Chapter 30:
Walking me back to the castle, Remus deposits me on my doorstep. When I enter, Severus is still in the chair where I left him. He pretends to take no notice of my entrance, and it is not until I pull the book from his grasp that he raises his eyes to mine.
"Is it difficult, do you find, to read upside down? Or have you found that Latin simply reads better that way?" I ask, unwilling to let him falsely pout.
He takes the book back from me, a sneer on his face and does not answer. Sighing loudly, I sit down on the sofa and stare at him. He does not react. I continue to stare. After ten minutes I can take it no longer.
"Why do you not trust me with Remus?" I burst out. "Are not my proclamations of faithfulness and love enough for you?"
Slowly extricating himself from the chair, he turns to face me, lowering the book to the table. "I do trust you. What I do not trust is the look of hunger in the werewolf's eyes when he looks at you. I am a jealous man, Bena. I do not take well to sharing my things with others."
This admission was said in complete seriousness. I gulp. "Remus knows I will never go back to him."
Severus considers this and continues, "While I do believe that to be true, there is, most likely, a part of him that can clearly see a future where I am dead, and he is able to usurp my place. Werewolves are not known for their kindness."
"His name is Remus!" I cry. "Why can you not give him the decency of using his first name?"
"He shows me no decency by his continued coveting of my wife." Severus spits out.
"Leave it, Severus. You told me I was not to feel guilty of my indiscretion. Do not then lord it over Remus. He did not know he was dallying with a married woman. Albus is right," I say, unfairly pulling my uncle into this argument, "you have become so blinded by your schoolboy fights that you fail to grow as an adult."
Severus is silent for a moment. He stands up, collecting the book from the table. "Then I shall not persist in making you wallow in my presence any longer. Be able to go with me to see the Dark Lord tonight, but until then, you are your own woman." He swings wide the door and slams it quite convincingly. I imagine him stalking the corridors, looking for the few scant students here over break. I shake the image from my head and head off for Albus' office.
Upon arriving, I hear voices through the door. Not caring what I could be interrupting, I stride purposely forward. Everyone in the damn castle knows we're related anyhow, I remind myself.
Minerva is standing behind Albus, who is seated at his desk. In the two chairs facing him I discern the heads of Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. They all turn to face me as the wooden door swings shut behind me. I nod sheepishly at them. Albus smiles.
"We were finishing here, my dear, if you would care to wait?" he moves his right hand a little and a chair transfigures out of the globe that had been just to my left. Minerva shakes her head slightly. The young Gryffindors open their eyes wide in amazement as the casual magic. I sit, and notice Albus place a silencing bubble around the four of them.
In the meantime, I sit, and notice Phineas has joined Headmaster Stymwyck in the portrait just off my left elbow. "And is married life full of sugar and bliss, Bena?" he coos.
"As much as ever being in your presence, Phineas." I coo directly back. Headmaster Stymwyck laughs lowly.
"There is not need to insult me. You must have known living with Severus wouldn't be easy. For Hades sake, he hardly ever showers-just take a look at his hair!"
"He does shower, you know. Quite regularly. I have joined him, on occasion." Phineas responds by placing his fingers in his ears. Stymwyck chuckles again. I find myself warming to Headmaster Stymwyck.
Shaking my head at Phineas, I turn my attention back to the foursome. The students have risen now, and are solemnly shaking hands with both Minerva and Albus. Albus lifts the bubble and as they walk by, both nod at me. Minverva is less anxious to leave, but she does exit, leaving the us alone.
Albus motions me to sit, but I decline. He steeples his fingers together, waiting for me to begin my tirade. This is another tradition my uncle and I have. I always came to him when I was upset. Occassionally, I would even apparate or floo over for an evening after I had been sent to the States, simply to rant and rave in his presence. It helped me to think.
And begin I do. I rant about Remus, Severus, about my still being alive. I continue on about Voldemort, and the Plan Albus has for us all. I rave about being sent back, about the unfairness of all this, about Albus' use of Harry Potter as a weapon, about his use of me as a weapon. There is hardly a topic I do not cover as I pace the worn wood floors of the headmaster's office. Finally, I have exhausted myself.
Albus rises from his seat and comes to me. He envelopes me in a hug. But rather than have me sit down and ring for hot cocoa as is tradition, he takes my hand, leading out the door and down the hallway. We continue down the stairwell and down to the Main Hall. Fearing he is leading me back to Severus, whom I am not ready to face, I tense.
Instead, we pass through the front doors and continue down the lawn to the front gates. We continue to make our way to Hogsmeade, never pausing, and never a word passing from my uncle's lips.
We pass by the warm exterior of the Three Broomsticks, filled with all sorts of patrons. The facade of Honeydukes also passes by, the streets growing less populated. I am completely bewildered by Albus' actions.
Soon enough, he halts. Our robes swish to a halt as we stand in front of a very dingy, very dirty looking pub. The outside holds none of the warmth that exudes from the Three Broomsticks. Questioning my uncle's choice of locale for a pint, I follow him inside.
Once inside I question his choice even further. The tables clearly haven't been washed down in years. My feet are sticking the floor, which, I originally thought was covered with a sort of sawdust, and the glass that the bartender is wiping looks dirtier than when he began.
The bartender.....I pause. I cock my head to the side. That nose looks familiar. That beard looks familiar. Those eyes. Mine widen as I lock gazes with him. His name on my lips, I do not here Albus mutter a silencing charm.
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Author's Notes:
Surprise! I got Saturday off (which I'm suppose to feel grateful for, but to be honest, I feel I more than earned) So, while waiting for my husband to get back from band practice, and it being a perfect time to write (there's a thunderstorm), I thought I'd update the fic. Enjoy.
Walking me back to the castle, Remus deposits me on my doorstep. When I enter, Severus is still in the chair where I left him. He pretends to take no notice of my entrance, and it is not until I pull the book from his grasp that he raises his eyes to mine.
"Is it difficult, do you find, to read upside down? Or have you found that Latin simply reads better that way?" I ask, unwilling to let him falsely pout.
He takes the book back from me, a sneer on his face and does not answer. Sighing loudly, I sit down on the sofa and stare at him. He does not react. I continue to stare. After ten minutes I can take it no longer.
"Why do you not trust me with Remus?" I burst out. "Are not my proclamations of faithfulness and love enough for you?"
Slowly extricating himself from the chair, he turns to face me, lowering the book to the table. "I do trust you. What I do not trust is the look of hunger in the werewolf's eyes when he looks at you. I am a jealous man, Bena. I do not take well to sharing my things with others."
This admission was said in complete seriousness. I gulp. "Remus knows I will never go back to him."
Severus considers this and continues, "While I do believe that to be true, there is, most likely, a part of him that can clearly see a future where I am dead, and he is able to usurp my place. Werewolves are not known for their kindness."
"His name is Remus!" I cry. "Why can you not give him the decency of using his first name?"
"He shows me no decency by his continued coveting of my wife." Severus spits out.
"Leave it, Severus. You told me I was not to feel guilty of my indiscretion. Do not then lord it over Remus. He did not know he was dallying with a married woman. Albus is right," I say, unfairly pulling my uncle into this argument, "you have become so blinded by your schoolboy fights that you fail to grow as an adult."
Severus is silent for a moment. He stands up, collecting the book from the table. "Then I shall not persist in making you wallow in my presence any longer. Be able to go with me to see the Dark Lord tonight, but until then, you are your own woman." He swings wide the door and slams it quite convincingly. I imagine him stalking the corridors, looking for the few scant students here over break. I shake the image from my head and head off for Albus' office.
Upon arriving, I hear voices through the door. Not caring what I could be interrupting, I stride purposely forward. Everyone in the damn castle knows we're related anyhow, I remind myself.
Minerva is standing behind Albus, who is seated at his desk. In the two chairs facing him I discern the heads of Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. They all turn to face me as the wooden door swings shut behind me. I nod sheepishly at them. Albus smiles.
"We were finishing here, my dear, if you would care to wait?" he moves his right hand a little and a chair transfigures out of the globe that had been just to my left. Minerva shakes her head slightly. The young Gryffindors open their eyes wide in amazement as the casual magic. I sit, and notice Albus place a silencing bubble around the four of them.
In the meantime, I sit, and notice Phineas has joined Headmaster Stymwyck in the portrait just off my left elbow. "And is married life full of sugar and bliss, Bena?" he coos.
"As much as ever being in your presence, Phineas." I coo directly back. Headmaster Stymwyck laughs lowly.
"There is not need to insult me. You must have known living with Severus wouldn't be easy. For Hades sake, he hardly ever showers-just take a look at his hair!"
"He does shower, you know. Quite regularly. I have joined him, on occasion." Phineas responds by placing his fingers in his ears. Stymwyck chuckles again. I find myself warming to Headmaster Stymwyck.
Shaking my head at Phineas, I turn my attention back to the foursome. The students have risen now, and are solemnly shaking hands with both Minerva and Albus. Albus lifts the bubble and as they walk by, both nod at me. Minverva is less anxious to leave, but she does exit, leaving the us alone.
Albus motions me to sit, but I decline. He steeples his fingers together, waiting for me to begin my tirade. This is another tradition my uncle and I have. I always came to him when I was upset. Occassionally, I would even apparate or floo over for an evening after I had been sent to the States, simply to rant and rave in his presence. It helped me to think.
And begin I do. I rant about Remus, Severus, about my still being alive. I continue on about Voldemort, and the Plan Albus has for us all. I rave about being sent back, about the unfairness of all this, about Albus' use of Harry Potter as a weapon, about his use of me as a weapon. There is hardly a topic I do not cover as I pace the worn wood floors of the headmaster's office. Finally, I have exhausted myself.
Albus rises from his seat and comes to me. He envelopes me in a hug. But rather than have me sit down and ring for hot cocoa as is tradition, he takes my hand, leading out the door and down the hallway. We continue down the stairwell and down to the Main Hall. Fearing he is leading me back to Severus, whom I am not ready to face, I tense.
Instead, we pass through the front doors and continue down the lawn to the front gates. We continue to make our way to Hogsmeade, never pausing, and never a word passing from my uncle's lips.
We pass by the warm exterior of the Three Broomsticks, filled with all sorts of patrons. The facade of Honeydukes also passes by, the streets growing less populated. I am completely bewildered by Albus' actions.
Soon enough, he halts. Our robes swish to a halt as we stand in front of a very dingy, very dirty looking pub. The outside holds none of the warmth that exudes from the Three Broomsticks. Questioning my uncle's choice of locale for a pint, I follow him inside.
Once inside I question his choice even further. The tables clearly haven't been washed down in years. My feet are sticking the floor, which, I originally thought was covered with a sort of sawdust, and the glass that the bartender is wiping looks dirtier than when he began.
The bartender.....I pause. I cock my head to the side. That nose looks familiar. That beard looks familiar. Those eyes. Mine widen as I lock gazes with him. His name on my lips, I do not here Albus mutter a silencing charm.
--------------------
Author's Notes:
Surprise! I got Saturday off (which I'm suppose to feel grateful for, but to be honest, I feel I more than earned) So, while waiting for my husband to get back from band practice, and it being a perfect time to write (there's a thunderstorm), I thought I'd update the fic. Enjoy.