The store when they had arrived, was madness and chaos, swirled into one bright, artificial palace of glass, plastic and far too much flesh inappropriately displayed for inclement weather. Severus found himself sending off alarmingly misanthropic grimaces in every direction, and that he was receiving looks equally hateful.

Why are we here.

He had hissed this to her, each syllable scorching her ear. He grasped her hand so hard, he could feel the bone beneath her thin skin. She gave him a tightlipped smile, warning him of making a scene in public, and pried his fingers off of her.

Because my clothes aren't big enough, and you can't where the bloody robes.

The robes are fine. They're not that out of place.

In case you haven't noticed, professor, Halloween was a month ago.

This conversation was conducted fluently, both speakers not moving their lips. Obviously the girl was as fond of ventriloquism as he.

They had stopped in front of a store, the display full of effeminate mannequins,the men with protrusive hips bones and what appeared to be pointy breasts.

Those....aren't supposed to be men?.

He gave an indifferent jerk of his finger, and tilt of his head towards the pasty, plaster made people. She gave a snort, and shook her head.

They're androgynous. I think they're women. It looks like they have breasts.

She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh, just to ease his sense of ignorance. Severus shuddered; the muggles could not even be satisfied with the natural human form, as it were, and were now producing ridiculously disproportionate fantasies in shop windows. He remembered Hogsmeade and its robes, the displays with faceless dummies who waved cheerfully at passers by, and wondered how different the two societies were.

She pushed the door opened, and he blinked as a vacuum of hot, recycled air was ushered into their faces. Because he was nearly a head taller than most who crowded below him, it gave him an unsightly view of the calamitous people who swarmed. Women, arms loaded with clothing that seemed an exact replica of what they were already wearing, bustled around his shoulders, a sea of over done, over sprayed, over dryed, dandruff-ed hair. He shuddered, jostling a girl behind him who gave him a spiteful poke in the shoulder.

Severus suddenly noticed that Nadyae was missing, that she had suddenly vacated her not quite comforting spot in front of him, and that he could not longer differentiate her hair color and style from that of the others around him. He had the urge to suddenly scream in frustration, and even fear. He put his hands to his ears, muffling the dull roar of over stimulated consumerism, and closed his eyes tightly, eyelids aching from the vigor in which he had kept them clamped down.

It was slow torture, standing in the middle of this idiocy. He hadn't needed new robes anyway, and besides, the prices seemed ridiculous, even if he wasn't familiar with pounds and pence and whatnot. He wanted to bolt, to crash through the glass and perform an especially kinetic crucio upon whoever it was that had built this wretched pile of glass and concrete.

Suddenly, he felt a tugging on his arm, and without even opening his eyes, he followed the lead. He could tell it was her, by the way she smelled. This time, her aroma was sprinkled with freesia, and he made an attempt at a small smile.

I'm so sorry, professor, I went to find clothes, and this woman practically accosted me.

Twelve points, Ambruzzi, for a pitiful excuse.

His response was automatic, and he hadn't realised he had uttered anything out of the ordinary until he felt her gaze on him. She was eyeing him in a loathingly concerned manner.


I'm sorry, but I haven't.....

She didn't complete her train of thought, however, when another woman unceremoniously dumped a pile of black and blue clothes into the girl's arms. Because she was so slight, she staggered beneath them. He caught some before they fluttered to the shoe sullied floor.

What, pray tell me, are these?.

He flapped a pair of stiff looking blue trousers in front of her face. She backed away, giving him an apprehensive stare. He glared at them hatefully. He plucked another item, this time an admittedly appropriate looking black sweater and black trousers.

Those are denim jeans. They don't have anything that looks like what you came with. Besides, you need to wear something inconspicuous.

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, ready to deflate any objections. She remarkably resembled a very immovable Minerva Mcgonogal.

I hope such shoddy clothing will not cost you dearly.

His voice was a thick mixture of apples and bitter brandy, and she flinched. Although not particularly pleased with his position, he was gladdened that his old school charms were still fettered to him.

It won't.

She was whispering into a sweater, bravely fighting back humiliating tears of scorn and hatred. She gripped a shirt so furiously, she left damp streaks in the cloth.

They departed from the madness, he clutching a rough handled sack, and she looking very distressed. She quickly wiped her face when she believed he wasn't looking. But she was wrong in her assumption.

He would always be watching for her.













A/N: Heehee. Thanks for reviews. Title from Macbeth, dun remember lines or stuff, only context, when his former cronies are speaking of his ill-gotten crown.