Chapter 21: Good Morning, Starshine!
Rose was an unreconstructed Lark. She woke with the sun; she sang with the birds; she drove Night Owls crazy. But this morning she thought she was going crazy, herself. She did not know where she was. She had never seen this room before, and aside from the clothes she was wearing, nothing seemed familiar. She padded off barefoot in search of a lavatory. Some things are immutable.
With the feeling of relief some memory returned to her. She remembered the party at the Grangers, then the ice cream social at Severus' and finally, the dream. The dream was not only clear; it was also amazingly persistent. She put on her shoes and headed out to the car. She had an overnight bag in the boot. She had intended to stay at the Grangers, instead of driving home late. It looked like she stayed with Severus, instead. And he had been a perfect gentleman, worse luck.
As she passed through the sitting room, she saw him sleeping in front of the television, a blue screen from the unattended VCR glowing in the gloom. She gently turned off the machinery and regarded the sleeping wizard. He seemed peaceful, at least. She ejected the cassette to see what it was he had been watching. "Fiddler on the Roof," she thought. "I wonder what he made of that."
As tempting as it was to relive her dream, as a sort of reverse Sleeping Beauty, she was afraid of startling him. Visions of being hexed by an abruptly awakened wizard squelched any such impulse. Besides, it was only in her dream that they were on kissing terms. But as she put the cassette back in its case, she heard a gruff, "Good morning, Rose. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you. I didn't mean to put you out of your bed, Severus. I was supposed to sleep over at the Grangers. I hope they aren't worried."
"You slept in Hermione's bed. When she is playing my niece, she uses that room. After shifting you there, I didn't feel like sleeping right away." Severus yawned and stretched.
"So you watched Fiddler on the Roof instead. Did you see the whole thing?"
"Yes. I would like to discuss it with you over breakfast, if you have time to stay. Were you dashing off somewhere?" Severus stood and rubbed his head, rumpling the thick hair even more than sleeping in the chair had.
"I was just going for the clean clothing I have in the car. If I can get a shower first, I'll help you make breakfast and interpret Sholom Aleicham." She went out to the car park.
It was a beautiful day for November. The bare tree branches made lace out of a clear blue sky. Birds hopped about the bushes, looking for the last berries. The traffic was minimal. It was too early on a Sunday morning for people to be out and about. She grabbed her bag and went back inside, spirits high from the freshness and the magic of it all. She also collected the Sunday papers at the door of the flat.
After washing and brushing and all, Rose returned to the sitting room. Severus was gone to do his own ablutions. She turned to the kitchen and started exploring. With a little imagination she could pull off a decent breakfast with what she found, so she started cooking. Severus appeared just in time for omelets and juice, toast and rashers. Looking up at him under her lashes, she was startled to see him in a style of clothing she hadn't seen before. "Is that a new outfit you have on there?" she asked him.
Sitting down at the table and pouring juice, he replied, "This is one that I chose. Hermione picked out a closet of clothes she thought suitable for a professor. I don't feel I do them justice."
"I would say rather that they don't do you justice," Rose remarked. "Care for some toast?"
They talked about Fiddler on the Roof: the Jews, Central Europe, pogroms and coming to America; then Israel, Palestine, the wars in the Middle East, the Bolshevik Revolution, World War II. She would tell him about the Muggle history, and he would fill in with the wizard's version.
"My family came out of Central Europe, too, in the beginning of the last century, just about the same time as Tevye's family. We aren't Jews, as far as I know, although anything is possible when there is so much turmoil for so many generations. It is fair to assume we have some Swedish genes, at least. We were nominally Poles, although with the frequent border changes and shifting populations, we are sure to embody several gene pools. My grandparents called me Bozhenka, which I am told translates roughly into Rose. My parents chose Mallorn to honor Tolkien, as an Americanized version of the ancestral name." Rose ate the last bite of her omelet.
Severus finished his toast. "My mother was from Wales, a town called Penclawdd. My father's family was from Snape Village many generations ago, hence the family name. Thank you for making breakfast, Rose; it was very tasty. I'll do the dishes later. Would you care to read the Sunday papers?"
"I don't want to invade your privacy, Severus," Rose protested. "You are a very gracious host, but unplanned guests can be burdensome."
"I prefer your company to my own, Rose," he replied. "I don't think you know how to be a burden; you are far too strong and independent. Is that an American trait, do you think?" He stood and took his dishes to the sink.
"It is genetic, I think. I come from a long line of strong individuals, male and female. There is a lot of truth in the cliché about stubborn Polacks. Then there is modern American culture, with its strong feminist tide and rapidly changing events, which demand that women be independent and equal to any man." Rose paused. "You saw some of that rising tide in the video, I expect. The daughters gladly embrace change and break traditions, while their father struggles to keep up. The Jews were not known as shrinking violets, either, except when the power structure started to pound on them. Then they often turned the other cheek, tried to keep a low profile and pass unnoticed, or flee." She thought for a moment, as she rose and removed her dishes to the sink. "What did you think of the story? What impressed you?"
"The music and dancing were good, and the plot moved quite well. The setting and cinematography were astounding. The dream sequence was quite a production. I think I identified with Motel the most of all the characters, though." He became rather tense and still.
Rose was mystified. "Motel? Why?"
"Because of something he said," Severus took her hands. "'Even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness.'" quoth Severus, and then he gently kissed Rose.
Rose was an unreconstructed Lark. She woke with the sun; she sang with the birds; she drove Night Owls crazy. But this morning she thought she was going crazy, herself. She did not know where she was. She had never seen this room before, and aside from the clothes she was wearing, nothing seemed familiar. She padded off barefoot in search of a lavatory. Some things are immutable.
With the feeling of relief some memory returned to her. She remembered the party at the Grangers, then the ice cream social at Severus' and finally, the dream. The dream was not only clear; it was also amazingly persistent. She put on her shoes and headed out to the car. She had an overnight bag in the boot. She had intended to stay at the Grangers, instead of driving home late. It looked like she stayed with Severus, instead. And he had been a perfect gentleman, worse luck.
As she passed through the sitting room, she saw him sleeping in front of the television, a blue screen from the unattended VCR glowing in the gloom. She gently turned off the machinery and regarded the sleeping wizard. He seemed peaceful, at least. She ejected the cassette to see what it was he had been watching. "Fiddler on the Roof," she thought. "I wonder what he made of that."
As tempting as it was to relive her dream, as a sort of reverse Sleeping Beauty, she was afraid of startling him. Visions of being hexed by an abruptly awakened wizard squelched any such impulse. Besides, it was only in her dream that they were on kissing terms. But as she put the cassette back in its case, she heard a gruff, "Good morning, Rose. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you. I didn't mean to put you out of your bed, Severus. I was supposed to sleep over at the Grangers. I hope they aren't worried."
"You slept in Hermione's bed. When she is playing my niece, she uses that room. After shifting you there, I didn't feel like sleeping right away." Severus yawned and stretched.
"So you watched Fiddler on the Roof instead. Did you see the whole thing?"
"Yes. I would like to discuss it with you over breakfast, if you have time to stay. Were you dashing off somewhere?" Severus stood and rubbed his head, rumpling the thick hair even more than sleeping in the chair had.
"I was just going for the clean clothing I have in the car. If I can get a shower first, I'll help you make breakfast and interpret Sholom Aleicham." She went out to the car park.
It was a beautiful day for November. The bare tree branches made lace out of a clear blue sky. Birds hopped about the bushes, looking for the last berries. The traffic was minimal. It was too early on a Sunday morning for people to be out and about. She grabbed her bag and went back inside, spirits high from the freshness and the magic of it all. She also collected the Sunday papers at the door of the flat.
After washing and brushing and all, Rose returned to the sitting room. Severus was gone to do his own ablutions. She turned to the kitchen and started exploring. With a little imagination she could pull off a decent breakfast with what she found, so she started cooking. Severus appeared just in time for omelets and juice, toast and rashers. Looking up at him under her lashes, she was startled to see him in a style of clothing she hadn't seen before. "Is that a new outfit you have on there?" she asked him.
Sitting down at the table and pouring juice, he replied, "This is one that I chose. Hermione picked out a closet of clothes she thought suitable for a professor. I don't feel I do them justice."
"I would say rather that they don't do you justice," Rose remarked. "Care for some toast?"
They talked about Fiddler on the Roof: the Jews, Central Europe, pogroms and coming to America; then Israel, Palestine, the wars in the Middle East, the Bolshevik Revolution, World War II. She would tell him about the Muggle history, and he would fill in with the wizard's version.
"My family came out of Central Europe, too, in the beginning of the last century, just about the same time as Tevye's family. We aren't Jews, as far as I know, although anything is possible when there is so much turmoil for so many generations. It is fair to assume we have some Swedish genes, at least. We were nominally Poles, although with the frequent border changes and shifting populations, we are sure to embody several gene pools. My grandparents called me Bozhenka, which I am told translates roughly into Rose. My parents chose Mallorn to honor Tolkien, as an Americanized version of the ancestral name." Rose ate the last bite of her omelet.
Severus finished his toast. "My mother was from Wales, a town called Penclawdd. My father's family was from Snape Village many generations ago, hence the family name. Thank you for making breakfast, Rose; it was very tasty. I'll do the dishes later. Would you care to read the Sunday papers?"
"I don't want to invade your privacy, Severus," Rose protested. "You are a very gracious host, but unplanned guests can be burdensome."
"I prefer your company to my own, Rose," he replied. "I don't think you know how to be a burden; you are far too strong and independent. Is that an American trait, do you think?" He stood and took his dishes to the sink.
"It is genetic, I think. I come from a long line of strong individuals, male and female. There is a lot of truth in the cliché about stubborn Polacks. Then there is modern American culture, with its strong feminist tide and rapidly changing events, which demand that women be independent and equal to any man." Rose paused. "You saw some of that rising tide in the video, I expect. The daughters gladly embrace change and break traditions, while their father struggles to keep up. The Jews were not known as shrinking violets, either, except when the power structure started to pound on them. Then they often turned the other cheek, tried to keep a low profile and pass unnoticed, or flee." She thought for a moment, as she rose and removed her dishes to the sink. "What did you think of the story? What impressed you?"
"The music and dancing were good, and the plot moved quite well. The setting and cinematography were astounding. The dream sequence was quite a production. I think I identified with Motel the most of all the characters, though." He became rather tense and still.
Rose was mystified. "Motel? Why?"
"Because of something he said," Severus took her hands. "'Even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness.'" quoth Severus, and then he gently kissed Rose.