Two weeks had gone by. Lottie had chosen a bedroom at the top of the apartment, far away from Buckbeak or anyone else, for that matter. It was a smaller room, and it had one slim window on the back wall giving a view of the barren backstreet; along the sill perched test tubes with plant propagations. The walls were papered in striped green so dark that on rainy days the room appeared black.
Velvet green curtains hung on the mahogany four-poster bed, which was fitted in white bedclothes. A singular gold frame, a landscape, had been hung above the matching mahogany dresser. Altogether quite fetching in appearance.
On top of the dresser were four potted plants, each one unique, and at the centre was a small terrarium. Lottie carefully watered them, avoiding the leaves. Once done, she headed downstairs for breakfast before work.
At the foot of the stairs, Lottie caught herself from tripping down the last step, thankful that the hall was empty, mere happenstance. But the same could not be said for when she arrived in the basement—her palms hit the floor with a smack.
A hand reached out for her; she looked up to see Sirius' smiling face.
"Probably should install some railings," he said.
Lottie got up, straightening her skirt. She tried to smile despite the heat prickling her neck, and that seemed to suffice; he was saying something as he walked back into the kitchen. But Lottie wasn't paying attention even as she followed him and sat down. Why did I agree to this? She took a deep breath and exhaled; her eyes focused on the knots on the worn old table.
Her bedroom was far away from the sitting room, but still, she'd had nightmares more often than not. The kitchen was fine; even if it was cold, it was silent most days. Today she felt uneasy, though she couldn't put a finger on why. At least, she was pretending not to know.
In her peripheral, she spotted Sirius over by the cupboards. She looked up at the sound of a glass pitcher of water hitting the table.
"...And the hall would burst into laughter, well, mostly the Gryffindors," he said, sitting down with his breakfast. "Eggs?"
She blinked at him; her stomach fluttered. "No, thanks." Hitting her knee on the underside of the table, she made her way over to the counter and made some toast.
When Lottie sat back down, it was towards the other end of the table. This is it. This is fine. She smiled. A warmth crept up her neck again, and she took a deep breath of warm air. But what was she smiling at? She hoped Sirius hadn't noticed. The two pieces of toast seemed to take forever to eat. One more slice and I can head into work…
Again she looked at the grains in the table, a knot the size of a sickle, and deep grooves running the length. A village could live in it. Then she was imagining a world set on the table, a basin in the knot, and houses set into the walls of each grain line. Lush greenery, a fresh breeze, the light scent of apples.
Feeling calmer, she wandered towards the door; Sirius frowned at her. The door opened, and Alastor Moody walked in.
"Dumbledore needs the location of that friend of yours," he said flatly, making his way over to Sirius.
Quickening her steps, Lottie made her way up the stairs and out of Grimmauld Place.
The buildings in the alley were a tightly packed motley group, some rising up two stories, others three; one storefront was twice as wide as the others, another reaching just past the door jambs. Flagstone lined the alley intermixed with cobblestones where the flagstone had long since been removed, and debris from spilt parcels huddled in the dark under the stalls. Ollivander's had two curved bay windows flanking the door (painted plum), displaying two handsomely crafted wands. The brickwork on Florian Fortisque's ice cream parlour had been painted vanilla accented with cyan along the windows and the break between the floors. While others were plain, made of red brickwork.
There were few people about in the morning haze, but when the sun had swept away the rest of the moon, the narrow alley was packed. Cloaks flitted about, while elbow to elbow people haggled for a better deal. Cats nipped at the air and stared at Eeylops Emporium until owners called them away. The street was a jumble of noise.
A two-story building capped the end of a row; the first story lined with windows had been painted white, while the second story's brickwork was in black. A sign written in cursive hung above the door reading: Rose's Nursery. The witch who owned the nursery and lived on the second floor was never to be seen; she had long ago given up the task of plant care and doled it out to another. The few times Lottie had seen the owner, she had nodded in her direction. Only once has she spoken to her, outside of the time she had hired her, and that was to tell her the thyme needed watering.
Lottie walked into the sales room with a crate of seedlings resting at her hip. Once at the table, she set each tray of fly traps down, then went to the backroom for more, where she promptly lost the next crate on the floor. It was early morning. Groaning, she patted her pocket for her wand when she remembered her wand was stuck into the braids encircling her head. With a wave of her wand, the seedlings were back in their tray, and she carried them out into the sales room.
She sat the trays down, turned around, and was startled to see someone standing there.
"Hello, Mr. Snape," she smiled. Why is he wearing a coat in summer?
"Morning," he replied. He was dressed in all black; the many buttons on his coat reflected the bright light.
Snape reached into the pocket of his coat, extracted a scrap of parchment, and handed it to her. "I require some very specific plants that I am afraid we do not grow at Hogwarts. I was hoping to find some here." His black eyes flitted to a nearby table.
Lottie looked over the list. "Oh, we have most of this except for the Mimbulus Mimbletonia." And the lavender. She frowned slightly.
"Even Yellow Bell?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yes." She pointed to the carnivorous pitcher plants sitting next to the window panes.
He nodded and started browsing the tables. A curtain of black hair obscured his face as he bent over the Yellow Bell. Picking up each plant, he carefully examined them before deciding on a suitable one, then he moved to the next table. Once he was done, he carted several plants to the counter where Lottie was now standing.
"Are you the herbology professor then?" She asked.
He paused in setting the plants down, the corners of his mouth downturn, as his gaze lingered on Lottie.
"Potions."
"Oh, what fun!" She said while writing in the sales book. "That'll be 11 galleons and 3 sickles."
He counted out the money while she took out a small box to stow the plants in. He handed her the money, then hesitated in taking the box.
"These Yellow Bells are exceedingly hard to come by; they're very delicate, and here you have numerous mature plants. It stands to reason you are experienced in herbology."
"Oh, I stew the flies," she said matter-of-factly. "These plants can be particularly picky."
"Quite." He studied her before going on. "I was wondering if you have heard of the Whisper Twist?"
She smiled at him, cheeks dimpling. "That, yes. It can be quite a pest."
His eyes met hers for a moment, then they flitted away to the box of plants.
"I don't suppose you have some?"
Her eyes lit up, and she left the counter, motioning for him to follow. She led him through the door at the end of the backroom and into a smaller room. A light was in the center of the ceiling, an unobstructed sphere of light, casting a warm glow over the room. The cypress paneled walls bore no windows or fittings. Fresh pine and mint hung in the misty air.
Here in the barren room stood the plant, though in truth it was more of a tree; it had a thick stalk that was wound around itself, and the leaves were a pale, pastel green. It had two pups potted next to it, which she led Snape over to.
He eyed the plants in silence, keeping his distance from the sensitive leaves.
"A rare sight."
"I've been working on them for five years now," she said softly. Except Pupcake and Custard…
"How, may I ask, have you managed it?" He turned to face Lottie.
…They're only about a year old.
Flustered, she gave him a small smile. "Well, I've found they're just as sensitive to light as with touch and noise."
An eyebrow slightly raised, he remained silent. The silence stretched on. Lottie had looked back at the plants, arms behind her back playing with the bow of her dress.
From the corner of her eye she noticed Snape shift on his feet.
She turned back to him. "I think that's where most people go wrong, trying to solely drip water the Whisper Twist—the soil dries too fast. You can't give them a larger amount of water or they'll start dying. The mist keeps the leaves from drying out."
His black eyes sparkled, and he inclined his head, looking again at the silent plant. Then he straightened. "Yes, a rare sight it seems." His eyes cast towards the door; Lottie followed his eyes.
Carefully, she opened the door and shut it just so, once they had left.
In the sales room Lottie took her place behind the counter, which Snape stepped up to; collecting his box, he paused.
"Would they be for sale or part of your private collection?" He asked.
Lottie stopped what she was doing, sighing slightly. "Just the pups."
"At what price for one?"
"35 galleons."
"I'd be more inclined at 30…" He said, his gaze wandering to the backroom. "I would need to collect the funds. Could you hold it for my return?"
"Today?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes."
"Yeah, that would be fine." Flushing, she straightened some seedlings on the counter.
Snape had started towards the door, and she spoke again.
"Well, see you later, then." She added, "We close at five."
He looked back at her, his brows drawn, something unreadable in his eyes, then continued into the sales room.
Lottie straightened some bags of dirt, refilled her watering container, and after a few more tasks she went out into the main room. Snape was long gone.
Around noon she left Diagon Alley, apparating into the yard of her favourite place to eat. The place was a small, square building, which Lottie entered. Nobody was here, nobody was ever here. The wizards who owned the restaurant were, objectively, terrible cooks. But the saltless bread reminded her of her grandmother's, which she was quite fond of.
He's sure less snippy today. She stirred her soup, looking over to the waitress carrying a tray to a table. I'll have to ready a box for the plant. After her meal she went straight back to the nursery; she had plenty of seedlings to plant and some to repot.
Her wand in hand Lottie made way for the door preparing to close up for the night– it was after five o'clock. Just as she reached for the door it opened.
"Punctual, I see," she joked, stepping aside to let him in.
Snape stiffened but walked in nonetheless.
"A necessary, albeit inconsequential, errand," he said, his voice rigid. He handed her a pouch.
Puzzled, Lottie led him into the room with the Whisper Twists; she had set a table beside the plants, with a container on top. He strode over to the pups, took out his wand, and carefully set one of them inside the box. While he was doing so, Lottie had moved beside the table to get one last look at the plant.
"So what will you name them?"
He was frowning as he looked over to her. "One does not name a potion ingredient."
"Why not? Plants often have personalities. Take the mother plant; I have to wear gloves while repotting her or her roots start drying up, while the pups don't seem to care."
"How… insightful." Picking up his box he winced, quickly setting it back.
Lottie made to help him, but at a glare from him she stopped. Then he grabbed the box, supporting it with the other arm, and started for the door.
"Good evening, Mr. Snape."
He cringed, a fist tightened at his side as he turned towards her. "If you insist on speaking to me, you will refer to me as Snape. Only Snape," he spat.
"Alright then. Good evening, Only Snape," she said, a smile playing at her lips. He left without another word.
She had come back and went straight to her room again, setting her wand on the dresser in front of the terrarium. Outside the window was starting to dim; the street was silent. Lottie closed her eyes, sighing. All she wanted to do was finish repotting her plants and then have a nap, she needed a nap. Her stomach growled. Lottie frowned; apparently she needed to eat too.
Sirius popped his head in the doorway, and the sound of creaking floorboards caught Lottie's attention.
"I don't bite, you know." For some reason unbeknownst to Lottie, that amused him.
"That's good," she said, her eyes downcast. She was sitting on her bed surrounded by soil, plants, and pots.
He frowned slightly at her response. Then a smirk tugged at his lips as he crossed his arms over a maroon vest.
"You're up here again."
"Well, this is where I stay when I'm not at work."
"In the most dismal room in the place," he said, with a defiant lift of his chin. "I was hoping you'd stay downstairs earlier; there's someone I'd like you to meet."
She smiled at him. Oh dear.
"I'm not bothering you, am I?"
"No," she sighed.
"Good. Because I have every intention of finding out why you're hidden away."
"I'm repotting this plant." Lottie couldn't help smirking at the look on his face. He has such puppy dog eyes.
"You do this every day?"
"Yes?"
"And you're in a rush to repot your plants?"
"Yes," she said, scooping more soil from the bag lying on her bed.
"And I'm not supposed to take this as avoidance?"
Lottie stopped what she was doing, her eyebrows drawn, giving him a pensive look. "Well, I'm not one for crowds."
"Molly brought by some food earlier. Supper, if you want some." He gave her a small smile. "Kitchens empty."
She sighed again. "Alright."
So they traversed the halls, mindful of Mrs. Black's portrait, and entered the kitchen. Lottie washed the soil from her hands, and Sirius made his way over to the dishes of food Mrs. Weasley had prepared. He had not waited for Lottie to decide; he had begun to plate the food. Then he realised his error.
"I should have asked what you wanted."
"All I want is cake," she said, eyeing a basket of strawberries. Then she started gathering ingredients.
"Think I'll stick to this," he said, wrinkling his nose.
Lottie began stemming and cutting the strawberries, and then she swept them into a bowl.
"You eat cake for dinner often?"
"No."
"Ah. I did a few times when I went to Hogwarts; there was always plenty to choose from. Haven't had an excuse since then, I suppose…" His eyes glossed over as he slowly chewed a forkful of food.
Lottie gave him a puzzled look as she arranged her ingredients. A small bowl—there. She dumped the strawberries into the smaller bowl and then looked about for the flour. She looked around the table, but it wasn't there.
"Sometimes you just need to eat some cake." If I can find it... Then she tried the pantry.
Sirius looked up from his food, a confused expression on his face. "Lost something?"
Lottie swirled around, her eyebrows drawn, her face sketched in equal confusion. She mouthed the word 'what'. It took her a moment to collect her thoughts. "Flour," she said, turning back to continue searching.
Behind her was a clatter of a fork, and then a scraping sound as Sirius got up.
"Did you use it all?" He opened a few doors, but they were empty, as were most of the cupboards.
"There was most of a bag left yesterday." She stood near a corner of the room and looked around the kitchen. Sirius, too, wasn't in sight.
A chuckle came from the pantry.
"I've found your flour."
Lottie hurried into the pantry but frowned when she arrived, there was no flour in sight.
Wearing a grin, Sirius jerked his head towards the top shelf, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
"What?" Lottie crossed her arms.
"Up on the top shelf. It seems you are, in fact, short on flour."
Is that supposed to be a joke? She scowled, then moved to the shelves, reaching up on her tiptoes. She couldn't reach.
"I can get it." Sirius moved forward, tugging the bag closer to the front; he was standing just beside her.
"No, thank you," she said primly.
"How are you going to get that without your wand?" He looked down into her face, she was still scowling at him.
Oh! She stretched out her hand, grabbed the corner of the bag, and inched it towards the ledge.
Sirius had let go, watching her move the flour. She was on tiptoes, arms fully extended, the bag of flour precariously partway off the shelf. He moved beside her, grabbing at the bag. But she wrenched it towards herself in a sudden movement, and it fell to the floor.
She huffed, putting her hands on her hips, and glared at him. There was flour on her arm and flour on the floor.
"You were about to break a wrist!" His eyes found hers; she was scowling. Then he added, "I'm sorry about the flour."
"Oh, there's still some in the bag," she said, her voice awfully sweet.
He glanced at the floor. "Good!" And he moved a step back towards the door.
Lottie leaned down, grabbed a handful of flour, and threw it at him.
Sirius looked at her with a perplexed expression, brushing himself off. "What are you-"
She marched right up to him, looking him in the eyes. "Still ended up on the floor."
"Well–" He faltered. "Well, now you can make that cake, if there's enough left."
The harshness in her face had melted, and she tilted her head to the side.
"Want to help?"
Sirius considered her a moment. Meanwhile, she scooped up what was left of the bag and took it into the kitchen.
While Lottie prepared the dry ingredients, Sirius walked up beside her, taking a piece of strawberry from the bowl. Her eyes narrowed as he reached across her, but she didn't say anything. Next, she cracked some eggs into the mix, stirring them together.
"You can add the strawberries," she said, looking up at him. She had flour on her face.
"Now? You're joking!"
She shook her head. "No." She giggled, handing him the small bowl. "It's strawberry cake."
He tipped it in. "Of course!" His face wore a puzzled expression.
Sirius was back in his seat once Lottie had put the cake in the oven; he pushed his place back.
"Have I told you about the time James and I snuck into the kitchens at Hogwarts…"
And so the evening went, Sirius recounting a tale of a secret Gryffindor party, while Lottie lay her head in her hands. Only for a moment, only… a moment. She fell asleep, her head nestled in her arms.