J.K. ROWLING owns all characters except for Laurel who I created myself, I am not doing this for money, only the pure enjoyment of the thing. So ends my lame little disclaimer, okay? Don't sue!
Okay you guys I'm sorry not much Romance action because yes this IS a Snape Romance/Angst piece that is at LEAST PG-13, I just have to give a bit of background information and a begining for goodness sake since this will be an extremely LARGE work in progress if anyone even likes it, since this is the very first chapter of my ver first fic, so feedback feedback feedback! Via email or whatever!
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The airport was crowded and Laurel was irritated to no end. The
smell of old socks seemed to come at her from every possible direction,
the screaming of spoiled children assailed her ears, and the brushes
of stranger's clothing as they slid past her to get into nearby
lines was begining to wear her nerves thin. The people were speaking
different languages but she could easily understand them all.
Her bark-colored hair with intermingling strands of silver ran
the length of her back and pooled near her forearms. By no means
gorgeous, yet not ugly in the least, she thought of herself as
semi-good looking, on good days that was. She kept retracing the
dirtied carpet's diamond-shaped pattern with utter disgust.
"How can these people live without magic, it's enough to make a sane person mad," she sighed and was jostled by a short, balding man who grunted the faintest of apologies and continued down the line.
'Apparently he's come away from the ticket
counter unsatisfied,' she thought scathingly. She heaved another
long sigh and proceeded to flip through her copy of the Daily
Prophet. On the back of page 3 there was an article by Rita Skeeter
regarding the infamous Harry
Potter, that portrayed him to be still mourning over the loss
of his parents.
"Hmm," she muttered to herself.
"Quite uncharacteristic of 'the boy who lived'." However
she shrugged off the idea quickly considering
that being mentally and physically scarred, and having your family
murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was enough to bring anyone
to their knees crying every night of their life.
Her reverie was quickly broken by the sharp prod of an oversized purse on her vertebrae.
"You're next already!" growled an oversized and haggard looking housewife. Laurel glanced furtively at the woman while sidling up to the counter. Scuffed Reebok's, a Christmas-themed sweater set, and a white pleather purse was enough to make Laurel feel sorry for the woman and she turned her attention to the assistant.
"Name?!" he asked in a harried tone of voice.
"Laurel Millan," she answered. She had always been a perceptive girl and noticed the way he liked to fold his arms across his chest when he wasn't tapping on that incessantly beeping piece of Muggle equipment. It was a sure sign of insecurity and lack of self-esteem. She prided herself on her knowledge of complete strangers. The scent of his cologne was destroying her brain cells as she stood however and her lack of patience was growing by the minute.
"Ahh yes," he finally mumbled. "Your ticket is here, undisclosed location, private, first-class flight, am I right?" He blurted all this without a single glance in her general direction, which was directly in front of him.
"That is correct," she answered.
She was clearly amused by the energy he was exerting to ignore
that she was there. It wasn't that
often that she had the pleasure of not being noticed. She started
as white pieces of tree came spinning out of a gray plastic box
to her
left. The young assistant tore the tree out of the box and handed
it to her quickly. Standing there she was reluctant to leave without
saying thank you, but it was bad manners not to make eye contact
with those whom you were speaking to, so she stood silently.
"Was there anything else ma'am?" the boy snapped, aligning a block of yellow-colored tree with the side of the desk. He finally glanced up and gasped. Blinking slowly she simply tilted her head to the side, taking in his more than bewildered expression. Mercifully a smile tugged at her lips and she lowered her eyes.
"I just wanted to say," she
intoned as the young man backed away a few inches. "Thank
you for your services." She didn't wait for an
answer, just simply turned to head back down the line in order
to pass through the security checks. As she did, a tsunami of
silence came crashing down around her. She smiled grimly at the
gawking group of Muggles, who had been impatiently waiting in
the long line behind her and glided past them like a shark through
water.
The sound of whispers echoed after her
and she caught a few fragments. "Strangest thing ever...not
human...childhood ailment?...
...quite odd...freakish...mutant..."
She swiftly made her way through the security
check, no doubt even if she had been carrying something
illegal they wouldn't have
stopped her. Like a row of dominos, the three security guards
mouths fell open as she waltzed by and exited the side door
leading to the hangar where the jet supplied by her undisclosed
patron awaited. As the glass door swung shut behind her, a whisper
from the building escaped its entrapment, "...red eyes..."
********
Snape sourly looked down his large at nose as Neville Longbottom proceeded to ruin his third set of wolfs bane in one hour. The boy was in fact hopeless, nearly a Squib if you asked him. He proceeded to ignore the boy however and returned to writing his letter to Albus Dumbledore, explaining his reasons behind wanting to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. The reasons however numerous could not take away the fact and the mark, that proved him wrong. The Dark Mark that proclaimed he belonged to Lord Voldemort no matter how you tried to get around it, it was true.
He grunted furiously at himself when he realized he had begun to draw doodles of himself strangling a faceless Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who was probably due to arrive at Hogwart's any day. He needed some way to vent his unwarranted anger and found it in the Three Musketeers that terrorized his morning Potions class.
"Potter, Weasley, Granger," he snapped irritably. "Stop snickering and get to work, that will be 15 points from Gryffindor - EACH." Mutters of protest bubbled up from the three, surprisingly mostly from the bushy-haired Ms. Granger herself.
"I was just trying to explain to them, the importance of reading Hogwart's, A History -" she mumbled.
"That's enough Ms. Granger!" he sneered. "Detention with Mr. Filch after school, today."
She gasped in defiance, spluttering, "But..but.. I have to go the library today! I only have one week to do my Muggle Studies report and I only have one roll of parchment!"
"Another 15 points," Snape said leisurely. At this all the Gryffindor's in the room hissed vehemently at Hermoine, causing her protests to dwindle into low pitched grumblings.
Neville Longbottom approached Snape's desk discreetly and caught him off guard while doodling a very large T, that looked suspiciously like something drawn when you desired to play Hangman.
"What is it Longbottom!" he said, spinning quickly in his chair. The young boy cringed and wrinkled his pug little nose as if he'd smelt something bad. Reluctantly and wordlessly, he held out his 4th attempt at trying to extract the juices from the extremely large-veined wolfs bane plant. Snape felt the heat creeping up his neck and into his taught face without any sort of emotional registration. Breathing through his nose loudly he snatched the wolfs bane from the boy's quaking grip. Snape pointed a finger menacingly towards the expanse of the classroom.
"Sit...down..." he said viciously. "Do not touch or do anything, do you understand?"
"Yes, Professor Snape!" the boy stuttered, as he tottered on unsteady legs back to his seat in the front row. Lowering himself into the desk, he tried hard not to breath too loud. He was happy, elated even, that he hadn't lost points for his house or managed to incur Snape's wrath too badly.
"Oh and Mr. Longbottom?" Snape said silkily, pushing his black hair away from his face.
"Yes, sir?" Neville cringed.
"50 points from Gryffindor," were the last words that echoed through the chamber before hollowed out wolfs bane plants came flying at the front row.
********
Laurel happily descended the steps of the iron bird she'd ridden across the ocean, waving obnoxiously to the flight attendant who had been blatantly staring at her the entire trip. She wasn't uncomfortable with being gawked at because of her "ailment" as Muggles liked to call it, but sometimes out of pure frustration she donned her dark, cat-eye glasses whose only purpose was to hide the crimson-colored eyes. After all, her people didn't need glasses in any form.
She looked around herself with a sense of dread creeping up and around her shoulders. She slowly shifted the sunglasses so that they were perched on the top of her head. She wouldn't be needing them now anyway, she was in strictly non-Muggle territory and she heard the flight attendant behind her scream in pain. She didn't bother to turn around. She had to save her energy, because chances were she wasn't going to get away from her current location alive.
With severe distaste she felt Him approaching. Laurel could feel his spirit apparating across the land, North? No, Northwest of where she stood rooted to the spot. She didn't dare move either, there was no escaping Him. Now that he was back, no one could escape Him. The stench of the Death Eater's souls filled her nose as well as her mind with millions of questions, but she was numb with fear and continued to surreptitiously inch her hand towards her purse. Within seconds it was ferociously yanked from her shoulder, tearing the edge of her Muggle blouse.
Whirling angrily she fixed her penetrating gaze upon the masked face of a Death Eater who stumbled over his own feet trying to back away, while the other who accompanied him sniggered until he too recieved the full wrath of her gaze.
The wind picked up then and the sky clouded over, a sign of trouble. Then He appeared and with him, 6 more of his masked minions.
"Ah, Laurel my dear. Have a pleasant flight I hope?" Voldemort said without a hint of caring in his voice. "I was grateful you didn't ask many more questions about why 'Albus' wanted you to use Muggle technology to arrive at Hogwart's, my Death Eaters were getting quite tired of intercepting all those owls you insisted on sending."
"What is it you want exactly Tom Riddle," she said maliciously.
He drew his breath sharply and snarled, "No one calls me that, you of all should know this Laurel. If I didn't have such a need for you I would dispose of you before your next breath was taken!"
"And you of all people should know that I only speak the truth," was her cynical reply. "Do not presume to use empty threats against me, my people are the only ones that stand between your enemies and their alliance with the giants. Whether purposefully or not, we are the keys to the kingdom that you so desire."
Bristling for a moment, Voldemort's demeanor changed quickly back to his "caring" nature once again. "My dear," he simpered. "Let us not have this fight, we have gotten off on the wrong foot, am I right? Come, let one of my loyal servants get your bags and we will hold conference."
She glanced suspiciously at the two Death Eaters who began to approach her side, when they drew closer however their steps faltered.
"Well what is it?" snapped Voldemort impatiently. They scurried back to his side and whispered clandestinely into his ear. Something horrible came echoing out of Voldemort then, a laugh perhaps? A cackle? Either way it was most unpleasant.
"My uncultured, foolish, pathetic, idiotic minions," he said unkindly, as they nervously scurried over and grabbed Laurel's bags as if they were near a furnace. "Red eyes were not abnormal in the old days, although the reason for mine are not the same as hers. Egyptian Elves, though a dying breed, have been bestowed with extraordinary eyes and gifts. No matter how poorly used they are, I must give them that."
At this Voldemort motioned for her to follow him into the nearby farmhouse. 'Farmhouse?' she wondered to herself. 'Where am I?' Reluctantly she followed Voldemort, though the Death Eaters were afraid of her, they might just have the power to deliver one of the Unforgivable curses on her. She could not risk such a disaster, although messages had been intercepted by owl, she had spoken with Albus Dumbledore face to face about fulfilling the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts proffesor, and classes had begun two days ago. The "so-called" arrangements via Muggle technology had been for her own "security" and it would delay her arrival, is what the returning owl had said.
Inside there was nothing but a crudely put together table and one splinter-ridden chair. He stopped in the middle of the room and gestured for her to sit.
Defiantly she raised her chin, "I prefer to stand."
The outstretched hand he had gestured with, slowly tightened and began to turn red from the pressure on his pasty skin. "Very well," he choked out through gritted teeth. He faced her in the half light that was cast in through the broken beams of the farm. "Perhaps we can get down to business. I have a proposition for you..."
Laurel's eyes positively flamed, "I will make no pact with you of any kind, Riddle."
The last thing she saw was the sun, as it streamed through the ceiling and onto her outstretched hand, and she fell into the darkness.
********
Voldemort's roar paralyzed her mind, "Everyone out, it's an ambush!" As did the sound of feet as they quickly moved across the straw floor of the barn. The beat of wings could be heard above the revving of the airplane's engines.
"Geez, did ye hav' ter go flyen' so close to the lil' lady?" a booming voice echoed in the darkness.
"Get off it Hagrid," came a muffled voice. "It was hard enough to hide an entire hippogriff on the airplane, not to mention your entire person! So a little-"
The voices cut off as Laurel groaned from her prostrate position on the ground. Her head and heart were pounding at an alarming rate and she it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Glancing up she found two people staring at her, one that she almost mistook for an enormous bear of some sort, and then a tall man with greasy black hair who didn't seem at all shocked to see that her eyes were the color of flame, yet mildly interested.
However, for the first time in her life, she could not register a single thing about the lank-haired, slightly large-nosed, man. Everything he did and said contradicted each other, she registered that he was indeed cruel and yet somehow, he was also gentle. As he picked up with both hands, the large key ring that had fallen out of the larger man's coat pocket.
He finally turned her attention to her and it seemed he took her entire person in with one glance.
"I thought Egyptian Elves were extinct," he said harshly.
A little taken aback she shook her head slowly from side to side. Why did she feel as if he was her father scolding her for something she had done horribly wrong?
"So you're filling my job?" he said briskly, pushing his greasy hair out of his face. Ahh, so that was the chiding feeling. She opened to her mouth to speak but was kindly interrupted by Hagrid.
"Don' go mindin' Proffesor Snape o'er here, he' just a tad bit flushed aft'r losin' the job when he's gon an' appli'd for't so much," he interjected.
"I see," she mumbled as she rose, thanking for the large man for offering her a pinky up. "How did you know I would be here?"
The dark-haired Professor shot a warning look at Hagrid who quickly closed his mouth.
The Professor answered, "Dumbledore began to make... inquiries when he never recieved an owl from you asking how to get to Hogwart's. So he sent us to fetch you."
"I know that much, but how did you know WHERE I was?" she snapped, exasperated. Her two heroes exchanged another look and once again the man...Snape? Spoke.
"I think questions such as these are best answered by Dumbledore himself," was the quiet and slightly deadly response. "For now let us go, hopefully Buckbeak can carry all three of us safely to Hogwart's. Do you need help walking?"
"No," she muttered proudly and swayed towards the open wooden doors. "I can do it...just-" She was cut off by her descent into a pile of hay. She heard a snort come from the general direction of the Professor, but that seemed near impossible considering his overall attitude and somehow he didn't seem a likely canidate to laugh. However to her surprise, it was.
"Those are some nice moves there," Snape said bemusedly. "Hagrid go fetch Buckbeak, I think he's eating some of that filth we saw piled up against the barn door when we arrived. I'll help Ms...?"
"Ms. Millan," Laurel said with disdain. "Laurel Millan."
Snape sniggered again, "While I help Ms. Millan outside." Hagrid nodded and exited the dank barn, shuffling his large feet across the deteriorating straw to fetch Buckbeak, who could be heard devouring some foreign object outside.
"Come on stand up," Snape mumbled, grapsing Laurel around the waste and balancing her expertly against his side.
"This is so degrading," Laurel mumbled under her breath. Snape overheard it and made an audible tut-tut noise.
"Come now my dear girl, don't be embarrassed! You're quite the dancer from what I can see, that haystack never knew what hit it."
Laurel simply glowered at him and continued to stare down at her feet, which caused her to frequently lose balance and make Snape's job that much harder.
Grumbling he snatched her closer and grunted, "Come on now, synchronize here, don't look down, look at me, that's it... You've got it! waltz with me my love!" The unlikely twosome staggered out the door and into the awaiting sunlight...
********
TO BE CONTINUED IF ANYONE EVEN REMOTELY LIKES THE FIC
