The last term of school for the year had let out a week ago, and Severus Snape had returned to his home at Spinner's End. He paced around his small, circular home library; he had read and re-read every book in this room at least a dozen times. The aged leather covers' aroma started to give him a headache as he continued to pace the room.
"What," Snape asked himself aloud as he stopped in front of a section of his bookcase filled with potions books, "does one do when one has read every book a thousand times, and any other book in a wizarding library contains only the same information that are in those they have already read?"
He heaved a deep sigh of exhaustion and boredom.
Growing up as a half-blood, he had both access to the muggle and wizarding world. As a child before his years at Hogwarts he had heard of muggle fiction stories used to ignite the imagination of the reader. The only fictional wizard stories were those told at bedtime to children who refused to sleep. Snape had always wondered what the muggle stories were like, if they were a ridiculous as those told to wizards or if they were actually somewhat decent.
He turned away from the shelf and headed towards the narrow door leading into an even narrower hallway. After exiting the library, he turned right and strode to the door at the end of the hall, only stopping to grab his cloak from a minute hook on the wall. The warm June air and bright sunlight was as unwelcomed to him as having Potter in class. He kicked up dust as he walked along the dirt road leading to the small library half a mile away.
The library had been around since long before he was born, and it had an appearance and smell to match. The wallpaper was faded and peeling; it smelled of old paper and leather, mingled with the various scents of those occupying it.
The library to Snape's left had a large black sign with white letters that were almost unreadable due to the chipped paint. The sign read: FICTION. He turned this way, and wound though several waist-high shelves of books, paying no attention to the subcategories such as children, mystery and young adult. Without turning his head so much as a centimeter he snatched a book from a shelf. He left the maze of shelving and walked over to a librarian seated behind a wooden desk.
Snape placed the book on the desk in front of the woman. The book was fairly large and hard cover with a paper case covered with clear tape. On the cover was a pair of ghostly pale hands holding a bright red apple. The woman behind the desk had dirty-blonde hair with a few grey streaks here and there. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as she squinted curiously from the book to Snape, and then back at the book. Snape, even without using occlumency, could tell that she was wondering why he had chosen this book. He wondered that himself.
"Do you have a library card, sir?" She asked, her dark brown eyes focusing on Snape's sallow face.
"No," Snape replied curtly.
"Would you like to-" she began.
"No," he interrupted.
"Well then, the book is due back in a week, rather than the two that card holders receive," she informed him.
Snape nodded, grabbed the book and left without another word.
Back in his personal library, Snape settled into his worn out arm chair. He began to read.
Within the first ten pages of the novel, he could tell why the woman in the library had given him a funny look. This was obviously a novel meant for teenage girls.
'The protagonist is bland and boring,' Snape thought to himself as he began flipping farther into the book without reading much. He came to a description of the girl's love interest, almost white skin, yellow eyes, and copper-colored hair. All the book did from there on was praise the boy's looks ten times per page. He scowled as he skipped to the middle of the book.
Snape read as the pretty-boy, Edward, told the annoying girl, Bella, that he was a vampire, and commenced to step into the sunlight and…. sparkle?!
Snape hurled the book to the ground, disgusted at what he had read. 'Vampires, do not, sparkle. They never have, and never will. No fangs, either? And how can these so called "vampires" be amongst human without going insane?!' he thought angrily. 'Who does this author think she is, making up nonsense as though she has never read a book herself! We have special wizards whose job it is to pose as muggle authors to implant the correct knowledge of magical creatures into other muggles' minds without their knowing!' Snape was fuming. He picked up the book again, just to see what other idiocy she had written.
As he flipped, he found no other magical impossibilities. But he did vaguely remember seeing other large black books out of the corner of his eye, and he knew that there was a sequel, possibly more, to this horrid book.
'I would much rather cope with BellaTRIX for a life time that have to read another one of these,' he thought as he slammed the book onto a tiny wooden end table.
At that exact moment, Wormtail appeared at the door.
"Severus, there are people here to see you," Wormtail muttered quietly.
Snape shoved the book under the skirt of his armchair and out of sight as he nodded to let the guests in.
Wormtail ushered in two women, one with bleach-blonde hair and cold grey eyes, the other, the first's sister, with shiny black hair and black, heavily lidded eyes.
'Speak of the devil…' Snape thought, amused and slightly horrified. Afterall, he did not actually mean it.