placed the plate beside him and examined the cake thoughtfully. "Some for the mice..." he marked off a chunk, with his knife, "the birds...possibly a slice for myself..."
Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't!" she gasped. Fumbling in her pockets, she pulled out her wand, preparing to summon the cake right back.
Sitting up, he snagged her wrist. "I think not." His head shook slowly as he drew her wand from her hand with a smirk. "The cake is mine," he rumbled darkly.
It wasn't until he looked down at her that he realised how close to her he was.
Drawing back slowly, he let one corner of his mouth crook, covering the sudden heat that had infused his body and the desire to move closer still. Her wand twirled lazily in his fingers as he lay back. "Now what do you do, Madam Diplomat...in a case like this?"
Her lips pursed and her gaze still mischievous, she gave no hint of how his proximity and touch had shaken her. After a moment, she sighed and sat back. "Very well...the cake is yours..." she acquiesced before turning away and silently summoning her wand while he was in mid twirl. Once in her hands, she turned back with a grin. Though this time, she pocketed the wand and instead threw a cube of cheese at him.
His own wand was already pointing right at her and the cheese flew across the field and over the cliffside. "Such aggressiveness, Madam Diplomat...for shame."
“What happened to no unnecessary magic?”
“That was a defensive spell. I deemed it necessary.”
Her eyes narrowed and she huffed, “Well, if you are going to be that way..."
He eyed her sudden pout closely. "And what do they call that ploy in the diplomatic corps...the Footstomping Failsafe? The Tantrum Tactic? The Moaning Manoeuvre?"
A cube of cheese hit him square on the forehead. "No...I call that distract and conquer." The follow up cube got him on his overly large nose.
"Very tactful." He sat up, rubbing his forehead as his face darkened. "I never realised conquering played such a big part in diplomacy. I was always of the opinion it was about peaceful resolution."
"I am currently on a leave of absence," she replied with a giggle. "Therefore...I am free to indulge myself a little." She aimed another cube at him, but then suddenly popped it in her mouth, grinning from ear to ear.
"Oh...really?" he replied, glowering at her a moment before he stood up, taking the chocolate cake with him, and strode off across the meadow towards where the cheese had shot over the cliff. Still grinning, she rose up and, skirts and ribbons blowing in the breeze, ran after him.
On reaching the edge he looked over it and dropped the cake, plate and all, over the drop before folding his arms and looking over his shoulder at her smugly.
Skidding to a halt, she stared at him in shock. Her gaze went from him, to the cliff, and back to him again. "You...you...I can't believe you actually did that!" she gasped.
A moment later, something appeared to give under him and unbalanced, he lost his footing and disappeared over the cliff’s edge.
"Severus!" she cried, her heart in her throat, and pulling her wand out, she ran forward trying to think of a spell to keep him from being turned into paste.
"Yes?" came a casual voice from just over the edge. On looking over, she was greeted by the sight of him lying on his side on a wide grassy ledge just over the cliff’s edge, the cake still on its plate by his side as he picked at it.
Her mouth opened and closed several times like a goldfish’s before her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. "Oh! Oh you! That's a horrible thing to do!" she scolded, staring down at him in a mixture of relief and annoyance. And with a swish of her wand and a silent use of a levitation charm, she returned the cake back to the picnic blanket.
"No..." he looked up at her as he lay back, "it's a Slytherin thing to do."
Folding her arms across her chest, she continued to stare down at him. "Very well," she acquiesced, the glint reappearing in her eyes, as she turned on her heel and disappeared from his view.
Standing up quickly, he stuck his head over the edge of the cliff to see what she was up to. But she was nowhere to be seen. Pulling himself up over the top of the ledge, he got to his feet and wiped his hands as he gazed around once more. "Paidea?"
There was no answer. Crossing back across the sweep of the meadow, he stopped by the picnic, and turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees to look around the uncovered area. "Paidea!" he called out loudly.
The cheese cube came out of nowhere and hit him square on the back of his head.
Standing still, his shoulders tensing, he growled, "Very funny. So are you intending to stay under the Evanesco spell all day?" He turned around, trying to get a bearing on where she might be. "No…you’re still here, aren’t you." There was a slight rustle to his left and another cube of cheese hit him in the back, followed by a giggle. "I can still hear you so it can't be Evanesco, can it..." he murmured to himself, "it must be a charm or an enchanted object. You have either cast the spell, which you left too early from school to learn how to do…or you have an object imbued with a Disillusionment Charm!" he accused the air.
A cheese cube hit him in the chest.
He dived forward, heading for the rush of silks in front of him that came with the movement, and connected. "Got you!" he snapped triumphantly, both hands closing around her waist. There was a gasp and a laugh, and a moment later, she reappeared, grasping his arms and grinning like an idiot.
"Where is it?" He started to explore her without thought, searching for the charm, his hands delving here and there. "Hand it over. I can hardly watch you without seeing you!" he huffed again.
She giggled, laughing and squirming in his hands before finally wriggling away and running off down into the meadow, throwing a mischievous smile back at him…the gleam in her eyes daring him to catch her.
He took off after her as she zigged and zagged, her skirts slowing her up, and the lope of his seventeen year old legs caught up to her quickly. Tackling her to the ground lightly, he resumed his search. "You will hand it over," he assured her, hands wandering again as he turned her over, smirking softly.
She laughed harder than she had in her life, tears welling up in her eyes. "No! Never!" she managed to blurt out before dissolving into giggles again and wriggling in his hands.
"Give it to me." He batted her hands away and rummaged again. "Give me what..." he snorted in amusement, a moment before his eyes met hers, "I want." His hands and movements slowed as he finally realised what they were doing -- how close he was to her, how he was lying over her.
She stopped fighting the moment he did, both the outward battle...and the inward. Staring again up into those dark eyes, she knew...knew exactly how she felt...what he made her feel. But she couldn't give him what he wanted...what she wanted too. Everything inside her told her it was wrong and beyond foolhardy to even consider it. She had never wanted this before, why did have to be him? Politicians didn't romance schoolboys...even if the schoolboy was now a legal man in the eyes of Wizarding society. She couldn't allow herself that luxury...and not only did it hurt...it tore her to pieces inside.
His hand rose to touch her cheek as he saw the vulnerability in her eyes.
Closing them, she took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to still her rapidly beating heart and when they opened again, the moment was gone. The friendliness in her smile was still there...but that door inside her was closed. She held up her hand, an emerald ring on her middle finger. "I believe this is what you're looking for."
When the gates slammed shut before him again, he almost groaned audibly in frustration, though its only manifestation was the curling of his fingers before they could touch her skin.
He longed to just burst out and ask her why. Why she wouldn't let herself go? In that single surging moment, he knew she felt something for him. Knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He dragged his eyes from hers to her hand, trying to swallow back his savage disappointment, his voice thick. "I see." He rolled to sit beside her and cleared his throat. "Family heirloom?"
"No," she replied, sitting up and pushing back the waves of guilt inside for what she knew he must be feeling, busying herself with brushing the grass out of her hair. "My sister bought it for me for my seventeenth birthday. She told me now I was legal I'd need it to disappear from ardent suitors." She rolled her eyes. "Not that I've had any..." She paused, trying not to look at him as she realised what she was saying. "I don't exactly have time or energy to date..." Kicking herself for her words, she hurriedly rose to her feet. "Hungry?" she asked, gliding back to the picnic.
He caught a fistful of the grass and wrenched it into his hand. "No suitors," he murmured to himself. "None that you take seriously at any rate." He shook his head and rose up and followed her. Somehow, someway, he would make that change.
Continued in next posting due to length...