Strange Meeting

Disclaimer: Severus Snape is the intellectual property of J K Rowling. Hazel is the intellectual property of ME! But feel free to use her in your own work if you want to. :)

Enormous thanks to Tarah_Fae for her help and encouragement in the development of this story.

Hazel’s mouth stayed open, her eyes riveted to the apparition. It – he – was walking towards her, his boots leaving prints in the grass; not a vision, not an illusion, but something real and solid. She knew the legends, the traveller’s tales, the ancient tomb paintings – she’d seen the showman’s fakes, a pig’s head with the ears cut off and the snout turned inside-out - but there was one standing before her now, walking upright, fully clothed, and – her professional instincts took over – decidedly attractive. Arenoth had hidden behind her cloak – she smiled down at her familiar, and extended an arm towards her visitor.

“Hazel El-Panni, witch, at your service. Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting company out here.”

Snape came forward to meet the witch, and took her hand, trying not to look down at it too closely, although he couldn’t help counting her fingers – only two?

“Severus Snape, Potions master. I take it you are not attending the conference?”

Of course she wasn’t. An Animagus who could hold the transformation half-way would be famous throughout the wizarding world, and as for brewing a potion at the same time - impossible. But what else could he say?

“Conference? I - I’m afraid not.” Hazel could feel the undoubted power of the man through her fingers – not only was he human, he was a practitioner of the magical arts! Her mind raced at the word – conferences were for priests, politicians, the respectable. How could he be part of that world and still have and use The Gift?

“No matter. I see – or, rather, I smell,” Snape forced a smile, “that your potion employs…” He gasped again, seeing a dragon – a tiny dragon, no more than two feet long, but a dragon nevertheless - perch itself on the thing’s horns. He recoiled. “What is that?”

Hazel followed his gaze. “Arenoth? He’s my familiar.” She took a deep breath. “You have one yourself?”

Snape shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the dragon. “A familiar? No – but he is a dragon? I have never heard of one being tamed, let alone…” A hiss from the fire distracted them. Hazel turned back to the cauldron, with a quick “Excuse me,” and began to stir.

Snape closed his eyes for a long second, but the scene was unchanged when he opened them. He concentrated on the cauldron, something he could believe in. Hazel was using a plain white rowan rod, bringing the spiral pattern formed by the two components of the mixture back into perfect alignment – he nodded in approval, noticing the witch counting the revolutions under her breath. From the turmoil of his mind came an unexpected thought – “Does she count in base six?” He sighed, and finally let himself take in the details of the creature standing in front of him.

It was around six feet tall, and human in shape, although its head – he thought carefully – a deer of some sort, perhaps an antelope? However, the two horns that curled up from it reminded him more of a bison, and the face showed all the marks of intelligence and concentration that a careful brewing required. It wore a loose, olive-green tunic under its cloak – its visible skin was covered in fine fur, golden-brown, black, and white. Instead of feet, it had the cloven hooves of the Artiodactyla, its lower legs encased in shiny black leather. It was undeniably female; the smooth curves of her HUGE TITTIES were clearly visible under her tunic. Snape’s eyes strayed back to them, exploring every contour of the fabric, the palpable bulges at the peak of the twin domes where her nipples peeked invitingly at him, her cleavage becoming more and more visible as her tunic melted away, his hands reaching up to squeeze them firmly, burying his head in that warm, soft valley of comfort, his tongue lapping…

Hazel looked up, and smiled at Snape’s expression. “Don’t stand too close downwind, or the fumes will get to you - if they’ve not already. I think you’d better sit down. Arenoth, fetch Severus something to drink.” Hazel spread her cloak on the ground, well clear of the cauldron, and carefully lowered the trembling wizard on to it.

Snape’s vision swam back into focus. “My… apologies. An aphrodisiac potion? I…”

Hazel chuckled, and spread out her arms. She declaimed in her deepest voice, “My Elixir of Dreams. He who drinks of this will depart for a short while into the world of his most exalted and spiritual desires, to commune with the gods and angels, to seek out the spring of the Muses and drink deeply thereof; or, indeed, enjoy the more earthly pleasures.” She sprinkled a pinch of powder into the cauldron, and continued more prosaically, “Basic hallucinogens and mood-enhancers, nothing sophisticated. Are you feeling better now?”

Snape blushed a deep red. “Yes, madam, I was only affected for a moment. I must protest…” He was interrupted by a tug on his sleeve. The little dragon was holding up an earthenware beaker, containing a steaming, deep-brown liquid. Snape took a tentative sip, then a deep draught – proper tea, at last! His features relaxed into as close an approximation to a natural smile as they could.

“Ahh, thank you so much. Now, Miss El-Panni –”

“Hazel, please.”

Snape nodded. “Now, Hazel, I have some questions. Shall we start with – What are you, where am I, and how did I get here?”

AN: Arenoth waves to you, dear reader, and holds up a small sign, with “DANGER – EXPOSITON!” written on it. Let us rejoin Hazel and Severus after they’ve finished this essential but unedifying process in the next chapter. :)

Hazel first appeared in a story of mine, entitled "WitchSable", published on a long-defunct site. Hence the title of this particular fic.