|beholder_mod (beholder_mod) wrote in hp_beholder,|
@ 2008-04-26 16:20:00
|Entry tags:||eileen prince, fic, het, tobias snape|
FIC: 'Underneath The North Star And The Sycamores' for atdelphi
Title: Underneath The North Star And The Sycamores
Pairings: Eileen Prince/Tobias Snape
Word Count: 5,188
Summary: I'm restless, eager for something I'm not quite certain of, something I never thought I'd want.
Author's Notes: Many, many, many thanks to my three betas for their suggestions and comments, and much love to bethbethbeth for this fest. And a huge debt of gratitude to atdelphi for a chance to write Eileen and Tobias.
"Six NEWTs," Mother says in that shrill, nearly hysterical voice she's taken to using with me since I'd come home from Hogwarts a month past. The teapot wisely scampers further down the breakfast table. It's been present at far too many of Mother's episodes, as Father'd liked to term them. I prefer calling them raging fits of melodrama--which had always made Father smile behind his teacup as he chastised my impertinence.
Merlin, I still miss him. It's only been eight months since we buried him, and none of us still quite know what to do with ourselves. Father was the one that held us together. Kept us from turning on each other.
This year's been difficult.
"Six," Mother says again, mouth tight, and she stabs a kipper with her fork, slashing angrily at it with her knife, "and you've taken a position in Yorkshire instead of the Ministry? Have you lost your mind, Eileen? Surely your sister could find you something better in London."
I butter my currant scone calmly and set the knife down on the side of my plate with a quiet clink. "As if I'd ask anything of Fins." The scone is crumbly sweet; the currants soft and tart. My older sister and I have a complicated relationship—at least in her opinion. Frankly, I can't stand the arrogant cow. We're nothing alike, Finola and I. She prefers boys and frocks and gossip, all of which bore me to tears. Give me a book and a quiet fire, I say.
My sister spends most of her life appalled by me.
"Finola has already expressed her concern over these ridiculous plans of yours, and she would be quite happy to arrange an interview with the Floo Network for you—"
"Mother." I frown at her over the scone. Honestly, I don't know how we've tolerated each other this long. I'm quite aware that I'm a disappointment to my family. Mother and Finola take great care to point that out to me at every opportunity.
Mother looks at me then, the tiny furrow in her brow deepening. "If you must work, Eileen, the Ministry is far more appropriate for a witch of your standing. You're a Prince, for Circe's sake. What on earth will my friends think when I tell them my daughter has decided to go wandering the moors for an apprenticeship?" Her lip curls at the word. "In potions, of all things!"
"I'm quite sure they'll be horrified at the notion that you've raised a swotty daughter." Mother's friends already despair of me--with the exception of my godmother, Lycoris Black, who prides herself on being--in her words--a wretched old bluestocking spinster. But then, she has the luxury of being a Black. Everyone knows they're entirely barking.
Mother sighs and presses her mouth together in that tight, thin line that expresses all too well her displeasure with me.
I'm unmoved. No matter what Mother thinks of the great Northern wasteland, this is a brilliant opportunity to study under Libatius Borage. He never takes on students, recluse that he is, and Professor Slughorn and Lycoris both called in favours owed to coax him into taking me on for the next year. I've no intention of letting them down.
Besides, if I don't escape from this damned house soon, I'll go out of my mind. Truly.
Or commit matricide.
At the moment, I'm not sure which is worse.