Chapter 3: Strange Encounter

Almost snarling with frustration Severus Snape threw the traffic light a look of utter contempt. How many of those could one city have and what was the probability of every one of them being red when he got there? He loathed Caen and not only because of the meagre mission briefing he had been subjected to.

The Granger girl who always seemed to be a fountain of knowledge had for once been of no great help. All she had told him was the name of a man who could know someone in contact with the Claw of the Lion, said splinter-group of the Croc de Lion. At least she had provided him with a hotel to stay, a map of the city – which he had of course memorized by now – and a handy spell that would enable him to understand and speak French. But apart from that he was on his own with instructions only to contact Ronald Weasley every second day to report his progress.

Progress, Severus snorted. What progress? So far he had just found his contact, Michel, and managed to set up a meeting. And this had been no easy feat because the man, a squib as it turned out, preferred to live in the muggle world. He was hardly ever at home, spending most of his time working at the university's chemistry department or teaching children. This was the only redeeming quality Snape could find with him as it was close to his own chosen profession. Well, he had finally – after 10 unsuccessful attempts – managed to reach him on his cell phone and he'd been told to go to the market at the channel of the river Orne flowing through Caen on Sunday morning. There he should wait at a stand that sold clocks.

Leaving behind the now green traffic light he turned around a corner and was greeted by an enormous castle. Nodding, while reading the signs that said Chateau Ducal he congratulated himself for having taken the right direction. Now he just had to turn left, then right and the market should be – there. His mood was sinking a few further degrees, reaching the sub-zero region. The place was huge. Stands as far as you could see and everywhere people bustling around. How in all nine hells should he find the one that sold clocks?

Mentally going through a litany of curses he immersed himself into the slowly forward flowing crowd. Well, he still had half an hour until the meeting. Enough time to try to find the place by himself. It simply was beneath his dignity to ask a muggle for help. Especially for something as banal as directions.

Exactly 35 minutes later Snape had finally managed to locate the damn stand and was greeted by a sturdy, hard-faced man with tousled black hair that already had a tinge of silver, 'You are late.'

In retrospect Severus would think it a wonder that the people around him didn't seem to notice the steam blowing out of his ears. It sure as hell felt like his head had been transfigured into a kettle. But in the last second his professionalism won over his temper. He couldn't risk offending the man, not if he didn't want to fail his mission. And Severus Snape didn't fail. Anything.

So Severus simply fixed the other man, refraining from replying. He was astonished as the man before him suddenly broke out into hoarse laughter. The Potions Master threw him a quizzical look, that was answered with a smirk, 'Don't take me seriously, no one's ever on time here. But you should have seen your face. It was hilarious.'

He was still grinning from ear to ear as a lounged for Snape's arm and started to drag the miffed man with him. 'There is this friend of mine here who sells really good cider. You sure could use something to loosen you up a little, you know. A bow sting's nothing compared to the way you move.'

Snape was speechless. How dare that mongrel treat him like that? Didn't he know the concepts of respect or at least manners? So caught up in his self-righteous furore was he that he didn't even protest against being led through the market by the object of his anger. The next thing he was consciously aware of was a glass of the alcoholic apple-brewage being thrust into his hand.

Taking a deep swallow Snape managed to battle down his emotions. Damn it, he was a professional after all. And now all it took was an ill placed comment to send him off. That was so not him. He blamed his fried nerves on the constant tension he had been in since arriving in France.

After composing himself and vowing to stay calm in the future Severus addressed the other one for the first time, 'So can you help me?'

The merry expression on Michel's face turned serious again. 'Yes. I know a friend who knows a friend. . . ' The man trailed off as the Potions Master threw him a glare, which could still be counted as staying calm in Snape terms, he quickly argued with his inner self. 'Well, let's say I can arrange a meeting with the people you want to get to know.'

The rest of what the squib said was lost on Snape as a figure before him caught his attention: a lean body clad in tight jeans and a deep green t-shirt that clung to a muscular torso. Definitely male. On top there was a mop of shoulder length ebony hair that someone had unsuccessfully tried to tame by tying it back with a silver-red hair band. Nice. Severus unconsciously licked his lips. He seemed familiar but somehow he couldn't place him. Watching the young man, who he thought not to be much over twenty, he followed his progress down the line of people walking away.

Severus wished he'd turn around so that he could see the stranger's face. Perhaps then he'd remember where he had met him before. As if the other had read his thoughts he circled his head. Time seemed to move in slow motion. Then their eyes met. Emerald. It couldn't be! A lightning shock swept through Snape's body. Peripherally he was aware that the other's expression seemed equally out of sorts but was quickly schooled back into a neutral mask. Then the young man turned around again and immediately was swallowed up by the crowd.

The whole encounter couldn't have lasted more than a second or two but for Snape it had been half an eternity, the sight forever burned into his mind. He had looked so much like Harry, but Harry was dead. He had been at his funeral. And there had been no scar. No blemish whatsoever on the stranger's temple. It simply couldn't be.

'Hey, are you listening to me at all?' an annoyed voice seemed to come from far, far away, waking him.

'Yes, yes. I just thought I saw someone I knew once,' Snape mumbled his eyes still trained on the spot where the man had vanished.