A/N This is a birthday fic for NCD, the best friend a sister could ask for.
Title: The Hooded Stranger
This disclaimer is like the points on 'Whose line is it anyway' in a sense that it doesn't matter because apparently this site already has a disclaimer in place but for the sake of it anyway- Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, locations, HB's wig or the fly that's on my screen… if I did I would have eternal fame, one hell of a house, painless tats and a fly on my screen named Larry.
Stormy was the night the lone hooded stranger, an effigy in a backdrop of rain clouds and forked lightning, trekked through the obstacle course that was the forest at night. Millions of thoughts went through his head, each one a serenade more beautiful than the last… and each one of the same origin. Millions of thoughts… but only one motive: to win the heart of the woman so delicate yet strong that her splendour and grace alone had sent his dreams into an endless up-hill struggle and his reality a whirl of emotion and longing. He was a man of few words yet each word he did utter sounded as though it was spoken out of spite and anger, so much so that no one, not even those closest to him, would ever have expected him of all people to think of love songs and tenderness with a woman he knew the makers had created to make him feel whole. He was a man of peace, but his past and his actions to gain that peace was what set him apart, what made him the outcast everyone avoided… just as she was… the only difference was that where she hid behind a mask of indifference, he hid behind a mask that bore the image of an egotistical radio presenter. He never really understood why she was shunned for she hadn't committed a sin in all her life and the only known devil to walk her path was that of the never forgotten school mistress Heckitty Broomhead… well… and himself but to be fair he had done nothing more than talk to her, surely he wasn't a demon for that?
Coming to a sudden stop, the stranger placed his gloved hand upon the stoned wall of Overblow castle's courtyard. Its texture was rough and he could feel the cold of the aged stone seeping through the leather gloves, just like a pebble plunging through a bay of calm water, caring not for the serenity it had broken. He lifted his hand from the wall and involuntary shook as a cold chill ran down his spine. He pulled the cloak closer around him as he peered up at the daunting wall that separated him from the goddess that haunted him like a welcome banshee. He wasn't one to be known for fear, for he had gone up against enemies his people would fear the names of, murderers and spectres this world would never even hear of, yet here he was, standing at the gates of destiny dreading the reception he'd be given should he enter.
He slowly mounted his broom, shivering once more as a trickle of water invaded the warmth of his back, clothed in layers of black. As he reached the tip of the gates, the lightning struck once more and for a moment he believed that he was home again, back where things felt claustrophobic and alien, despite the size of the building and the years he had been there. The only thing that stopped him from believing he was home was the knowledge that he had cuts where he had pushed through brambles to get here and the obvious glow the castle had with its insomniac beauty roaming the hallways for juvenile teenagers.
The broom rose elegantly through the pelting rain and came to a stop just outside a pane-less window. Throwing caution to the wind, he decided the reception was irrelevant and that what mattered most was the deep brown eyes he would see peering out from underneath long dark lashes. Whether those eyes were angry, sad or happy didn't matter, he just had to see them again. If he had a choice he would prefer them to be alit with joy but he knew he couldn't ask for more than he deserved and so he could settle for her eyes alone. He leapt through the window; keeping his cloak tight against his body with his wand at the ready should he find himself at the hands of the murderers he did not fear.
Scouting the perimeter, he quickly cast the spell that brought his mask to life. Upon finding the floor deserted, apart from scurrying spiders on the floorboards, he retrieved from his pocket an article of paper which he tapped to life with the force of a few carefully placed words. As if from nowhere, ink began to flood the page to conjure up the image of a map. Upon the map he could clearly see the floors of Overblow castle and its occupants.
The stranger pulled back his hood and brought the paper over to the light emanating from a dying candle on the wall and quickly spotted the Mistress of which he sought, elegantly turning a corner just two floors above him with her majestic name hovering seamlessly beside her footprints, as though it didn't realise just how breathtaking it or its owner was. He considered just watching her move through the castle from the safety of the page before him but thought better of it when the lightning flashed behind him and cast his shadow onto the wall. He needed to find her and tell her how he felt before darkness claimed him and he became unsalvageable.
He took but one step when suddenly her name and footprints came to a dead stop on the map before him. He found her delay to be somewhat of an advantage as it meant he could catch up to her but his mind was soon changed when he took another step and her name vanished from sight. Suddenly, panic overtook him. Her tricks and magic was known throughout the magical world and he had no doubt in his mind that she had somehow, no matter how impossible it may sound, heard him take those few steps and was now watching him from some dark corner.
He quickly pulled the article back to the light just to make sure his eyes had not merely deceived him but, much to his dismay, they weren't. She was gone and he was in trouble. He was about to give up hope and just yell for her attention when her name ghosted into view once more, just a corridor away from his position. Nerves overtook him and his hands shook as she drew nearer to the corner that separated him, there was no turning back now.
The mere seconds it took for him to turn upon the appearance of his capture felt more like an eternity. His heart seemed to have stopped beating and his blood had run cold. He could hear a loud thumping in his ears but couldn't imagine it to be the sound of his still heart as the sight of her came into view… and then came the voice, that deep, spine trembling, unique, unmistakable voice speaking words he couldn't articulate through the melting feeling he felt as his eyes met hers…
Constance Hardbroom.
Pulling his gaze from her eyes, he settled upon her tense form: Her arm elevated a lantern in her right hand as the left rested on her hip, clad in a white lace nightdress that made her appear heavenly and innocent. Her hair was free from the restricting bun she wore like torture and was falling gracefully around her shoulders and billowing softly in the light breeze coming from the window. She was the essence of beauty, as she always was, but she seemed almost angelic in the low light wearing nothing but white. A thought struck him: how god-like would she look in a satin silk wedding dress, embroidered with pearls and bordered with the finest lace this world had ever known?
"I'm waiting for an explanation" the words tore him away from his blessed thoughts. Wordlessly, he stared on at her. How could he say anything? No words were worthy of this woman, this amazing woman who should be upon a pedestal instead of on this earthly ground. "Alright then… you leave me no choice but to get Miss Cackle"
"No Constance wait" instinctively, he reached out and placed his hand on her arm, just as he had the first time she humiliated him.
"Why are you here?" She said in a low voice, almost sadly.
"I'd think it was obvious… I'm certainly not here for Miss Bat's sake"
Then came the words he didn't want to hear, the name he never wanted to own just to escape his loneliness. "I'm only going to say this once, Mr Stevens…" She slowly approached him and stood practically nose to nose with him, daring him to defy her with objections "leave"
With downcast eyes and a knife tearing his heart he said in as a strong a voice as he could muster "I can't…"
Constance was about to protest, when he raised his head and met her eyes once more. In them she could see an unbearable sadness no man, woman or child should ever have to suffer at the hands of. "Why?" She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so weak, so hushed, but the look there in his eyes made her tremble with compassion. A man so strong, broken by a curse that had yet to complete its vendetta upon her like it had on him. He said nothing and decided to lower his head once more, he wasn't worthy of such empathy or audience.
Constance knelt before him and placed a hand on his arm "Severus?" Suddenly his eyes were wide and his full attention glued her once more. She could clearly see the fear in his eyes and automatically regretted her decision to un-mask him.
"Y-y-you know." It wasn't a question so much as a statement as his voice trembled with trepidation but when she said nothing he suddenly calmed, even though the pounding voice in his head said he should panic. In her eyes, he could see the world and a thousand universes, each one telling him he could trust her "how?"
It was a simple question, how had she known? In her head the answer was simple but her rational mind argued not to tell. It lost the battle. "There's only one man who ever had the boldness to approach me with intentions on an intimate level…" Drawing up to her full height once more she raised her hand, forefinger and pinkie erect "may I?" He nodded and with a wave of her hand the image of an obnoxious radio presenter wisped away into the darkness like smoke to reveal the face of a man she had never forgotten.
Severus Snape.
Her fate was suddenly sealed. She knew from years of trying to block the image of him out that the moment she met those dark eyes she would fall once more. Her years of loneliness had granted her the ability to memorise everything about this man who appeared cold to everyone in his wake. From his dimples on the few occasions that he smiled to the lines between eyebrows that took up permanent residence the second he entered Hogwarts as a student.
Without conscious thought, her hand reached up and pushed the dark locks out of his face and came to rest at the spot just beneath his ear. She had heard somewhere that love was like a disease that festered into an illness that had but one cure and with her rational mind still arguing, she drew her other hand through his hair to rest at the back of his head as his arm snaked its way around her waist. Drawing her close, she pulled his head toward her and cured herself with the touch of his lips on hers. Love was like a disease and in this case, the last rational part of her brain working thought, her medicine was a dose that would have to be administered everyday for the rest of her life if she was to survive.
It was Constance who eventually broke the kiss, the need for air too great to be ignored. As he looked down at her he drew his hand up to rest in front of her and instinctively she laced her fingers through his and kissed him once more, this time with tears of joy trailing down her cheeks. He was whole.
"Happy birthday, Constance" some part of his mind whispered. He wondered if she had read his mind because suddenly she deepened the kiss and the candles went out.
Starfleet Witch x