Open your mouth
And show your fangs
The world wants to see your
Smile, kitty
Smile
Two figures sit at a table, one gapes and one is blank. They were once familiar though neither knows from when or where. One remembers chocolate and gossamer, the other remembers a four-posted bed with silver hangings. They both recall a cottage by the sea.
Silence.
One speaks.
'Fish and chips?' the man known as Harry asks.
The other, Severus, raises a rounded Roman eyebrow, 'Many people, I would presume, enjoy fish and chips.'
Harry silently squirms in his chair.
Severus watches him.
'Do you—do you remember…anything?' Harry asks to break the oppressing silence.
The eyebrow arches once again.
'I remember a great deal of things, Mr. Potter. I have been led to understand that that is what humans do. We remember.'
Harry blushes and stammers for a time, trying to think of something to say. Eventually he comes out with: 'Have you ever been by the ocean?'
'I am from Cardiff, Mr. Potter. As I seem to also recall, Cardiff is somewhat near the sea.'
'Of course, of course, but did you live right near it?'
'No, I did not.'
They are interrupted by the waitress bringing their order of fish and chips, light on the salt. The waitress stops and makes small talk. The lunch crowd is not particularly heavy today and she can spare a moment to interrogate these strange men with skin, she thinks, like snow and eyes like Death.
As the waitress leaves, plump bottom swaying and high heels clicking on the old wood floor, Harry remembers a different waitress with glittery shoes and warming drinks.
'I believe you were trying to make a point,' Severus says.
'Yes…yes…the ocean. If you've never lived by it and I've never even been to a beach…do you remember ever renting a white cottage? It, er…it had silver curtains made from gossamer, I think,' Harry stutters and stammers some more, playing with his chips.
'Under normal circumstances I would find such a demand highly offensive. However, given that we are not under normal circumstances, I will tell you that yes, I do recall such a thing,' Severus crosses a long, black clad leg as he speaks and Harry remembers the word Vita tattooed on his the other man's thigh.
It takes a few moments before Harry speaks—he must finish his mouthful and Severus sips Merlot and hopes it will not stain his teeth. When he has finished, Harry asks him if he knows where the cottage with the silver gossamer curtains would be. Severus does not know.
'It's going to be on a beach and I think I remember grey sand,' Harry tells Severus, 'There can't be many beaches like that, right?'
Severus stares at him.
'And why should it matter where this supposed cottage is?'
Harry is frustrated and fidgets with his fork among the white walls of the Corbus Grande. He needs Severus to believe him, to help him though he does not know why.
'I asked you a question, Mr. Potter,' Severus says, 'Why should it matter where this cottage stands?'
'Because—because it just does!' Harry hits the teak table, making the glasses rattle and the other diners regard him with alarm.
'Stand down, Mr. Potter,' Severus snaps.
He reaches as if to grab Harry's wrist and for a moment his fingers brush the bare skin. It is as if a very large truck has hit him but instead of pain, Severus is swamped in memories.
Laughter and tears and secret kisses stolen between verbal barbs. That damned four-posted bed with the silver hangings. But this time it holds a body amidst the down duvet and sheets. The body is young and wiry with tousled hair and lips the flavour of gossamer.
Severus drops his hand and Harry sits—docile for the moment.
'Bloody hell,' Harry breathes and Severus sips his wine with more vigour than before.
'Quite,' says Severus before he abandons the empty glass.