"It's distasteful," he said in that blunt way of his, with a sour look that seemed to be permanently plastered upon his face.
"Oh, Severus!" she scowled, equally upset with him, only for different reasons entirely that he couldn't even begin to fathom, if of course he were to wonder upon it.
She harshly yanked the curtain from the rods it had been previously hanging from, not caring when rod and curtain came tumbling to the ground with a loud clatter, caring even less when she realized the sound would be enough to wake up Sirius's mother. Her mood was not currently in agreement with her mind, which was telling her to quickly make her way to the old painting before the others awoke; her mind was telling her to be reasonable when instead she felt like letting Severus have a piece of what she thought he could do with that comment.
"Dammit," she heard Severus cuss, and paused over it.
Since when did he cuss?
"Severus," she said without meaning to, and really didn't know what would have followed that statement had he not already started walking away, possibly ignorant to her call.
She huffed at this.
"Men . . ." she hissed, "Damned fools is what they are!"
She picked up curtain and rod and set about to finding another color and possibly fabric that would appease him. She stalled.
Appease him?
She put a hand up to the her traitorous mouth that had just let out a tiny gasp. Good Lord, since when was she trying to get into Snape's good graces? And why! Surely . . .
"Serena . . . ?"
She whipped around instantly to find Remus still looking sleepy and worn, only to hit him with the rod in her hand.
"Oh no!"
She dropped it quickly, as if it would relieve him of some pain.
"Ah! God, Remus I'm so, so very sorry! Really, don't sneak up on me like that. You know what a klutz I am!"
He groaned in pain, but ever the gentleman, he still tried to console her and convince her that it was not her fault.
"No, no, I shouldn't be saying that. I'm sorry Remus, it was entirely my fault. Truly it was. You see you would not even be up in the first place if I had not made such a ruckus."
He wasn't bending over now, yet his hand was still placed over his stomach.
"Umm, would you . . . Like some ice for that?"
"Sure. Thank you," he gave her a small smile.
Sometimes he was too kind.
"Is there anything else I could get for you . . . Or do for you? Anything at all."
He shook his head, "No, thank you. Just the ice is fine."
At the mention of it she jerked suddenly, "Oh! Yes. Where is my mind?" she laughed.
"Here Remus. Sit down while I fetch you some ice."
She pulled a chair out.
-
Serena was terribly distressed because she knew where her mind had been, and it was a place she didn't like it to go.
Traitor! she screamed in her head.
She found him in the kitchen. It seemed he was all over the place, everywhere she was there he was. She could never get away from him, not even when it was only her and an empty room, left to her thoughts he was all she could think of. Ugh, stupid man!
"Hello," she said simply.
He nodded slightly, at least she thought he did, and the reply he gave sounded gruff.
She went to the fridge and started to dig around in the freezer.
"Where's all the ice?" she questioned.
"They finished it all yesterday. There's more in the cellar."
"Oh."
She made her way down the stairs.
"Um, Severus . . . Where's the light?"
-
"Sorry!" she said the moment she found her way back into the dining room.
"Serena, you don't have to keep apologizing. Let's just say we were both at fault."
"Okay, Here's your ice."
Remus flinched when she placed the ice pack against his abdomen.
"Sor - -" she cut herself off, "Did that hurt?"
"Ah, no, just cold."
"Maybe it would be better if you placed it in direct contact with your skin. Here, lift up your shirt."
"The kids will be up soon, so I'll just . . ." he took the ice from her, "Thank you. I'll just head up to my room."
"Sorry again. Even if it was both our faults I didn't mean to whack you in the ribs."
"It's okay. Thank you for the ice," he said before leaving.
"Way to go, Serena. Next time . . . don't kill anyone."
She returned to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
-
"You know, Serena, you don't have to cook and clean for us, dear."
That was Mrs. Weasley, she was such a kind soul. If only she'd stop badgering her about this!
"But if I don't then I'll feel useless. And if I don't help then you'll end up doing everything! So just think of it as me helping you!"
Missus Weasley smiled at the girl's back, even if it still didn't feel right for the girl to be doing so much when really she was their guest.
"Oh, you don't feel as if I'm taking over your kitchen do you! Honestly, that's not what I'm trying to do!"
"No, no, dear that's not what I meant. It just feels wrong for a guest to be in the kitchens."
"But I'm not a guest. I live here. Well . . . "
"What about when . . . ?"
Serena looked askance at her.
"When . . . ?" she prompted.
Molly grabbed a whole cucumber and set to slicing it up.
"What about . . . When - if . . . your parents . . . " she let the sentence trail off.
Serena's eyes went to the cutting board.
Oh.
She gave a shrug, "Well . . . Then this is my paying you for all that you have done for me and until . . . that time . . . I just want to make sure you know how - how much I appreciate it."
"Oh!" Molly cried, "I didn't mean to make you cry!"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley . . . I just . . . Whenever I think about them I get this - "
"Mum!"
The door flew open.
Serena turned away so whoever it was wouldn't see her overtly bright eyes, from the sound of it - Ginny.
"Fred and George have . . . "
She tried to discreetly wipe at her eyes, but it was hard to do since she was trying to use the apron tied around her waist.
When Molly was done with Ginny, she turned back to Serena.
"I'm sorry dear, What was it you were trying to say?"
"Ah . . . It - it's nothing," she gave a casual shrug, well, she hoped it came off as casual.
"I thank you for listening, though, you don't know how much . . . " she took a deep breath, " . . .That meant to me."
Molly made a move to speak but Serena pretended like she hadn't seen. She picked up two trays (it was all she could handle) and pushed the kitchen door open to serve a table of hungry people waiting for their food.
-
"So . . . Why is the Order still around if Voldemort has been destroyed?"
Some still cringed at his name, as the people about the table did, to show respect for the dead if you would. It was Tonks who answered, one of the few who hadn't made any discernable movement at the utterance of his name.
"Well, there are still rogue death eaters and many other of his followers who have nothing better to do than try and resurrect him."
"Hmm . . . Could I join?"
They all looked at her, even him.
"What? I don't see why not?"
"It's very dangerous."
"It's not like I'm a child!"
Oh, that did sound childish.
Severus raised a brow at her.
Stop looking at me! She wanted to shout at him.
"Yes but . . ."
She turned toward Mundungus.
"But what?"
She looked around the table.
What was it exactly?
"What is it? Am I not trustworthy? Is that it?"
He was the one who spoke this time, "You are a stranger we picked up. Of course you're not trustworthy."
His voice was so cool and smooth it made her blood boil with anger, with a seething defiance.
How dare he! How dare he even insinuate that . . .she could . . . That she could possibly be . . . !
Having him saying that . . . She was expecting something to be said along those lines, something more, or maybe less - less direct . . . But to have him say that . . . Maybe she would have felt differently if someone else had said it, like Molly or Mister Weasley, but to have him say it. He said it like he wanted to hurt her, like he truly didn't care about her at all.
Did he?
What were his feelings towards her? Ill contempt?
"I . . . I . . . he - you're right. I'm a stranger. You . . . Really shouldn't trust me."
She stood up from the table, but it wasn't from the awkwardness she could feel simmering in the room. She just didn't want to be there and let him watch her cry. He would only ridicule her more. He would only embarrass her.
He would only hurt her.
Gone was that quick flash of rage, and here, left in it's wake, was her sorrow.
"Eh, guess I should . . . " she grabbed the nearest dishes and headed into the kitchen.
-
She heard the door swing open, and assuming it to be Molly didn't bother to hide her crying or wipe away at her tears, after a moment she even swiveled around to go to her, wanting to be consoled like Serena knew she would.
But it wasn't her.
The dish fell.
As it slammed against the floor with such finality the fingers that had been holding it, the very same fingers that let it slip away, curled into her palm and fisted at her side. The other hand swept up to her eyes, delicately shielding them. Even though she knew he had already seen her crying, she didn't want to watch as he watched her cry. Maybe he would go away, (even if she didn't want him to) maybe he would turn now and walk away.
He wasn't expecting this. Whatever it was he had been expecting when it involved this person . . . was not this. It was not to find her crying in the kitchen, broken dishes, wet spots scattered across her clothes and wide eyes with disbelief. When he had been sent, forced to come, he had come with no intention of apologizing, simply to sweep through the kitchen and out, avoiding her completely.
He did not, simply could not deal with crying women.
He had never done such before.
What was he to do now?
Leave. Just leave, that's what instinct told him to do.
As he made to turn he found his legs would not listen.
Her eyes flew open when she heard no motion of him leaving.
Maybe . . . She thought, Maybe he . . .
Rather than look a fool just standing there like some idiot-scarecrow, he moved forward. He found that the only direction he could move in, ironically, when he clearly didn't want to. Now, he was going to just sweep past her and pretend he had not just seen her cry. His shoulders were stiff, his arms would not move away from his sides, and his fingers were pointing straight down.
His foot crunched against something - pieces of the broken plate.
His eyes went to her face.
Mistake, his mind hissed.
She was looking at him, through her fingers she was staring straight at him.
For a moment he found he could do nothing but breathe, be still and breathe.
A long stretch of time passed between them in which no thought surfaced or no words came.
She was the one to move first, and it was to bend down and pick at the broken pieces of her fallen plate.
It was all she could do to keep from reaching out for him.
She didn't want to scare him away.
"Ouch!" she whispered it, but in the silence it was as loud as the shattering of the glass plate.
The point that pricked her finger didn't hurt really, it was an automatic response to say 'ouch.' She came up and moved for the sink.
He was already standing there, his hand twisting the knob, and he didn't know why he moved in the first place. His body was acting strange . . . It wasn't listening to him.
He stepped out of the way as she placed her hand under the streaming water.
After completely washing her hands to rid the chance of infection (just like Mother taught her), she turned around and thanked him.
But she was met with the swinging of the door he left through.
. . . He could only guess who was pulling the strings.
-
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This is my first posting and I would very much appreciate your feedback. Please tell me if you like it, dislike it, and what it is you don't like about it. I would even like to know if you found an annoying grammar mistake or if you think something is amiss. Please, I'm desperate for anything.
This Crown I Wear . . . Is Not Of Royalty