AN: Ok so this chapter was divided into two different chapters but I decided that I want to hurry up and get to the exciting parts so I put them together.

AN2: No I have not disappeared I'm just in hiding. I'm sorry it's taken so long, I have been really busy and haven't been able to write as much as I want. Chapter four is not finished so it will probably be a while before I update again. Sorry. If I get lots of reviews though I might be motivated to get it finished and up faster. Anyway, enjoy and please review.

REGION OF SOBS

Chapter Three – The First City

He was already in the kitchen when she came down, the next morning. He was sipping from a cup of tea and reading a large, very old looking book. He wore a black long sleeved dress shirt along with black slacks. He looks like a mortician, Beth Ann thought as she took out some bread to make toast.

She turned from the bread with the same half smile that she had worn yesterday and said in all her southern glory, "J'eat, yet?"

Snape, being engrossed in his book on transfiguration potions had not noticed the smile at first but looked up to find it plastered across her face when he heard what he suspected to be a foreign language coming out of her mouth. He stared at her for a bit as she continued to smile at him, he finally managed to croak out, "Pardon?"

"I said, J'eat yet?" she said that half smile firmly in place. She relished the look of bewilderment that flitted across his features, quickly being taken over by the same scowl he seemed to always wear. Before that scowl could work itself into anger she quickly explained. "Its southern for 'Have you eaten yet?' I believe you will find that, even though we southerners speak English, we speak a distinct dialect that, to most outsiders, is quite difficult to decipher." She said in perfect, unaccented English.

He was amazed at how natural the southern dialect as she called it seemed to roll from her lips and how quickly she switched back to her unaccented English. He responded by raising an eyebrow at her then looking back down into his book as he said, "Then it is good I have a translator."

She laughed as she turned back to the bread, "Would you like some toast?"

"No thank you, I have eaten." He said, reaching for his teacup, not removing his eyes from the book.

There were a few moments of silence as she set about making the toast and pouring herself some juice. Snape peered over the top of his book to gaze at her while she fixed her breakfast. She wore another flowing dress, this one a periwinkle color, that hit her mid-calf, it had small lace sleeves and collar that matched the lace gloves that she wore. Her hair was again up in a bun and she wore not a bit of makeup on her youthful face. He found himself wondering what a girl so young and beautiful could hide that the Dark Lord might want.

She turned towards the table and Snape quickly lowered his eyes to his book. She sat down across from him, picking up a magazine that sat on the table and proceeded to do the same thing that he had been doing. Slyly appraising him from behind her magazine she wondered at his stoicism, he seemed so distant and sour. She watched him read and realized that he wasn't happy, he seemed to be lonely, but she could not tell why. She looked down again and laid the magazine aside as she finished eating, pondering the isolated man in front of her. Perhaps, she thought, he is happier than he looks; perhaps he is just a very private person. She laughed at herself then, you are always trying to make the best of people, it can't always be done she thought.

"Mr. Snape?" She said, cautiously, not wanting to interrupt his solitude. "I believe we should get started as soon as possible. If we wait too late it will be so hot you won't even make it one block in all that black."

He looked up at her and felt a groan growing in his mind; she really meant to drag him all over town. "If you insist." He sneered putting the book on the table.

~~~~~

They left the house, him in his dismal black, her in the light summer dress and a floppy white hat. She walked down the steps to the street and waited until he was beside her before telling him where she meant to take him. His scowl became deeper as she began walking and cheerily told him of the layout of the city, and the black that he wore began to absorb the heat of the day.

She led him to the next square and pointed out the sites as they walked. She took him through Pulaski Square and over to Madison Square, where she pointed out the old Armory and an ornate old Temple. From there she headed toward Monterey Square, he trailed a bit behind her now, the heat beginning to tire him, but she was proudly pointing out the Mercer House, an Italianate, red brick mansion.

When she didn't get any response from him at this house she lead him to the middle of the square and sat down on a bench. He sat at the other end of the bench arrow straight. She glanced over at him and noticed the sheen of sweat that had appeared on his brow. She wasn't one to say 'I told you so' but she had warned him, hadn't she.

Beth Ann began chatting amiably about the house that they now sat in front of and the history of its previous owners. "It was begun by Johnny Mercer's great-grandfather but sold before it was actually finished or any of the Mercers actually lived there. Johnny Mercer was a song writer, he's buried over at Bonaventure." She paused to glance at the man beside her, he didn't seem a bit interested, the only movement he made was to brush his now damp hair out of his face and pull at his collar. She dropped her voice now and slid closer to him, whispering conspiratorially. "But the real interesting story is what happened in the 80's. The rich man that refurbished that house murdered his lover, his male lover, right there in that room." She pointed to one of the windows. "He used to throw great parties, but then one night..... They say the boy was a gigolo. Well Williams went through all kinds of trials; don't think he was ever convicted though." She smiled and stopped her narrative, glancing at him again, she saw him raise his eyebrows.

"An interesting history." He said simply.

"Would you like to go to the carriage house, there is a shop in there and it will be cooler?"

He gave a curt nod; he could possibly find a secluded corner and cast a quick cooling charm. He should have thought of it before but hadn't believed it to be necessary. He was not used to the stifling humidity that made the air seem as thick as water. He stood and followed her as she led him behind the house they had been facing.

Once inside the small shop she began browsing and saw Snape move towards the back of the store. Was he trying to get away from her or was he actually interested in the merchandise? She couldn't tell but wasn't particularly bothered either way. A few minutes later he returned carrying a book and looking much more comfortable than he had when they entered the shop. She raised her eyebrows at him and moved over to see what he had picked up. He held a thick paperback with the title "Voodoo Potions: Communing With the Dead." She tried to stifle her giggle but to no avail, he noticed and glared at her.

"What is funny? I believe it will be interesting to find what sorts of concoctions they make." He practically growled at her.

"Mr. Snape those books are made for tourists, they're not real. If you're interested in Chemistry and that sort of thing, there are much better books." She said trying valiantly to hide her smile.

"I will give this one a try." He said briskly, sneering, and turned his back on her like a stubborn child. He was irritated that she had laughed at him but he knew that she would be suspicious if he had returned from the back of the store without an article to buy. Besides he believed that this book might amuse him, reading a Muggle's silly idea of potions would keep his mind off of other things.

He was amazed to find that she had been right when she said that Southerners speak a distinct dialect, he actually had trouble understanding the woman behind the counter. She was a kindly older lady that smiled at him and spoke slowly with a lazy drawl that made every syllable sound like sugared honey. Beside him Beth Ann smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the woman in her own southern drawl, his eyebrows rising when he heard the woman insinuate that he and Beth Ann were a couple. He noticed the blush creep onto Beth Ann's cheeks as she stuttered correcting the woman. She quickly turned to leave and he grabbed the bag containing the book following her out of the store.

They left the store and headed towards Forsyth Park. Beth Ann walked beside him with a bounce in her step, "This is my favorite place in Savannah." She said, the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees making her eyes shine.

She could tell he was still sour about her laughing at him so she chose to regale him with stories of the city's famous residents and history. She told him the story of the "Waving Girl," who had met every ship coming into and leaving the harbor for more than forty years. She told him of Sherman's march to the sea and the secret evacuation of the Confederate forces, and the sparing of the fair city of Savannah due to Sherman's own hesitation.

Severus Snape felt himself soften as she told the stories, he was not as irritable now that he was cool and he found himself enjoying her stories. He again began pondering what it could be that she hid, something that the Dark Lord could desire, she seemed happy and carefree. He realized from listening to her stories that she was a smart girl, full of knowledge and eager to share. It suddenly struck him that she seemed lonely, not in an overt way, but something more subtle, the way she delighted in telling him these stories and showing him around, she seemed happy to be able to share with someone.

She was quiet now, and sighed in a contented sort of way. "Perhaps we should get back to the house." She said as they continued to walk. "You don't seem to be too hot but I might end up with heat stroke here in a bit. I wouldn't want you to have to carry me back to the house." She glanced sideways at him and saw a smile dart across his lips, not lingering but enough that she had noticed. He seemed to be quite proud of himself; perhaps he felt that he had proven her wrong about the heat.

He couldn't help but let a smile escape his lips, she had been so sure it would be him to pass out from the heat and here she was saying that she was hot. Well he did have quite a bit of help from the charm that he had performed in the small shop but he could still feel the heat. The sun was high in the sky and everything seemed to be in slow motion, the trees scarcely stirring with wind, the people in the park moving slowly and laboriously.

They began to walk back towards the house both lost in their own thoughts, each thinking of the other. To both the other person seemed a mystery, an enigma to decipher. Their personalities were very different, her inclined to hopefulness and cheerfulness and him disposed to sullenness and moodiness. As different as they were they both came upon the same thought as they approached the house, this would most certainly be an interesting summer.