rakina (rakina) wrote in snape_potter, @ 2009-04-03 19:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, rakina, rating: pg-13 |
FIC: Tapestry, by Rakina, PG13, chapter 11/?
Title: Tapestry, A Journey in Eight Stages
Author: Rakina
Rating: PG13 for this chapter, for adult language/sexual situations
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Summary: Harry only has one thing from his parents: a blanket. But his mum and dad were magical, and so it turns out to be no ordinary blanket, after all.
Beta: Thank you, keyairreem, for being so quick and accurate. I wish I were *sigh*
Disclaimer: I am not making any money from the characters which belong to JK Rowling. No disrespect intended. I do, however, lay claim to the plot and original characters.
Previous chapters here
Chapter 11: Deja Vu
Potions Master Severus Snape sat at his scrubbed pine kitchen table nursing his first mug of tea of the day. He wasn't properly awake yet as it always took at least two mugs for his brain to come online. Hair un-brushed, eyelids drooping, he was waiting for the tea to work its magic. Only then would he consider what to have for breakfast.
The living quarters above the apothecary's shop were gloomy, exactly as he liked them first thing in the mornings. Severus could not bear to open the curtains beyond a crack until he felt more alive. He did not doubt that the cheery influx of sunlight would fry his brain, as he'd never been a morning person. Even when he'd been in a relationship, his partner had soon learned to keep quiet until Severus had finished his second mug-full, at the very least. So when there was a loud clattering noise followed by an annoyed screeching outside the kitchen window, Severus let out a curse. Scowling fit to incinerate whatever benighted bird had the stupidity to venture to his shop this early in the morning, he got up and went to open the window. If it weren't for the fact he was beginning to doubt the glass would remain intact under the avian onslaught, he would have happily ignored it. Well, that and the infernal screeching.
The bird turned out to be a Scops owl; the type frequently called a 'screech-owl' in Europe. Severus sneered at it. "I suppose you cannot help making that hellish noise," he conceded, slipping his wand back into its arm holster. "Because of that, and the fact that I feel strangely generous today, you will live to deliver more mail. I simply suggest you do not disturb me this early again." His glare bored into the bird's round eyes. The owl, having larger, more prominent eyes and being possessed of the ability to stare fixedly without wavering while hunting, was completely unfazed by Severus' glare. Severus quickly admitted defeat, something that would have been unthinkable with a human. He was proud of being able to outstare anyone.
"So, what is so damnably urgent that you must make such a disturbance?"
The bird stuck out its leg. Severus wondered if he only imagined its smugness, and decided he most probably had. "Thank you."
The bird remained. This time the metaphorical boot was on the other scaly foot for the owl was staring at Severus with a fixed, predatory glare. Severus sighed. "Oh, very well! Though for this –" he waved the rolled-up scroll, which upon opening would resize itself into the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet, under the owl's beak, "– you hardly deserve a treat. Kindly remember to deliver my morning paper at 8 am in future. No later," he said, tapping the scroll, "and certainly no earlier." Picking up the slice of bread he'd be toasting a little later, Severus pulled off a piece of soft crust. "Here." He hated it when the Post Office took on new owls, especially since he had the old ones trained perfectly.
The owl was satisfied, but again Severus imagined its expression denoted mere grudging acceptance, as if it was used to better fare: bacon, perhaps, or possibly part of a sausage. "Not a chance," Severus muttered, opening the window wide and gesturing for the owl to leave.
The Scops owl took flight with a sudden spring into the air. Severus watched it go; half-awake he might be, but he could still appreciate the beauty of flight. When the owl was a mere speck in the distance, flown away over the nearby cottages and out toward the open moor, Severus closed the window and went back to that irresistible siren, the teapot.
Once through his second mug-full, Severus leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. He felt relaxed and life was good. His apothecary shop brought him a good living. Severus employed a young witch to undertake the bothersome task of serving the customers and keeping the place tidy while he brewed the stock and dealt with the more interesting queries. When he had time – which was at present on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays – Severus indulged himself by pursuing his research project. It was still in its early stages, involving lots of reading and the brewing of simple bases. This relatively unchallenging, some researchers would say boring, preparatory work was critical to the final outcome. Severus knew the time he spent now would pay off later, and despite having itchy fingers whenever he took up his laboratory knives to brew something, he had so far resisted plunging straight into trying out an experimental draught. No, Severus could wait. In his experience, patience always brought the bigger prize.
Severus reached out to the scroll and resized the morning paper. It sprang into its monochrome glory, the day's banner headline crying out for attention: