Continued from last posting...
A soft pop, the familiar herald of Apparating, echoed in the narrow alleyway. The figure that appeared, haphazardly and garishly dressed in a variety of Muggle fashions, adjusted his wide-brimmed and rather floppy fedora to a jaunty angle and glanced around in amusement. It was a bright and sunny day in central Birmingham and yet this little alley, though completely open to the sunlight, was quite overly drab and dark. He sniffed. Not really blending in at all, he thought offhandedly to himself, straightening his long, burgundy velvet coat.
With an offhanded shrug, he moved briskly from the alley to the side door of Wigglesworth’s Department Store. Muggles browsed around inside, several more mature types stopping to stare at the mishmash of colours, fabrics, and styles that moved past them as Steven headed through the aisles. Right…then left…then right. He paused, glancing around. “Does this look like the right way to you?” he asked a pair of half-dressed mannequins that appeared to have seen better days. Nodding thoughtfully, he tapped his finger to his lower lip. “Yes…just down here, I think.”
And on he continued…until he reached the lone solitary door to a Gent’s WC that had a large note stapled to it that said -- BROKEN! DO NOT USE!
“But I have to go!” he complained with a chuckle as he pushed open the door and headed inside to find himself in a rather polished and clean lift with brass fittings, oak panels, glowing buttons, and a deep rich red carpeted floor.
“Yes, well…going in here may not be such a swift idea,” he murmured, pressing the large button at the top labelled YOUNG MR. WIGGLEWORTH’S OFFICE.
Steven blinked. “Young? I thought they were twins?” he commented to the thin air.
The lift plummeted downwards, sideways, and shot upwards again in a ride that took about two minutes, continuing without pause until the dial on top of the door reached the final floor and the doors opened with a chirpy ping. He stepped out to face a rather glum line up of visitors sitting in a plush, if rather drably designed, waiting room with a neatly coiffed blond secretary initiating some typing with the wave of his wand.
There was a bright, shining silver bell on the secretary's desk that said -- FOR ASSISTANCE, PLEASE RING BELL. Letting the typewriter run on, the blond secretary sat back, glanced at the newcomer, and pulled out a nail file, settling back to work on his manicure.
Steven approached the desk and stood there…waiting. After about three minutes, he said, "I'm here to see Mr. Wigglesworth."
The blond man did not even look up. "Did you ring the bell?"
Steven blinked. "But I'm right here..."
"Yes, but I can't help you until you ring the bell," came the patient response.
The Auror was dumbfounded, his brow furrowing. "So…even though I'm right here...you know I'm here...and can blatantly see me here...you can't help me ‘til I ring this bell?"
The blond man looked up and considered that for a moment before taking a deep breath and replying with a bright, “Yes.” He then went back to filing his nails.
"Well, that's kind of rubbish, now, isn't it?"
"No, sir...that's the rules," the blond commiserated.
With a long inward groan and a few inner choice words about how he felt about bureaucratic nonsense, Steven lifted the bell and gave it a quick jingle.
Instantly the file was put down and the blond man smiled winningly at him. "Good morning, sir! How can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Mr. Wigglesworth," the Auror explained patiently.
"Do you have an appointment?" the young man asked with an even more particularly charming smile, the small gap between his two front teeth only adding to the effect.
Steven blinked. "No...did I need one? The matter is a most important and delicate one."
The secretary tutted and shook his head. "Well, Mr. Wigglesworth is most particular about seeing people on by appointment. You really should have thought ahead..."
Steven swallowed back his irritation. He'd sent in his letter of carefully forged introduction and waited for a response...and waited…only to receive a very curt letter saying that if Steven wished to drop by early in the morning he would try to squeeze him into his schedule. Taking a deep breath, the Auror pulled out the letter he'd received via owl late last night. "Mr. Wigglesworth, as you can see, asked me to drop by this morning. He has kindly volunteered to try and fit me in..."
Twin blond eyebrows rose to their hairline as the young man looked over the letter. "Oh my!" he breathed. "So he did!" His gaze shifted to the dark haired man, an appreciative gleam in them as he considered the obvious importance of this newcomer. "Well, if you'll take a seat, I'll just send word to Mr. Wigglesworth that you have arrived." And with that, he waved his wand, sending a silvery cloud floating over to the door and through the keyhole inside.
Rolling the scroll back up and with a brief nod, Steven moved over to the line of chairs by the wall and took the only available seat between a hag -- who seemed to be knitting a sweater for something with an odd number of legs -- and a one-eyed goblin who was dressed impeccably but kept glancing at his pocket watch with much irritation.
After half an hour, the impressive office door finally opened and an erudite voice called out, "Mr. Steven Prince?" A moment later a tall, dark haired man with a pinched face and moustache stepped out, brushing down his pinstripe robes.
Steven stood up smoothly, only for the goblin to rise as well.
"I've been waiting ‘ere for my nine o'clock appointment for two ‘ours!" the short being growled. "’e's only been 'ere ‘alf an ‘our...and without an appointment!"
The dark haired man walked towards them, eyeing the goblin with disdain; however, on reaching them, he turned towards the lift and pressed the button. At the sound of a small cough, all eyes to turned towards a diminutive, cherubic faced man in his fifties with neatly cropped golden blond hair and a matching goatee beard standing in the doorway with a smile.
"I am dreadfully sorry, Mr. Grapplehook...I shall of course make it up to you by treating you to a sumptuous lunch." Sinister Wigglesworth, a man whose features were decidedly unworthy of his treacherous first name, turned to his secretary. "Mr. Inman, would you be so good as to make reservations for myself and Mr. Grapplehook at my usual eatery...and please provide him with whatever he would care for, for the moment?"
Sniffing, the goblin appeared vaguely appeased, grumbling as he sat down that a hot drink might be nice.
Sinister's bright blue eyes and wide smile turned upon Steven. "Mr. Prince," he beamed, stepping back to usher him in, "please...do come in."
Pushing his floppy fedora back on his head, Steven nodded to the small man and moved inside, giving a quick grin and wink to the secretary, flustering him somewhat.
Sinister Wigglesworth's office was not what one would expect of any department store owner in Muggledom. Inside the office doors was a study filled with books and arcane devices that thrummed and hummed with magical power. It resembled, in a way, the office of Albus Dumbledore, except that the snoozing portraits on the wall were of the ancestral Wigglesworth line and there were absolutely no windows. Candlelight was the sole means of lighting, none of the electricity that lit the department store entering the inner sanctum, it seemed, and banks of candelabra bathed the room in a magically enhanced glow. The room was long and carpeted with a comfortable couch and chairs in one corner near a fireplace large enough to be a Floo Network connection. At the far end, there stood a huge black lacquered desk behind which was a matching black lacquered chair with gold upholstered backing and two eagle heads carved into the arms.
Steven said nothing as he watched his host shut the door and move into the room, Mr. Wigglesworth obviously much more than he seemed.
"Come in...come in..." The small man ushered the Auror to a pair of comfortable leather seats in front of his desk, indicating to either. "Please, sit down." Wigglesworth crossed over towards a rather large drinks cabinet. "Something to drink? I can offer you five excellent vintage Firewhiskies if that is your poison?" He arched a quizzical eyebrow.
"No, thank you," the tall man replied, taking the proffered chair with a smile. "It was very kind of you to fit me into your schedule like this...you seem to be booked solid."
"Yes..." Wigglesworth sighed ruefully, as he poured himself a drink. "I'm afraid between trying to deal with Muggle employees in my other office and fitting in my more valued custom..." he glanced meaningfully at Steven, "my day is one long series of meetings. Quite tiresome." Once back at his desk, he pulled across a scroll that Steven recognised as his letter of introduction. "Still, never mind...how is Walburga? She and Orion Black have long been stalwart customers of mine. It is a shame they don't get out to do their own shopping anymore." He sipped on his drink. "I suppose it was coming though. Their dislike for Muggle company, even in short bursts as with visits to me here, was bound to keep them from my door eventually."
Steven sighed and nodded. "She's well...just had this new portrait commissioned, don't you know. Though she won't let anyone see it until it is finished. Oh and she's been not in the best of moods since her son Sirius...well, we all know about him, don't we? Such a good thing Regulus is there to comfort her." Settling back in his chair, he crossed his legs as he shook his head sympathetically.
"Indeed...indeed. Always seemed a bright lad to me, odd that he should go so against his parents," Sinister agreed with a nod. "Still, Black sheep do seem unavoidable when you have that family name." He chuckled softly. "How do you know them?"
"My mother, though older, is a good friend of Walburga's," Steven replied honestly. "They make it a point to pay calls on each other at least once a week to chat and catch up on the gossip. And though my family is not nearly so illustrious as the Blacks...my mother has been comforting poor Walburga during this trying time as she and her mother were a great help to her when my sister...well, let's just say she should have been a bit more particular in her choice of husbands." Inwardly, Steven winced at the lie about his feelings toward his elder sister but unable to disagree with part of the sentiment -- not about her marrying a Muggle, but one who obviously made her and her son so unhappy at times.
"Ah..." Sinister nodded, "I see. I have nothing against Muggles per se, I must tell you...after all," he smiled, "I do employ a good five hundred of them across the country and they do make my acquisitions of certain items far easier to come by. You would be flabbergasted to know just how many magical items fall into the hands of Muggle museums and collectors. They have no idea what they are, of course, and they are completely useless to them but they carry value as objets d'art.
“Most wizards and witches have little dealings with the Muggle world and the Ministry has never sought fit to set up a reclamation department for magical heritage lost to Muggles. My connections with Muggle import/export people and art collectors allow me to reclaim and return these items to their rightful place in our society quietly. At a tidy profit, of course." He chuckled before sipping on his drink. "So you see, I cannot dismiss Muggles out of hand as so many of us do. They are tremendously useful to me and they do bring in a goodly income via shopping. They are shopping fiends; you have no idea. You put out one advertisement, magically enhanced or not, and they all come flocking to you. With wizards, it would take at least four or five to permeate the consciousness...but Muggles are so pre-disposed to shiny new things."
Steven nodded with an amused smile at the thought, unable to disagree with that statement. "I concede you the point," he agreed.
"Ah, good." Sinister relaxed back into his chair. "I am glad you understand my position...because oft times and more and more of late, I find myself at odds with wizards from certain families or...backgrounds...that are glad of my work but disapprove of my association with Muggles, failing to understand my need to work with them. It has gotten to the stage now where I feel I must lay my cards upon the table in this regard so as to avoid unpleasantness later.
“I am, Mr. Prince, first and foremost...a business man. I do not care which side I deal with, providing the Wigglesworth establishment and name continues to provide good service." He watched Steven's reaction carefully. "If the time comes when one side prevails over the other, that will be different, of course..." he conceded, "but for the moment, I find the best course the middle one."
Steven nodded placidly, though his keen eyes were taking in the man in front of him, and though he nodded in agreement, he cursed silently inside him. Idealists and purists were easy to deal and to fake allegiance with...those who had no care in one side or the other were much more difficult to fool or to win over.
"So..." Sinister arched an inquisitive eyebrow, “now that you know where I stand, and I see you are not departing so I assume that must sit fair with you...how can I be of service to you and Walburga? Or is it just your good self?"
"I'm afraid it's just me," Steven replied apologetically. "And since you were so candid with me, I shall be candid with you. I need a little help obtaining an item that is most necessary for me but not entirely legal." He sighed. "I had one such item, you see, but it got a bit...damaged." He grimaced and shrugged. "And so I find myself in need of a new one. It's quite a pain really and most inconvenient."
"I see..." Sinister nodded amiably. "Well so far it doesn't sound too out of the ordinary, I must confess. But then the devil is always in the details, and the level of illegality is always the tricky part. So what is it precisely you are looking to replace?"
"Oh, it's highly illegal." Steven's voice was again very apologetic for the inconvenience. "But I am willing to pay a fair price." He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs to get a bit more comfortable. "Dashed nuisance...but I really do need a new one or I can't complete my commission." He leaned forward a bit. "It's a Reflectus." He almost seemed to pout, his expression one of a man that was completely put out. "And a high quality one too!"
"Really?" Sinister's eyebrow arched as he leaned on one arm of his chair. "My, my...that is illegal. Two-way private mirrors capable of transmitting anywhere and undetected. I've only come across two pairs in my entire life. No wonder you are put out. Of course now I understand completely why Walburga sent you to me. Out of curiosity, may I ask where it was you originally got the one you lost?"
Steven sighed. "You could...but I wouldn't have the best answer, I'm afraid." His hands smoothed down his velvet overcoat. "I can't really remember, you see." He rolled his eyes. "I believe he had a memory charm on him that scrambled one’s memory of him as soon as he leaves your presence. Which is quite daft if you ask me...because if one gets into one of these situations, how is one to get a replacement?" Again the put out expression appeared on his face. "Shoddy business technique, I say!"
"Quite so, quite so," Sinister agreed quietly. "Although perhaps -- given the extreme rarity of these items and the talent required to create a magical item that can transmit into and out of any area unseen -- he hardly expected to come into another one. As I said, even I have only ever seen two pairs, and the original pair stand in the office of Albus Dumbledore, of course." He laughed. "I trust it wasn't his you had!"
Steven snorted, one side of his lips curling up in a half smile. "Hardly."
"Of course..." Sinister continued to chuckle. "This is intriguing all the same. Would you happen to have the remainders of the Reflectus with you? Or perhaps the undamaged part of the pair? Tracking its origin and manufacturer will help, I'm sure."
Steven's nose wrinkled. "Oh, I have it...but it's all damaged, I'm afraid." Reaching into several pockets, he pulled out the various pieces of the Reflectus. "And some bits are just melted." He gazed down at the parts with disgust.
"Thank you." Sinister reached across the expanse of the lacquered desk to take them. If anything, he spent even longer scrutinising them than Ariadne Brody before he put them down. "Right!" he said in satisfaction before giving the younger man an apologetic look. "One more question if you don't mind, Mr. Prince?"
Steven gestured for him to continue.
"Do you take me for a complete fool?"
The young man's eyebrow arched, looking outwardly not the least bit as flustered as he felt. "Quite the contrary," he replied smoothly.
"Oh, I think not," Wigglesworth scoffed. "In fact, considering the way you blundered in here with your forged letter of introduction and quite frankly, thin as toilet paper fabrication, I think you think I am an idiot." He held up the pieces of the Reflectus. "I...and I alone sold this item and its mate and to an individual, who I can assure you, given his...affiliations...would never have sold it. Obfuscating charm or no!" He leaned forward on his desk, his cherubic face now shrewd and no nonsense. "I somehow have my doubts, sir, that you are of the same affiliation. I'm sure a quick examination of your left arm would prove that."
Steven merely smiled at the onslaught, his suspicions about this man’s intelligence and dangerousness being more confirmed by the minute. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded. "That, and I'm an exceptionally bad actor. Never really had the talent for it...now singing...that's my forte." He shifted the angle of his hat, his voice still jovial but his eyes very serious indeed. "That, and duelling...and darts."
"You..." Sinister sat back, "are either a very odd or very foolish man. Either way, for your own sake, I suggest you leave now."
"Why?" the dark haired man asked, not moving a muscle. "So, I lied...everyone lies in this game. So you know I'm not a Death Eater...so you know I'm not a purist. Actually, if you really want to know I'm an Auror, and if I wanted to, I could arrest you for trafficking illegal goods. Your words alone would damn you to Azkaban for a few years." The younger man smiled but there was no warmth in it. "But...I don't want to. I do want information and I'm still willing to pay a hefty sum for it." His eyebrow arched. "So...we can deal...or you can threaten me a bit more. Your choice really...I've got all day."
Sinister returned his smile. "There is only your word against mine, Auror. And that is not enough for the Wizengamot to convict...and you are the only one here with illegal items on you." He chuckled softly, looking around them. "Besides...you misunderstand me. I'm not threatening you…I'm warning you."
Steven snorted. "We're in a time of war, Mr. Wigglesworth. Words alone are enough to incriminate anyone. And you must really think I'm daft to just walk in here without any protection of my own."
Sinister rolled his eyes. "I'm not warning you against me, you clownishly clothed buffoon! I'm warning you against proceeding further along this line of investigation...and where it might lead you." He leaned forward. "Believe me, I know the law, Auror, and you cannot frighten me with words of 'war' and erosion of civil liberties. I know Dumbledore, Bagnold, and the Abernathys too...our civil rights have not been reduced to the words of Aurors becoming judge, jury, and executioner. I have danced around the likes of you enough to know that. You have no hold over me save what I choose to give you. And I am attempting to stop you from blundering into something you have no conception of."
Steven frowned and rose to his feet, pacing the room for a minute as though pondering something very serious before he stopped and turned back to the man behind the desk. "You really think my clothes are clownish?"
"Velvet and a fedora -- quite frankly, sir, you look like a Muggle pimp!" Sinister informed him flatly.
"Well, it looks loads better with the knitted scarf." Steven’s words were humorous, but his expression was quite different and with a sigh, he moved back. "Look...I know what I'm getting into more than you think. You may not care a whit one way or the other whether a good woman lives or dies, but I do...and it’s my job to stop it."
"You refer of course to Counsellor Abernathy," Sinister said, resuming his more relaxed pose, a slight crease on his brow. "I confess, Mr. Prince, that had I known the purpose the Reflectus was to be put to, I would have thought twice about selling it on to our erstwhile assassin. I wish no ill to the young lady; in fact, I wish her nothing but well as her equivocation over the war suits me no end at the moment. But my customer appeared to know for certain I had the Reflectus, which was unusual to say the least as I had only come into possession of it a few days before and had not as yet advertised that fact."
Steven actually looked surprised. "A few days...you say?" He frowned. "How odd." His lips pursed a bit, his expression still thoughtful as he took his chair again. "Perhaps the person you purchased it from referred the man to you?"
Sinister returned his eyes to him, the corner of his mouth curling up a little. "Perhaps you are not as foolish as you dress, nor as dense as your words make you appear, Mr. Prince." He nodded. "Yes...I believe that almost certainly to be the case. And yet, I know for a fact," his smile grew, "that my 'dealer' is anything but sympathetic to the cause of the Dark Lord." His fingers closed about his glass again. "Odd, no?"
The Auror's brow furrowed even more. "Very..." he agreed lowly.
"In any event..."Sinister said conversationally, "I trust you know I won't be giving you the name of my dealer, Mr. Prince."
The younger man sighed and nodded. "Oh yes...that would be way too easy." His eyebrow arched. "I don't suppose a complete or partial description would be forthcoming though?" he enquired with a wry smile at Sinister.
The short man's low laugh wafted to him again. "I'm rather afraid not. I know it must be a dreadful bore," Wigglesworth commiserated, "but, you see, I must be even more careful in the steps I take as it is quite clear to me now that I am walking a very thin line between two extremes. Two extremes that oddly seem to be colluding on one very salient, very agreed upon point."
"The death of Counsellor Abernathy," Steven said tightly. Rising up, he stalked the room back and forth with long strides. "Someone who is against His side is using His people to take her out." He frowned. "However, it makes no sense for 'He Who Must Not Be Named' to want the Counsellor dead! Her pacifist ideals and notions are, if anything, rather beneficial to Him for now..."
"My thoughts exactly...if a little less succinctly put," Sinister agreed with a smile. "It does seem a queer thing to do. But then there is often method to madness, Mr. Prince, and in my experience, when one discards a prize, such as Counsellor Abernathy, it is often to get a far greater one. Of course," he shrugged lightly, "what that might be I have no idea, and as I wish to keep my head upon my shoulders, I shall be making no further enquiries. You would be well advised to do the same."
Steven shook his head, his eyes frank and a little tired. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
"Of course you can't." Blue eyes regarded him with total non-surprise. "Well..." the older man pushed the pieces of the Reflectus back to the Auror, "as I say, I cannot give you any information regarding either my dealer or my customer. That information is sacrosanct. What I can tell you, however, is that the maker of both the Reflectii pairs that came into my hands must be quite the remarkable auteur...considering he was reported missing, presumed dead some time ago."
Steven's jaw tightened as he gathered up the pieces. "Yes...I know," he said quietly.
Sinister’s eyes moved to the pieces on the table. "Ah, but of course...you were no doubt involved in the investigation of his disappearance at some point. Where was it he disappeared? Near Brecon Beacons in Wales, wasn't it?"
"No, it was Moreton on the Marsh in the Cotswolds," the dark haired man replied, stuffing the last piece into an inside pocket. His eyebrow arched as he looked over at the businessman. "Which I'm sure you knew."
"Of course..." Sinister nodded, "my mistake." He rose from his chair and gestured towards the door at the far end of the room before he walked around his desk. "I am sorry not to be of more assistance to you, Mr. Prince, but you know how things are. Business is business after all."
Steven rose to his feet. "Yes...of course it is," he replied and held out his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Wigglesworth. This has been a most...enlightening...conversation and I thank you for your time."
"You're quite welcome, Mr. Prince..." He took the Auror's hand and then walked him towards the door. "Just ensure that next time you intend to try and dupe me, you and your superiors put a little more effort into it, eh? A little challenge brightens all our days, wouldn't you say?" He opened the door further for his guest.
Steven couldn't help smiling at that. "Then they won't send me. I'm utterly crap at acting." Walking out the door, he doffed his hat to the short man and headed toward the elevator.
Dinner that night in the cottage was one of the tensest meals that Paidea had ever experienced in her life...and that was saying something, given the line of work she was in. She had sat at dinners where the two figures at either end of the table were so completely antagonistic that any little word could set off a feud that could last for a decade, but she had still never been as on edge as she was at this moment. And it didn’t help that Snape’s face was utterly unreadable.
Not a word had been spoken...from either of them. In fact, both of them seemed to be more occupied with eating, drinking, pushing food around their plates, and simply gazing anywhere but at each other. It was nerve-racking to say the least.
Once Elly had cleared the plates and leftovers and disappeared for the night, Paidea had finally been forced to say something to her companion. Giving him a smile, but in knots inside, she had enquired if perhaps they should...talk? Seeing him flinch, she'd quickly amended it to talking in general...not anything specific. She knew they would have to have a 'talk' but she wasn't entirely sure what to say...nor how to say it. 'Oh yes, Severus, I feel the same as you, but I can't be with you because you're barely legal and I could get thrown out of my job. Oh, and you'd be hounded your whole life for it...' Oh yes...that would go over very well. Add that her family would be horrified that she hadn't married 'well.' Well, maybe not her sister...but most certainly her parents and she could just call it all a hat trick. She could just see her mother fainting.
So, here they sat. Neither saying a word. Neither knowing what to say. And Paidea found herself wondering if perhaps they should just have that 'talk' and get it over with.
Snape’s mind was racing but next to nothing was coming into it. "Perhaps we should talk in more comfortable seats?" he enquired, shifting on the wooden chair at the table.
"Perhaps you are right," she agreed readily, rising to her feet and moving over to the couch to sit at one end.
Standing as well, he followed her to the couch, pausing behind it and hesitating to look down at her. A part of him wondered -- was she doing it on purpose? -- picking those dresses that seemed demure but revealed just enough to make his palms sweat nervously and his fingers itch...hardly an attractive combination. Inhaling slowly and pulling on his button down shirt just a little, he continued around the couch with equal slowness to sit at the far end. "Comfortable?" he asked stiffly after a moment, his hands on his knees.
She looked anything but, and in fact was sitting just as ram rod straight, hands -- long ago trained out of nervous habits -- folded placidly on her lap. "Yes...the cushions are very...soft." She moaned inwardly, cursing the sudden desertion of her verbal skills.
"I've slept on worse," he agreed with a nod, cringing at how 'pauperish' that made him sound, like he'd just crawled out from under a footbridge somewhere. What a wonderful way to convince a wealthy pureblood girl you're worthy of her…sound like a Muggle tramp comparing flop houses.
She merely nodded quietly, racking her mind for something to talk about.
"Attractive gown," he commented, shooting a rapid glance at her.
She glanced down at the gown with a tight smile. "Thank you," she replied, suddenly wondering if perhaps her dress was adhering a little too snugly to her figure.
He frowned, staring ahead of him in silence for what felt like an age before his hands suddenly fisted, his black eyes hardening as he turned a little toward her on the couch. "The weather tomorrow is supposed to be fair, I believe. We could go for another walk along the beach if you want...and I'm in love with you, Paidea."
She stiffened immediately, shifting in her seat but not getting up. "Severus..."
He allowed her go no further, his words calm but decisive. "You know it. There is no way it can have eluded you. I've been stumbling around half-blinded by it the entire time we've been here. I've loved you from the first moment I saw you all those years ago. There's not been a day that's passed I've not thought about you, wondered about you...wanted to see you again…to feel your eyes on me.
“It is foolish, I know, and you may think it childish still, but it was clear to me then that you were the one for me. And when chance brought me back into your sphere there was no way I could deny it. But it's not childish infatuation, Paidea. Don't think to dismiss it or believe I'll get over it. Because I won't. I love you,” he stated firmly.
“You fill my dreams. You are the sum total of my thoughts. I still feel your lips on mine. Even though you say it was wrong, I know it was not. I have no right to feel this way, I know, but I refuse to believe that it can be wrong. I know it's not.” He inhaled, and then pressed ahead, his words quiet and serious. “I would do anything for you, anything you ask. I'm young, yes...poor, yes...not in your class nor am I pureblood…but I have talent…intelligence…ability. Give me a chance to prove myself to you; to prove what I feel for you is real…that I can be good for you.”
His hand inched along the couch, his chest achingly tight from trying to keep the full raging force of what he felt reined in, trying to keep his words smooth, adult, and civilised. But finally his youth broke through in a quiet ringing plea, “Please."
She stared at him, taking in each word...each syllable of his speech, her heart aching to agree, to allow him to sweep her up. She had never been so touched and honoured in her life. That someone could love her so strongly, deeply...devotedly. She longed for the world to be different so she could give in. But it wasn’t, so she couldn't.
"Severus...I can't," she whispered, quickly rising to her feet and away from his hand, her voice growing more impassioned. "Forget where we are for a minute and come back to the real world. I am a diplomat...and you...you're still in school. Do you really think the world is going to support such a union? I would be thrown out of my job; you would be expelled from school. Your life and all your hopes, dreams, and ambitions would be over...tainted beyond repair. I cannot and will not allow that to happen to you regardless of how we feel about each other."
He stood up slowly, his black eyes widening. "How we feel about each other?" He took a step towards her, his next words half statement, half hope. "You feel the same."
Her expression, which had been steadfastly determined, wavered a little under his naked and exposed optimism. Optimism she had to crush. "It doesn't matter what I feel. That path is one we cannot go down, Severus," she told him shakily before straightening. "I will not give into this. I will not let you throw away your entire future for me."
He drew himself up, looking down at her, his voice low and adamant. “You are my future. Any kind of real future, I mean. You and the thought of you have been the one bright spark in my life all these years. I don’t care what others think; it’s not any of their business,” he spat before moving a little closer. “I only care what you think. If you love me, that's all that matters. I understand your work is important to you, and I could damage you, but I will do anything. No one else has to know. We can keep it secret if you wish,” he offered, trying to reason with her. “I'll take on any role you want. Keep to the shadows. I can still work, do what I need to do, build a name for myself...and see you. Be with you." He tried to touch her…to convince her.
But she stepped back, looking down for almost a full minute before raising her eyes. "But we'd be living a lie. A lie that could destroy us. Could you live with that? I am not sure I could."
"A lie?" His eyes bored into hers. "If that is living a lie, what is denying what we feel? How much more of a living lie is that, Paidea? How much more destructive would that be?"
Her lip trembled for a moment, her aching heart clear in her eyes before again, like each time before, the door slammed unceremoniously shut. "I can't...I won't give into this," she stated again before turning quickly on her heel and striding to her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.
He took a step after her as she went but ultimately let her go. He'd said all he could say, anything more in the same vein would be teenage histrionics. He'd pleaded the best case he could and it wasn't enough to convince her. Either she was too scared or just didn't feel the same strength of what he did. And all the pleading in the world wasn't going to change it.
He had tried and he had failed, and the pain he had felt before was nothing to now. Now he knew for certain she felt something for him, loved him even if not the same way he did, and it tore at him all the more to know that nothing would come of it. That he was only causing her grief by his presence.
After sitting for a long time, he rose up and walked to her door, his boots’ footfalls quiet on the granite. Stopping by the door, he waited and then raised his hand to knock softly.
"Paidea," he said, his voice quiet but steady, "I will go if you want me to; if you tell me to. I have no wish to cause you pain. I never wanted to hurt you, your career...your work. If my presence here makes you unhappy, then tell me to go. I will contact Dumbledore and have someone replace me. Tell me to go, Paidea." His hand touched the door, his forehead a moment afterwards. A pleading murmur she could not have heard escaped him. “End it.”
There was a long silence before a weary voice came softly through the wooden door. "It's late...go to bed, Severus." And a moment later, the light shining under the door was extinguished.
His eyes closed at her order. He had failed once again. Sent to his bed like a boy -- a boy she couldn't...wouldn't…risk loving. He turned from the door and moved about the room, extinguishing all the lights, and crossed to the couch. Half collapsing onto the cushions, he pulled off his boots and zombie-like, tossed them onto the floor before removing his clothes and curling up in his shirt and underpants. Drawing his blankets over him, he stared into the dark, facing a sleepless night...rejected but not dismissed, in pain...and in limbo once again.
Thank you so much to both Savageland and Smoke for their betaing efforts on our behalf. You gals both totally rock our socks!