Seventeen: Tallinn to Helsinki
Severus wasn't quite clear on where they were. He thought they must have been going roughly the right direction to the port; he should have perhaps paid more attention to the map. But since he wouldn't know what time the ferry to Helsinki was until they got to the docks, there was nothing to hurry for: it might have gone by now, it might be hours still, they might arrive just at the right moment. And they'd been trapped on that infernal bus for the last two days. Their legs needed the extra stretching.
Silky clouds rolled through the golden-laid skies. The sun, when it managed to push through the loosened edges, made everything glow and bristle like hot embers, but the rain in the breeze pushed at the temperature until Severus had to button up his coat. The cobblestones were large and uneven under their feet, and he nearly wrenched his ankle out of his knee when he slipped and teetered. The house fronts were mild pinks, blues and oranges, packed and stocked on top one another as if fearing the fairy-tale had not room enough to contain them all.
They stopped at a stall with hand-stitched shawls, and a stall with lusciously golden honey, and one with intricately painted postcards. They looked into store windows and breathed in air light with the absence of petrol fumes or days-old sweat. The chill had drawn the muscles in Severus's broken arm tight and painful, but the ache was bearable, and it fit, like an essential part of the ramble through Tallinn, like perhaps a key feature of Tallinn itself.
The boy paused at the large window into a café, where a miniature of a Ferris wheel spun in languid circles, holding on each of its arms a different hand-painted porcelain cup. Sweets in brown wrappers covered the sill, twirling and glinting their miasma of colours.
The afternoon was wearing away. If they didn't go soon, they might miss the last ferry of the day.
'Do you want to take a look inside?' Severus asked. He did not expect Potter would have the confidence for an affirmative, so he took the shrug as confirmation and pushed the glass door open.
The inside smelled heady with sugar and marzipan. The ceiling was a mosaic of reds and maroons. Teaspoons clinked against the rims of gold-lined teacups and whispers of conversation echoed in Severus's chest in languages he didn't understand and couldn't hope to adequately tell apart—was that Estonian? Russian? Finnish, or Swedish, maybe?
The boy was examining the marzipan horses on display, each adorned with decorative trappings as if it were on its way to the battlefield. His breath clouded the glass; his fingers left behind a smudge of grease. When he noticed, he rubbed at it, which only made it worse.
A waitress straightened her uniform, eyes affixed to Severus in expectation. He waved her off. 'We're just looking,' he said, satisfied when she seemed to understand English.
She lingered though, which made the looking less entrancing. Severus tried to pretend he couldn't see her, keeping his gaze steadily on the boy, but then that made Potter feel watched in turn, and it made the waitress feel ignored, and so none could escape the awkwardness.
'Tallinn is the kingdom of marzipan, you know,' she told him suddenly. 'And we have the best of the best.'
'Fantastic.'
'In the Middle Ages, it was sold in apothecaries as a cure for lovesickness,' she sounded like she'd memorised the back of a leaflet, the grammar immaculate, the words mispronounced. 'But it works to this day: the sweetness you need to soothe a broken heart.'
She was not going to give up, Severus realised. He perused the display for the smaller offerings and indicated the cheapest. 'We'll take two of those.'
She gave him a winning smile that held no hint of remorse. 'Only two, are you sure?'
'Seeing as there are two of us here with a single heart each, that seems entirely sufficient. At least as long as the cure is as potent as you say.'
'Of course it is,' she scoffed. 'The potent-est.'
She put the two marzipan shells into a little paper box, tied the ribbon and took the money; but before she let Severus have his change, she decided to torment him a little more. 'Tallinn is the city of lost lovers, too,' she told him, leaning over the counter so she could speak in a stage whisper. 'You know, we have a legend here. It says that Dawn and Dusk are lost lovers, and they come out every evening and every morning to look for the other, but they can never meet. Until, on Midsummer's Day, the longest day of the year, morning and evening happen all at once, and then just for a few minutes—that's when Dawn and Dusk can hold hands.'
Severus thought that an unsmiling man travelling with an eleven-year-old boy were likely not the ideal target audience for this piece of tourist bait. But from the glint in her eye when she looked at him, he recognised that maybe she had more insight than he'd given her credit for. It was something in the air, something in the notes of sugar in the drizzle, it was the golden glow of the weak sun and the steady ache in Severus's arm. He was, perhaps, just tired.
'Yes, well,' he cleared his throat. 'Midsummer's Day is in June, isn't it? We've missed it.'
'You'll need to come back next year. And come here to buy more marzipan, yes?'
'By then, I think our hearts will have been sufficiently mended.' He pulled at the little box.
'But you'll have a whole year to break them again,' she jibed. 'Good luck.'
They had the shells on their walk up to the docks. Potter clearly wasn't a fan of marzipan, but he was too polite—scared—to say. Severus's shell melted on his tongue. He could taste it in his jaw, in his sinuses, in the tip of his head.
The last ferry of the day departed at seven-fifteen. It was barely five, but they could easily wait out the two hours and still get themselves to Helsinki long before it became unconscionable to disturb their host.
He was about to announce the plan to Potter. But then he looked at him, and the marzipan, and the golden glow, and—
'We'll go in the morning,' he managed through a tightened throat. 'Come, we'll find a hotel for the night.'
They found a hotel alright. It rose huge and lined with white marble, with a man in front whose sole function was pulling the door open.
Severus didn't understand why he was doing it. It was not punishment for Albus, because Albus would not care and because Severus didn't suppose he was angry with him. If anything, he was punishing himself, because he would be the one to carry the guilt for this extravagance later.
Once he'd thrown his coat over one of the two king-sized beds in their suite, and watched the boy rush over to slide open the balcony door and peer out over the low roofs of Tallinn townhouses, he realised that he already felt guilty. This was just another thing to feel guilty about.
He hadn't done anything to cross Albus. Soon, he would succeed in delivering the boy to Finland unscathed. He'd lost the mirror, yes, and he'd perhaps exposed his involvement to a man affiliated with Death Eaters—but those were risks Albus had been well-aware of. Severus had no need to feel guilty over things going wrong as expected.
Or perhaps it was less about what he had done, and more what he had thought of doing—what he had found himself wishing for despite—
'Go shower,' he barked at Potter. He needed him out of the room, just for a little while.
It was all Tallinn, he decided. It was the pain and the weather and the sheer exhaustion of the journey, settling low and heavy in his limbs. He would allow it tonight, and tomorrow he would take Potter to Helsinki and let Albus deal with the mess they'd made, and they would plot and use their dusty contingencies until Severus had weaselled his way back into Lucius Malfoy's graces, and everything would be fine.
That was one heavenly mattress on the bed though. Severus despaired already for all the nights he wouldn't be spending here.
Potter emerged from the bathroom changed into his pyjamas, but entirely too dry for having just taken a shower. 'I couldn't get it to work,' he mumbled at Severus's raised eyebrow. 'What? The shower's really weird.'
'Potter, you haven't washed in three days. If you think I am allowing you to sleep in the same room as me before you've had a shower, you are sadly mistaken.'
'Fine, I'll sleep on the balcony then.'
'I understand that we are both tired, but I advise that you lose the attitude.'
'I don't have an attitude,' the boy whined, with so much attitude it was positively coming out of his ears. 'You said I can't sleep here if I don't shower, and I can't shower because it's not working, so I don't know what else I'm supposed to do!'
Soon, the nightmare child wouldn't be his problem, Severus reminded himself. Hopefully, Albus's Finnish friend would be good with children, and after that, he would be placed with new guardians that might eventually instil in him some sense of proper behaviour. Severus only needed to survive the night.
When he pulled himself up to stand, the boy flinched. Behind the wariness in his eyes was a storm. Not Severus's problem.
'Come, you're going to shower.'
'But it's not working,' Potter insisted, stepping back from his extended hand. 'Why can't I just shower in Helsinki? An extra day won't make a difference.'
'Potter, you are sticky with sweat. You smell. You have grime under your fingernails. You will feel much better, and hopefully a little less defiant, once you've—'
'I don't smell!' blush erupted on the boy's face, deep and sickly. 'I've washed a bit in the sink, and I don't—I didn't even touch anything dirty, so—'
'For heaven's sake, you're not caked in mud, so I suppose if that's your standard of cleanliness, then you're fine as you are. But as we are well-acquainted with our own scents and thus considerably less sensitive to them, I advise that you take my word for it: you do smell, Potter.'
His chin was pressed into his chest and dirty strands of hair fell over his eyes, so it took Severus a moment to realise the boy was crying. He could perhaps have handled this more delicately.
'Look,' he tried, annoyed at the blush that threatened to break over his own face in turn. 'We've had a long journey and we're both sweaty and grimy—'
Potter shook his head frantically. 'Don't,' he mumbled. When Severus pulled on his shoulder, he followed obediently, but his arms stayed looped around his frame, and he refused to look up from his own feet.
Severus flicked on the bathroom light. He did his best not to meet his reflection's eye in the mirror.
'Summer school is in session,' he said lightly, swallowing down the tremble in his voice. 'Today, we will learn how to turn the shower tap on. Watch.'
He turned the tap. It did nothing.
He turned another. Something fizzled and a bit of water spurted out the bottom, but Severus didn't know how to move it up into the showerhead, or how to change the temperature—who on Earth needed this many knobs in the shower?
'I'm watching,' the boy muttered under his breath. Severus pretended not to hear him.
'Well—it must be—' Carefully, he stepped into the shower cabin and took a closer look at the symbols on each tap. They weren't terribly helpful.
'I've tried that one,' Potter whispered. 'It doesn't do anything.'
'No, this is ridiculous,' Severus said as he double-checked the taps and knobs he'd tried before, turning them every which way. 'Clearly, there's an issue with the plumbing, we'll have to go down to reception—'
Water burst from the rain shower suspended directly above Severus's head.
The boy choked on a laugh. When Severus glared at him, he slapped a hand over his mouth and managed to hold his breath; but his eyes betrayed him.
'And just what is so funny? You've come to me not knowing how to take a shower and I am demonstrating to you the correct method of doing so. I really don't see what's so amusing.'
The water was teeth-clattering cold. It ran down Severus's back under his soaked shirt, and his hair stuck in thick strands to his cheek and neck. But if this was a game of chicken, he was not going to swerve first. He stared the boy down.
'Do you understand the process now,' he asked, 'or do you need me to show you again?'
Potter's eyes scrunched up with the effort not to laugh. Struck by inspiration, Severus turned the water off, then took the boy by the arm and pulled him inside the cabin.
'Perhaps I should take you through it,' he said into his ear. 'See, Mr Potter, once you've undressed and set the water to your desired temperature, you simply turn this knob—'
A squeak echoed on the bathroom walls as the showerhead erupted with water.
'—just like so.'
The boy doubled over with laughter. Severus fumbled with the knobs for a while longer until he managed to set the temperature to one that wouldn't give Potter hypothermia, then stepped out of the shower. Rivulets of grey ran down the boy's neck. Hopefully, he would take off his clothes and make use of the soap once Severus left him, but even if he didn't, the water would wash away the worst of it.
After, they dressed in the heavenly soft cream robes provided by the hotel and stretched on their comforters until their bones popped and their muscles moaned. Severus had initially considered heading out for dinner, but the idea of moving made him nauseous, so he called room service instead. Potter's eyes went wide when the silver trays were placed on top of the bed, and even once he was told to help himself, he hesitated for a good while before plucking up the courage to reach for the fork. They ate fish, and honeyed rye bread, and wild mushrooms and pickled everything; they ate potatoes and dumplings and tiny pastries lathed in cream. Potter took a particular liking to the complimentary bar of blueberry white chocolate, and he had more of that than he'd eaten any proper food, but again, that was hardly Severus's problem.
Soon, the last winks of sunlight were petalling over the wooden floor, the pristinely white sheets, the boy's cheeks as he slept shallowly, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. A man came in to collect the empty trays, skulking like a creature of the night, his steps soft and careful. Severus pulled the heavy curtains until the room was dark and quiet; he didn't want to see dusk come.
Potter jerked, then jerked again. He mumbled something through tightened lips. When Severus touched his arm, he found it tense as could be, the tendons straining so much they bulged skin. There were a great many things he could be dreaming about, but it seemed too early for night terrors: he'd only just dropped off. It was just the stresses of the day, perhaps, escaping through the cracks as lucidity abandoned him.
Severus sat with him until the jerking subsided, just watching, fingers twined loosely around the twig of his wrist.
The sun must have set by now, he thought. It would be tomorrow soon.
So, that took a turn toward the melancholic. I suppose it's only right, as we're transitioning into what feels like Part Two of this story: on Saturday, we're finally arriving in Finland! Who knew they could actually make it.
Guest review replies:
Sanmari - aah, I'm very glad to hear that! This was such a sweet review, thank you so much :)
Guest, Jan 2 - I wish I could just sit here and write ginger scene after ginger scene to be honest, because these fun dialogue bits are my absolute favourite. But then I go, hey! Where's the drama?! ...and I have to go back to making poor Harry suffer again :( Thank you for this amazing review and the lovely wishes!
And as always, thank you to everyone reading and reviewing!
