As was the custom, the familiar face of Sabine Trefethen had looked into the gilded mirror above her couch into one of the guest bedrooms of 12 Grimmauld Place at precisely 1:13 in the afternoon. There to meet her was Abigail Brooke, occupying herself with a fashion magazine at the writing desk just below the component mirror belonging to Tarla Prestan, as did many of the things in this particular room.
"Hi, Sabine," Abigail chirped cheerily, closing the previous month's issue of Jinx and resting her chin on her hand. "Coming along shortly?"
With a compliant wave, Sabine shook her head. "No, not until later this evening. I won't join you for supper. Now, stop sulking," she commanded before Abby had the chance, "and let me talk to your friend for a moment."
Abby snorted unhappily and leant back in her chair before bellowing, "TARLA!"
Which in turn made Molly Weasley reprimand her, Tarla Prestan tell her to shut the goddamn hell up and Mrs. Black start screeching about dirty-blooded filth polluting the delicate atmosphere of her household, or something.
"She'll be right here."
"Thank you, Abigail."
Tarla appeared in the door, her hair wound into a low bun and wearing forest green robes with an emerald green wrap. All in all, she looked quite the part of the angry diva as she stormed into the room, slammed the door behind her and pulled Abby's chair away from the desk ("HEY!") so she could meet Sabine head on.
"What?"
"Don't get angry with me," Sabine said huffily. "I just wanted to tell you that I will be accompanied by my dear and beloved husband this evening, and I expect you to be on your best behavior. Abigail will make sure of it, in fact."
"I sure will."
"Shut up," muttered both of the other woman before Tarla hissed her reluctant agreement and Sabine's bitterly satisfied reflection dissolved into Tarla's bitterly jealous one. Turning from the mirror, the pretty witch folded her arms and clamped her jaw, declaring through her teeth:
"I don't like him."
Severus entered the house that evening cautiously, his footsteps almost silent behind Sabine both to avoid waking the temperamental Mrs. Black as they walked past her portrait, and to avoid rousing the wrath of one Tarla Prestan, which would be, he suspected, equally venomous but more tangible.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but the sullen woman's dislike was almost palpable before he even saw her.
"Sabine," he murmured softly when they were a safe distance away from the portrait, "Should I be holding my wand or just use you as a shield?"
Sabine paused as though considering this for a moment, then sighed. "I don't think it'll be necessary. Just don't make any sudden movements or noises and she probably won't attack." I hope.
Ms. Trefethen led her companion past the stairs and down a hallway until they had reached the parlor, which was clear of inhabitants. A piano sat in the corner and a fireplace directly beside it; candles provided light where the windows (which distinctly lacked clarity) did not.
That done, Sabine gestured towards the selection of sofas and chairs in the room, all of which matched and had dramatically clawed feet. "I suppose we wait."
He nodded, suppressing a grunt of complaint, and sank into a chair, clasping his hands and staring into the fireplace.
The chair was not as comfortable as it could have been, however, though that was by no fault of its own. The Master was sitting straight-backed and rigid, his expression unsuccessfully attempting to disguise "tense" as "attentive."
Barely suppressing a smile, Sabine leaned on the arm of Severus' chair and lending a hand to his shoulder, rolling her thumb in a circle in an attempt to help him relax. "Good God, Severus, she won't bite you."
"Don't be too sure." The lightly accented voice floated from the doorway and Abby strutted in as if she owned the place. "Darling's looked like she could take a chunk out of anyone in her way since noon." Well, not quite noon.
Abigail was easygoing, luckily for everyone, and after giving Sabine a one-armed hug extended her hand to Severus. "I don't think we've ever properly met. Abby Brooke, Official Secretary to the bane of your evening tonight."
Severus did all he could to keep from leaning into Sabine's touch... What? His inner voice demanded of him. It feels good!
Shut up. He told himself sternly. You never needed a woman to rub your shoulders before and you don't need one now, God damn it, especially not now!
His attempt was greatly assisted by the sudden appearance of Abigail Brooke, known to Sabine as Abby, apparently, and he straightened again from the fraction of relaxation into which he had slipped, holding out a hand to clasp the woman's. "It is good to officially make your acquaintance." He said quietly. "I assume, then, that I should find a place to hide as quickly as possible?" There was a touch of the familiar sardonic humor in his tone, while his raised brow made it plain that he had no intention of hiding.
"I like him," Abigail told Sabine plainly, pulling up the bench from the piano to seat herself at a comfortable distance from Severus.
"So do I," Sabine agreed with a smirk, joining Abigail on the bench. Abby fairly ignored her.
So, keeping her voice at an even volume, so as not to encourage these whispers that she found ridiculous, Ms. Brooke continued: "There'll be no need. Tarla is going to be on good behavior tonight. Aren't you, Tarla?" Abigail grinned comfortably towards the door; her timing was impeccable, because at that moment Tarla entered as though she personally owned everyone in the room, and in fact the world.
"We'll see. Sabine, charmed. Snape... I haven't decided. How was the journey?" Tarla chose a corner of a sofa somewhat further from Abigail and Tarla, but positioned so that she could see as much of the Potions Master's face as possible. Once there, she rested her elbow on the arm and crossed her legs- she seemed determined to prove that she wasn't going to be swayed by the preferences of her friends.
Severus observed the ease with which Sabine and Abby interacted, the warmth and comfort of old friends that he had seen but never experienced. He smiled very slightly in amusement as Abby passed her judgment on him and Sabine replied. The smile vanished, however, when the chill that was Ms. Tarla Prestan entered the room. Her place in the circle was apparent through the words exchanged, though on that night she seemed distanced from them by sheer opinion on his presence there.
At her question, Severus glanced at Sabine to be sure that she had no intention of answering, then replied "Uneventful," in a deliberately even voice.
Every time an awkward silence falls, an idiot is born. He mused inanely. Dear God, I may have just created another Neville Longbottom.
The blonde woman missed not a beat:
"An excellent conversationalist." Tarla did nothing to mask her sarcasm, though to her credit her facial features twitched as though trying not to pull into a sneer. "Sabine?" She didn't take her eyes off of the man.
"He's right. I'd say it was the first time since we met that we've gone an hour without incident... did I tell you that he nearly gave me a heart attack yesterday night, popping out of the shadows like a madman and frightening me?"
"You hadn't said," Tarla replied smoothly. "So, then, an excellent conversationalist and a gentleman."
Ever tactful, Abby stood up and stepped forward, immediately drawing the attention of Tarla and Sabine. "I'm thirsty, and I know that Sabine and Tarla won't let me drink alone. Professor, can I interest you in a drop of poison?"
"That would be very welcome," Severus inclined his head to Abby, "Thank you."
Returning his gaze to the always gracious Tarla, the Master narrowed his eyes slightly and steepled his fingertips... His students knew well that the gesture was a sign of danger, but he was determined to keep his temper this night.
"I'm sure you were aware of my social reputation before this evening, Ms. Prestan," he replied coolly, "And as for being a gentleman, well, I never claimed to be. I understand, however, that I am not the only one here who possesses legendary bad temperament."
Tarla raised her eyebrows, making the grey eyes beneath more prominent. Something in them flickered... and it wasn't necessarily a bad something. "Is that so?" she asked, blending innocence and sarcasm to produce an unlikely tone.
So, as Abby silently slid out of the room and Sabine bit her lip, Tarla continued. "You will find that the two of us are regrettably similar, Snape. Now, indulge me, if you will, because my curiosity gets the better of me: how long exactly do you intend to play the role of spouse to our Sabine?"
Severus pondered for a silent moment, his gaze traveling slowly from his left hand on the arm of the chair, to Sabine, to the flames in the fireplace, and back to Tarla. "Without doubt, up to the meeting in just under three weeks." He replied slowly. "However - and I say this in all seriousness - it may be in Sabine's best interest to remain behind the mask for a bit longer. For if she is investigated by the Death Eaters, it would be extremely dangerous for her to be discovered as merely an actress playing a part."
Tarla nodded curtly, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward slightly in her seat. "Naturally, I had assumed that you two would keep the charade up for a good while. What I mean is, she will be returning to America in ten months' time. What story would you give? Sabine, have you thought about this? What are you grinning at?"
Shaking her head, Sabine tried in vain to pull the smile from her face. Of course, give Tarla something buisnesslike to occupy her time with and it would balance out any personal crosses she bore at the time. "Actually, I hadn't thought," she confessed, only then the satisfied look sliding away from her features.
"Ha," Tarla bristled sourly. "Thank you, Abby."
For at that moment Abigail had returned, bringing a tray set with wine goblets around. "Any time. What's all this about Sabine not thinking? That doesn't happen often."
Severus accepted the wine glass with a polite but murmured "Thank you," and suppressed a chuckle at Abby's comment.
"Sabine, though not entirely out of reach in America, will be much safer there." Severus replied to Tarla's words. "She may resume her life, more or less, as it was before." He felt an unexpected pang of emotion at this thought, though it was silenced before he could determine its origin.
"I, on the other hand, will be required to give an account of my wife's absence. However," He sneered, "Falsities seem to be my strong point when dealing with the Dark Lord and his minions." The sneer was a cover for the look of weary resignation that always appeared, however fleeting, when he dwelled too long upon the topic at hand.
Sabine accepted her wine glass with an air of equal resignation, although for a different reason. "There's time to think on it yet. Tarla, Severus is good at what he does. We'll be fine, I'm almost certain."
Abby gave a happy nod and sunk onto the bench again, setting her glass of wine on the floor beside her and otherwise disregarding it.
On the other hand, Tarla had gone temporarily silent, as though deep in thought, once again leaning back and crossing her legs. "I'm happy about that," she said softly, her voice containing no hint of sharp emotion, and even an extent of affection, for the first time since entering the room. Then, suddenly, and on a similar level as before: "I've heard that you're a very skilled Occlumens, and plan on giving Sabine lessons."
Severus paused for a fraction of a second, then nodded. Well, you are a very skilled Occlumens, there's no point in denying it, his inner voice commented with a hint of smugness.
"Yes, I believe that it would be prudent," he answered. "I expect the Dark Lord and his servants to use Legilimency - it is a trick that He favors - And it is very important that Sabine be capable of guarding her mind." He paused. "If she is unsuccessful in learning the technique," he spared Sabine a glance and offered a thin smile, "Which I doubt she will be, I can brew a potion that will dull the appearance of important thoughts. To an outsider, she will appear somewhat... dim. But I'm sure she'd rather appear stupid to an invader in her mind than allow that invader to glean important information from her consciousness."
"I don't know. She's quite proud at times." Tarla lent Sabine a critical eye, and under the stare of two (quickly three, once Abby decided to join in the fun) of her friends, Sabine went slightly pink.
"Good God, Tarla, I'm not so vain," she protested. "I'd gladly give up my sharpness for a night or two in these circumstances. And anyway, I've met enough naive trophy wives that I'm sure I could fake the part well enough."
"Trophy?" Tarla gave Sabine a surprisingly good-natured smirk. "Nonsense. You're far too clever, and too good for that title. Now, Snape," steeling her gaze as she turned back to him, and as Sabine averted her eyes demurely, "I'll accept that I've always held an interest in Occlumency. When will lessons begin, and what exactly will you do with her during?"
Severus allowed himself the opportunity to envision Sabine as his trophy. The result was both amusing and disconcerting, and, admittedly, a bit bizarre.
When will lessons begin, and what exactly will you do with her during?
His imagination suggested activities involving a certain kind of fruit juice, to which Severus responded with a furious, albeit internal, growl. Stop that!
"Some night this week, if it is convenient," he replied, looking at Sabine questioningly. "As I am also practiced in Legilimency, I had hoped Sabine would permit me to 'attack' her mind, as it were, so that she may learn to recognize the sensation and to exercise the proper procedure under such an invasion."
"I've said before, any time you want," Sabine said warmly, nodding at Severus. "Regarding having my mind attacked.. I think it's big enough to stand up for itself," she allowed a small snicker as she sipped her wine. "Absolutely. Whatever would be most effective."
Tarla let out a spiteful sound, which made Abigail eye her sharply. She didn't continue, however, only indulged in a long sample of her own wine. To be completely honest, she wasn't entirely sure about trusting the man before her, and was a bit surprised that Sabine would so easily comply to his wishes.
Tarla's distrust was almost tangible to the Master even without his Legilimency.
If you didn't want to be judged, then you shouldn't have followed a megalomaniac in your youth. He told himself. Then again, perhaps big sister just doesn't want Sabine playing with a boy. He hid his sneer. I'm not that stupidly male.
Yes, you are. Another part of him commented.
You be quiet.
"Your confidence in me is moving, Sabine." He drawled. "I can only hope that your friends will follow your example."
"I trust you," Sabine replied simply, giving Severus a smile. "Frankly, I have similar hopes."
Sabine's hazel eyes met Tarla's cold grey ones, and the latter held the gaze without emotion until the former looked away. Then, her hand tensing around her wine glass, Tarla set her jaw and stated boldly: "Sabine's choices, I have found, have not always been wise in the past." To whom the frigidness in her voice was directed to was uncertain, and it seemed to make the other two women slightly nervous.
"Severus," Sabine said with an eerie calmness, now meeting and holding Tarla's gaze, "I am tired, and think that we should take our leave."
"I agree," Tarla replied softly.
Abby bounded up from the piano bench so suddenly that one of the photographs on the wall jumped, and helped Sabine to her feet. "May I see the both of you to the door?"
Severus said nothing throughout the nonverbal exchange between the two women, but when Sabine suggested their departure he rose to his feet. Struck by the sensation of being alarmingly tall in comparison to Abby, who stood near them, he bowed graciously.
"Good evening, Ms. Prestan." He said coolly, and with a warmer nod allowed Abby to escort him to the entrance hall of the Black family manor.
Abigail guided them swiftly from the room, while Tarla eyed them silently until they were out of ear- and eyeshot. Only then did she heave a sigh, tilting her head down and covering one half of her face with a slender hand.
Miss Brooke was quick to show them to the foyer and there exchanged a brief kiss with Sabine, each rapidly brushed her lips against the other's cheek before Abby ushered the happy couple out the door. "Professor, I'm really very sorry," she whispered, her eyes flitting briefly from him and to the curtained portrait. "She's a good woman." With that, the door was shut.
Sabine sighed, turning from the house and descending heavily from the doorstep. "That went well," she breathed resignedly. "She really is, Severus. A good woman. She's just..set in her ways. She used to be much better, until the pride went to her head."
Seeing Sabine's distress, Severus rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, a wisp of dark hair that had fallen from the bun she wore brushing against his skin.
"Relax," he told her quietly, echoing her earlier words and gestures. "She is wary of me and protective of you, nothing more. Were I in her place, I would consider suspicion entirely justified. In any case, I like her..." He smiled, laughter in his eyes. "She keeps me on my feet, as it were."
Miss Trefethen opened her mouth for a moment, in response that quickly changed to amazement (thus meriting no change of expression), and then closed it again to give a bright smile. Resting her hand on Severus' shoulder, she stepped closer to him and rested her forehead against his robes, quivering in repressed laughter, and turned from him to evacuate the yard of the unkempt house.
"What a funny manner of man you are. This makes me very happy, Severus, I hope you know."
Feeling his pulse quicken as she stood closer to him, Severus could, nonetheless, not help but chuckle.
"I do now." He replied, the laughter still in his voice, following his companion with careful, catlike steps in the dark of the treacherous yard. "It is a very good thing, you being pleased... I don't think I could deal with you in a black mood, my darling wife. Now," he added, glancing up at the moon. "Shall we return to the castle?"
"Yes," she replied decisively, keeping beside him as they ventured off. "I find that these visits are often quite tiring."