Prowling London

Chapter Seven ~ Prowling London

     All in all, Hermione thought, he had taken it rather well. The Underground had irritated him no end, but he had merely tightened his lips into that familiar grimace and fingered the wand that was hidden in his sleeve. Though Hermione had to admit that she hadn't really been worried that he would hex a few dozen Muggles. If he hadn't done anything permanent to a student by now, it was more or less certain that he had the self-control of a saint. (Of course, the resulting image of "Saint Snape" was absolutely hilarious.)

     He had started when she grasped his hand (his left; she knew he would want his wand hand free) as they threaded their way through the mercilessly crowded station. "Forgive the liberty," she had said to him, "but it's far too easy to lose each other in this mess." He had said nothing, which she took for consent. Or resignation, anyway. And she was telling him the truth; Piccadilly had scads of people this time of year, even on a weekday and even Snape in his unrelieved black would be hard to spot. But she knew her way around here nearly as well as she knew Hogwarts (with or without the Marauders' Map) and a short time later they were comfortably ensconced away from the masses in Hatchard's. And the expression on Snape's face was the closest she'd ever seen it to interest.

     "I'll be on the second floor," she told him. "I need to pick up a few things for my parents and then I want to look up one or two subjects for myself."

     "Why am I not surprised," he said, the corner of his mouth curling upward, "that the first place you would go to is a bookstore?"

     To her own surprise--and, apparently, to his--she chuckled. "Because you know me far too well, Professor," she replied. "Shall we say about twenty minutes, then? Just come up and find me."

     "Ten minutes would be more agreeable," he replied. "I have no desire to spend more time here than is absolutely necessary."

     "Fifteen," she countered. "And not a minute less."

     "Agreed." Hermione smiled inwardly. She didn't need any more than ten, really; she knew the store like the back of her hand. One doesn't become a woman without realising the basic methods of manipulating men, after all.

     Some fifteen-odd minutes later, Hermione glanced around in surprise. She had expected Snape to be exquisitely punctual--if not early--and the fact that he wasn't standing on the landing glaring at her was... well, surprising. She indulged in a brief vision of him on the first floor, engrossed in one of the bondage novels, and muffled a snort of laughter. Though utterly atypical, it struck her as absurdly Slytherin-esque. With a grin fighting to appear on her face, she wandered down the stairs. Well, he was on the first floor, but in the fantasy/science-fiction section instead of bondage. Hidden in the small space between the large bookshelves against the wall and a small set that isolated it from the main walkway, he was immersed in the contents of a small paperback. She watched him turn a page, oblivious to the people passing by. Hermione felt uncomfortable, as though she had intruded on some intensely private moment. Disconcerted, she backed away quietly, retreating back up to the second floor. Once there, she stopped, leaning back against the railing and trying to analyse her own reaction. But she knew she was fighting a losing battle on that score and proceeded to settle down in a corner with a book of her own until Snape appeared of his own volition.

     Though she kept poking at the problem as one would a sore tooth.

     It was another ten minutes before he finally came to find her perched on a small chair, reading a book that she had picked out for herself. He said nothing; neither did she as she stood to accompany him out of the store. But a small corner of a sales bag poking out from beneath his cloak made her smile.

     It was a bit of a walk to their next destination and Snape seemed no more inclined to talk than he had been earlier. Neither did he offer to carry her parcel, but both omissions were to be expected. So was the inimical glare and the curled lip which he directed at the frantic holiday shoppers, all of whom were much more--obsessed with their task than she was.

     "Is there some reason behind this inane scurrying, Miss Granger?" he asked at one point. "And in our joining this mass of people acting like ants in a disturbed nest?"

     Hermione repressed a snort with difficulty; it was an apt simile. "Well, personally, it is simply because I have no opportunity to do Muggle shopping while I am at school--as you well know--and I was unable to do it during summer holidays. And--to answer the question you actually asked--I do this because it makes my family happy. Christmas is a tradition, you know, and somehow it becomes a very personal tradition. It brings us all together at a time that reminds us of how important it is to stay connected.

     "As for the rest of these people, some of them must have the same idea, but for many, I imagine it is a self-perpetuating cycle of guilt and showmanship. Everyone knows their relatives and acquaintances are going to get them something and they're going to be in big trouble if they don't do the same. Does that answer satisfy you, Professor?"

     "A rather absurd mix of cynicism and romantic idealism, Miss Granger."

     She shrugged. "I know what is true for myself, Professor. You may believe or not, as you please."

     "Oh, thank you, Miss Granger," he sneered, "for allowing me the luxury of my own opinion."

     She gave him a blindingly brilliant smile and cheerfully answered, "You're welcome." After a moment's pause, she added, "And Happy Christmas to you, too, Professor." Snape scowled and relapsed into silence.

     Which didn't last for long, as they soon arrived at there destination: Hamleys, London's most famous toy store.

     "Medea's dragons, what in bloody blazes are we doing here?" he seethed in a modified shout, staring at the frazzled parents and hordes of children in barely concealed horror.

     "As you may possibly have noticed," Hermione said blithely, "I do have a six-year-old sister. Six-year-olds like toys. Ergo, I am here to buy something for Genie for Christmas."

     "I am well aware of your sarcasm, Miss Granger," he remarked, "and I would advise you to cease your use of it immediately."

     She took the hint. Besides, after the past several years, she could read him pretty well and he was acting like a horse that was about to bolt. "You know," she continued conversationally, "I've never heard anyone swear by Medea before. It's very unusual."

     "Your point, Miss Granger?" he asked, nettled.

     "Nothing, really. I'm simply curious as to why you used it. And before you mention it, I did not ask because I knew you would not give me a straight answer. You never have."

     "Point conceded," he acknowledged. "And in reply to your non-question: Medea is a direct ancestress of mine. That particular turn of phrase is fairly common in my family."

     "How extraordinary!" Snape saw the girl's eyes light up in that far-too-familiar manner and groaned inwardly. "Are you related on your mother's or your father's side? What is your family's version of events? Do you have any literature from the period? I mean, did she leave any sort of diary or personal effects?"

     "Miss Granger..." His exasperation was clear. His hand covered his eyes briefly. "I am not some bloody storyteller, nor do I intend to have you prying into affairs that are none of your business. Besides which, this is neither the time nor the place to be recounting long family histories."

     "Sorry." At least the girl had the grace to appear somewhat contrite. "I let my curiosity run away with me again. You're right, I shouldn't pry into your personal affairs."

     "It isn't," he added, somewhat to his surprise, "that I do not understand your curiosity, Miss Granger. What I take exception to is your expression and timing, not to mention your utter lack of tact."

     "I understand." She smiled up at him. When had she become so tall? She was forced to stand very close to him in this crush and for the first time he noticed that the top of her head was on level with his nose. "I apologise for my tactlessness; however, I warn you that it is said to be a family trait, so I don't think there's much I can do about it."

     "Try," he growled back, teeth bared in something that was decidedly not a grin. He could not do anything damaging to the girl (unless he bided his time until term began again), but he would not be trifled with. Still, his usual intimidation techniques seemed to be losing their potency. He knew this holiday had been a bad idea.

     "Speaking of which," she continued, apparently ready for an unpleasant redirection of this 'conversation.' "We may as well go in and get it over with." He grimaced, then tightened his jaw and nodded. An unpleasant thought had occurred to him: he himself had nothing for the loquacious Genie. He had purchased duty-gifts for the Grangers and their elder daughter (yet another example of the manners pounded into him as a small child), but not for the child, of whom he had not known. As he had no plan to come again into the horror house London had become, he might as well grab some toy or other while he had the opportunity.

     "All right, then." Hermione took a deep breath. "I can't promise when I'll be finished; I know what I'm doing, but the lines here will be utterly mad. Shall we say in half-an-hour, in the back left corner of the ground floor? It may be slightly less hectic than the rest, since it doesn't have the really popular toys."

     "I will be there, then," he replied grimly. "Just finish and get there so we can leave this particular circle of Hell."

     "Agreed. I don't like this much more than you do, Professor. Well, over the top!" With a rather devil-may-care grin, she pulled Snape with her into the maelstrom.

     They lost each other almost immediately, pushed apart by two arguing mothers equipped with large prams. Snape fared somewhat better, as he was able to out-glare anyone in his path, and made rapid progress to their meeting point. To find himself--more than slightly bewildered--surrounded by plush animals. Blinking, he picked up a teddy bear, its small form dwarfed by his long-fingered hands. Another image superimposed itself on the toy--a bonfire, in the centre of a large gravel drive.

     It was no more than a moment, but it brought back a time in his life Severus preferred to leave in a chained, locked trunk in the most distant corner of his memory. His childhood--if, he scoffed inwardly, you could actually designate it by the term. According to his father, who had ordered an enormous party to mark--celebrate was certainly not the word to use--his son's acceptance letter, he had ceased to be a child. And the crowning event of the evening--every second of which he had hated--was a bonfire, in which everything of his that was 'childish' was burned. Including the one item he had left from his mother: his teddy bear, Vespasian. Tight-lipped and pale-faced--he would not, could not cry in front of his father, nor the strangers he had invited--Severus had watched the fur scorch and vanish, the shiny black eyes melt into a shapeless puddle.

     Scowling--whether at the teddy bear or himself, he wasn't certain--he slammed the blankly smiling toy back on the shelf. Idiotic, ridiculous, and absurd! A silly Muggle children's toy. A stupid child's infantile attachment. Annoyed, he stalked out of the store, Apparating as soon as he could. The Granger girl--stupid wench!--could run her own silly errands by herself.

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Notes (Jan 2004):

     Yes, Hatchard's and everything I mentioned about it exists. I spent a good couple hours there while my own Mum and Dad pottered around Fortnum & Mason's. And no, I did not spend the entire time looking at the bondage section. I went and bought the only two HP books I own. As yet, I'm not telling you what Severus bought, either. Hamleys is also real, but I pulled all details from their website. Medea is from Greek mythology, but, like Severus, I won't go into details here. Vespasian is the name of yet another Roman emperor.

(Apr. 2008) Well, I hope everyone is enjoying, though I'm not sure I like this section much anymore. Still, it's a little late to change it now...