Fidelius
*~~~.~~*~~.~~~*
Tallulah Taera leaned over the counter which stood in the middle of the large, rather colorful store. She crossed her arms and grinned wryly, watching intently. It was her favorite pastime, and the thing that occupied most of her days. They would slink in, hidden beneath their cloaks, always afraid, always quick in their coming, their decision, in their paying, and their leaving. Throughout the process she'd smile politely and answer the occasional question from the bolder customers.
A few of them recognized her, though they never let on, and neither did she. It was a game, childish of course, but completely necessary if she meant to have any business. They were there for a friend, of course, always a friend, or perhaps a silly joke for someone's birthday. It was very rare for one of them to actually admit it-they were there because they sought something. special.
It was of course, quite amusing to her, seeing them squirm as they brought their selection to her large, rather imposing check out counter, like a child buying something they know their parent's would disapprove of. How funny it was for her to see them in such a position.
Occasionally she'd find herself face to face with a former Professor, and though her smile would remain even and cool, inside she was screaming, dancing, and raising hell in joyous triumph. She had never been a very good student, and many had joked that she was a borderline squib; but she knew better. Though she wasn't talented in the art of charms, spells and hexes, or the roulette wheel of divination, she did have her skills. Those Professors who visited her store may have failed her, but she knew what they kept in their bedside drawer, she knew what they shared with their lovers, and though she may never have participated in an elaborate spell, she was their secret keeper. In her small, dark hand she held them at her mercy, and could easily toss them into a pit of ruin. But of course, she did not, and would not, it was enough to know that they knew that she knew, and any time they'd see her outside of the store, she could look right through them, and a little piece of their lives, their private, mundane lives-was hers.
Grinning slyly to herself she watched another one enter, and her grin broadened a bit more. He visited her store at least once a week, and wore no hooded cloak to shield himself from prying eyes. He was abnormally pale, a fact which was greatly enhanced by shockingly black hair trailing down to his shoulders, eyes black and heartless. Unlike the others he'd use one of the offered shopping baskets stacked at the door, and slowly peruse the aisle until his basket was nearly overflowing with a wild assortment of toys, and her specially brewed potions, the likes of which one could not find anywhere else within a hundred mile radius.
Often she wondered about what he did with such things. Did he have some lovely, dark lady, or slim, exotic boy back at home a bit too shy to accompany him? Or perhaps he simply enjoyed the art of self love a bit more than average? Then again, she knew he ran with a rather dark and generally deviant crowd-- Death Eaters, followers of Lord Voldemort. She had often wondered what went on at their meetings, which, of course, were kept completely secret from the general public, but she was becoming surer and surer each time he visited that she knew exactly what went on, and she couldn't help but smile knowingly at each of them that she passed in the streets before and after work.
He wasn't particularly handsome, with his limp black hair, sallow skin, and long, hooked nose, but those were all trivial things; it was his grace, his mystery, his cool, unerring calm and confidence as observed the world around him through icy, beetle black eyes. His voice was sleek, and slid from his lips like a black adder slipping silently along the earth searching for unsuspecting prey.
Without a single change in expression he'd glide up to the counter, empty the basket and calmly wait, hands linked behind his back. He'd pay, and then he'd leave, never having said more than two words, and yet she, Tallulah, the secret keeper of this entire town, would be on the edge of her seat, ready to beg for more, though her unruffled expression would never divulge otherwise.
Well past closing time for any other store, she would finally close up shop, locking the door behind her, a little something for herself stashed away in her handbag. The curse of being her-always a bridesmaid, never a bride. She could dabble in a bit of shallow fun, but she'd never be able to keep anyone but herself. Never one to dawdle, she'd head towards home, leaving Celo Cupido-- her store, Knockturn Alley, and the Wizarding world far behind, retreating to her tiny Muggle London flat, her knowing grin never fading.
*~~~.~~*~~.~~~*
Authors notes: It's incredibly early in the morning, and I was suddenly inspired to do this itty bitty little mini fic..in fact, I think these notes are probably longer than it is *L*.. I might go somewhere with it, I might not, but if I do it wont be going anywhere fast, I'm still majorly dedicated to "Stolen Child" and I'm thinking about dabbling in some original fiction once again. Anyways, no matter how little this fic may be, who knows, with a little love, a few hugs, and a few reviews, it may grow up to be something some day ;) .BTW this isn't a mary sue, or whatever fanfic, trust me *L*.I have nothing in common with this character, nor do I really want to.oh wait..there is one thing, sorry..I'd like to own my own business, but that's all ^_- anyways, I've gotta sleep *L*
*~~~.~~*~~.~~~*
Tallulah Taera leaned over the counter which stood in the middle of the large, rather colorful store. She crossed her arms and grinned wryly, watching intently. It was her favorite pastime, and the thing that occupied most of her days. They would slink in, hidden beneath their cloaks, always afraid, always quick in their coming, their decision, in their paying, and their leaving. Throughout the process she'd smile politely and answer the occasional question from the bolder customers.
A few of them recognized her, though they never let on, and neither did she. It was a game, childish of course, but completely necessary if she meant to have any business. They were there for a friend, of course, always a friend, or perhaps a silly joke for someone's birthday. It was very rare for one of them to actually admit it-they were there because they sought something. special.
It was of course, quite amusing to her, seeing them squirm as they brought their selection to her large, rather imposing check out counter, like a child buying something they know their parent's would disapprove of. How funny it was for her to see them in such a position.
Occasionally she'd find herself face to face with a former Professor, and though her smile would remain even and cool, inside she was screaming, dancing, and raising hell in joyous triumph. She had never been a very good student, and many had joked that she was a borderline squib; but she knew better. Though she wasn't talented in the art of charms, spells and hexes, or the roulette wheel of divination, she did have her skills. Those Professors who visited her store may have failed her, but she knew what they kept in their bedside drawer, she knew what they shared with their lovers, and though she may never have participated in an elaborate spell, she was their secret keeper. In her small, dark hand she held them at her mercy, and could easily toss them into a pit of ruin. But of course, she did not, and would not, it was enough to know that they knew that she knew, and any time they'd see her outside of the store, she could look right through them, and a little piece of their lives, their private, mundane lives-was hers.
Grinning slyly to herself she watched another one enter, and her grin broadened a bit more. He visited her store at least once a week, and wore no hooded cloak to shield himself from prying eyes. He was abnormally pale, a fact which was greatly enhanced by shockingly black hair trailing down to his shoulders, eyes black and heartless. Unlike the others he'd use one of the offered shopping baskets stacked at the door, and slowly peruse the aisle until his basket was nearly overflowing with a wild assortment of toys, and her specially brewed potions, the likes of which one could not find anywhere else within a hundred mile radius.
Often she wondered about what he did with such things. Did he have some lovely, dark lady, or slim, exotic boy back at home a bit too shy to accompany him? Or perhaps he simply enjoyed the art of self love a bit more than average? Then again, she knew he ran with a rather dark and generally deviant crowd-- Death Eaters, followers of Lord Voldemort. She had often wondered what went on at their meetings, which, of course, were kept completely secret from the general public, but she was becoming surer and surer each time he visited that she knew exactly what went on, and she couldn't help but smile knowingly at each of them that she passed in the streets before and after work.
He wasn't particularly handsome, with his limp black hair, sallow skin, and long, hooked nose, but those were all trivial things; it was his grace, his mystery, his cool, unerring calm and confidence as observed the world around him through icy, beetle black eyes. His voice was sleek, and slid from his lips like a black adder slipping silently along the earth searching for unsuspecting prey.
Without a single change in expression he'd glide up to the counter, empty the basket and calmly wait, hands linked behind his back. He'd pay, and then he'd leave, never having said more than two words, and yet she, Tallulah, the secret keeper of this entire town, would be on the edge of her seat, ready to beg for more, though her unruffled expression would never divulge otherwise.
Well past closing time for any other store, she would finally close up shop, locking the door behind her, a little something for herself stashed away in her handbag. The curse of being her-always a bridesmaid, never a bride. She could dabble in a bit of shallow fun, but she'd never be able to keep anyone but herself. Never one to dawdle, she'd head towards home, leaving Celo Cupido-- her store, Knockturn Alley, and the Wizarding world far behind, retreating to her tiny Muggle London flat, her knowing grin never fading.
*~~~.~~*~~.~~~*
Authors notes: It's incredibly early in the morning, and I was suddenly inspired to do this itty bitty little mini fic..in fact, I think these notes are probably longer than it is *L*.. I might go somewhere with it, I might not, but if I do it wont be going anywhere fast, I'm still majorly dedicated to "Stolen Child" and I'm thinking about dabbling in some original fiction once again. Anyways, no matter how little this fic may be, who knows, with a little love, a few hugs, and a few reviews, it may grow up to be something some day ;) .BTW this isn't a mary sue, or whatever fanfic, trust me *L*.I have nothing in common with this character, nor do I really want to.oh wait..there is one thing, sorry..I'd like to own my own business, but that's all ^_- anyways, I've gotta sleep *L*