Eleanor was still just as spooked days after the incident in the kitchen as she had been immediately following the fight. She sat about the house, never far from Severus, with a vacant stare and trembling hands as her eyes constantly watched for Wormtail. When she awoke from her potion-induced slumber, she had seemed to be trapped in a fearful haze that kept her stumbling about and forming comically short sentences until the effects at last gave up their hold. Despite saying she was feeling much better and rested Ella was a mess. Her face was still bruised and her hands and arms covered in dark, small scabs, and the experience had left her skittish and melancholic. Small noises prompted her to jump in alarm, even the quiet snap of Severus folding a newspaper he had finished.
Snape was grateful for the delay in her waking, having woken up in bed beside her after the first night with his hand clutching the front of her shirt and his head pressed against the soft part of her shoulder, lips brushing her skin. He flew out of bed in alarm and splashed his face with cold water for half an hour before going about his day, dreadfully disturbed by what he had done. He had slept in remarkably late and earned a suspicious look from Wormtail when he appeared downstairs. The lingering scent of wine and the warm, yet indescribably sweet smell of her skin lingered with him. It set his teeth on edge.
Now, after a harrowing few days of outings with a small group of Death Eaters and coming home to Wormtail's eerily chipper self, Snape was itching for a change of scenery. He suspected a bit of fresh air would do Ella some good as well. The lingering effects of the curses made her much more docile than usual, stunned to say the least. While Snape knew it was a very common response, he knew she wouldn't snap out of it if she kept dwelling on the encounter, and he knew she was.
So far, neither Wormtail nor Bellatrix had revealed the redhead to the Dark Lord. It was a blessed relief for him, knowing they had good reasons to keep their mouths shut. How long the stalemate would last was anyone's guess, though Severus suspected it wouldn't last much longer. He hadn't worked out a lie flawless enough to protect them both.
He found her sitting on the narrow bed in his old room, staring at the wall across from her with her knees held loosely in her arms. It was the same spot she had been in when he checked on her the day before. Ella didn't turn her head to acknowledge him, her fingers twined around a loose bit of thread poking out from the edge of a wrinkled sheet in slow, twitching circles.
"I am going to Diagon Alley for some errands," he began quietly, making a great effort to sound as pleasant as he could force himself to be. "Would you like to accompany me?"
Her eyes darted over to him after a moment and slowly she seemed to break her terrified trance. "Sure."
He hardly thought she would deny the chance to follow him about, but a small part of him worried that she would say no. Perhaps, he figured, she was not so broken as she seemed.
Wormtail was out gathering intelligence for Voldemort – or rather crawling about every nook and cranny of wizarding Britain's darkest, dingiest alleys in search of something trivial - and left early that morning in a huff leaving behind blissful silence while Snape read the morning paper. He felt a strange obligation to try and lighten Ella's mood, and tried to reason the notion spawned from an unwanted anxiousness that permeated through the walls and leaked into his skin that might affect his focus and muddle his planning.
Severus mentioned to Ella she did not need to shift as she peeked into the sitting room where he waited. Slowly, she made her way to the sofa, sliding down onto the overstuffed cushions stiffly not unlike the way Neville Longbottom would slip into the rickety chair each day for class. Snape dog-eared a page to review later in his book with one fluid sweep of his thumb and prepared to leave when Ella spoke, very quietly at first, "I'm… sorry. For the other day."
"You have already apologized."
"I know," she said, eyes trailing on the floor beneath their long lashes. "But I don't feel like I can say it enough. I know I messed up and… and I know I put you in danger. I should have been more careful."
Snape adjusted the buttons on his coat, eyeing her carefully.
"I was just… concerned about the… about you making the… agreeing to…" Her voice failed her as she stumbled through her thoughts and her cheeks flushed deeply in embarrassment. Her nails caught against the edge of the cushions and tapped a stumbling staccato.
"I am not a child, Eleanor. I can make decisions on my own," he said firmly. Then, upon seeing her crestfallen expression, grudgingly offered in a stiff voice, "I appreciate your concern."
The rain outside was still falling steadily as it had the past few days and the summer day was unusually chilly. Eleanor clasped a short traveling cloak about her shoulders as Snape cast a rain-repelling charm upon himself. Peeking outside, Snape did not see anyone wandering about, all of the windows on the street were blocked by tightly drawn curtains. He opened the door and prepared for the dash to the alleyway where they would apparate. Ella was close behind, practically clinging to his coat, and was just as oblivious to the person walking up beside them as Severus.
"Mr. Snape?"
Snape froze in horror as he heard his neighbor's voice and the growling of her little white dog. Mrs. Jones clutched a worn pink leash in her neatly manicured hand and a frilly umbrella in the other. Judging by the astonished look on her face, Florence was studying Ella's bruises – which Ella had attempted to cover up that morning without much improvement – and jumping to a very bad conclusion.
"Isn't this your…? My goodness," Mrs. Jones gasped.
"I'm afraid we're in a rush," Snape said quickly, snatching Ella by the arm.
The frilly umbrella smacked him on the shoulder, sending a spray of water everywhere. "Don't think I don't know what's going on here! You take your hands off her!"
Snape braced himself for yet another smack from the surprisingly heavy umbrella and let go of Ella's arm as the old woman tugged her away with enough force to send the charms on her bracelet rattling in a loud, angry chorus. She greatly resembled Umbridge when she was all puffed up in her purple slicker and glared crossly, all hair and lipstick and sickly perfume.
"It's okay, dear. Did he do this to you?" she said, digging her pink fingernails into Ella's arm. "You can tell me, dearie."
"What? No!" Ella exclaimed, horrified by the rather sharp blow of the old woman's umbrella yet again as Snape attempted to step away. "I just…I… I fell."
That earned another smack for Severus.
"He didn't do anything! Really, it was my fault!"
Snape winced, hearing Eleanor dig him a deeper grave with each well-intended excuse. The umbrella came down when he tried to move away, sending a shower of foul-tasting mist onto his face.
'Trying to hide the evidence!" Florence screeched at Snape. "Denying she exists! Look what you did to this poor thing. Why, you're no better than your father! I'll have Harold put in a call right away. Don't worry, dear, you don't have to lie."
"I'm not lying! He didn't hurt me!" Ella leapt in front of the umbrella before Florence could send it smashing into Snape's shoulder once more.
"I should have known after that commotion the other day! I told my Harold, I told him they must be having the row of the century with all that racket!"
Snape glared defensively at the old woman, anger sour in his mouth. Nothing was worse than being compared to his father. Not even the annoying rat dog nipping at his heels, straining on its ridiculous leash while his owner assaulted Snape yet again with her damp weapon. His fingers closed tightly around his wand.
"Florence?" called an elderly man peering out the door nearby through extremely thick glasses. "What're you going on about out there? The timer's gone off on your shortbread!"
"Get the phone, Harold!" Florence tugged Ella out of her way like a ragdoll and smacked Snape one more time, her large earrings jingling from the force of the blow. The dog barked wildly and her husband called again from behind their unremarkable door. Snape raised his wand and stunned the woman in a flash, applying a minor memory charm that left her vacant eyed and drooling slightly. If there were any lasting damage left from it, he wouldn't have minded nor spared a bit of pity or regret.
"Let's go," hissed Snape as he wrenched a surprised Ella from the woman's slackened grip and pulled her behind him to the alley.
"Is she-?"
"She's fine."
"Are you-?"
"I'm fine."
Truthfully, his neck and shoulder were on fire and he was very, very damp. That old woman packed a punch, he reasoned as he tucked his wand away. Feeling a flush of embarrassment warm his cheeks, Snape took a deep breath, ready to be gone from the dismal village huddling beneath the cloud of dank and choking rain.
"Hold tight," he said quietly, offering his arm.
Eleanor was still stunned by the event – although the corners of her lips were twitching upwards ever so slightly, as though she were desperately fighting back the urge to laugh - and clung to him with both hands, stepping over a rather deep, murky puddle carefully beforehand. The ground lurched away from them and swirled into a gray smear before they landed with a quiet pop at the north edge of Diagon Alley, just behind the lopsided brick wall separating them from the Leaky Cauldron. Ella immediately released his arm as a group of people moved past all tugging hoods over their noses.
"I will meet you back here in two hours," Snape said quietly, adjusting the buttons on his sleeve and walking away before she could answer.
Ella stood alone, staring down a very different Diagon Alley. The sparkling displays and dazzling colours had been covered up by large, copy-heavy posters instructing the public on safety precautions "in this troubling time", and small, rickety stalls crowding the storefronts, filled with cheap looking trinkets, blocked the tightly shut shop doors. A small, wizened old man with a garish face croaked about amulets to Ella as she walked past quickly. His grizzled fingers reached out for her cloak, nearly taking hold before she sprinted away.
It was drizzling here, not the steady rain falling on the dingy street she and Snape had escaped from, but enough to steer most of the dwindling crowd indoors. She pulled her hood up hiding the purplish green bruise that blossomed over her cheek she caught a woman staring at from behind a large stand of shiny "anti-werewolf charms". A familiar face glared down from the wall of the apothecary beside her, a poster bearing the name Bellatrix Lestrange and a very large warning – as if her ghastly appearance even needed explanation. Fear struck her like ice, her chest filling with a smothering panic. The poster's eyes seemed to be fixed on her as the wild-haired woman laughed mockingly. Images flashed in her mind; a flash of light, broken glass, a pool of red, red wine, the glint of a blade as it cut through the air.
"Elly?" called a sweet sounding voice, in sharp contrast to the crazed woman on the poster Ella was still transfixed by. "Elly, is that you?"
It was Daisy huddled under a dark blue cloak, clutching a large basket half full of books, tea canisters, and Kneazle food. She grinned widely, the same dimples puckering her cheeks as her younger self. "It is you! What happened?"
Eleanor blushed, "I uh… just a bit of an accident. Long story, really. It's nice to see you, Daisy."
"And you! Haven't heard from you much lately," she began, stepping closer, "though I can't say I'm surprised. No one's fond of the Post lately. C'mere, I can fix that up for you if you like."
"Really?"
Daisy whipped out her light coloured wand and gave a small swish. A cooling sensation flowed over Eleanor's cheek and the soreness began to ebb away. "How-?"
"When you have as many kids as I do, you learn," Daisy said. She had a motherly look to her, especially in the way she dressed, and Ella felt very childish in comparison and tugged the hem of her shirt down. "Especially with Nathaniel. Morgan's Mane, that boy is a menace."
"How old is he now?" Ella could remember getting the birth announcement in the post. Nathaniel was Daisy's fifth child, and another reminder that she had not chosen the track to family life and early motherhood like Daisy, and many other schoolmates, had. Her old roommate had gotten a job with the Ministry right out of school and quickly retired when children entered her world. Ella has been filling her life with quidditch and a couple messy, impetuous relationships at that time, fleeing the responsibility that Daisy had eagerly taken upon marrying the shy Hufflepuff boy that frequented the same coffee shop.
"He's three now, can you believe it?" Daisy's eyes lit up as she shifted her basket to her other arm and nodded to the shop beside them. "They're all in there with Patrick picking out Maddie's new broom. We were just about to pop in Sugarplum's. Want to join us?"
"I don't know," Eleanor wasn't in much of a talking mood, but felt guilty of Daisy's pleading smile. "I suppose I could for a minute or two."
The door to the secondhand brooms store flew open with the sound of a shop bell about to bust apart from the violence of its clattering. A wave of limbs, blonde hair, and screaming nearly flattened Eleanor against the cobblestones.
"Mum! Lookit! Look at the broom! It's so wicked! I bet it's a million times faster than the last one."
"More like a million zillion times!"
"Mummy, who is that?"
"Mum, can we go now? I want some Chocolate Frogs and Ice Mice!"
Daisy gathered them all up in her arms for a quick hug, "This is Eleanor. You remember? My quidditch friend?"
At once all five pairs of eyes lit up excitedly and Ella braced herself for the onslaught of quidditch related questions, as everyone who became aware of her career was wont to unleash. They came with a fury, some more intelligible than others. Nathaniel's were especially tough to decipher. A worn-out, pole thin wizard emerged from the shop at last and parted the kids with a silent, forced smile.
"Miss Bristow," he nodded.
"Patrick, you don't have to be so formal," Daisy whined.
"Mr. Mills," Ella smiled, glad for the silence he had brought. She felt a tug at her cloak and looked down to see very wide green eyes staring back up.
"Were you really the best chaser in the league?" asked a short, blonde girl in a sparkling purple dress. She twirled her fingers in to circles as she rocked back and forth in her mud-crusted boots.
"I don't know about the best," Ella smiled at the little girl as she hid her lively hands in her pockets bashfully.
"That's Hagley of Puddlemere, silly," said one of the boys sharply to his sister. "Everyone knows that. She's too old."
"Let's be on our way to Sugarplum's," Daisy said in a singsong voice, herding the group with surprising grace towards the candy shop down the way. They all passed by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which stood vacant and dark with dust gathering on the tables and chairs inside. "Pity," Daisy clucked. "I loved the Spearmint Swirl. Hope the man's doing alright."
Quite a few of the shops had closed up, some with minor damage and plastered with caution signs, leaving Diagon Alley less wondrous than it usually was. Sugarplum's, however, was bright and welcoming, with jars of fresh candies displayed in their neatly wiped windows. The kids had bolted for the door before Mr. Mills could catch them, but he was already on their heels as the boys started to sample some of the writhing gummy worms right out of the jars.
The smell of chocolate and warm caramel filled the air and Eleanor felt a bit cheerier just standing in the pink walled shop. A bag of sweets sounded like a good pick-me-up to shake the lasting dread she felt sitting at Spinner's End. She grabbed one of the smaller polka-dotted bags and looked around for something to fill it with as Maddie, the girl with pigtails, popped pink saltwater taffy in her mouth.
"So good!" she exclaimed, though with her mouth full of taffy it sounded more like 'ser gurhnnuh'.
Ella grinned and pulled a few for herself, along with freshly sliced caramel and a small hunk of chocolate. Nathaniel ran past on the hunt for Peppermint Poppers while his brothers dueled loudly with Liquorice Wands, their arms flying dangerously close to a precarious stand full of tiny sugar-spun butterflies. Stepping carefully around them, Ella shoved a couple Chocolate Cauldrons into her bag, along with a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
Mr. Mills snagged a box of Fizzing Whizbees in time for the boys behind him to knock over a large barrel of Licorice Snap. Mr. Sugarplum, in a pastel suit and bright bow tie, came rushing over as the little Snaps began to bite at the heels of the three troublemakers scrambling away in a flurry of yelps. Daisy laughed good-naturedly and helped the older man clean up the mess as Patrick scolded the boys.
"Can you believe Henry will be going to Hogwarts in a year?" Daisy chuckled, clutching a Cauldron Cake. "You're still teaching there, right?"
"Sort of," Ella said as she brought her bag up to the counter, fishing for her coin purse absentmindedly. "I'm still an apprentice, but I do teach a couple of classes and help with the others." Bitterness returned to her throat upon remembering the potions post fell to Slughorn now.
"How exciting! I'm still at that little library I told you about – the one with the rare and unusual books? Still love it to death, although Robert – he's another worker there – has been rather stuffy lately ever since the start of summer. Always seems a bit put out. Always hassles me with my method of stamping and sorting."
Daisy snatched a packet of wine-gums as her kids came running up with bursting bags, all tossing them into a pile before a pleased looking Mr. Sugarplum. Patrick Mills added his candy to the lot, looking as bedraggled as ever as the children tugged and pleaded for their sweets and a trip to the new joke shop.
"I'd better get going," Ella said, not willing to stick around to see the sugar rush take its toll. "Lots of errands. Good to see you."
"Of course," Daisy smiled. "Write sometime! And Elly…be careful."
Something changed in her friend's face, a dark shadow marring the warmth of her smile. It was a knowing look, riddled with fear.
"You too."
Popping a piece of taffy into her mouth, Ella realized she still had some time to wander through Diagon Alley before Snape would finish his errand, whatever it was. She figured she could pop into Madam Malkin's for something to wear to Thomas's wedding later on – the thought was unsettling to say the least – but she didn't feel like dealing with the bony-fingered witch taking uncomfortable measurements at that particular moment, especially in her state.
Ella noticed both Madam Primpernelle's and Mr. Mulpepper's were looking to hire junior brewers, but neither one seemed like a good fit. She would be saddled with brewing pimple vanishers and perfumes, or making questionable concoctions for cranky old wizards coming off Knockturn Alley. She found herself staring down that decrepit street, whose decay seemed to be leaking onto Diagon near the place where Ollivander's once stood proudly. The smell of rotten fruit and neglect was a bit strong, and the look she was getting from an old witch pushing a squeaky cart was less than welcoming. Unconsciously, she had already begun to search for Snape's telltale figure. Somehow she knew that was where he had gone off to, and he blended in well. Her shoes toed the line between the two streets but she stayed put as if stuck behind an invisible barrier.
"Look sharp, Miss," came a kindly voice, a wizard in a faded linen apron with a shock of white hair and a broom in hand. "You're much too lovely to venture down there."
He grinned to her, pushing up his horn rimmed glasses with a short, wrinkled finger. From head to toe he was immaculately dressed from a bygone era, a gentleman with a spark in his eye and an out of place apron.
"Half price sale today," he nodded to his shop front, Obscura Books. The black door was propped open letting in the rain-cooled breeze, and behind it were shelves of dusty, thick, odd shaped books. Layers of old Turkish carpets were piled upon the floor, creating an omnipresent quiet over the whole shop. The shelves seemed to stretch back forever as Ella peeked around them with glee. She let her fingers glide over the spines as she walked past, scanning the sections. The books were not the selection Flourish and Blotts had, nor did they have the quantity. Each book was unique and new to her. A Ravenclaw's personal heaven.
There was a potions section, much to her excitement, and she began pulling and flipping through books sending a cloud of dust into the air. Some were priced far too high, but she peeked at them too. Soon, she had a small stack cradled in her arms before she decided to hop to a new section, unwilling to leave before having the chance to glimpse at them all.
A small section of Dark Arts texts sat behind a thin metal gate bearing a sign: Restricted. Ask Clerk. Ella didn't want to bother the old man she left outside, and part of her wasn't ready to delve into that subject. She had to eventually, she knew, to keep up with Severus. Her reluctance to venture down Knockturn Alley was the same, and the shopkeeper was right. She didn't belong down there, good looks or no, and it was extremely obvious. The old shopkeeper had merely sugarcoated the truth with a kindness, and prevented her from making a huge mistake like the other day.
A sharp, metallic taste in her mouth blossomed with the fractured memory: a sinister grin, the flash of tiny ropes of flame winding about two wrists, the chair at the table crashing over, the countertop exploding. Ella clutched her books as though they kept her from falling into the black oblivion that inked through her mind. The fear. It was there, growing markedly strong as the memory of green light dashing off the wall behind her, of the little blade held to her throat, the dirty fingers with long, sharp nails curled in her hair all came creeping back. Her throat was suddenly too dry to let her swallow.
The pain she had felt was incredible, still bright in her mind despite the haziness of the days following. She had whole conversations with Severus she couldn't remember – which irritated him to no end – and yet she could distinctly remember the way that cruel magic shot up through each limb like fire let loose in her veins. It occurred to her – when it did, she still wasn't sure – that Severus was no stranger to that magic. In fact, she was sure he had used it before, and been a recipient.
Overhead, a small flock of flying beast books soared overhead towards the Dark Arts section, their pages fluttering loudly as they squeezed past a large volume teetering on the edge of a high shelf that was foaming at the pages and growling slightly. The beasts section was one to avoid, she noted, seeing that the angry book above her was not alone. The whole section seemed to be vibrating, some books were chained to the shelf, struggling to break free. Others were leaking, oozing strange goo, or acting outright ornery. One sneaky little guidebook nearly took a chunk out of her ankle, retreating back under a stool with a snarl.
Ella's eyes found an ancient, crudely lettered sign marking a section bordering the Dark Arts one: Olde Magick. How allegorical, she thought with a smirk, to put those two beside one another. Immediately, she devoured the names sparkling on the spines, stamped into the leather centuries ago on an ancient letterpress, and sought out ones that stuck out to her. Much of it dealt with mother's magic, natural enchantments and the like, but the deeper she went the titles all began to shift to love. A bright yellow marker stuck out from the shelf: Muggle Author. Yanking the book free, Ella glanced at the cover. The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis. She glanced around and noticed a handful more of the same yellow labels jutting out from between the rest. This category seemed to be the only one allowing the yellow marked books, especially in this quantity (as there were no muggle authors on proper potion making to be had), and part of her was intrigued by the overlap of worlds.
A small red linen spine peeked out from the shelf a ways down that inspired Ella's interest far more than the rest for a reason not plain to her. Her fingers rested on it, feeling its age before she gave it a little tug. The book refused to budge, held in place by far too many books crammed into the crooked, narrow shelves. She yanked again, determined to free the poor thing and see what was inside, but it still refused to budge. Ella set down her stack of books and bag of candies, preparing herself for a full-on, whole-body pull, and just as she set her fingers upon the spine and leaned backwards the little book slipped free as though it neighbors weren't there. Ella crashed into the shelf behind her with a loud thud, barely catching the little book before it could tumble to the ground. Startled, she let out an incredulous snort at the humor of the moment and tried to steady herself.
Looking up, Ella could see the little book had left its imprint on the shelf: a little window that went back farther than the back of the shelf itself. There was no telling what would lie behind it, but for some reason it seemed important despite the greater chance it was nothing more than a crevice of dust and dead bugs. Peering through, she found herself looking through the thin metal gate blocking the section behind into the rows of Dark Arts books. She could see a shoulder sliding into view, a very familiar set of buttons now eye level.
"Spying, are we?"
His voice had a hint of amusement as he slid a book back into its place with a soft thunk. Ella was surprised to see his tired face look back at her through the little window, a dark eyebrow arched as he awaited her answer.
"When did you get here?"
"Some time ago," he replied evenly, snatching a small blue book noisily as he did so. "Though I did not feel the need to announce my presence so loudly as you."
Eleanor could see the edges of his lips curl as he looked away, making her own smile secretively. Of all the places to run into Snape, it was behind a book about love and old magic. The symbolism was positively nauseating, like something out of a Witch Weekly article or an Eloise Sweetwater romance novel. Ella rolled her eyes as she shoved a different book into the window and quickly moved to a new section before any of his comments could be heard, narrowly avoiding the snarling Guide to the Beasts of Borneo on her way.
The old shopkeeper had given up trying to sweep the dust from the storefront out into the wet street, now resting contently in a large brocade armchair with a pipe resting gently in his hand, which filled the room with a sweet-smelling smoke. He smiled at Ella when she neared the old cash register, "All done?"
"Afraid so," she grinned back, "I could spend hours in here."
"But you have!" he exclaimed, much to her surprise. She noted that the hands on the ancient clock perched on the wall near her told nearly three hours went by without her notice. Ella had felt she had only just arrived.
The wizened old man rose to his feet, yanking his vest into place, and collected the handful of Galleons and Sickles from Ella with a curt nod. "Ravenclaws get an extra 10% off," he had added, handing back a few coins.
"How did you know I was a Ravenclaw?"
His pale blue eyes darted to her stack of books, "I've been one long enough to discern a fellow 'Bronze and Blue' when I see one."
"With remarkable accuracy," Snape muttered stiffly, appearing behind Ella with a few books of his own, carefully chosen and stacked neatly in his hands.
"The only Slytherin that almost fooled me," the old man grinned. "You would have been a fine Ravenclaw, Mr. Snape."
"So you've told me, Mr. Reeves." Snape handed over several coins as quickly as he could, eager to leave.
Ella tucked away her books in her small bag – fitted with an undetectable extending charm, of course - so the rain wouldn't damage them along with her candy. Snape eyed the noisy plastic bag of sweets with a discerning frown.
"Get enough, did we?"
"It's not that much," Eleanor replied defensively, finally managing to shove the Chocolate Cauldron box through the opening of her bag. "Do you want me to keep those safe for you?"
Snape's fingers curled around his newly purchased books warily, "I can manage."
"Really, I don't mind. It's pouring now." Ella could see him growing uncomfortable, but not angry. Mr. Reeves regarded him with a sly smile.
"You're just hoping to snoop for the titles."
Ella scoffed, "I can see them from here and I can fancy a good guess which section you've been lurking about this whole time. C'mon, let's have them."
Discomfort paled Severus's sallow cheeks and he stiffly deposited his books in Ella's hand, practically shooting fire from his eyes. Ella couldn't help but smile, carefully setting the books down within her bag near her own. It was a small victory. Even after pulling her hood well over her eyes and stepping out into the cold rain, she smiled. As soon as Mr. Reeves had waved them goodbye and shut the squeaking door tightly behind them, Ella could detect the faintest of smiles on Severus's lips too.
Suddenly, for a brief and fleeting moment, Ella felt content and safe. She and Snape made their way up the way in silence, and his presence – rather close for him, his cloak brushing her arm – was reassuring as they passed more of the narrow-eyed vendors dotting the way, all dripping wet and sour-faced as they clutched their cheap wares. It wasn't until they passed a broom shop that the tension woven in her chest snapped tight once again.
"Ella?" someone called as they darted out of the shop, letting the bell on the door ring wildly. "Oi! Ella! It is you!"
The voice terrified her, sending panic shooting down to her toes. Of all the people to run into, she thought sourly. Already, her brief run-in with Daisy had been awkward enough as it was. Suddenly, she was seized about the shoulders as Thomas planted a firm kiss on her cheek.
"I can't believe I ran into you!" he said in a voice so bitterly nostalgic and full of cloying sweetness it made her sick. "Haven't heard from you in a while! How've you been?"
She tried to pinch her cheeks into a smile and the resulting gesture was more akin to the smile one gave to an aunt who gave you socks for your birthday. Thomas, however, did not seem phased by the awkward look at all, or how deeply red her cheeks had become as her eyes darted between him and Snape.
"I've been… great. How nice a surprise it is to see you," she stammered. "How have you been?"
"Well, just great, you know? Did you get the, er, the invite?"
Beside her, Ella could feel Snape stiffen. She wondered if he knew who she was talking to, and hoped desperately he didn't.
"I…I did. Thank you."
A long silence passed between them, leaving the sound of the rain noisily beating against the swaying sign of the broom repairman's shop. Thomas, still smiling, seemed to be struggling with what to say.
"I'm, uh, getting the Firebolt tuned up. The crossbar got a little twitchy after practice last week. Thought I might as well have it fixed up while Em's getting her dress fitted or whatever it is she's up to in there." His eyes trailed over his shoulder at the row of lit shop windows with a small shadow of weariness.
"Oh."
Ella bit her lip. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt. She wanted nothing more than to turn and bolt in the other direction, propriety be damned. She saw his eyes dart about her figure, lingering on her hands as she wrung them nervously.
"Did you fall into a rosebush?"
She let out a forced laugh that ended up far louder than she had intended it to be. Embarrassment filled her cheeks until they burned.
"Ah… no. I just… It's nothing," she tried to smile again, tucking her arms under her cloak.
"Who's this?" Thomas glanced over at Snape, using the same tone he did when he was suspicious of Sean trying to sneak swigs of his beer.
Snape was silent, eyeing Thomas with a look of undisguised contempt.
"Er… Thomas, this is Severus Snape, a colleague of mine at Hogwarts. Severus, this is Thomas Peregrine. He was my… He's… He's seeker for the Caerphilly Catapults."
Thomas eagerly stuck out a hand, "Pleasure to meet you."
Snape remained withdrawn, his hands tucked neatly beneath his traveling cloak. "Same," he hissed coldly.
A muscle in Thomas's cheek twitched as he withdrew his hand, still smiling even after Snape began to walk away wordlessly. Ella kept glancing at his retreating back helplessly.
"What's got his knickers in a wad, eh?" Thomas joked quietly.
"Nothing," Ella snapped, sounding far worse than she intended. Her hands clenched and unclenched nervously.
Thomas's smile disappeared. "Listen, Ella. I've been worried about you. Ever since your flat-…"
"I'm fine. Really. It's just a flat."
"Ever since your last match at the Cup, you haven't been the same."
Ella inhaled sharply, trying not to think about Fran or that harrowing fall that landed her in St. Mungo's for a few days. The way he was looking at her, that piercing worry written so plainly on his handsome face made her want to indulge in sharing what she had been up to, why she had been so…different. She opened her mouth to say something as a shrill voice called for Thomas. A young woman with curled blonde hair and an immaculate outfit trotted down the cobblestone lane towards them. Suddenly, it was all too much.
Ella took one last look at Thomas, turned, and ran.
Merlin, she was perfect. Absolutely sodding perfect.
Ella's fingers curled tightly around her spoon as she stared murderously at her stew. Snape sat across from her, eating in silence as the rain continued to beat against the windows evenly.
Ella's first glimpse of Emily-the-fiancée had been what she had dreaded. Emily looked to be a gorgeous, tall woman with effortlessly glamorous blonde curls, every bit professional and classy and full of grace even as she trotted about in the rain wearing perilously high heels. Even her voice was perfect. Jealousy bloomed bitterly in her chest as she forced herself to take another bite of supper.
The awkwardness of the encounter buzzed in her still. Ella hoped Snape really hadn't made the connection between Thomas and the glimpses of him in their occlumency sessions. But really, she knew Snape was far more observant than that. He had barely said a word to her since they returned. Their books sat expectantly in two separate, neat stacks – one on the small, wobbly table beside his armchair, and the other balancing on the lopsided cushion of the couch – barely glanced at since their return to the house.
She noticed his eyes on her for a moment, dark and glittering in the light of the ill-coloured lamp overhead, and suddenly she felt very vulnerable. There was no telltale tug at her mind to designate he was attempting to mull through her head without asking. He was simply watching, his hand keeping his spoon tightly against the side of his nearly empty bowl. Despite how badly she wanted to look him in the eye, and to be looked at by him, she looked away as embarrassment filled her cheeks.
Snape watched her look towards the wall, studying the cracked paint from under her long lashes. The day had done her good, until that chipper idiot appeared outside the broom shop. Thomas, he recalled bitterly. It was the same boy he had seen her with before outside the castle as she left for her "last" game. The same boy who had pervaded her memories for the past several years in all manner of situations: He had laughed victoriously beside her in the Prophet snippets from the quidditch section, and looked at her with a fondness barely disguised; he had had taken her by the hip and led her into a dark part of a stadium and kissed, and held her in the dark room of a small flat without a scrap of clothing on. The last recollection made his stomach churn violently as some strange possessive urge unearthed itself from the back of his carefully guarded mind. Occlumency left little boundaries between them, as much as it bothered him to admit. It was something he had argued with Dumbledore about quite vehemently for both Potter and Eleanor's lessons. It left an uncomfortable sense of intimacy.
As much as it pained him to acknowledge, Severus knew now what with all of the things Eleanor knew, she would need to learn far more advanced tactics to keep his secrets – and hers – protected. He eyed her wrist where the lines of her Vow flowed faintly over her skin. Keeping her mouth shut was far more important for her than he liked to admit. Damn it, Albus, what have you done?
If the old wizard had simply let him alone, let her stay with Minerva or Tonks or anyone until term began, none of this would have happened and neither of them would be in the danger they now found themselves perched very near. He still couldn't shake the nagging worry of how deeply Dumbledore was manipulating the both of them, and the rest of the Order for that matter.
With the dishes washed, the two returned to the sitting room and read in an amicable silence for the evening. Severus could barely concentrate on his book, as compelling as it was. He had read the same paragraph a dozen times as his mind buzzed about Dumbledore and the curse that inhabited his arm. The clock was ticking on the headmaster's life, and Severus's tenure at Hogwarts. He had no idea what would happen following Albus's death, and still Severus had no confidence that he would be able to kill him, even if it was the old man's wish. Part of him hoped he would succumb to the curse before it came to that.
The cold realization that this would be the last summer he would be in this house settled on him with a crushing weight. Once the deed was done, Severus would be on the run, all of his contact with the Order – and Eleanor – cut off. He glanced over to where she was reclining on the couch, absent-mindedly gnawing on a chunk of chocolate shaped like a half a cauldron as she read.
Ella seemed to notice his gaze after a while, turning and giving him a crooked smile with a bit of chocolate smudged on her lip. It cut through him like a knife.
A/N: Thank you ShadowSSJ, xxyangxx2006, and Georgia! :)
