London was actually not as painful as he had thought it would be. A midnight-blue fabric had come to hand easily at the drapers, and a warm cloth for the lining was simple to find. He had celebrated his unexpected free time by looking over the haberdashery, and inspecting the more outlandish fabrics. In the end he bought a pincushion in the shape of a snake for Minerva as a joke. And charmed it red. It would make a good Christmas gift.

The button collection near the sales desk held his attention for a while as well. Apparently you could get little scottie-dog shaped buttons, though what use they would be he did not know. It was somewhat amusing to picture them all on one of his shirts, instead of the plain black ones he favoured. They were probably only the realm of eccentric dressers like Dumbledore.

Thinking of the old man—he found a corner shop and swiftly bought a small bag of chocolate coins. At least that part was out of the way. He never deliberated overly much on what the headmaster would like in his sweets, especially since Filius had told him and Minerva in an undertone that he had once asked a shopkeeper to sell him a sweet that was best generally avoided. Apparently Albus had quite enjoyed the mind-bogglingly sour rubbish and thanked Filius for getting him something different.

After that, he ducked into an alleyway and apparated to Diagon Alley, pleased with himself. Muggle stores tended to have a wider range of fabrics and other bits and pieces, which was why he never bothered to buy things for sewing in a Wizarding shop. Furthermore, he preferred to rely on his own charms and suchlike. Ever since the time that the parrots on the pattern charmed to move around had instigated a fight, leaving Dumbledore's robes looking like he was bleeding and shedding feathers, he had decided that his clothes would never be in danger of shoddy workmanship.

He stifled a laugh at the memory of that episode as he ducked into the apothecary.

Finding ingredients in a shop had always been a pleasure of his, even when he hadn't the money to buy them. When he was younger, he had made a game out of it—he'd make a list of several items before entering the apothecary, then hunt them all out as quickly as he could. Severus would try to find the best specimens, of course, and it had been fun trying to find them quickly without alerting anyone that he was timing himself.

Nowadays, though, he could afford them. He was also a lot more confident in himself, and quite enjoyed telling the shopkeeper that they had been sent turnips rather than migwuggle roots. It was also rather entertaining letting the apothecary know that he would not accept the inferior specimen of murtlap.

As he exited the apothecary, he reminded himself to be on the lookout. Often, the problem with going to Diagon Alley was—

"Snape! Professor, wait!"

— the parents. Damn.

He briefly considered whether to speed up and pretend that he hadn't heard them, but discarded the option as unfeasible. The woman who was calling and waving her arms at him was actually ahead of him, right in front of where he wanted to go.

Resignedly, he kept walking and was greeted by a couple who looked remarkably similar. Only Pureblood inbreeding could explain the Hillerwoods. Severus was pretty sure that they were first cousins.

"Professor, just who we were wanting to see," the man huffed. "How is little Georgie?"

'Little' Georgie was almost as tall as Severus himself, and was starting to grow a beard.

"He is perfectly fine, and doing well in class." For an in-bred gorilla, Severus added to himself. Hillerwood wasn't exactly intelligent, a trait that was probably inherited.

"Oh, that's good," Mrs Hillerwood beamed. "I always worry so about him."

Severus couldn't say that. George Hillerwood wasn't exactly someone he thought about except when he remembered to be glad that his potions class in sixth year only took capable students.

He realised he had tuned out, and said hurriedly, "Fascinating."

Thankfully, that seemed to be the right thing to say, as the man was nodding his head rather self-righteously, and the woman paused in her chatter to smile at him. Before she could start up again, he made a show of casting tempus.

"Well, look at the time," he said jovially. Any vaguely intelligent first-year would have picked up on the fakeness of the tone, but he had learned not to expect very much from the Hillerwoods. "I must be off. Very nice seeing you again." And while they were farewelling him, he strode away quickly into the door of Maximillian's, congratulating himself on such a quick escape.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to pick up the shipment of animal food for Kettleburn. Of course, it was rather tricky to get it all into his briefcase, but that was only because the bags of food were so heavy. The briefcase, which had been a joint gift from Filius, Minerva and Pomona last Christmas, had expanding and weightless charms, as well as multiple compartments. One such was used for his potion ingredients, another for his emergency kit. It was hands-down the best gift he had ever had, and invaluable to him.

However, just as he was about to leave and make his way to Griselda's Gardens, Severus was waylaid.

"Why, good afternoon, Severus," he heard.

Slowly turning around, he made sure to leave his face blank of emotions. Curse it all—of all the bad timing! Then, after a moment, he wondered just what Lucius Malfoy was doing in Maximilian's Magical Creatures Emporium.

"Lucius, good day."

The taller man inclined his head at Severus, and said, "How are you, Severus?"

"Fine," Severus bit out.

"Succinct as always, my dear Narcissa would say. I, however, must say that was terse and rather rude. How are you, Severus?"

Why did Lucius always have to do this? He was no longer a first year—he was an adult, and being terse was his own prerogative. But Severus supposed that he ought to play the game, because it would get him out of there quicker. Lucius Malfoy had never stood for anything less than politeness.

Heaving an inward sigh, he replied, "I am well. How kind of you to ask." He paused, then gave in to temptation. "May I ask what you are doing here?"

Lucius Malfoy tapped a finger on the top of his cane. "A little obvious, Severus, but I shall make allowances for your lack of practice at conversing during the school year. As a matter of fact, I am here about peacocks. As the owner of the store cannot seem to choose a fine replacement specimen for my garden, nor are my house-elves seemingly capable," he made a moue of distaste at the mention of such things, "I had to go myself. What a state this world is in—the things I am forced to do."

Peacocks. Of all the ostentatious things! Severus had never understood Lucius's partiality for peafowl. In fact, he had once had a run in with one of Lucius's precious albino peacocks. Unfortunately Lucius would not have taken kindly to him hexing the thing to a crisp, so he had settled for surreptitiously hitting it with an impotence curse.

He smirked, and said, "Indeed. How absolutely distressing for you, Lucius."

Lucius gave a heavy sigh at Severus's sarcasm. "The youth of today, as well—no respect."

Severus rolled his eyes. "You are only five years older than me, you know." He wanted badly to retort that the man's son was an example of a disrespectful youth, but that would mean opening the topic of Draco. As much as that might let him get away faster, it meant that the man would decide, since Severus had opened the topic, that he wasn't opposed to a longer discussion of the boy.

"Perhaps; however, your manners are those of a socially awkward eighteen-year-old. Why have you not replied to the owl I sent you?"

Severus glared at the other man. Socially awkward eighteen-year-old? He took a deep breath and reminded himself that hexing Lucius would probably get Severus arrested.

"I—I have been busy." He couldn't actually remember getting an owl from Lucius. Then again, when he was in a bad mood, which was admittedly quite often, he was prone to incinerating letters unopened. He had been careful about not doing it to ones with the Hogwarts crest, but anything else was fair game.

"Of course," Lucius drawled. "You must be absolutely run off your feet. I sent it to you a little over three months ago, and have resent the letter several times."

"Really?" He blurted out. Immediately, he regretted it. Why had he said that?

"Really, Severus. If I were so inclined, I might think that you were ignoring me." To make his point, Lucius twirled his wand in his fingers. "However, I know that your duties must be quite heavy, even before Hogwarts begins in September."

Severus' cheeks tinged pink at that.

"Nothing to say for yourself? I expect an answer, by the way. It should be on my desk by Thursday. I think that you should have had enough time to consider all of it. If not, I think that I shall have to pay you a visit. And I wonder what the Board of Governors would think of your laxness."

Unfortunately, the Board of Governors was in charge of allocating funding to each subject, some of which went towards the individual professor's professional development. In 1984 there had been a huge furore over the actions of the Professor of Arithmancy of the time. The old man had been prone to falling asleep in a class that had one of the Governor's children in it. Although a later investigation found out that a sleeping potion was being added to his tea, the funding for Arithmancy had been harshly cut when the student complained.

This meant that there could be repercussions if Lucius complained about him.

"Alright," he finally grumbled. Then, though he hated to— "resend the letter though. I may have misplaced it."

"Certainly," Lucius said. "I am glad that we have come to an understanding. I shall refrain from keeping you further, then. Farewell, Severus."

Severus thought, finally, and muttered, "bye," before turning and fleet-footing his way to Griselda's Gardens.