At seventeen , Severus Snape considered himself quite adept at many things. He was quite good, for instance, at brewing potions far beyond his supposed level. If he felt like it, which he sometimes did, he could prove he knew far more than most wizards about the Dark Arts, especially the hexes and curses part.
He also felt that he should be allowed to shop for clothes on his own. It was unfortunate that the Ministry of Magical Orphanages did not think so.
He was stuck with a herd of smaller children, who were eagerly perusing the racks of tiny t-shirts and trousers, all in annoyingly bright colors.
"Now Severus, I'm not seeing a happy face." Angela Louise Martin, director of his orphanage, said in a sickeningly sweet voice, as if he were one of the five year olds running amok in the store. "Severus will have to go back to the van if he can't turn that frown upside down, isn't that right children?"
There was a chorus of 'Yes'es from the peanut gallery. His lips twitched as he fought a scowl. Angela really would send him to the van if he scowled.
"Honestly, Severus, you're being such a poopey pant." Angela sighed as he failed to smile.
Like all mortifying comments, it seemed everything had gone quiet, and Severus could swear he felt eyes on him. A blush crept up his neck.
"Maybe it's cuz you stopped eatin' meats." Jonathan, a five year old with curly blonde hair that made him look positively cherubic. Except when he bit you.
"You became such a meanie poop-head when you became a vetrinarian." Sara chimed, a six year old with the a destructive bint.
"It's *vegetarian*, *vetrinarians* are animal doctors. *Vegetarians* don't eat meat."
"What if you were stuck out in the dessert, with only a cow, would you eat it, huh Severus, huh?" Micheal jabbered. He suffered from a hyperactivity disorder, which the orphanage merely wrote off as a 'phase'.
"Ms. Martin, will you please just give me my portion of the money, I'll just go get some clothes on my own." He said as politely as possible.
"Well, I suppose. But nothing black, dearie, it makes it look like you have issues. You're a fall color, you should look at reds and oranges. Meet us at the van by five-thirty."
He sighed and took the money. The Malfoy family had made another generous donation to charity, this time allowing all the orphans to buy new clothes. "It's such a shame that must wear these 'hand me downs'." He recalled Marla Malfoy clucking as they'd handed over the cash.
The Malfoy's had a different idea than most of the human race of what size a 'small' clothing budget should be. 250 pounds was more than enough money.
He made a rapid escape, making sure none of the ankle-biters were following him as he slipped out into the mass of pedestrians on the London sidewalks.
He walked about idly, not quite sure where he wanted to go. He allowed himself to be dragged along the currents of the busy people.
His attention was attracted to a small shop. It's sign proclaimed it to be 'alternative clothing', which was an interesting thought. He would have never noticed it if it hadn't been for the group of old ladies picketing it.
He headed over to the store. He made it to the door before one of the old women grabbed his arm.
"It's the devil's music in there, repent!"
He gave his best sneer, which he knew it made him look like a Satan-incarnate. He'd practiced at it this summer, and it looked as if he'd finally got it down.
The store was dark, since it lacked the garish flourescent lights of most stores.
Around him hung the most interesting clothes he'd ever seen. And better yet, they were mostly black. Some had logos and rude phrasings pinned on them (even better!).
"Can I 'elp yeh?"
He turned to see a young woman standing at the counter. Half her head was shaved, and the other half was a bleached blonde frizzy bob. She had at least six piercing in the ear he could see, not to mention three in one eyebrow, one in her nose, and another in her lip. She wore heavy mascara and eyeliner, with a violent purple lipstick.
"I'm... just looking..." Yes, look he definitely would in this fairy land of incredibly awesome clothes.
"I ain't seen yeh aroun' the circuit." She questioned, her eyes taking in his plain grey sweater and black slacks.
"I don't live around here. I've come just into town."
She grunted and looked at him suspiciously. She obviously thought him some sort of pansy or a poser.
He wasn't going to be intimidated by any girl who looked like she'd gotten a partial lobotomy.
He searched through a rack of black pants. They had a two straps attaching at the knees and back pockets that crossed. He liked the way those looked.
"Got somewhere I can try this on?" He asked. She jerked her head towards a three sided cubicle with a mirror. There was no door or curtain.
"'ncase of shoplifters."
Fine, it wasn't as if he had anything to be ashamed of. Entering the cubicle he yanked down his trousers, and pulled on the jeans, the tag called them 'bondage trousers'.
He definitely liked the look of these.
"Try this on with it." She said with a vicious sort of leer that revealed a tongue piercing. She held out a fishnet shirt that looked about five sizes too small.
Pulling off his sweater he slid on the black fishnet, which clung tightly. She licked her lips.
"Yeh look good in tha'."
He smirked. He thought she looked rather good in a tight plaid school girl skirt and a revealingly ripped t-shirt.
"I'm afraid they don't let me get out much."
"Parents 'fraid teh ruin yer innocence?" She sneered
"No, the Ministry."
Her eyes widened with delight.
"I've got summtin tha'll really git there knickers inna twist."
"Do tell..." He said eagerly.
She held up a tape, and then shoved it in the player. Loud electric guitars blasted the air in the shop as a man screamed something vaguely like: "God Save the Queen! Because tourists mean money!"
There was shrieks and 'Hail Mary's from the women outside.
"Tha's wha' the old bats are on abou' outside. They think it'll bring abou' Armageddon..."
"Who are they?"
"The Sex Pistols."
She came back towards him, a definite swing in her hips. He could hear the heavy clunk of her heavy black boots on the linoleum floor.
"Yeh really look great in tha shirt..." She ran a hand down his chest.
As if by unconcious apparation, his tongue had suddenly found it's way down her throat. He rather liked playing with her tongue piercing. She seemed to like it too, since she'd grabbed him by hips.
"I'm Marla." She said huskily, her head leaning back provactively to the stock room.
"Severus." Was all he was able to get out before she dragged him back.
**********
He arrived promptly to the van at five-thirty, with three sacks of clothes, and a copy of 'Never Mind the Bollocks'.
"Are you finished being poopy?" Sara asked.
Severus gave the snot nose brat a condescending sneer, before showing her his new tongue stud.
"Oh dear, not another one of your phases." Angela sighed.
He also felt that he should be allowed to shop for clothes on his own. It was unfortunate that the Ministry of Magical Orphanages did not think so.
He was stuck with a herd of smaller children, who were eagerly perusing the racks of tiny t-shirts and trousers, all in annoyingly bright colors.
"Now Severus, I'm not seeing a happy face." Angela Louise Martin, director of his orphanage, said in a sickeningly sweet voice, as if he were one of the five year olds running amok in the store. "Severus will have to go back to the van if he can't turn that frown upside down, isn't that right children?"
There was a chorus of 'Yes'es from the peanut gallery. His lips twitched as he fought a scowl. Angela really would send him to the van if he scowled.
"Honestly, Severus, you're being such a poopey pant." Angela sighed as he failed to smile.
Like all mortifying comments, it seemed everything had gone quiet, and Severus could swear he felt eyes on him. A blush crept up his neck.
"Maybe it's cuz you stopped eatin' meats." Jonathan, a five year old with curly blonde hair that made him look positively cherubic. Except when he bit you.
"You became such a meanie poop-head when you became a vetrinarian." Sara chimed, a six year old with the a destructive bint.
"It's *vegetarian*, *vetrinarians* are animal doctors. *Vegetarians* don't eat meat."
"What if you were stuck out in the dessert, with only a cow, would you eat it, huh Severus, huh?" Micheal jabbered. He suffered from a hyperactivity disorder, which the orphanage merely wrote off as a 'phase'.
"Ms. Martin, will you please just give me my portion of the money, I'll just go get some clothes on my own." He said as politely as possible.
"Well, I suppose. But nothing black, dearie, it makes it look like you have issues. You're a fall color, you should look at reds and oranges. Meet us at the van by five-thirty."
He sighed and took the money. The Malfoy family had made another generous donation to charity, this time allowing all the orphans to buy new clothes. "It's such a shame that must wear these 'hand me downs'." He recalled Marla Malfoy clucking as they'd handed over the cash.
The Malfoy's had a different idea than most of the human race of what size a 'small' clothing budget should be. 250 pounds was more than enough money.
He made a rapid escape, making sure none of the ankle-biters were following him as he slipped out into the mass of pedestrians on the London sidewalks.
He walked about idly, not quite sure where he wanted to go. He allowed himself to be dragged along the currents of the busy people.
His attention was attracted to a small shop. It's sign proclaimed it to be 'alternative clothing', which was an interesting thought. He would have never noticed it if it hadn't been for the group of old ladies picketing it.
He headed over to the store. He made it to the door before one of the old women grabbed his arm.
"It's the devil's music in there, repent!"
He gave his best sneer, which he knew it made him look like a Satan-incarnate. He'd practiced at it this summer, and it looked as if he'd finally got it down.
The store was dark, since it lacked the garish flourescent lights of most stores.
Around him hung the most interesting clothes he'd ever seen. And better yet, they were mostly black. Some had logos and rude phrasings pinned on them (even better!).
"Can I 'elp yeh?"
He turned to see a young woman standing at the counter. Half her head was shaved, and the other half was a bleached blonde frizzy bob. She had at least six piercing in the ear he could see, not to mention three in one eyebrow, one in her nose, and another in her lip. She wore heavy mascara and eyeliner, with a violent purple lipstick.
"I'm... just looking..." Yes, look he definitely would in this fairy land of incredibly awesome clothes.
"I ain't seen yeh aroun' the circuit." She questioned, her eyes taking in his plain grey sweater and black slacks.
"I don't live around here. I've come just into town."
She grunted and looked at him suspiciously. She obviously thought him some sort of pansy or a poser.
He wasn't going to be intimidated by any girl who looked like she'd gotten a partial lobotomy.
He searched through a rack of black pants. They had a two straps attaching at the knees and back pockets that crossed. He liked the way those looked.
"Got somewhere I can try this on?" He asked. She jerked her head towards a three sided cubicle with a mirror. There was no door or curtain.
"'ncase of shoplifters."
Fine, it wasn't as if he had anything to be ashamed of. Entering the cubicle he yanked down his trousers, and pulled on the jeans, the tag called them 'bondage trousers'.
He definitely liked the look of these.
"Try this on with it." She said with a vicious sort of leer that revealed a tongue piercing. She held out a fishnet shirt that looked about five sizes too small.
Pulling off his sweater he slid on the black fishnet, which clung tightly. She licked her lips.
"Yeh look good in tha'."
He smirked. He thought she looked rather good in a tight plaid school girl skirt and a revealingly ripped t-shirt.
"I'm afraid they don't let me get out much."
"Parents 'fraid teh ruin yer innocence?" She sneered
"No, the Ministry."
Her eyes widened with delight.
"I've got summtin tha'll really git there knickers inna twist."
"Do tell..." He said eagerly.
She held up a tape, and then shoved it in the player. Loud electric guitars blasted the air in the shop as a man screamed something vaguely like: "God Save the Queen! Because tourists mean money!"
There was shrieks and 'Hail Mary's from the women outside.
"Tha's wha' the old bats are on abou' outside. They think it'll bring abou' Armageddon..."
"Who are they?"
"The Sex Pistols."
She came back towards him, a definite swing in her hips. He could hear the heavy clunk of her heavy black boots on the linoleum floor.
"Yeh really look great in tha shirt..." She ran a hand down his chest.
As if by unconcious apparation, his tongue had suddenly found it's way down her throat. He rather liked playing with her tongue piercing. She seemed to like it too, since she'd grabbed him by hips.
"I'm Marla." She said huskily, her head leaning back provactively to the stock room.
"Severus." Was all he was able to get out before she dragged him back.
**********
He arrived promptly to the van at five-thirty, with three sacks of clothes, and a copy of 'Never Mind the Bollocks'.
"Are you finished being poopy?" Sara asked.
Severus gave the snot nose brat a condescending sneer, before showing her his new tongue stud.
"Oh dear, not another one of your phases." Angela sighed.