Hello my lovely Snamione lovers! For some of you "The Slave's Girl" may have brought you here. Don't panic, I'm still working on the fic and I have every intention of continuing to work on it. However, I find that working on multiple pieces allows the creative juices to run. This fic was inspired by a dream sequence in TSG (so if you draw a parallel- this is it). This fic is rated M because I like to overuse the word fuck. Woot.
Disclaimer: I don't own nor will I ever own the genius that is JKR's work. I do own a coconut bra though.
"I fell in love with her when we were together, then fell deeper in love with her in the years we were apart."
-Nicholas Sparks
Prologue
"Happy birthday to me," The tumbler in front of me had been empty for several minutes, mocking me and my clearly-not-drunk-enough state.
48.
The pub was rowdier than usual, loud mouthed fratboys driven in from the thick January snow. The muggle bar was approximately three blocks away from my apartment, a nice enough distance to stretch my aching joints without fear of collapse.
"Ye's gots another one," The bartender opened his palm, dropping a crumpled napkin onto the bar in front of me, a smeared phone number written across it. The digits were nearly unrecognizable, but I could make out a lopsided heart scribbled next to it. I grimaced at the bartender, sliding the piece of trash into my coat pocket.
I wouldn't call it.
Or maybe I would.
Fuck.
"That's the third one tonight," A young muggle woman slid into the seat next to mine. Her hair was dyed a dark brown, with purple streaks around her face. She had an innocent enough looking face, but masked behind several layers of muddied makeup. She had a shapely body, dressed in a tight dress that matched the color of the evening sky.
As she leaned in closer, I could smell a rose perfume clinging to her skin, "Number, I mean. I've been counting."
"Jealous?" My lips curved into a smirk and I gestured at the bartender for a round of drinks.
She laughed, showing two rows of perfectly straight teeth, "I'm Charlotte Garside."
"Prince," I took a shot, reveling in the burn of alcohol against the back of my neck, "Simon Prince."
In that moment, I imagined her in every lude position possible. I could see her on my kitchen table, and on the leather sofa that I had imported from Italy. I imagined her glistening from the spray of my shower, or on her knees by the fireplace.
But of course not in my bed.
Never in my bed.
Vanilla, the seductive scent of it enthralled me for the briefest of moments, and then it was gone.
The girl blinked expectantly at me as if she expected a response from me. Suddenly, the purple in her hair seemed tacky and teenageresque. The heavy eyeliner that she had caked on no longer screamed, "Fuck me!". Rather, it looked as if she had been punched in the face multiple times. The dress seemed cheap to me something that a hooker would wear while making her rounds.
Fuck.
"I'm telling you, Ron, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is in need of a new Head and I was really thinking that I should give it a shot."
That voice.
I saw her in the corner of my eye, making her way up to the bar with a small grin on her face. The scent of vanilla came off of her in waves, intoxicating my senses. I noted that her hair was shorter, and she had finally managed to tame the mane of curls that always seemed to rule her head. A gangly Ron Weasley appeared at her side, looping his arm around her waist.
"To us," He lifted his drink and they clinked glasses before exchanging a tender kiss.
Smash. The remnant shards of my whiskey glass littered the surface of the bar. The couple broke apart and honey brown eyes met onyx black.
Say something.
She didn't.
Do something.
She didn't.
They were stuck there in a form of limbo, daring each other to make the first move.
"Simooooooon," Cindy or Carly or whatever the fuck her name was had appeared, whining at his arm, "Let's go."
"Forgive me, Professor," Hermione Granger nodded politely, and then she was gone. The couple disappeared back into the snow, with only two empty mugs to serve as proof that they had been there in the first place.
Thoughts?
So obviously this is only the prologue. (Which explains for the shortness) I'm actually thinking about updating this less frequently than TSG, but with much longer chapters. Please leave love and reviews! xoxoxoxo, inkpaperlove