The bar was just as smoky as it was the last time. He'd made a habit of
frequenting it, in hopes that he would see her again, and the barkeep was
starting to recognize him and his usual order. The young bartender removed
the glass and carefully poured out the alcohol for the cocktail and served
it in a short glass, the way the man that sat before him preferred it. The
bartender had found the order to be quite amusing the first time that he
had heard it. "One shot each of vodka, rum, gin, peach and cinnamon
schnapps, mix it well and pour it in a short glass over a little ice." At
least the man was positive of what he wanted. The young bartender had tried
the drink though, and couldn't see how the man could possibly drink it, it
was incredibly bitter and incredibly strong, but every night the man was in
there, and every night the man drank one.
The drink was laid down, and he nodded at the bartender, in recognition of another job well done. It was so hard for him to find a bar that could mix the drink perfectly, and this one had the added bonus of being the one that she most often frequented. It was on the seamier, shadier side of things, but was not all bad. It was mostly the dark smoky atmosphere and the peeling crimson paint that gave it that appearance, but the people seemed to make you think that it wasn't quite as bad as it was. A group of fairly cheery twenty somethings that made him feel somewhat old, but at the same time, like he fit in.
He watched the man up on stage, a young boy singing a tune about pain and suffering. "He's too young to know what pain and suffering really is." He thought to himself, but enjoyed the soft crooning music nonetheless, and glanced back at the door whenever he heard the bells above it jangle to announce a new arrival. Finally, after almost a week of sitting in the bar and waiting all night, she walked in again. She was hard to distinguish, amidst the crowd that all walked in at once, but the dark chestnut hair gave her away.
It was just as unruly as he remembered it to be, although now she had twisted it into some bastardization of a bun in back of her head, very loosely done and held in place with a chopstick, giving her even more of a disorganized, youthful look, not unlike the stereotype he had seen of the absentminded professor. He hypothesized on what she would be doing now, in the muggle world. Probably something akin to the first image he had queued up in his mind, something involving research, that much was a given, her lust for knowledge would not have it any other way, although he was unsure what.
He himself had liquidated most of his wizarding assets before the violence against wizards had reached an unbearable level, and could live comfortably off of that, although he did find himself occupying his time every once in a while frightening a student who found himself failing in maths into doing somewhat better. He still had his penchant for making sure that his students learned something from his lessons, despite their fear for him. "It is always better to be feared and loved, but better to be feared than loved, if one cannot have both." It was a suitable mantra for the type of student that he had found himself working with.
And not many could look past his defenses to love him, so he chose to have people fear him instead. Despite his-soft spot-as he hated to call it for aiding what would be otherwise misguided children mature into adulthood, he had built up a barrier against his emotions and all anyone ever saw was a sheen of evilness, of caustic cynicism and sarcasm. He likened himself to many of the characters that he'd seen on Muggle television, something that he found himself enjoying, one of the things that made the transition slightly less painful.
He was never quite against the muggle world, his mother had been a half- blood, he had always shied away from it as much as possible, except when forced into visiting aunts and cousins, and grandparents, but he looked at it as something that was just there never really of much importance to him. My how the past few years had changed his thinking. There were things he needed to learn, of course. He needed to fight the urge to use magic for every little thing to make life easier, he had to get used to muggle inventions, but all in all, over the years, it had become second nature to him. Just as hiding his nightly activities had come back to him all to well. He never really lost the abilities.
Even now, he all but floated to the small table that she sat at, silent, and unnoticeable except to a trained eye specifically looking for him. He stood across from her for a long moment, and their eyes met, before she gestured at the chair before her. "Professor, please, have a seat." He accepted her invitation, and as he sat, he carefully plotted out what he was going to say, he carefully laid the trap for her in his mind, coming up with the words to form the bait, making sure that she would fall right into it.
END OF CHAPTER 4
A/N, so Sevvie seems a bit evil in here. I have a thing for evil Snape, evil conniving, dastardly Snape...Evil conniving dastardly Snape who winds up falling for...I think you get the hint . I prefer to think of him as a self-preservationist rather than just downright evil.
The drink was laid down, and he nodded at the bartender, in recognition of another job well done. It was so hard for him to find a bar that could mix the drink perfectly, and this one had the added bonus of being the one that she most often frequented. It was on the seamier, shadier side of things, but was not all bad. It was mostly the dark smoky atmosphere and the peeling crimson paint that gave it that appearance, but the people seemed to make you think that it wasn't quite as bad as it was. A group of fairly cheery twenty somethings that made him feel somewhat old, but at the same time, like he fit in.
He watched the man up on stage, a young boy singing a tune about pain and suffering. "He's too young to know what pain and suffering really is." He thought to himself, but enjoyed the soft crooning music nonetheless, and glanced back at the door whenever he heard the bells above it jangle to announce a new arrival. Finally, after almost a week of sitting in the bar and waiting all night, she walked in again. She was hard to distinguish, amidst the crowd that all walked in at once, but the dark chestnut hair gave her away.
It was just as unruly as he remembered it to be, although now she had twisted it into some bastardization of a bun in back of her head, very loosely done and held in place with a chopstick, giving her even more of a disorganized, youthful look, not unlike the stereotype he had seen of the absentminded professor. He hypothesized on what she would be doing now, in the muggle world. Probably something akin to the first image he had queued up in his mind, something involving research, that much was a given, her lust for knowledge would not have it any other way, although he was unsure what.
He himself had liquidated most of his wizarding assets before the violence against wizards had reached an unbearable level, and could live comfortably off of that, although he did find himself occupying his time every once in a while frightening a student who found himself failing in maths into doing somewhat better. He still had his penchant for making sure that his students learned something from his lessons, despite their fear for him. "It is always better to be feared and loved, but better to be feared than loved, if one cannot have both." It was a suitable mantra for the type of student that he had found himself working with.
And not many could look past his defenses to love him, so he chose to have people fear him instead. Despite his-soft spot-as he hated to call it for aiding what would be otherwise misguided children mature into adulthood, he had built up a barrier against his emotions and all anyone ever saw was a sheen of evilness, of caustic cynicism and sarcasm. He likened himself to many of the characters that he'd seen on Muggle television, something that he found himself enjoying, one of the things that made the transition slightly less painful.
He was never quite against the muggle world, his mother had been a half- blood, he had always shied away from it as much as possible, except when forced into visiting aunts and cousins, and grandparents, but he looked at it as something that was just there never really of much importance to him. My how the past few years had changed his thinking. There were things he needed to learn, of course. He needed to fight the urge to use magic for every little thing to make life easier, he had to get used to muggle inventions, but all in all, over the years, it had become second nature to him. Just as hiding his nightly activities had come back to him all to well. He never really lost the abilities.
Even now, he all but floated to the small table that she sat at, silent, and unnoticeable except to a trained eye specifically looking for him. He stood across from her for a long moment, and their eyes met, before she gestured at the chair before her. "Professor, please, have a seat." He accepted her invitation, and as he sat, he carefully plotted out what he was going to say, he carefully laid the trap for her in his mind, coming up with the words to form the bait, making sure that she would fall right into it.
END OF CHAPTER 4
A/N, so Sevvie seems a bit evil in here. I have a thing for evil Snape, evil conniving, dastardly Snape...Evil conniving dastardly Snape who winds up falling for...I think you get the hint . I prefer to think of him as a self-preservationist rather than just downright evil.