DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is most DEFINITELY for adults. This is Part 2 in a trilogy-read Dark Redemption first, then start here.
DATE WITH AN EXECUTIONER
Chapter 1 – Yule Greetings
The streets of Hogsmeade were packed with throngs of people doing their last minute Christmas and Yule shopping. I thought I had even seen what looked like a menorah twinkling away from the window of one of the houses down the street. Wizarding society in England was quite tolerant of diverse religious practices, if not tolerant in other ways. I recalled, with fondness, Professor Sprout telling me that her family had been Druids for hundreds of years.
"And furthermore, that wicker man business is a bunch of stuff and nonsense, Rowan!" she had said, stamping her foot to add emphasis. "No human sacrifices were ever done in those ceremonies; those damned Romans thought everyone was as barbaric as they were," she continued, as she sprayed water onto a parched-looking plant from the end of her wand. We had been up at one of her greenhouses at Hogwarts early in the fall, right after term had begun. I had been there taking her orders for the new store—the Hogsmeade branch of the Apothecary, where I was presently standing, staring blankly out the window instead of at the contents of a box that was not going to unpack itself. I saw several Hogwarts students through the window with bags from Gladrags Wizardwear, undoubtedly containing their new finery for tomorrow night's Yule Ball.
With a sigh, I glared down at the tightly packed jars. I had no desire to be here today doing this—I had no desire to be here at all, in fact.
And it was a damn shame, I thought, as, rubbing at a crick in my neck, I looked up at my tidy little shop. It wasn't a bad place, really. Seasonal accoutrements—mulling and wassailing spices, frankincense and myrrh, mistletoe, holly, and bayberries—were stacked prominently by the front door on a burnished golden table. Come to think of it, they looked as if they could use a little restocking. The crowds of earlier that day had dwindled down to one lady—an aged witch rummaging through the mandrakes in the back as if the fate of the world hinged on her choosing the correct one. I figured she could do so on her own, and turned toward the counter.
"Morgaine, could you come here, please?" The fifty-something, flighty-haired shop assistant scurried over. She always seemed intimidated. The other assistant, a young man named Ruthven, was not coming in today until later. He had requested evening hours only, and I was glad to accommodate him, as I dreaded closing down the shop by myself, as I had nothing to do in the evenings any more.
"Yes, Mrs. Haw—" she started to say, but I cut her off.
"Morgaine. For the last time, my name is Rowan. Please refer to me as such." I hated the acrid, clipped tones that dripped from my mouth, but I seemed to have lost the ability to speak in any other fashion lately. And furthermore, she was wrong, nagged my mind, if she was going to give me an honorific title, she might as well use the proper one…
I cut that thought off abruptly, and began again.
"I'm sorry," I began, "I didn't mean to snap at you." Morgaine looked amazed, but I forged on. Had I really become that rude over the past few months? "Anyway…this box. Would you please unpack it, price the contents, and shelve them? Thank you." I turned away, secure in the knowledge that the task would be done perfectly. Flighty or not, Morgaine was an able assistant.
The box had arrived that morning through the Floo Network from Ambrosius, my old boss at the London Apothecary, and I wasn't sure why, as I didn't recall ordering anything from him that week. However, my memory had been seriously impaired in recent months. I refused to take anything for the affliction, either, even though we had hundreds of pre-made remedies in easy access on the shelves, and I was more than capable of brewing one myself.
But I was extremely stubborn; and I wasn't going anywhere near a potion or a cauldron by choice. It was bad enough just being around the raw materials, really. Lately, I had been procuring most of my remedies from Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks—she never asked me any difficult questions.
I headed toward the back of the store, intent on gathering more holly and bayberry. When I returned with a basketful of the fragrant items, Morgaine was holding up one of the jars from the box and giving it a quizzical look.
"Er…Mrs., I mean, Rowan, do you know what's supposed to be in this order? I can't read the writing on the jars!"
I heard the bell ring behind me, signaling the entrance of a customer. I figured whoever it was could be on their own for a while. Nobody dared to shoplift from the Apothecary. Everyone knew who owned it.
Damn Ambrosius, I thought, his handwriting still sucks. My stomach lurched for some unaccountable reason, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Morgaine was forging on, unaware of my discomfiture. "It looks like it says, powdered root of…well, something or other. I can't shelve it properly if I can't read it," she continued, with a frown, holding the jar in my general direction. I sat the basket down, walked over toward her, and took the jar, very reluctantly.
Oh Gods.
"Put it in the back!" I yelled suddenly, thrusting the jar back at her. The aged witch, startled, turned and looked at us, two mandrakes in her withered hands. I wanted to give her both of them on the house so she'd leave. I didn't see the other customer, and I didn't care, either.
"But…" Morgaine looked completely puzzled, but she took the jar. She was used to my erratic behavior by now. "I don't understand, is this not our order, or…oh…" she let her voice drift off absently, but this was regular behavior from her. I didn't have the patience for it today.
"This order isn't for us," I said, looking down and gesturing toward the box. I'd deal with Ambrosius later. "Put it out with the rest of the trash. Then, would you please restock this holly and…"
I let the sentence drift off as I stared at Morgaine. Her face had gone white as she clutched the jar. She hadn't been spacing out; she was staring at the customer who had just come in. I heard the click of approaching boot heels on the hardwood floor, and my heart sank.
"That order is not to go in the rubbish, as I believe it's mine, Morgaine," said Severus. He reached over and plucked the jar out of her hands.
"Professor!" said Morgaine. "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't see you come in," she said, and scurried away toward the back of the store to help the extremely confused witch with her mandrake selection.
"Ambrosius didn't tell me that you had ordered anything," I muttered angrily to him, making sure that neither Morgaine nor the customer could hear, as I pulled out my wand, moved the jar from his hand into the box, sealed the top of the box, and levitated it toward Severus. "Christmas rush, I suppose? Lots of festive Death Eater seductions at this time of year? A little extra something in your female students' wassail bowls, perhaps?" Not waiting for his reply, I walked over and gestured at Morgaine. "I'm leaving, Morgaine, tell Ruthven to close up tonight. You know where to reach me if you need me. Happy Yule."
I strode toward the back of the store, leaving Severus with the box floating in the air beside him. In the office, I had just begun to put on my cloak when I felt hands on my shoulders, assisting me.
"I don't need or want your help, Professor Snape. I can't tell you to leave the store, as you own it. However, I happen to know that I am not behind in my lease payments, and I haven't received any other unsolicited orders of lust potion ingredients, so we have nothing to discuss. Happy Yule, and good evening." I jerked my cloak (which, to my chagrin, was dark green, with a silver serpent-shaped clasp) out of his grasp and reached for the door handle.
"Those are not lust potion ingredients," he said quietly. "Please talk to me, Rowan." He put his hand over mine, as if to stop me from leaving.
"I don't have anything to say to you, Professor." I wrenched my hand out from under his, and turned to walk back out towards the front of the store. "Why don't you just leave; I'm sure the virgin sacrifices are anxious for your arrival. Or maybe Macnair needs help sharpening something," I added.
"Rowan. You promised Albus that you would at least be civil to me." Severus looked down at the floor when he said this. One of his hands was jammed into his cloak pocket, and one was idly twisting the material of his long, black, hand-knitted scarf. I felt guilty when I saw the scarf; he had given me a matching one in Slytherin colors (for wearing at Quidditch matches), which I had burned last week.
"I did, didn't I," I replied, reaching over and closing the door to the shop. And I had to keep my promises, I thought, it was against my religion to do any differently. "OK. Sorry. I take back all the Death Eater stuff. Have a happy Yule. See ya. Wouldn't want to be ya," and I attempted to open the back door for a second time, again unsuccessfully.
I scowled at Severus, who looked a bit taken aback, but cleared his throat, and said, "Rowan, we were supposed to attend the Yule Ball tomorrow evening. You had been looking forward to it. Will you at least consider—"
"No. Take one of your students, or go with Albus. I'm leaving tomorrow, anyway, for Massachusetts."
"WHAT?" he said.
"I don't have to inform you of my comings and goings, Professor. Now if you will please excuse me?" I started to open the door, but spotted the offending delivery sitting next to Severus. "Oh, and don't forget your jar of…whatever it is."
"It is asphodel, and you know perfectly well what that is. You also know perfectly well that it is not used in lust potions, but in sleeping potions. I've been using rather a lot of it lately," he added, looking at me with an impenetrable gaze.
"If you're trying to make me feel guilty," I said, "it isn't working." I adjusted my cloak clasp again.
"I thought you had to leave?" he inquired of me, with a raised eyebrow.
"I do. Excuse me." Oh Gods. I didn't know if I wanted to leave or not, really. I wanted desperately to talk to him, but I didn't know what to say at this point. It seemed that whenever I tried to talk to him, all I could do was shut him out.
He took my pause for some kind of assent, and opened the door for me. "May I accompany you to the house?" he asked.
"If you insist upon it," I said, not sure if I would regret that later. "I certainly can't keep you out of there legally, as it's yours as well." But he certainly hadn't tried to force his way into either place, though, I mused.
Morgaine knocked quietly at the door and then opened it and poked her head in. "Ruthven's just arrived, do you want to talk to him before you leave?"
"Oh, hello, Morgaine," I said, brightly. "Would you please put these on the shelf? We're running a bit low—they do tend to sell well." I levitated a stack of Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Prowess with Potions toward her, making sure that Severus could see the title. Sneaking a glance at him as I did so, I saw that he was giving the books a thin-lipped glare, and it also sounded as if he was growling under his breath, but he didn't utter a word. "And, oh, these go with it…" I levitated a second stack, this one composed of prepackaged potion kits with Lockhart's idiotically grinning face on the box. How the stuff still sold after what had happened at the school two years ago was a mystery to me, but I took an almost insane delight each time I ordered the annoying (but profitable) merchandise.
Morgaine bustled away. Severus and I stood there in silence until she came back. "Do you need to talk to Ruthven, then?" she asked.
"No, just wish him a happy Yule for me and tell him I'll see him after the holidays." Severus opened the door and extended an arm to me. I walked out the door toward the street and ignored him. He followed me as I hurried down the sidewalk.
"Couldn't you tell me whatever it is you need to tell me at the store, or perhaps at the Three Broomsticks?" I asked, as I walked as far away as possible from him.
"You would be seen at the Three Broomsticks with me?" he asked, with a smirk on his face.
"On second thought, the house is best, I guess."
"Yes, as I'd prefer privacy," he said.
I stopped and turned toward him. "Look, Professor Snape." I inwardly smirked myself, as I knew how much he hated me calling him that. "Privacy with you is really the last thing I want for Yule this year. I never know which of your friends you'll be bringing along with you, you see."
"Rowan. Please. This constant sarcasm does not become you," Severus began.
I cut him off, and started walking away. "As if you have room to talk about sarcasm!"
He followed, ignoring my remark. "You should not interrupt me. After all, you are still wearing my—"
"Don't remind me of that…THING. I've been trying to get it off since…well, for a while now. I even wrote to some stupid magickal advice column in the Daily Prophet about it," I groused, and then instantly regretted telling him that.
"So that was you," Severus snorted, as he continued, "I thought so. Enchanted dog tag, indeed."
"Well, what was I supposed to call it? Look, I gave you back your ring and pendant. I'm sure that someone in Massachusetts can help me get the, er…tag off. I'll owl it to you."
"I don't want you to bloody owl it to me, I want you to continue wearing it. And I want you to wear your ring and pendant again," he said, his voice rising with each sentence. We were turning in at the front gate to the house. "And I do NOT want you returning to Massachusetts!" he finished, as I waved my wand at the front door. "Are you even listening to me, woman?" he said, as the door swung open.
"Yes, I'm listening. But there is nothing that you can do about any of that, Professor," I said, as I walked into the front hall.
Severus followed and closed the door behind us, muttering and waving his wand, apparently performing all sorts of complicated locking and warding spells. After he was done, he turned to me and said, "And furthermore, woman, for the last time, I want you to call me by my proper name! Is that too much to ask?" He approached me and reached gently for my shoulders.
I panicked. "OH GODS! NO! PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME!" I screamed.