Anti-litigation charm: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.
To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. I have read every review with pleasure.
Please forgive my delays but, longtime no write, PhD keeps me up all night.
Now on with the story:
Chapter 13: Returning Home
Miss Granger would not panic. No, it was not in her nature to do so, though she rather felt that if she were so inclined, now might be as good as any to indulge in a bit of a start. How in Circe's benevolent name had Lord Snape managed to get his overly elegant fingers onto her copy of 'How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients?' She would have sworn on the entire collected works of Merlin that she had taken the book up to the house with the rest of her purchases... The answer, unfortunately, was self-evident. Lord Snape was, after all, descended from one of the most powerful families of Magicana Britannia.
"My Lord?" Miss Granger queried as she nodded her head towards the book nestled in the palms of his hands. "What are you doing with Miss Granger's copy of 'How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients?'?" She would far rather Lord Snape lowered his opinion of Mr Goodson on the assumption that 'he'--Mr Goodson--was unlikely to spend very much time in the such exalted company as represented by the Earl than display her dismay at the thought that the same exalted Lord was planning on delivering the book to Miss Granger. The very idea caused a significant flutter of consternation in her breast. Her fears, unfortunately, were swiftly realised when the Earl, favouring her with a superior look, commented that as the book was a gift, would it not be prudent to ensure its speedy delivery? The book, being a gift to herself, and as a result, had already been delivered, was not something she was in a position to explain.
"My Lord," she said most forcefully, "it is rather late in the day to be making calls upon members of the gentry. I rather think that the delivery can wait until tomorrow." A note of finality, akin to the announcement of the Apocalypse, crept into her tone as she spoke.
Allowing his left eyebrow to quirk upward, Lord Snape spoke in a mild voice, apparently completely undisturbed by the fact that a mere man of affairs was attempting to order him about. "I rather suspect that Baron Privet would accept my calling at anytime." Lord Snape allowed himself a wry smile. Accept his calling at anytime? The toad-eating Baron and his wife would very likely allow that it was a pleasant surprise even if he were to call upon them at dawn, four-sheets to the wind and with a paramour on each arm.
"Now, the recipient is Miss Granger?" he queried, "The same Miss Granger who is currently residing with Baron Privet and his family? If that is whom this is intended for, then it will be my pleasure to see to its safe arrival. After all I believe she has been unwell of late," the oblique comment referring to the disastrous attempt to take Miss Granger for a tour of Hyde Park, "and she would most likely be exceedingly pleased to receive her father's gift. Cease your worry my good man, I will deliver this forthwith."
The mildness of his tone did nothing to disguise the inherent command and Miss Granger found herself answering in the affirmative, yes, the tome was intended for Miss Granger and it was to be delivered to her at the soonest possible instant. The book was to act as her father's Come Out present in place of the usual fripperies that ladies of the tonne delighted in. Hoping against hope… she knew well that Lord Snape knew the address of the Dursley's… Miss Granger asked, "But isn't it rather out of your way, Sir?"
It was, in fact, quite out of his way. His town residence was only three blocks south of Viscount Granger's abode, but he was not about to admit to that fact and, in theory at least, Mr Goodson should not be aware of his direction. "It is of no consequence, a mere block or so out of my way," he said primly. "With this pair," Snape nodded his head towards the cattle that, even now stood patiently in the street exhibiting no signs of distress or ill temper at being forced to stand for so long, "it is a matter of slight inconvenience." Closing the tome in hand with alacrity, Snape swung himself up into the driver's box, thus ending any further discussion on the point of the book and its dispersal.
A quick flick of his wrists and the curricle moved off, leaving Miss Granger to ponder the arrogance of those of the first standing. She, in fact, belonged to a family within that circle; but that was not dwelt upon. Thanking her foresight in crafting a portation device prior to her leaving the Dursley's, she turned abruptly and went into her father's house with a look of annoyance that only an old, and trusted, family retainer might detect.
Unfortunately the only people resident in the Green Street address at the moment were old Family retainers. "Is something amiss, Miss Granger?" Hagrid asked as she stepped into the front vestibule.
Lord Snape carefully tooled his cattle along Green Street before turning left into the wider Park Street, a smile on his face as he contemplated the afternoon. Indeed, it had been a while since he had spent such a pleasant afternoon and he could see many possibilities in further association with the young Mr Goodson. Traffic was light at this hour; most of the tonne would be currently preparing for the evening's rounds of entertainments. Even he should be returning to his Mount Street abode lest his valet fall into the dismals; normally a thing to be avoided by any prudent man, as a superior gentleman's gentlemen was worth his weight in gold but oft required handling skills that made members of the four-horse club look ham-fisted. Still, having taken possession of Miss Granger's tome, he had best speedily deliver it.
His team moved along Park Street at a cracking pace, for city driving at least, before turning into Mount Street and driving past his townhouse and up towards Berkley Square. It was here that he was forced to slow his cattle as the after-effects of his Aunt's earlier visit to the Dursley's were still felt. It seemed that everyone who resided within a three block radius of the Conduit Street address was finding a reason to call upon, or simply stare at, the Baron's humble abode.
When Snape finally pulled the team up in front of Baron Privet's residence, he was struck once again be the sheer ostentatiousness of the man. The knocker that hung on the door to indicate the family was home and receiving guests was so large and ornate that it would be better suited MOMy's Summer Pavilion in Bath. Informing his tiger that he, unfortunately, expected to be a while, he jumped lithely from the box and, book in hand, knocked at the door.
The same supercilious butler that had greeted him when he had paid the requisite courtesy call upon Miss Dursley opened the door and dared to look the Earl up and down as though he were a mere 'cit' rather than one of the premier members of the Tonne. "Yes?" The man queried in a tone that would have frozen Mercury's mysterious metal. "The Dursley's are currently not receiving," the Butler stated with a touch too much asperity. He'd been answering calls all afternoon instead of partaking of his usual leisure time. The Dursley's, after all, were normally very low on the totem pole that was the Tonne's visiting regimen.
"I have a package to deliver to Miss Granger," Lord Snape said in arch tones that conveyed his displeasure. The Butler knew he was in the presence of presence, and quickly schooled his thoughts and visage to a more neutral shade.
The Butler, who would normally have taken it upon himself to send away any visitor that might come calling on Miss Granger, decided that discretion was the better part being unemployed and showed the Earl into the Parlour that had been graced with the Dowager Duchess Gryffindor's presence earlier in the day. Bowing as subserviently as possible, the Butler indicated that he would see of it was possible to see Miss Granger.
Lord Snape was certain that Baron Privet would see him; and whether or not the good Baron and his wife wished it, he would see Miss Granger. The only thing in doubt was whether or not Miss Granger had managed to return home yet?
His ruminations on the subject of Miss Granger were interrupted by the attempted grand entrance of Miss Dursley; the young chit had heard the commotion and had assumed, quite incorrectly, that Lord Snape had called upon her.
"My Lord," she said breathlessly, as she draped herself in a boneless manner against the door to the parlour, "it is rather late in the day to be calling, is it not?" A decidedly artless look upon her face.
Snape, a man of the world recognized the studied innocence in her glance, and manner, decided to allow himself a small amount of amusement. "I think not, Miss Dursley."
"Yes, I suppose you are correct," Miss Dursley readily agreed, "I am rather new to Town life after all."
"I suppose that you are finding Town stifling," he said leading her into verbal quicksand… Miss Dursley happily followed. Her limitless capacity for stupidity nearly took Lord Snape's breath away.
"Stifling, my Lord?" A petite hand, wavering ever so calculatingly slightly, was brought to her lips in mock horror, "No, never. London is much too interesting, it could never be considered stifling," she finished, espousing the generally accepted opinion of London's Beau Monde.
"Then you possess a much stronger constitution than I, Miss Dursley, for I find the London atmosphere to be terribly, terribly stifling." Lord Snape said with studied indifference.
"Yes, my Lord, the air is positively wretched," Miss Dursley said changing her opinion instantly to reflect that held by her companion. Stepping into the room proper, the young lady tried to close the door behind her… most likely in an attempt to appear compromised.
Snape, fully awake to the tricks and traps set by the marriage hungry, and Miss Dursley was demonstrating every sign of being willing to trap a suitable parti into a declaration, stepped back and negligently waved his wand, which slid easily from its wrist sheath to his hand at a twist of his wrist. Miss Dursley suddenly found the door stuck fast, in the open position.
Not one to admit defeat easily, Miss Dursley continued to tug, rather furiously, at the door. Snape, who should have known better, was only just rescued from a forced declaration by the reflexes that had gained him admittance to the four-horseman club.
Like the player in some poorly planned Cheltenham tragedy, Miss Dursley gave one last great heave on the door. Her grip, and the careful polishing that the handle had received earlier in the day, conspired to cause a dreadful accident. Miss Dursley's grip suddenly failed, causing her to pitch into the room. Snape, normally the most punctilious of gentleman, reacted with lighting speed; he teleported back into the hallway appearing immediately behind Baron Privet.
"Nothing is amiss, Hagrid." Miss Granger said as she pondered the current dilemma. She had a portation key which she knew, in theory at least, would take her back to the place where the key was created. The problem was, she had never actually used a key she had made before.
Her father, a wiser man than many, had forbidden the various governesses that had been employed to tutor his daughter ever discussing the relatively new magical science of portation. This ban had been extended to her years at Miss Knowleall's Academy. What he had failed to consider was the level of natural curiosity possessed by his offspring and thus, whilst she had never been taught how to create a portation key, she had read everything she could find on the subject and had taught herself… The only problem was she had never actually had need to use one of her own keys before and, as such, was a trifle concerned that she may have inadvertently muddled the whole process up. Unfortunately, with Lord Snape barrelling towards the Dursley's at a fair clip, she had no choice but to pray to Circe and hope for the best.
The last she heard before she committed her soul to the ether was Hagrid asking, "Are you sure, Miss? If you don't mind my saying you are looking a little peaked."
It would be a great many years before she was able to categorically describe the gut-wrenching feeling that accompanied the use of the portation key, and at that point only because she had entered into a difficult labour requiring the use of a magical caesarean section. The feeling of having a body ripped through her navel was oddly reminiscent of the tug of the portation key. Either way, the device worked as advertised and she found herself standing back in the middle of the room that she had left precipitously that morning. The fact that she felt nauseated beyond recall and was having great difficulty standing could be overlooked in this instance, she was back at the Dursley's, and judging from the sounds emanating from the hallway, not a moment too soon.
An incredibly loud shriek echoed, and re-echoed, off the walls and ceilings of the parlour and hallway. Miss Dursley, it appeared, was somewhat discomposed at the moment. Just as the sound ceased reverberating Baron Dursley could be heard to bellow, "Snape…. What have you done to my daughter?"
TBC…………. Can Miss Dursley use her fall for her own nefarious ends?
Jeanette ;)