Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

Ah, I just read Therese’s post after posting mine and I see we are a clean lot today. And French milled soap…the only way to go!
lee
Claudia, is there a bath tub in the tardis?, - Friday, January 30, 2004 at 14:43:23 (EST)

The room was large and surrounded with the unmistakable air of mystical romance. Wide warmly polished walnut plank floors were covered with beautiful Harike wool and silk oriental rugs of ivory, black and red.

The large walnut canopy bed was adorned with mother of pearl inlay and was surrounded by lighted candles and several handfuls of fresh white rose petals were scattered upon the ivory bedclothes. Gwenevere strolled by and her hand reached out and touched the silk ribbons loosely affixed to each bedpost. She gave Snape a questioning look and he innocently shrugged his answer to her.

The exquisite antique walnut furniture included a Danish double armoire, writing desk and chairs. An eighteenth century carved mirror hung above a carved white marble fireplace and original oil paintings, one being of Napoleon on a white steed with golden bridle, adorned fourteen-foot walls and ceilings were complete with carved medallions and softly muted antique lighting.

Snape took her cloak and placed it with his, on the brass cloak rack, placing his wand in his coat pocket. He grabbed the cognac and goblets and headed for the bath, with the belief that a relaxing soak would do wonders for Gwenevere’s understandably frazzled nerves. Upon looking in, he motioned to Gwenevere with a nod of his head that she should follow him.

She stepped in and took stock of the huge sunken rose marble tub and golden fixtures. A stack of fluffy white towels and French milled bath soap from provence scented in almond and lavender awaited them on a marble topped walnut table under a small stained glass window beautifully etched with a wandering vine design.

Almond scented candles populated the spacious sides of the tub and bathed the room in the warm glow of candlelight. Snape poured out two cognacs and placed them on the tub ledge before turning taps to fill the bath for her.

She stood before the elaborately carved marble basins and mirror and deeply kissed her lover as he loosened buttons on her black suit. He lowered her jacket and regarded her with intensity, the candlelight flickering on her glossy hair and in her deep brown eyes. Gwenevere slowly removed his coat and they both stepped out of their shoes.

Snape worked at cufflinks while he kissed Gwenevere’s seductively exposed neck, letting his mouth trail down to her collarbones. Gwenevere’s fingers began working on the buttons of his shirt as his mouth again met hers in a long, slow easy kiss. Snape flicked his wand in the direction of the tub and stopped the water flow as suds crept up to the sides of the tub, and then placed it on the table beside the towels.

They stepped from the remainder of their street clothes and into the bath. Gwenevere settled in front of Snape and he handed her a drink. She sipped from the goblet and closed her eyes as his fingers slowly massaged her shoulders and back in a relaxing meditative method. They soaked away the experience of the autopsy as the cognac warmed their blood and soothed the edges of their disposition. Gwenevere closed her eyes and pressed her head against him in tranquil bliss.
lee
Have a great weekend everyone!!, - Friday, January 30, 2004 at 14:31:33 (EST)

Mistral Manor:

If the table groaning under the weight of various baked goods was any indication, Welsh women responded to the sorrows of their neighbours by bringing sweets. There were pies too numerous to mention, including something that Mistral referred to as "poten bwmpen" which though it sounded very exotic coming across his tongue, translated loosely to pumpkin pie with raisens. A few of the local ladies had outdone themselves with delicacies such as a marzipan mince and a bannofee pie, and there seemed to be little buttery Welsh cakes spilling from every corner. The guests had eaten their fill of these items as they talked and laughed, until finally it was time for each of them to seek their rooms. The following day would be hard on all of them.

Mistral, ever the gentleman host, had escorted Dev and Therese to a lovely room, the large, wooden pieces of furniture old and mellowed with age, and fresh cut flowers gently scenting the air. "Cindie's work," he said, indicating the arrangement, and then turned toward Dev. "Though I suppose I've you to thank for much of this as well, haven't I?"

Dev clasped Mistral's shoulder tightly with a steady hand. "It was all her fault. Entirely," he said, very seriously. His expression softened as he considered his host, "We'd any of us have done the same, Mistral." There was a slight moment of silence as Mistral absorbed the comfort of Eamon's words, and then showed his guests around the large room; a pile of towels sat in a rocking chair, and through one of the two doorways was a large bathroom, in the center of which stood the most enormous claw foot tub that Therese had ever seen.

"It's lovely, Mistral, you have a beautiful home," Therese said quietly, taking in the elegance of her surroundings. He paused at the doorway for a moment, and then shook his head slightly.

"It's funny, that, but I've never truly thought of it as my home before now. It was my father's home once, then my mother's, of course, after his. . .passing. I think it took having Cindie here, and all of you, to make it mine. For that I will always thank you. Good night," he said gently, and quietly excused himself from the room.

Therese turned to Eamon after the door was firmly closed. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, not at all," he replied, taking her gently by the arms and drawing her into his embrace. "I think that Mistral is a man unaccustomed to friendship. He has been adored often, been coveted and pursued, and attempts have been made to utilize him for personal gain, but I think that having the support of true friends is somewhat of a revelation to him. I believe he's finding it of comfort, and if I am any judge of character, I would think it would be returned tenfold amongst us."

"Oh, of that I have no doubt," Therese said, her mind darting back to that night at the pub months ago when Mistral had stepped in between herself and an overzealous fan, the absolute picture of protective fury.

Dev stepped aside, and lifted Therese's suitcase to the bed. "Shall I run you a bath?" he offered.

Therese looked over her shoulder to the huge porcelain tub and smiled. "Only if you'll join me in it."

Dev raised a slanted brow at his lady. "Miss Gellert, you are a woman of questionable moral character, and given these tendencies, it is high time you allow me to make an honest woman of you."

"After we bathe, I'll consider making a satisfied man of you," Therese retorted, and began to remove some of their clothes from the suitcase. She hummed softly as the sound of running water droned in the background, being sure to hang Eamon's suit and her dress to allow any wrinkles to relax overnight. She was unaware of his approach until a square bar was placed gently under her nose.

"Sandalwood?" he asked.

Therese took a delicate sniff. "Mmmm, nice, but too masculine. Is there any lilac?"

Dev tipped his head reproachfully. "Lilac? Far too feminine, I'm afraid, if I'm to join you." He went back to the basket resting on a table next to the bathtub, and glanced over the assorted collection of French soap and bath salts. "Here we are," he said, holding up a green package, "jasmine."

"Mmmm, yes, perfect," Therese agreed.

Harry
If that claw foot tub could talk..., - Friday, January 30, 2004 at 08:28:12 (EST)

Trust me Lee, I would take it. We don't see snow very often down here.
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Thursday, January 29, 2004 at 14:55:04 (EST)

“Yes I knew him, we were acquainted as children and later both he and his father were clients of mine.” She told him. She started to have some soup but set the spoon down instead.

“Clients?” he asked, taking a mouthful of venison.

“Yes, at Gringotts. There’s more.” She added as she reached into her pocket for the letter from Doctor Burgess and handed it to Snape.

He took it out of its neatly sliced envelope and read it carefully before replacing it and handing the envelope back to her. He was dangerously quiet; they dined in silence for a time as he processed the information just given him. The circumstances presented a challenge and would cause an enormous impact on their lives no matter how he looked at them.

“How long have you known about this?” He finally said, tearing off a hunk of crusty bread and sopping gravy.

He remembered seeing the letter amongst her mail yesterday and was preparing to become very annoyed with her answer if she had waited twenty four hours to tell about events of this magnitude that would surely affect them. Gwenevere looked upon the deterioration of his normally impeccable table manners as a sign of his temper and realized that he had every reason to be vexed over the information. She had successfully avoided thinking about the ramifications by staying busy every minute since opening the letter.

“I only opened the letter at lunchtime, just before we met in the dungeon today. I had planned to show it to you at tea, but there wasn’t time.” She said.

She detected a minor shift in his demeanor; he relaxed his grip on his knife a fraction. Snape realized that he’d been with her almost every minute since the letter arrived at her quarters and felt in the wrong for transferring his displeasure of the situation to her, the one person he trusted beyond a shade of doubt.

“Of course. Please forgive me for asking, I should have known.” He said, reestablishing sound decorum to the table.

“Severus, I know this is a shock to you. Believe me when I tell you that I had no prior knowledge of Doctor Burgess’ plans, it was a shock to me as well."

Gwenevere held his eye contact with gentle understanding, causing him to regret the question to yet a greater degree. He shook something that resembled guilt from his mind and recalled the part of the letter that mentioned Bernie and Gwenevere specifically.

“Had his father ever known that he could not have possibly been interested in you, do you think?” He asked casually, changing the subject.

“No, I don’t think so.” She said after a moment’s thought.

“Did you know then? Before tonight?” He asked the question without looking up from his food, as if to mask his interest.

“Yes.” She stated quietly. She was saddened by his death; she had the utmost respect for the family and their generosity and goodness.

“Who do you think might have wanted him dead?” He asked, raising his eyes to make the point.

“Honestly Severus, I have no idea. I know nothing about his life and I haven’t had any personal contact with him in years.” She said, staring into the middle ground and wondering the same thing.

They finished their dinner and Snape paid the check leaving a poor tip afterward even by British standards. He excused himself for a short while and returned to the table with a brass room key, two goblets and a rare bottle of cognac. Gwenevere smiled seductively and followed him up the back stair and down the polished hallway to room number six. He unlocked the door and stepped in after her, locking it behind them.
lee
You can have ALL of my snow Claire! : ), - Thursday, January 29, 2004 at 12:49:13 (EST)

Thats ok Lee! We only got about 3 hours of snow on Monday. Its already gone and its warming up.
Claireprague@iwon.com
sucks to be me, - Wednesday, January 28, 2004 at 12:15:43 (EST)

Snape regarded Gwenevere as they stood at the base of the wooden stair. It was a darkened room, but he could see that she was unusually pale and uneasy. He knew she hadn’t eaten since lunch and that she needed a meal.

“I’m going to get you something to eat in here, you must be famished.” Snape said.

“No, not really. You must be though.” She said, pulling the ribbon out of her hair and tucking it into her pocket.

“Yes. It’s this way.” He said, placing his hand on the small of her back and escorting her through the crowded storage room and into the dining area of the inn.

A wizard dressed in Kelly green cape and a hat with an emu feather sticking out of the top stepped over to Snape and waited for him to speak.

“I’d like a table that affords a high level of privacy if you don’t mind.” He said flatly.

“Yes sir, follow me please.” Said the young wizard, looking at Gwenevere and then winking at Snape, who ignored him. Gwenevere thought of leprechauns. They followed him to a small, secluded table in the corner by a window that had a red glass candle burning in the center. He held her chair and then settled himself opposite. When the waiter arrived, he ordered leek and potato soup for Gwenevere, who refused to eat anything more substantial in anticipation of the travel home and pot roast of venison for himself. He ordered a brandy and a goblet of water as well. When the brandy arrived at the table Snape handed it to Gwenevere.

“Here, drink this, it’ll calm your nerves.” He said, regarding her intently.

“Thank you Severus. You’re not having one then?” she said, out of curiosity.

“I need to get us home tonight…unless you would like to stay here. Something different?” He said with a raised brow. Emotions stirred as he imagined taking her to the quaint room upstairs on the third floor for the night and making love in unfamiliar surroundings.

“Sounds wonderful, I’ll let you decide.” She said, placing her hand on his and watching the sparks flutter softly around the glowing cranberry glass globe on the table. Their fingers entwined gracefully before parting. Snape again recognized the melancholy behind her eyes; the same he’d seen in his office earlier today.

“ Gwenevere, I noticed your reaction when Doctor Caldwell removed the sheet from the body. Forgive me, I assumed by the way you performed the dissection process that you would be all right.” He looked into her eyes and waited for her response. She hesitated for only a moment.

“It wasn’t that…I was not prepared for…” The waiter arrived with their meal and interrupted her reply. Snape glared, causing the lad to spill some of Gwenevere’s soup down the side of the bowl and onto the plate beneath it. He looked about to administer a stern criticism but Gwenevere eased his anger with a mouthed ‘it’s all right, please leave it.’

“I’m sorry sir.” Said the lad, setting the venison before the dark wizard. Snape muttered something that sounded like ‘purblind as ever was conceived’ in his direction as he retreated back to the kitchen very quickly.

“Now then, what was it that you were not prepared for?” He said pointedly. Gwenevere hoped that he would soon decide to stay the night and order a brandy.

“I was not prepared for it to be Bernie Burgess on the table. His father and my father were close friends.” She said, taking another sip of her brandy. Snape frowned, his instincts alerted him to complications on the horizon.

“So you knew him? How well?” Snape asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the situation. They had become quite familiar with every part of Bernie Burgess over the last two hours.
lee
- Wednesday, January 28, 2004 at 11:45:02 (EST)

...Flashback .... A Year Ago ...

"Challenger happened on January 28th, 17 years ago," Graff went on. She nodded. "And 19 years before Challenger blew up, on January 26th, three Apollo astronauts died on the launch pad."

"Oh, no."

"The crew of the Columbia held a special commemorative service on board the shuttle for each date."

"Oh."

"Bloody stupid week to fly. It's cursed." He pounded on his desk again. "Bloody." *pound* "Useless." *pound* "God-forsaken. *pound* Cursed." *pound* "Stupid." *pound* "Week." *pound* "To." *pound* "Fly!" His coffee mug gave a final leap off the desk and dropped, shattering, to the floor.

"Miles..." she dropped into her chair, suddenly drained and weary.

"...for we must fly to take the prize -- a teacher's words have sung.
To give our children Heavens: a star for every one.."

"Damn it all to hell," he muttered, hoarsely.

"Eh," Silvert replied. "Someone already has."

A grunt. "...yeah..."
Barbara the Wallpaper-er
RIP Apollo, Challenger, Columbia... Godspeed..., - Wednesday, January 28, 2004 at 08:06:30 (EST)

Bernie was, in life, a tall, handsome man with chiseled yet refined well-bred features. He reminded Gwenevere of a beautiful marble statue of a Greek prince. His blonde wavy hair was thick and long and he obviously had been in incredible physical condition just prior to his demise. He did not have the peaceful look of a quiet painless death yet quite the opposite; his face was twisted in contortions reminiscent of pain and suffering.

Snape stalked around the table and quietly commanded his wand with the word ‘Lumos’ and held it as he lifted Bernie’s eyelids, taking note of his pupils. He examined a lifeless hand and noted the white half moons on each fingernail suggestive of death by poisoning.

“Here are the reports of the autopsy Professor Snape, and a sample of the mortiserum found at the scene located in the victim’s home. A full analysis is currently being done on the potion and will be sent to you tomorrow.” Said Doctor Caldwell.

Snape ignored him and continued to examine the body for other telltale signs of mortiserum and its fatal ingredients. Snape already knew that what killed Bernie Burgess was not a professional potion, but rather an armature attempt that had produced horrifying results; strange choice of suicide for an apothecary magnate who had access to all available compounds. The autopsy was complete and the body had been magically reconstructed just prior to their arrival.

“Will you please take a look at the reports Doctor Collins?” Snape said absently after a rather lengthily and uncomfortable pause.

Gwenevere took the reports from Doctor Caldwell, who was eternally grateful to hand them off, and began reading through the complex data and technical Latin terminology. Doctor Caldwell smiled arrogantly as he imagined the real reason Professor Snape saw fit to associate himself with Doctor Collins; her intellect did not cross his mind as a plausible motivation. She moved over to Snape after approximately ten minutes of reading and pulled off her mask. She spoke very quietly to him and was so close to him that Doctor Caldwell could not hear everything they said to each other. As she spoke into his ear, he moved around the body and examined the sections that corresponded with her findings on the report.

She pointed out areas of special interest such as stomach contents, brain scaring, liver damage, and heart deterioration. Her command of Ancient Italic Latinian was unparalleled and she spoke it with such perfect fluency and accent that Doctor Caldwell suspected it might have been her first language. He watched as they worked with the well-rehearsed rhythm that only comes through many hours of working together intimately on countless projects. They shared trends of thought making every motion and word an extension of the other’s next action. They were essentially two people of one mind: Unanimus Bicorpor.

Bernie’s mouth revealed signs of bone loss around the teeth, white patches in the gums and ulcers of the palate. The gastrointestinal effects suggested Crohn’s disease and signs of emphysema were evident on the lung slides. His neck harbored swollen lymph nodes and the endocrine report indicated hypoxia, edema and joint deterioration. Doctor Caldwell watched as Snape straightened and spoke to Gwenevere privately through very close proximity as she nodded her head slightly in through understanding.

At last, Gwenevere closed the file and peeled off gloves as she and Snape left the bay and entered the changing room through the decontamination chambers. They exchanged pertinent information with Doctor Caldwell and gathered their cloaks on the way out.
lee
Eek! We have snow here, sorry Claire for the delay. BtW, I like it !!!, - Tuesday, January 27, 2004 at 13:24:24 (EST)

Is Lee's computer frozen? I hope everything is ok with her and everyone else who is getting one hell of a winter.
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Tuesday, January 27, 2004 at 08:58:12 (EST)

And WOTTA diamond! Half-pink, half-blue . . . oh, I can just picture it. Clods and all you other people with artistic talent: some illustrations, please! 8-)

MA
"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental . . .", - Tuesday, January 27, 2004 at 08:31:47 (EST)

There is now.
Cindie
- Monday, January 26, 2004 at 17:48:28 (EST)

Oh....There is no diamond named the Star of Malaysia. And there is no diamond-cutting firm in Amsterdam named Van Leydun.
Barbara the Wallpaper-er
Well, so far as I know, anyway....., - Monday, January 26, 2004 at 08:39:01 (EST)

Barbara--a new story!! squeeeee!

MA
Deep South, a cursed diamond--I love it already! 8-D, - Monday, January 26, 2004 at 07:54:46 (EST)

Diamonds in the Delta, a Murder in New Orleans

Barbara the Wallpaper-er
The Director shouldn't be showing "Best of" episodes.... Here's a great chance to introduce a new storyline, Sir!, - Monday, January 26, 2004 at 00:16:52 (EST)

Thanks so much, Magda. Wonderful story!
MWM
- Sunday, January 25, 2004 at 17:58:47 (EST)

Bravo Magda!

I absolutely loved it. There is something to be said for a happy ending amongst the chaos in the last scene.

I am anxiously awaiting the Middle Ages George and Joya to resume.

lee
- Saturday, January 24, 2004 at 18:08:32 (EST)

I have updated my SS/OFC novel, Chasing Darkness Away, for anyone here following it.

Chapter 22 summary; Snape and Ella use Professor Gruber’s notes to try and remove the Dark Mark, and Snape feels it begin to burn. How will he tell her that he will have to follow its call?

All of my stories can be found on the following sites;

www.fanfiction.net/~rickfan37

http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/authors.php?no=4458

http://sycophanthex.lordandladysnape.com/viewuser.php?uid=25

http://www.astronomytower.org/authorLinks/Rickfan37/

Take your pick! Thanks.

~RF~
Rickfan37
- Saturday, January 24, 2004 at 17:42:00 (EST)

Sorry, ACC but George and Joya are returning to the Middle Ages now and have another story to finish up. And who said they were getting married? Life is a perpetual honeymoon already.

MA - I think the Studio still has someone left over from George's pre-Joya days who is quite used to getting him out of trouble. Also Scott-darling won't press charges against a major donor's love-interest.
Magda
- Saturday, January 24, 2004 at 09:10:30 (EST)

Magda, that was lovely, but I don't want it to be the end. What about the wedding, the honeymoon, the baby, there's lots more to write about!
ACC
- Saturday, January 24, 2004 at 02:25:03 (EST)

Madga--he does indeed grovel with elegance and distinction. I only hope the studio has someone on retainer to help straighten things out with the Barge. Of course, the publicity from this incident could bring the customers in droves!

MA--hope George can be as eloquent with the police as he is with Joya. ;-)
- Friday, January 23, 2004 at 20:58:41 (EST)

George finished eating his lunch without looking once at the table a dozen feet away where Joya and her guests were sitting. The dark-haired woman walked past his chair but he didn't bother watching her sit down again. Her return seemed to bring an end to the serious conversation and once again laughter and light chatter seemed the rule of the day. Obviously Joya did not want to share her "new world" with everyone. The thought made George snarl inside.

He did have one stroke of good fortune. Wherever Mia had disappeared to, she evidently found it a much more congenial place than dining with him since she had yet to return. While he couldn't honestly say that he felt the loss, he supposed he'd have to make a token effort to find her before he drove back to the city. Although the image of a bedraggled Mia hitchhiking along the road did temporarily lift his spirits.

The waiter loomed up with the bill and George handed over his money. The servitor bowed and departed. Across the way, Joya and her guests were gathering their possessions together and another waiter was approaching their table. It looked as if they might all meet in the parking lot unless preventive actions were taken. George tossed his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. First to find Mia, then to get his car. He strode down the back hallway, passing restrooms along one wall and a shuttered coatroom on the other. It was vacant. He paused to listen but no sound came from any of the rooms. At the very end of the hall was a curtain; he lifted it and discovered another door, marked FIRE EXIT. He looked around for wiring or notices indicating that it was rigged to an alarm but found none. A gentle push of the crash bar caused the door to pop open and revealed the parking lot. Obviously Mia and the fashion model had departed long ago. With a pleased smile - at last something was going right on this wretched day! - George proceeded through the door.

He found himself in a smaller parking lot along the side of the building. The river ran very close to where he stood, sweeping into a small inlet overhung with willows and choked with reeds. Waterfowl churned through the water like miniature tugs but apart from that, he was the only living thing around. He crossed the smaller lot and turned the corner. His car and another that he recognized as Joya's were the only ones left. Mia was nowhere in sight, and with a sense that he'd done as much as anyone could reasonably expect him to do with regard to finding her, George shrugged his shoulders and put her out of his mind.

He was just reaching into his pocket for his car keys and trying to decide whether it would be a waste of time to return to the Studio since it was already mid-afternoon, when the sound of urgent voices caught his attention. George looked around, annoyed. There were two of them, a man and a woman. The woman had to be Mia. For a moment he was tempted to keep walking, as if he hadn't heard them. But a moment's reflection on the anger of the Director if he returned without a Studio employee last seen in his company changed his mind, and with a sigh of resignation he turned around and headed towards the willow trees by the river inlet.

They were apparently too involved in their discussion to register the presence of another person in the vicinity. Their voices continued all through George's advance across the asphalt. He hoped that Mia wouldn't be too difficult about leaving her new friend as he really wasn't in the mood to argue. He reached the grass and stopped abruptly. He'd been wrong; the woman was not Mia and the man wasn't the fashion model. It was the wonderful-Scott-creep and the dark-haired woman.

The conversation continued and the words were quite clear now, even though they still hadn't noticed him. George turned away to make his escape, trying without success not to listen. "Scott, darling, you said we'd spend some time together this afternoon. I thought this meal would never end!"

George froze. "Scott darling"?

"I told you it would take some time. This is important for me, for us." The wonderful-Scott-prat sounded slightly impatient. "If it takes longer to wrap her up than I anticipated, then we'll just have to be patient."

George tiptoed back across the grass and stopped beside one of the larger trees. "Important for us"? "Wrap her up"? Wrap who up? Surely this idiot wasn't talking about Joya?

"It's just so inconvenient!" There was definitely a sulky quality to the woman's voice now. "I feel like I'm second-best to this woman."

"Laura, I promise you as soon as I get a first installment from her, we'll slip away for a nice holiday in France. It's always getting the initial payment from them that's so difficult. Once she comes across with it, she'll be hooked. And she's Joya Clifford, after all, darling. Her family is absolutely loaded. Believe me, she's good for at least ten million pounds in the first year alone. If she believes in me, there'll be no limit to her generosity. Just be patient, darling."

A molten rage like nothing he'd ever experienced before began to well up in George's chest. This cretin - this worm - this insect - was cozying up to Joya for her money. This was the "wonderful new world" he'd opened up for her! She'd be strung along and bilked for as much money as this criminal could cajole out of her! And he'd spend it on his girlfriend with the droopy suit! A red mist rose before George's eyes and he pushed through the willow boughs.

The woman saw him first and the sight apparently terrified her, for her eyes rounded like saucers. The very-brilliant-Scott-creep spun around but wasn't fast enough to prevent George from grabbing his throat and slamming him into a tree trunk. He gargled something that sounded like a demand for his release. George ignored him and raised his other arm to slam his fist into his face. Behind them the dark-haired woman began to scream.

He'd got in three good punches and blood was flowing freely down the wonderful-Scott-jerk's chin before the sound of running feet indicated new arrivals. A cacophony of voices filled the air. George ignored them, focused on his punitive efforts.

"George! What on earth are you doing!?!"

"Excuse me, sir, but we at The Barge Restaurant pride ourselves on offering a quality dining experience for our patrons -"

"Let go of him, you animal! Stop that!"

The hard-working-Scott-idiot tried to fight back but his efforts were ineffectual at best. George hammered him with another blow. Blood transformed his handsome features into an unrecognizable smear.

"George stop that at once!"

"- and thus we must ask you to refrain from acts of violence on our premises. We at The Barge feel that -"

"I'm calling the police! I'm calling them right now!"

"George, this has gone on long enough. Stop it now!"

" - while we would not of course presume to impose our personal views on our patrons, nevertheless we have certain obligations -"

"Let go of my husband right now!!!"

"Husband?" George halted with his fist in mid-air and looked over his shoulder at the dark-haired woman, now clutching a cellphone like a weapon and glaring at him murderously. "Did she just say 'husband'?"

"Yes, she did. Scott is Laura's husband and they are my guests and what gives you the right to assault my lunch guests?" Joya stepped forward and pushed past the other woman. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, her eyes flashed blue fire and her chest was rising and falling in a way that would have completely captured George's attention at any other time. "Now for the last time - let him go!"

George loosened his grip and the wonderful-but-not-exactly-handsome-Scott-prat slid down the tree trunk and landed in a heap on the grass. His wife rushed past George to his side but George ignored her. His entire attention was focussed on Joya. "You know that they're married?"

"Of course I do. What is wrong with you?" Joya frowned. "And what are you doing here anyway? You've never been here before. And what happened to your lunch guest?"

George batted the questions aside as if they were annoying mosquitos. "He's married to her and you know about it and you're fine with that?"

Joya stared in amazement. "Of course I'm fine with that. Why wouldn't I be? What Scott does in his private life is none of my business!"

George prided himself on possessing a tolerant outlook on life. It was partly a result of his profession: actors are artists and live on the edges of society with few ties. Partly it was a matter of temperament: just as he didn't want people poking their noses into his private activities, George felt it wasn't his business to judge other people's personal lives. And certainly he'd always preferred the company of women to whom the word "monogamy" was a daily rather than a lifetime commitment. So he liked to think that he had a more sophisticated attitude to matters of an intimate nature than more people and perhaps even most actors. Until now. For the first time since he was fourteen years old and conducting personal experiments with various members of the girls' soccer team at his school, George was shocked.

"None of your business? Have you gone mad?" He advanced across the grass, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do you know what he's planning?"

"Yes, I do. He told me all about it the first time we met." Joya took a step back, watching him warily.

"I cannot believe what I'm hearing." George took a deep breath and tried to speak in a calm voice. "All he wants from you is money, do you know that? He thinks he can get up to ten million pounds out of you and that's just for the first year. Did you know about that?"

"Well, that's a little steep, I admit." Joya shook her head. "I said I'd make a personal gift right now - a substantial one, of course - but it's too soon to talk about a multi-year commitment. I'd have to see the plans for the hospital first and they haven't even selected an architect yet."

George stopped dead. "Hospital?"

"Yes, a hospital." Joya folded her arms, her cheeks pinking up again with temper. "Not that you have any right to ask me questions anymore. What I do with my money has always been my business but since your charming speech last month I had the distinct impression that you were removing yourself from all parts of my life. So it's your turn now. Why did you hit Scott?"

"Let me get this straight. He's building a hospital and you're giving him money for it?" His effort to keep his voice calm failed. "What about the 'new world you never knew existed' before you met him? What about the 'feelings you never knew you had'?" The memory of her comments to the Director went through him like an arrow. "And what about your claim that he's going to 'give you a child'?"

Joya folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "Were you eavesdropping on my conversation this morning?"

"You're damn right I was!" With two strides, George was directly in front of her. He seized her arms and shook her slightly. "And just how is he going to give you a child? Is that some kind of special donor benefit? Buy a brick - get a baby?"

"My personal life is none of your business. And let go of me." Joya lifted her head until their noses almost touched. "So that's how you knew that I was having lunch here. How many speeding laws did you break to get here first? Were you planning on making a scene in the restaurant?"

"No I wasn't." Well, it was close to the truth. George loosened his grip but didn't release her. "I wanted to talk to you. In private. But then I heard you talking to him," He jerked his head over his shoulder to indicate the bloodied young man on the grass whose wife was still cooing protectively over him. "And I was stunned at what you were saying."

"And why would you be interested in what I say to anyone?" Joya shrugged his shoulders in an effort to free herself. "You made it clear at the Savoy that we were finished. And don't evade the issue: why did you hit Scott?"

He fought for words as he stared down into her eyes. What could he say that wouldn't make him look like a total fool? How to explain what he felt, when he wasn't sure himself? What could he say that would answer her question and salvage his pride at the same time? She waited, sparks of temper still visible in the blue depths of her gaze. Her closeness was having a distinctly heated affect on his body. He struggled to remember why he'd ever been angry with her, conscious only of a desire to hold her tight and never let her go. All he knew was that the fear of commitment that had held him back for so long wasn't there anymore. The horror of marriage was gone. Why was he feeling this way? It was almost as if -

The truth hit him with the force of a tidal wave. It all made perfect sense somehow. It all fit so perfectly.

"I love you." The words came out on a whisper; he cleared his throat and repeated them. "I love you."

"What?" She gaped.

"No, I have my own way of showing it." The words poured out of him. He felt desperate to make her understand, to make himself understand. "That's why I eavesdropped. That's why I hit - him. That's why I came out here to lunch. I love you. Always. Forever. Truly, madly, deeply. I swear it."

"You have a strange way of showing it!" Joya had apparently regained her composure, although she was breathing shallowly. She dropped her gaze to his shirt.

"I think I've always loved you. I think so, anyway." Now that he'd started, he found he couldn't stop. "I've always felt this way about you since you picked me up on your motorbike when my car broke down. And since I feel just the same way now I suppose it means I've loved you all this time and since I can't imagine feeling any different about you in the future, then I suppose I'll always love you."

"Then why did you say those horrible things in the hotel?" Her voice was small and moist, and she swallowed hard.

"Because I was afraid." He let go of her arm and lifted her chin so that he could see her. Two large tears welled up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. "Because I was a fool." He leaned forward and kissed them away. "Because I didn't know I loved you then." He touched her quivering lips with his own. "Because I was too stupid to know what love was."

She turned her head away from him. "And what's changed now?"

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. "I met a man recently who made a huge mistake by snatching at something shiny and gaudy and as a result almost lost something pure and wonderful. He would have spent a lifetime regretting it. In exchange for a brief transitory experience, he thoughtlessly inflicted pain on someone whose happiness should have been his prime concern. She forgave him or he would have been haunted for the rest of his life by what he almost destroyed so recklessly." He felt her shudder against him and tightened his hold. "I know exactly what he was going through because I almost made the same mistake myself."

"And what do you want now?" She looked up at him, wary again.

"I want you to forgive me - if you can. And to take me back - if you can bear it." He lowered his head, until his lips barely touched hers. His voice dropped to a whisper. "And I want to give you a baby. Me, not another man. But if you want to have his baby, I want to help you raise it, and it will be our child and we'll be its parents."

"You'd let me have another man's child?" Joya reared back, her mouth hanging open in shock. "You'd raise another man's child?"

"Yes, if that's what you want. Obviously this young man has impressed you greatly with his ambitions. From what I've seen of his wife, I can't quite believe she's willing to go along with it." George took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was going to say it. The pain might kill him but he had to, it might be the only way to salvage what he'd come so close to destroying. "But if she is, then I'll accept that you're going to have," He swallowed hard, forcing himself to say the name. "Scott's baby."

He kept his eyes closed, too afraid to look at her. He couldn't believe he'd actually been able to do it but there was no personal price too high to pay to ensure that he was part of Joya's life in the -

A suspicious noise interrupted his thoughts. It sounded like a snort. He opened his eyes and looked. Joya's shoulders were shaking. Was she crying? No, she couldn't be. She snorted again. George stared. It almost sounded like she was -

Laughing. His eyes popped open.

"Oh, George!" Joya looked up. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her smile wide and toothy. "Oh George! I'm not going to have Scott's baby! The hospital he's building is in Thailand! He's going to open an orphanage and obstetrical hospital there. He's going to arrange for me to adopt a baby from the orphanage. That's what we were talking about at lunch. I never knew that there were countries where so many women couldn't afford to keep their babies. It was a whole new world for me. That's what we were talking about. And you thought - And you thought he was going to get me pregnant - And you were willing to go along with it because it was the only way - Oh George, I do love you so much!"

She threw her arms around him and pulled him tight, her mouth opening under his. Shock held him rigid for a moment before happiness exploded inside and he responded with all the ardour of his feelings. For long minutes they stood under the willows by the river, consuming each other and feeding the fires of love as a dark-haired woman held a handkerchief to a blonde man's bleeding nose and the maitre'd advanced with dignified tread across the parking lot to greet the two policemen getting out of their car in response to a woman's hysterical cellphone call and the fashion model and Mia argued in the restaurant coatroom over which of them had been too stupid to notice that the lock was impossible to open from the inside and the sun began its slow descent in the afternoon sky, bathing everything with golden light and nature's benediction.

Magda
All done! Doesn't he grovel well?, - Friday, January 23, 2004 at 20:52:00 (EST)

They were standing in a dimly lit, seldom-used section of the inn, a storage room, which was only accessed on rare occasions. High on shelves, abandoned winemaking equipment: grape presses, crushers, oak barrels, demi-johns, and cloudy, dusty carboys loomed above them. Siphons hung on rusty nails and were now convenient homes for spiders.

The wood planked floor sloped enough to cause a rolling sensation in Gwenevere’s equilibrium as Snape took her arm and ushered her to the stairway in the corner. They ascended wooded steps that had no backs and the dusty dark oak barrels covered with cobwebs could be seen below them. With the use of a complex incantation, Snape opened an old creaky door at the top of the landing and they entered.

On the other side, a modern, professional-looking office and bright waiting room surprised Gwenevere. She looked about the surroundings and turned as a man of average height, slightly stocky build, in blue-green scrubs and a blood-spattered white lab coat advanced toward them, taking off mask and gloves to greet Professors Snape and Collins.

“Professor Snape I presume? I am Doctor Caldwell. Thank you for coming on such short notice. You have quite a grand reputation according to my predecessor, Doctor Finch.” As he held out his hand, Snape gave it the look of indignant distain.

“Yes, well this is my associate, Doctor Collins.” Said Snape, still refusing to grasp Doctor Caldwell’s outstretched hand. Gwenevere took his hand in hers and offered the firm grip of a seasoned professional.

“Very nice to meet you Doctor Collins.” He said, looking from Gwenevere to Snape. “Quite.” He said to Snape as if the word had just slipped out involuntarily. He gave Snape the sly look that men give each other when they are of agreement in appreciating a beautiful woman. Snape just glared at him.

“Pleasure, Doctor Caldwell.” Gwenevere said, taking her hand back from his with some effort.

“I assure you, the pleasure is mine.” He said, momentarily mesmerized by her eyes, which had turned from vivid violet to silver gray in a matter of moments. Snape cleared his throat and took Gwenevere’s cloak. He turned to locate the coat rack and Doctor Caldwell flinched to attention. Snape took out his wand and handed Caldwell his cloak.

“Excuse me, where are my manners? Allow me please.” He said, taking their cloaks and hanging them up in the corner of the room by the door. “Right this way, I’m sure that you wish for us to get started as quickly as possible.”

“It’s fine.” Snape said, drolly dripping with sarcasm. “It will have been your wish when an owl brings my bill.” Doctor Caldwell looked furtively at Gwenevere who widened her eyes in agreement with Snape.

They followed him through double doors and down a long corridor, stopping at another set of large double doors. They entered a changing room and Doctor Caldwell handed each of them a long green lab coat and a mask and examination gloves. He put on new gloves and mask and watched surreptitiously as Gwenevere buttoned her lab coat over her exquisite black suit that hugged sleek curves like a Ferrari. His eyes trailed slowly down to her long legs and needed to remind himself to breathe. She pulled her hair back with a ribbon and put her mask on.

They walked through a magical decontamination chamber just outside of another set of double doors. Snape snapped on gloves and put the mask in the pocket of his coat as they entered the morgue’s autopsy suite. A stainless steel table in bay eight held a body that was hidden under a sheet. A large gaslight over the body emitted a foggy hissing sound and the smell of death and antiseptic permeated the cold, crisp air as their footfalls echoed toward the table.

Doctor Caldwell removed the sheet and the nude body of Bernie Stephan Burgess III appeared ghostly white on stainless steel. Gwenevere gasped and opened her eyes wide as she struggled to gain control of her shock. She did not expect this case to be Bernie. Snape touched her arm and asked her if she was all right. She nodded her head yes and quickly composed herself. Snape regarded her for a moment longer to make sure she was fine and then preceded to examine the body.
lee
Claire, how impeccably perceptive of you, my dear. : D, - Thursday, January 22, 2004 at 18:36:12 (EST)

Poor Gwen, I hope she doesn't freak when she realizes that is her friend that they are going to look at. More twists and turns. Good going Lee!!!
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Thursday, January 22, 2004 at 15:54:12 (EST)

They finished dressing and Dobby came to the door with their tea. Snape took the tray and with a well-placed quirk of his brow, dissuaded him from idle chat today. Snape placed the tea on the table and poured for them. Gwenevere transferred the letter from Doctor Burgess to her black suit and joined Snape in the living room. She accepted her mug and waited for him to inform her of his plans. She was thinking of Bernie Burgess.

“I have accepted a request from the coroner to assist him with an investigation into a death by mortiserum. I would like for you to accompany me as your expertise and insight could prove invaluable to the case.” He said, matter of fact, sipping tea. “I would also very much enjoy your company.” He added, softening his eyes to her gaze.

“I’d be honored to join you.” She said, still thinking about the letter in her pocket and wondering if she should tell Severus about it first, second or third.

“Is there something you wish to tell me? You have been preoccupied all afternoon.” He said, taking her hand in his and holding if for a moment or two. She was warm and soft, and he would have rather not had plans for London today.

“I spoke to Professor Parker earlier.” She said, looking away from him and sipping from her cup.

“And…did you make any progress with that obtuse twit?” He said sarcastically.

“Yes, I think so. He admitted having certain... feelings, however he agreed with stern reasoning and now knows not to peruse it any longer. He wishes to become friends with us.” She stated, cupping her mug in her hands as a sudden chill danced on her nerves.

“Us?” Snape scoffed. “He is only trying to access your kind heart from another angle. I don’t trust him.” Snape hissed. Clearly he was annoyed with the situation, but not in the least threatened.

“Don’t worry, I told him that if he annoys you, he will be gone.” She smiled and sipped her tea.

“Does he realize that he annoys me by breathing?” Snape said.

“I suggest that we give him one chance, and if he steps out of line we can deal with him accordingly.” She said, finding Snape’s comments amusing at last, and lightening her mood a bit.

“He will answer to me next time.” He threatened, watching carefully for her response.

“As you wish. Sounds fair to me.” She quipped. Snape raised a brow and smiled a devious half smile. Gwenevere sipped her tea to hide a grin.

“I learned rule number two this morning.” She said.

“What is it?” He asked, looking up at her with interest.

“A human being of impeccable character must witness ‘Loves first kiss’” She announced.

“It sounds like we have passed another test. I almost dare to think that we might have a chance to break this curse, although I still have strong doubts on the matter.” He said humorlessly.

“We must believe that we will win Severus, its very important.” She said, stroking her hand on his knee.

“Think positive thoughts, there are only two more rules to learn, surely we have gotten farther than most others who were stricken with the bloody thing.” He conceded, for her sake.

“I feel sure of it.” She said. She looked down and started to reach for the letter in her pocket.

“We must be leaving now. Are you ready?” He asked.

“Yes. How will we travel? I of course cannot apparate as you know.” She asked in jest.

“Port key.” He said.

“I see.” She said as they moved toward the door and Snape helped her on with her heavy gray cloak.

“It will get chilly tonight.” He put on his cloak and checked the time on her watch, opening the door and closing it before Boots could follow. He seemed to understand and made his way to the cat food bowl instead.

They walked out of the castle through the front double doors and across the grounds towards the forbidden forest. Snape took her arm as soon as they were sufficiently out of sight and guided her to a hidden location near thick grove of hemlock trees. He took out his wand and held it in front of her as he stood behind her.

“Hold your hand here, we will arrive in London shortly.” He said, placing his hand on hers, which tightly grasped his wand. He embraced her tightly in his arms and at exactly five o’clock they took off. Gwenevere took a sharp breath and saw streaks of kaleidoscope color as the world went screaming by in light speed swiftness. Snape steadied her as they landed with a soft thud in London at the back of the George and Dragon inn. She turned to him and smiled, apparently impressed with the mode of transportation and his perfectly balanced landing.

“Severus, how did you do that?” she whispered, looking around at the shelves of ale and cases of wine.

“Tricks of the trade my love. Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked, placing his wand in the pocket of his cloak.

“Yes, it was fabulous. You never cease to amaze me. You are brilliant.” She said, she couldn’t wait to get him home tonight; his awesome power sent an enormous wave of vertigo through her.

“Shall we?” he offered, holding his arm for her to take. He flashed her a look that confirmed their understanding, he hoped this wouldn’t take too long.
lee
- Thursday, January 22, 2004 at 11:50:45 (EST)

Gwenevere stepped out of her dress and lingerie, placing them in the clothes bin. She moved her own soap and shampoo from the tub to the shelf in the shower beside Snape’s masculine preparations before turning on taps and stepping in. the water was the perfect temperature and felt wonderful as it temporarily washed away her cares and conflicts. She lathered her hair and closed her eyes as the water warmed her body and soothed her spirit.

Suddenly she felt a pair of hands slide about her abdomen and arms embrace her from behind her back and hold her tightly to him as rose-colored sparks rose quietly in the steam. He kissed her neck and took the soap from her hand and assisted her in the task, savoring her flawless beauty as it threatened to overwhelm his senses and alter his tight schedule.

She turned to him and kissed his mouth as his fingers threaded their way through her sudsy hair and then down her back and slipped over her ribcage. They broke the kiss and he reluctantly pried his hands from her, but not his eyes, and washed his hair whilst she rinsed hers. Gwenevere picked up his soap and washed his back and shoulders, and when she was finished, he held her close and kissed her deeply under the shower spray as white suds drifted from his lean, muscular body to the marble and swirled indolently, disappearing down the drain.

He turned off taps and regarded her intensely for several moments, trying to fight the strong urge to take her to bed. He kissed her on the forehead and opened the shower door, handing her a towel and taking one for himself. They dried off and entered the bedroom to dress. Snape opened the armoire and laid out his usual attire and a new white shirt as Gwenevere considered her options from the many dresses and other pleasing apparel that hung there in her section of the recently expanded armoire space. He reached in and took out one of her custom black suits; one that she would have chosen had there been an important meeting at Gringotts or speaking engagement to attend. She looked puzzled.

“Why should I wear this one Severus?” she asked, taking the hanger from his hand.

“Because we are going to London, I’ll explain at tea...” He said.
lee
Thanks Claire!, - Tuesday, January 20, 2004 at 11:22:05 (EST)

Mia was sawing through her meat with grim determination, her elbow jerking dangerously close to her wineglass.
le lurker
This line cracked me up., - Monday, January 19, 2004 at 20:59:40 (EST)

OOH, you added some more Voltaire, and the plot thickens a little more. Can't wait
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Monday, January 19, 2004 at 15:52:32 (EST)

Snape crossed the den and entered the spy room. Three figures and another single figure lurked in half focus in the foe glass as he passed by on his way to the maps located on the left hand wall. Activity had increased since the last time he checked and the needles on the gauges hovered three quarters of the way towards the danger mark.

Several reports lay waiting for his attention in trays located in front of brass instruments on shelves. He picked up the first one and frowned as he scrutinized it carefully. The next pair of reports gave him no comfort whatsoever as he paced the floor. He placed the pages back in the trays and exited the room, sealing it shut afterwards. On his desk was a small black book in which he penned several sentences and then left the den.

After his meeting with Professor Dumbledore, Professor Parker sat at his desk and stared forward into the middle ground. The Headmaster had been more than understanding, telling him that he understood how he could have gotten into such a predicament but the message was clear: Stay far away from Professor Snape, if breathing is important to you. The Headmaster said that he could not be certain what Professor Snape was capable of if he did not leave Gwenevere well enough alone in the future. Parker knew, from the look in the Headmaster’s eyes, that he must heed the warning.

Parker felt the unmistakable blanket of depression falling over him as he thought of Gwenevere now. No longer could he pretend that she had feelings for him, or that they could ever be together. A dull pain persisted in his brain and his appetite was nonexistent. The swell of doom occupied his gut and he found little comfort in his many memories of her. Sadly, his only hope was if Snape met with sudden demise in the near future.

Fritz Voltaire stormed back to his office suite. He was furious beyond description that he could not access the sealed records belonging to the Bernie Burgess estate. He had tried every spell, hex, charm, and magical power he could think of to gain entry but to no avail. He paced the picture window as his thoughts collided in a flurry of confusion. Sweat beaded on his brow as he wondered what would happen next, he wondered what Bernie Burgess would reveal to the wizarding world.
lee
Hi Alison, you are welcome, thanks for your post! , - Monday, January 19, 2004 at 13:03:15 (EST)

First post deleted.
Suz (D.o.C.)

DoC

Please delete first version....

Well, Cindie, I got them there :) (Of course, Neither Phil nor Barbara are happy about having to get there together...)
Barbara the Wallpaper-er
mea culpa!, - Monday, January 19, 2004 at 01:57:03 (EST)

Phil Allen & Barbara Vanders

Phil Allen's Flat, Evening

They didn't speak as the countryside whipped past the car windows. The sky was a dome lined with steel, the road slick with rain.

"Nikki--" Barbara started, then fell silent.

"Will be congratulating herself on how clever she's being," Phil finished.

"Yes," Barbara replied. The word spurted out like a lanced abcess.

Silence. They were heading out on the M4, chasing the day westward to Reading.

"She rung me up right before you arrived." He said.

"Hrm." The noise came out of the back of her throat.

Silence. They dodged Reading, its mass of Victorian red brick a blur in the fading light.

"She called me two hours before. I knew you wouldn't like it, so I tried to ring her back, but she wouldn't pick up." She said.

"Eh." The sound clotted up his voice.

Silence. They rumbled past Swindon. Wootten Bassett was a blur of darkness out the driver's side window.

"Sorry," she offered.

She switched them off the M4 onto the M48. They crossed the Severn into Wales, dropping a few quid in the toll. Chepstow was a gleam of light on the passenger's side, her white auto a ghost in the fog and the rain.

"You'll be needing a navigator," Phil said, plucking the directions from her hand. The sun had set, without color, fading the sky from a steely grey to a wrought iron black. "Look for standing stones on the right," he read. A few kilometres after is a small lane.

They drove on. "And there they're being," Phil murmured, as Barbara's car crept along the dark, unfamiliar roads.

Barbara stopped the car, staring out at the stones in the faint wisps of fog. Phil turned to stare at her, as she looked out his window at the stones. "They're dancing," she whispered. And in the fog, and the night, and their the shifting, pale fragments of moonlight... they were. Phil turned back from the window, to see her staring, eyes large and liquid in the darkness. She met his gaze, and started, and jerked the car back into gear. Phil began to breathe again.

The lane was narrow and unmarked except for a white stake on either side. Barbara almost missed it, stopping on Phil's "That's being it." They went through the iron gates and up the winding drive, following the thread of gravel into the darkness. The house finally came into view. Barbara stopped the car, involuntarily. "Dear God," she exclaimed softly. She glanced at Phil uncertainly.

He nodded. "Mistral Manor." With a shrug, Barbara pulled her car up next to a green BMW.

They climbed out, feet crunching on the gravel of the drive. Overnight bags in hand, they stood on the doorstep. Phil looked at the side of the large wooden door. Switching his bag to his other hand, he gave the cord a smooth bull.

As they waited, Barbara whispered, "I can hear you knocking but you can't come in..."
Barbara the Wallpaper-er
- Monday, January 19, 2004 at 01:54:46 (EST)

George seized his knife and fork and bent over his lunch, careful not to look over his shoulder as the front door opened and the sound of the maitre'd greeting new arrivals floated through the air. Across the table, Mia was already sawing through her meat with grim determination, her elbow jerking dangerously close to her wineglass. George watched her motions with distaste. Obviously she was more of a take-out food sort of diner. Of course, he reflected, from what he'd seen of her, temporary gratification did seem to be more her thing.

From the sounds of chairs moving and waiters murmuring, it appeared that Joya and her very-intelligent-Scott-creep were seated. George hazarded a careful glance around the room. They were occupying a table barely a dozen feet away: perfect. But they were not alone: a cheerful dark-haired woman in a rather drab suit and an incredibly attractive young man wearing a suede jacket and Italian leather pants were also sitting at the table. All were perusing their menus, exchanging comments and recommendations about the food, laughing at little witticisms tossed back and forth across the table. Just as George was about to look away, Joya turned her head and saw him.

For five seconds that lasted an eternity, they stared at each other. Then Joya looked away and leaned over to laugh at a comment made by the dark-haired woman.

George clenched his cutlery until they rattled against his plate. How did she manage to look more beautiful than he could remember? A bit of Greek mythology flickered in the depths of his memory: how Hera, wife of Zeus, would bathe regularly in a sacred spring that would rejuvenate her beauty and rouse the King of the Gods to renewed passion. As a boy he'd thought the thing absurd, but now he felt that Zeus would understand his feelings quite well.

"You're not paying any attention to me." Mia's complaint broke into his trance. "If you want to stare at her, why don't you go sit over there?"

George frowned. Obviously Mia had decided to be difficult. "Shut up. I'm going to have to adjust my plan somewhat. I can't go over there with strangers present."

Mia huffed and returned to her food, spearing a forkful of meat and vegetables and shoveling it into her mouth. She glared at him resentfully, something that did not enhance the sight of her chewing. He looked away, mildly disgusted.

The two extra people were a problem. He didn't recognize either of them, so no doubt they were acquaintances of very-hardworking-Scott-berk. The other man had to be a fashion model, he was so attractive that George was willing to swear that he was actually wearing makeup. The woman seemed to be a professional of some kind.

And she was paying a lot of attention to the Scott-idiot. As George watched, she reached over and stroked the blond man's arm briefly at a moment when Joya was looking into her carryall. The Scott-moron placed his hand over hers and squeezed slightly. Joya closed her accessory and both pulled away from each as if nothing had happened.

Smoke started to rise from the banked but never quite extinguished fire of George's anger. What did that imbecile think he was doing, playing games like that in front of Joya? As if that dark-haired woman could compare in any way to Joya, with her magnificently lush body, luxurious almost-but-not-quite-blonde hair, sultry blue eyes and full pouty lips. The woman's suit hung like a well-made potato sack while Joya lounged in an ivory pantsuit with a blue scarf around her neck. George took a tighter grip on his knife.

"So what are you going to do?" Mia's whine drilled into his attention. She'd finished her meal and was now taking deep slurps of her Merlot. "I'm still hungry. I want dessert."

George looked around and caught the eye of a nearby waiter. Feeding Mia was a small price to pay for not having to listen to her. He ignored her open musing about which confection was less fattening and the waiter's soothing murmurs in response. What was going on at the other table?

Joya hadn't looked back in his direction once since their initial eye contact and so George felt safe in staring openly. Joya and her guests were deeply involved in an intense conversation, with the exception of the fashion model, now surveying around the room in a bored manner. He sneered at the two older women, grinned at the older businessman and leered at the young girlfriend. Then his gaze moved to the other side of the room, passing over George without recognition or interest, and halting on Mia.

Mia looked up. The fashion model stared.

Mia smiled. The fashion model grinned.

Mia smirked. The fashion model turned in his chair to face her.

Mia ran her finger over her sticky cream cake and lifted it to her lips. Her tongue appeared and licked first one side of the finger then the other and then licked completely around her lips to catch every crumb. The fashion model licked his lips in response.

George felt seriously ill.

Mia reached for her purse and headed for the back hallway where the public restrooms were located. Just before she disappeared around the corner, she looked back over her shoulder.

The fashion model crumpled his napkin and tossed it on the table, then surged to his feet and headed for the back hallway. Joya and her guests glanced up in surprise, then resumed their conversation. The fashion model disappeared around the same corner as Mia.

George sipped his wine and considered how his plans had fallen apart. The chances of seeing either Mia or the fashion model again within the next thirty minutes were slight, although it might take longer if they had to share cosmetics afterwards. The three people at Joya's table were eating now, their conversation apparently on hold for a while. The absence of the fashion model didn't seem to affect them.

The two older women in the far corner gathered their coats and left the restaurant. The businessman signed for the tab while his girlfriend watched, bored. The waiters were giving every indication of slackening attentiveness; they probably had their own lunches around this time and were anxious to get to them. And still George had no plan to replace his earlier one. He drummed his fingers on the table, frustrated.

The dark-haired woman excused herself and departed for the back hallway. Her absence seemed a signal for matters at Joya's table to take a more serious turn. Joya listened avidly as the Scott-doofus began to talk, making points and emphasizing certain words with a jab of his finger on the table. Joya nodded each time. Finally he finished, sitting back with a triumphant air. Joya sat back in her chair, regarding him with respect that looked sickeningly like awe from George's chair. Now that the other patrons had departed and most of the waiters were in the kitchen, George could hear her words clearly.

"Scott, I am so glad I met you. The past few weeks have opened up a new world for me - a world I never knew existed. And I owe it all to you." She leaned closer and covered the Scott-jerk's hand with her own. "I've never felt this way about anything before. It's as if my senses were never engaged, never touched at all. You've introduced me to feelings that I never knew I had. I can't thank you enough for it."

Across the room, George stared at the wall in front of him. He didn't see the expensive wallpaper or the fantastic view or the blood that dripped down his wrist from the shards of the wineglass that he'd gripped too fiercely and shattered.

Just like Joya had shattered his heart.

Magda
Is he suffering enough yet? Or does he deserve even more?, - Sunday, January 18, 2004 at 17:28:18 (EST)

I have updated my SS/OFC novel, Chasing Darkness Away, for anyone here following it. Sorry, no teaser trailer this time, by request.

Chapter 21; Snape and Ella are betrothed but their future happiness is compromised by some worrying news.

All of my stories can be found on the following sites; www.fanfiction.net/~rickfan37

http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/authors.php?no=4458

http://sycophanthex.lordandladysnape.com/viewuser.php?uid=25

http://www.astronomytower.org/authorLinks/Rickfan37/

Take your pick! Thanks.

~RF~
Rickfan37
- Friday, January 16, 2004 at 19:44:50 (EST)

Have just caught up with a week's worth of Severus and Gwenevere - thanks Lee! Now I have to wait the whole weekend for the next installment! By the way, if you ever sell the film rights for your story, please promise I can play Gwen.......please.... please!!! (only if AR plays Sev of course). Ok, now I have to stop dreaming and get back to reality! Have a great weekend everyone!
Alisonsevsnapesgirl2@aol.com
- Friday, January 16, 2004 at 15:02:27 (EST)

Snape lifted her white laboratory coat
from its hook and helped her into it and then put on his own lab coat as well. They unpacked and checked the new supplies first. When all was accounted for, Gwenevere set up the alembic for a routine distillation procedure. She added water and a special liquid enhancer to yellow Pentothal sodium crystals and put the mix into the cucurbit. Severus lit the lamp beneath. A short while, the faint scent of garlic and sulfur filled the working area, which told them, the distillation process had begun.

The large table was prepared with several rows of gleaming metallic instruments needed to complete today’s work. She put her glasses on and slipped her hands into latex gloves, and then held his gloves for him to slip into easily.

“How handy are you with a scalpel?” he asked, handing her a fresh cutting instrument with a careful steady hand.

“Fair, I think I can do the job.” She said, modestly smiling at him with her eyes above dark rims.

“I have no doubt, how much dissection have you done?”

“Quite a bit actually, I love the work.”

“Good, lets get started.” A confident smile graced his lips.

The table was set up with the necessary equipment to control the gory aftermath of today’s procedures. The dissection process was complicated and skill was required to preserve the integrity of the organs essential for the truth potion. A vast knowledge of the anatomy of the various cold-blooded creatures and mammals they would part out today was also crucial so that the correct component was identified and flawlessly collected.

Severus watched as Gwenevere handled the scalpel like a seasoned surgeon. She had obviously done a great deal of this work with her grandfather to become so proficient. She cut open the belly to the brisket of her bled and skinned carcass, and let the stomach and intestines roll out. She pulled out the liver and carefully removed the gall bladder and emptied its contents into a beaker.

“Severus, this goat had gallstones. Five of them, and of nice size.” She said, picking them out with forceps and placing them in a vial of formalin. She marked it with the date and name.

“Excellent. They are so difficult to obtain.” He said, extracting the heart from a rabbit and placing it on a scale.

Gwenevere placed the duodenum aside and separated the reticulum from the omasum in its stomach chambers. She then opened the brisket and removed the heart and lungs for further dissection. The veritaserum preparation work was complete by close to three o’clock.

“You did a excellent job, Gwenevere, your grandfather taught you well.” He said, removing his gloves and lab coat.

“I’m very out of form, and need to work very hard to achieve your level of skill Severus, you are amazing you know. I’ll bet few know how talented you are. Really.”

Severus just smiled slightly. He was so unassuming about his Masters skills sometimes, and she loved him all the more for it. He had been brilliant and worked twice as fast as she. He had dissected the most difficult specimens and handled the instruments fluidly, causing her to regard him with renewed admiration.

They cleared up and headed for the second floor. As they entered Snape’s quarters and he removed her robes, Gwenevere wondered it she should have gone directly to her own quarters first.

“Severus, I would like to have a bath before tea.” She was quite in need of one after the dissection.

“Yes, quite necessary. ” he said, hanging his robes on the hook beside hers.

He turned to her and removed the sterling bar, which hid her long hair and handed it to her slowly and deliberately. Gwenevere smiled and held his eye contact, her heartbeat quickened as she wondered what he had in mind. His hand manipulated the braid loose causing the expensive scent of her trapped hair to lessen the pungent odor of formalin, and other less than desirable effects of dissection, as it fell around her shoulders and down her back in a thick bounce. He took her hair in his hands and kissed her tenderly. Gwenevere was well aware that Severus preferred her hair long and was beguiled by it.

“It’s nearly time for tea so might I suggest that you use the shower?” he said as he gently turned her around and began unbuttoning the long line of small black buttons that ran down her back in an attempt to rescue her sensual shape from its matronly curtain.

“Yes, that sounds perfect.” She said, closing her eyes as he kissed the back of her neck and continued unbuttoning until he reached the end of her spine.

“I’ll join you shortly.” He purred. She turned her head and gave him a seductive look before walking towards the bathroom.

Snape watched as she disappeared around the corner then quickly entered his den and closed the door...
lee
Hi Claire, our posts collided! lol, - Friday, January 16, 2004 at 10:50:52 (EST)

Of couse I know that, hehehe!! Good to hear your ok. Waiting patiently for the update. So, do we get two days worth today?
ClairePrague@iwon.com
- Friday, January 16, 2004 at 10:45:23 (EST)

I hope Lee is OK, I didn't hear from her yesterday. Is there anything about power outages?
Claireprague@iwon.com
I don't watch TV, - Friday, January 16, 2004 at 09:44:02 (EST)

Hi to all, Claire knows I would never do that! Don’t you Claire? (lol) I was watching an AR movie, but I was not home. How did you know that grit? Are you clairvoyant? When I went out this morning my face froze off. This weather is for the polar bears. Story coming right up, I promise.
lee
Writing as fast as I can..., - Friday, January 16, 2004 at 09:42:33 (EST)

Oh Grit, I only wish it were cold here. Its been sitting around 60 to 70 degrees. I really miss the snow so much, I hate the fact that I moved south. An AR movie could warm any woman up very quickly.
Claireprague@iwon.com
Still loving the sound byte, - Thursday, January 15, 2004 at 17:18:31 (EST)

Maybe lee's fingers are frozen to her keyboard. Here in NY (at 2:30 pm) it's currently 8 degrees with a wind chill of -3 (that's -13 and -19, respectively, in Celcius). I don't know where she is in Maryland, but according to the Weather Channel it's a balmy 29 degrees in Baltimore. Maybe she's watching an AR movie to warm up... :-)
grit
- Thursday, January 15, 2004 at 14:33:09 (EST)

Lee's not really busy she is just torturing us with her sick since of humor. Just kidding Lee!! Hope your day isn't to stressful.
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Thursday, January 15, 2004 at 13:47:26 (EST)

Gwenevere slowly lowered her hand
and rested the letter in her lap, shaking her head in disbelief. Mild shock prevented her from opening the remainder of mail still waiting in the basket. ‘Doctor Bernard’ she whispered, recalling many fond memories and gazing at the letter opener he had given to her on their third meeting.

She remembered like it was yesterday, he was kind and gentle and always teased her he was smitten, kissing her on the cheek with the fatherly scent of bay rum upon his soft skin. His relentless pursuit of matchmaking her with his son Bernie, never muted until his death prevented further unabashed attempts.

He told her that the letter opener was special and that she would know how when the time came. She dabbed a single tear before it broke and ran down her cheek. After several more moments, she carefully folded the letter and inserted it back into its matching envelope, placing in her pocket. The thought of the new responsibility at a time when the length of her own life was particularly uncertain was overwhelming and would need to wait until a quiet time when proper concentration was possible. It was now time to freshen up and meet Severus.

Gwenevere checked her watch and locked the door behind her as she headed to the dungeons. She descended spiral stone steps, the back way, and arrived at Snape’s office before he had finished lunch in the great hall. She tried turning the doorknob and to her liking, it allowed her entry. She paced the floor several times and stopped to study the rows of potions jars on his shelf in order to pass the time and quell fidgeting.

Her thoughts and emotions were a blend of excitement for the project she was about to start and sadness mixed with apprehension regarding the death of Bernie Burgess. Doctor Burgess’ letter had brought fond memories to the surface as well as sorrow. She momentarily lost herself in the memories of his frequent visits to her childhood home whenever her father and mother were in England.

“Breaking and entering is a punishable offence. I could have you disbarred.”

“Severus, I didn’t hear you enter.” She said, spinning round to find the source of the deep bass standing behind her in the doorway. Snape regarded her Professor McGonagallesque attire and hair with wry curiosity.

“Who are you and what have you done with Doctor Collins?” he asked, locking the door and advancing towards her. Her repressed appearance had a stirring effect on him, which he didn’t quite understand.

“She’s here…let me show you…” she kissed him the kiss that she had been saving nearly all day, the one that caused him the need to steady her on her feet. He wondered who would steady him.

“Ummm…what was that for?” he asked, uncrossing his eyes to bring her dark brown eyes into focus.

“Just because I have missed you today. I have reason to appreciate you anew...” She said, as they resumed the greeting. His hands traveled the loose material of the shift down past her hips and pulled her into him tighter as their mouths gulped in air and switched sides. Her hands held his neck and shoulders and caressed his hair.

“Let’s forget about the veritaserum and continue this special appreciation day upstairs.” He suggested jokingly, but was halfway serious. She sighed deeply in response and sent another shudder of excitement through his gut.

“We can’t. The potion must begin today…later…” she reminded him playfully.

“I’ll be counting the moments.” He whispered close to her ear. Gwenevere embraced him tightly for several long moments before pulling away to begin their scheduled work. Snape wondered what had caused the mixed emotion he felt in her kiss and now saw in her eyes.

lee
Thanks Claire, I seem to be getting busier and busier these days, I guess that’s good. , - Wednesday, January 14, 2004 at 14:22:38 (EST)

oooh, a twist to the story. Lee, its ok we all know you are terribly busy.
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Tuesday, January 13, 2004 at 11:17:21 (EST)

Dear Doctor Collins-Gwenevere,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, well contented, and as beautiful as ever. If you are reading this, it means that I am long gone, and that my only son, Bernie, has passed on as well.
I cannot thank you and your family enough for all that you’ve done for me over the years. Never in my life did I need a reminder about how Burgess Apothecary became the leading source of supplies and remedies for wizards around the world. Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you and your family and what your kindness and talents have meant.
When I was just starting out at rock bottom and needed direction, advice, and even money, your father helped me on my way to the top. We shared a common vision in compassion and responsibility that materialized into something that has helped countless wizarding people throughout the globe.
Burgess Apothecary became the first company of its type to commit a portion of its profits back to the wizarding community in equivalence to its continued growth. We have always been mindful of quality, insisting on only the best equipment and ingredients-a creed which brought me to you for financial advice when the time came to expand our horizons. Whilst under the tender wing of your experienced guidance, my modest Apothecary Shop soared to towering heights as savvy investments meant expansion and acquisition of the hundreds of subsidiaries connected to my name today. I am thankful that I had the insight to trust your judgment completely and let you guide the company’s assets for as long as you did.
My only regret in life was that you and Bernie were not married with lots of children for my lovely bride, Almira Gulch Burgess, and me to spoil as it would have been our absolute dream come true. The fact that Bernie never married is what actually brings this letter to you at this sad time.
This letter means that no heirs have materialized since my passing and that true to my last will and testament, my assets and entire estate will be delivered into good hands capable of carrying on the humanitarian traditions which have led to the success we have so humbly been thankful for.
Please accept this sobering responsibility with open heart and let celestial guidance serve you as it has done for me. My wish for you would be to find true love and of course create heirs in which to continue the worthwhile humanitarian efforts and charitable causes that have been indoctrinated into your being since before birth.
Yours truly,
Doctor Bernard Stephan Burgess II, ET ALii.
lee
I know you all think I italicized the FoF again. lol., - Monday, January 12, 2004 at 19:40:51 (EST)

Hi Claire, I had a very busy weekend (fun too) and did not write at all. Then I was gone all day today. I acknowledge that I was a bad girl and may need to spend time in the dungeon to face adequate peril. I think you may be correct about Voltaire. Hehe.
MWM, I hope your weekend was better and I am glad you liked the story. My thoughts are with you.
Earth Mother, Parker is anyone’s guess! (Even his) your welcome and you are right it is bloody cold outside! I think I will heat the plot a bit more this week, we’ll see. I saw your post on the GB after a brief breeze of it, and I can tell you that I have never seen the film crew in Sykesville. (Since the first of the year) I don’t know what has become of the place now, but I hope if they come back that we can find out about it. It may be that they are finished there.
Sophie, welcome and thank you. We hope you stick around each day with us! Thank you all for your posts, and please know that I am grateful for them more than you can ever know.
OMG! Magda my dinner was burning like Mia’s ears because I could not leave your story! Thanks for a great read.
lee
- Monday, January 12, 2004 at 19:30:04 (EST)

hello :) my names sophie, ive been looking round this site for quite i while now but i think this is the first time i posted! i just today got round to reading the 'true loves curse' stories right from the begining and oh wow, they are excellent!i cant wait for the next one! meanwhile i think if there are no objections i might stick around to see what happens! if anyone has any questions please dont hesitate to ask :)xxx
sophielady_sophie22@yahoo.co.uk
*sigh*, - Monday, January 12, 2004 at 17:13:48 (EST)

Does anyone know where Lee is today?
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Monday, January 12, 2004 at 16:32:44 (EST)

Mistral Manor, just outside “The Clothes Room”:

Brandon knocks lightly at the door. Hearing the soft “Come in,” he steps into the room to find Mary Anne seated on the floor near one of the armchairs, combing out her hair in front of the fire.

“Did you come to tuck me in, Christopher?”

Smiling, Brandon leans against the doorframe, enjoying the picture before him: Mary Anne, in somewhat oversized cotton pajamas.

With feet.

Following the direction of Brandon’s gaze, Mary Anne shrugs. “I wasn’t sure how warm the house would be. I just knew it was old, so I wanted to be prepared.”

“Very practical.” Casually, Brandon moves toward the bed and turns back the cover, running his hand over the sheets beneath, keeping his face turned away from Mary Anne. Can she possibly believe I would find her less than lovely, even in . . . He thinks back on the gathering in the library, earlier in the evening. As it had begun to grow late, Mary Anne had leaned over to consult his wristwatch, hooking her finger into the strap to turn it so she could see the face, and it had been enough, that one touch on his wrist, for him to feel that stirring, his body asserting itself with rather more . . . enthusiasm than the occasion might warrant. Even now, thinking upon that moment . . .

Brandon completes his inspection of the bedclothes and turns back to Mary Anne, who has finished combing her hair and is watching him with a carefully neutral expression. Squelching the horrible suspicion that she somehow knows exactly what has been passing through his mind, he clears his throat. “Well, I should think you’d be warm enough. There’s a feather tick on this bed, and a down cover on top.” A pause. “Yes. You should be . . . quite warm.”

The silence lengthens, before Mary Anne turns to look at the antique clothing ranged at the far end of the room. “I suppose they couldn’t have a big fire in here as a regular thing. Too much heat is bad for clothes.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

“So.” She smiles up at him. “Are you here to tell me a bedtime story before you tuck me in?”

The smile decides him, that twinkle of mischief putting him at ease. He can stay for a little, enjoy her company. The next day is certain to be a trying one, and they will both sleep the better for a little pleasant conversation.

“Perhaps.”

Brandon moves to settle himself on the floor directly behind her, propping his back against an armchair and drawing Mary Anne to him, settling her back against his chest as he slips his arms around her waist and laces his fingers together across her stomach. He can feel her give a ticklish squirm at the touch, but as his hands remain in place, firm and unmoving, she relaxes against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Your hair smells beautiful, Mary Anne. Like flowers.”

“Apple blossoms.” He can feel rather than hear her amusement. “The French branch of the Mistrals must still be in the soap making business, and I can tell you that they’re good it at. There was a whole basket of French soap in the bathroom. The only problem was which one to choose.”

“A good choice.” Brandon leans closer to sink his face into her hair, abandoning himself to the fragrance of it, declaring a plague upon too much caution, upon treacherous bodily responses that advertise one’s desires to the whole world. Well, perhaps not to the world. But you must admit that she won’t be able to miss such a thing, snugged up against you like this . . .

Well, and what if she does? If Mary Anne does not know by now that you are a man and what feelings men are likely to have, then you truly have neglected some very necessary matters, haven’t you? Besides, she doesn’t seem to have any objections . . .

Nor does Mary Anne object when his explorations wander from her hair down to the regions of her ears and throat-what he can reach. She stirs in his arms as if about to turn and face him, but Brandon, taken with a sudden inspiration, lifts his hands from her stomach-fingers still laced together-and then settles them again, trapping her arms against her sides.

“Christopher--!”

“Shhhhh. I thought you wanted a bedtime story . . .”

Mary Anne looks down at her neatly pinioned arms. “Is this your idea of a bedtime story?”

“Well, it is bedtime, and I am going to tell you a story.”

Mary Anne’s only reply is a low exclamation as Brandon’s teeth graze her earlobe, before he murmurs, “Once upon a time . . . there was a man, a quite ordinary man, commonplace in all respects as to looks and gifts and temper . . .”

“Christopher.” Warningly.

For some moments, Brandon devotes himself to that vulnerable neck, until the pulse of it beats madly against his lips, before he continues. “And this man had the fortune to love and be loved by the most beautiful of women, with eyes the ever-changing blue of the sea and laughter like birdsong, together with a wise mind and a noble heart.”

“Christopher.” A sigh. Then, a quiver against him which may or may not be amusement, as he spends another few moments attending to her collarbones and the hollow of her throat. “The man cannot have been so ordinary as all that. I would say he had some definite . . . talents.”

“Perhaps, though he tended to value his talents according to how they might be used to make her happy. But though she repeatedly assured him of her love, he . . . was foolish, at times. There were days when he could not trust to his blessing, days when he believed such a rare creature could not love him when she might choose another and far better than he.”

“None better.”

Brandon nuzzles the back of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair once more. “She might certainly have chosen a wiser man. One who would never be jealous, never lose control of himself and frighten her-“

“One who would never be human. One who would not be a man at all.” Though Mary Anne cannot move her arms, she can turn her head far enough to brush her lips against Brandon’s cheek, and he remains still, permitting her to return in part the caresses he has bestowed, until she smiles at him and asks, “Does your story have an end, Christopher?”

He looks searchingly into her face. Her eyes are wide, smoke-blue, darkened with desire, with tenderness. Slowly, he opens his fingers, allowing his arms to slide away and release her as she turns to face him, and he nods. “Yes, it will have an ending, someday.” His hand lifts, lingers on a stray curl before he tucks it behind her ear. “But not yet.”

A few moments pass in silence before Brandon glances at his watch. No words are necessary; Mary Anne moves to rise from the floor and Brandon assists her to her feet.

“Sure you don’t want to tuck me in, Christopher?”

A slight crinkling of the eyes from Brandon. “You need your sleep, Mary Anne.”

She rolls her eyes. “As if I’ll sleep after that.”

“Then think of it this way.” Brandon manages what is a mischievous grin for him, though the look would go quite unnoticed on Mistral or Hans. “Perhaps I have given you something pleasant to think about.” His smile fades. “I hope it will help to fortify us against tomorrow.”

“I hope so, too. Good night, Christopher.”

Brandon turns to leave the room, but stops as Mary Anne calls after him, “The woman in your story . . . her name would not be Domina, by any chance, would it?”

There is no mistaking the mischief, this time. Grinning, Brandon mouths the words Non sum dignus and is out the door, closing it softly behind him and leaving Mary Anne to the comforts of her feather mattress and quilt, imagining-is it imagination?-that as he walks down the corridor to his room, the scent of apple blossom follows him all the way down the hall.

MA--hey, there could be a whole new career for George! 8-)
Got a bit inspired by a few things--including the current sound file. Yow., - Sunday, January 11, 2004 at 23:57:04 (EST)

Magda, that was brilliant! I can't wait for the next installment!
MWM
- Sunday, January 11, 2004 at 20:59:41 (EST)

Magda, that was way fun. Thanks.
Cindie
- Sunday, January 11, 2004 at 11:11:06 (EST)

Well done, Magda!

Barbara the Wallpaperer
I'll wager George is about to get a blast of arctic breeze, - Saturday, January 10, 2004 at 22:54:27 (EST)

Lee, Your stories really know how to warm the heart this long cold bitter winter. What a joy to read your latest chapter during the evening after attending my garden herbs growing in their indoor pots. Thanks for taking the chill out the air and warming us up! I wonder what will become of Parker?
Earth Mother
- Saturday, January 10, 2004 at 22:16:23 (EST)

"I don't understand any of this." Mia complained, for the fourth time in thirty minutes. "I want to go back to the City!"

George took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He'd have liked nothing better than to cheerfully pull the car over to the side of the road and toss her out onto the grass. She'd have an interesting hike back to the City in four-inch strappy heels. Unfortunately he'd already worked out a scheme that required her presence so he had to resist temptation. But it definitely wasn't easy. He maintained a stony silence, hoping she'd take the hint.

Apparently deciding that he wasn't going to pay any more attention to her current demand than he'd paid to the first three, Mia subsided into the passenger seat with a bad grace. George sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for the respite and concentrated on the road.

The Barge was well out into the countryside south of London and as a result was best known as a dinner place. Those who drove out from the City for lunch tended to be the idle rich as the prices were far too high for the tourist trade. Massive trees on either side shadowed the road. A turn loomed up ahead. Without removing his foot from the gas pedal, George spun the wheel and shot around it. Mia screeched and covered her eyes with her hands. The car sent up a hail of small pebbles and dust but stayed on the asphalt.

The road was narrower now and the countryside was giving way to large banks of flowers and ornamental shrubs. Up ahead half a dozen cars could be seen parked in front of a long, low building with signs or any indication of identity. George examined the cars through narrowed eyes. Two were the same make he was driving and four were German; three men lounged in the building's shade, smoking cigarettes and fanning themselves with their chauffeurs' hats. This was the place.

George smiled grimly. None of the cars or the drivers was Joya's, he was sure of it. Good. It meant that he'd be already seated when she arrived and it wouldn't look as if he'd followed her. He pulled into the parking area and killed the engine. Beside him Mia moaned what sounded suspiciously like the end of a prayer. George ignored it and got out of the car, slamming the door and starting for the entrance. Behind him there was silence, then the passenger door opened and Mia scrambled out. George wondered if stomping so heavily was really wise in such high heels.

The maitre'd scrambled to greet him, although he'd never been there before. Obviously he recognized his face from countless films. George nodded distantly as the man showed them to a table in the far corner of the room, away from the handful of other diners and with a full view of the front door. He bowed George into his chair and pulled the other one out for Mia, who looked pathetically grateful that someone was doing something for her that day. A wave of a hand conjured up two glasses of wine and a plate of olive oil and bread. Menus were deposited on the table and the servitor departed.

George looked around. Not even half full, the room afforded a fair amount of privacy for everyone. He recognized a stockbroker of immense wealth in the farthest corner, huddling with a woman young enough to be his daughter and expensive enough to be his mortgage. Beside the window looking out over the river, a minor member of the royal family was chewing methodically and listening to an older man talking. Two older women, wearing hats from a more elegant era, were sipping coloured drinks from martini glasses; he recognized one of them from the society pages as a major supporter of the opera. Joya would have known both of them, probably would have been a donor to their charities. Both of them were staring back at him, not with the awed recognition he was used to but with something akin to frigid horror. He grinned back at them. Good to see that Mia was having the response he wanted.

Speaking of which, it would probably be a good idea to rehearse her before Joya showed up. He looked around. Mia was examining the menu in between sneaking peaks at her surroundings. It would have been too much to say that she was intimidated but she didn't seem inclined to disturb the silence between them. Regretfully, George decided he really had no choice.

"Now then," he began, causing Mia to jump and drop the menu. He continued. "We don't have much time so listen carefully. You know Joya Clifford, who also appears in films made at the Studio?" Mia nodded. George smiled. "Good. Well, in a while - perhaps a very short while - she'll come in here with a wussy-looking blonde pretty-boy. When they're seated, I'm going over to talk to her. I'll ask him to excuse us so we can be private. When he leaves - or when we leave him alone at the table - I want you to go over to him and do your best to get him interested in you. Throw yourself at him if you have to. Just make it look like you've both got lust issues that have to be dealt with. Understand?"

"What? You're crazy!" Mia stared. "I'm not that kind of woman to just - just fling myself at a man!"

George stopped craning his neck for a view of the parking area through the main window and looked at her. "Honey, 'flinging' was invented for women like you. Just unbutton your blouse and let gravity do the rest."

Mia's brows contracted and the corners of her mouth turned down sullenly. Any tantrum she was going to throw was interrupted by the arrival of a waiter who came and took their order. By the time he left Mia seemed disinclined to say anything. Satisfied, George turned back to the window. From outside came the sound of car doors slamming shut. He sat up straighter and stared at the front door.

A man and a woman entered. George slumped in his chair. Strangers, not Joya and the wonderful-Scott-berk. A man about his own height, with graying chestnut hair and thick-framed glasses, and a woman with a classical beauty not completely overwhelmed by a shaggy, practical haircut and rather frumpy clothing that would have better suited a woman a decade older. The maitre'd swept up to escort them to their table. They walked stiffly side by side and the man bumped into the servitor in his effort to pull out her chair first. Despite his preoccupation, George settled back and watched the couple.

Now, it was a deeply rooted conviction amongst the women actors at the Studio that George was an unfeeling, callous, inhuman wart with absolutely no feelings or empathy for anyone else whatsoever. Mary Ann in particular was vehement on the point. And for the most part they were right: George was no one's idea of a New Age Sensitive Guy. But you don't become a good actor without having some instincts for people and no one had ever denied that George was a good actor. He preferred to do his people-watching on his own time and although this wasn't the most convenient time in his schedule, he couldn't resist the strained atmosphere that was so obviously present between the otherwise unremarkable couple.

They were perusing the menu with perhaps more intensity than the food warranted but eventually they were forced to give up their camouflage and give their orders to the waiter. He deposited wine, olive oil and bread in front of them and bowed himself away.

George sipped his wine and watched. Were they dating? No, they looked too right together not to be married. Had they quarreled? They both were holding themselves rather stiffly but he didn't feel any angry vibrations in the air; it was more like wariness, caution almost, as if both were afraid of doing the wrong thing. George reached for a piece of bread, dipped it into the olive oil and popped it into his mouth. This was almost better than a play. He wondered what they would do next.

Small talk seemed to be the order of the day. The man leaned over and made a comment, causing the woman to laugh louder perhaps than she intended. The man looked almost pathetically grateful and began to play with his silverware. The woman glanced at him with a smile and then scanned the room. She saw the stockbroker and his cutie and looked quickly away; raised her brows slightly at the minor royalty; nodded politely at the older women who graciously inclined their heads back at her; then looked at George. The usual oh-look-there's-that-actor-what's-his-name-that-was-in-the-picture-you-know-who-I-mean expression appeared on her face and George was about to bow in her direction when the woman's gaze flickered past him just as Mia looked around.

For a second the two women stared at each other. The older woman went white in an instant, then flushed a rosy pink. She turned to the man and hissed a question at him in a demanding undertone. He stared at her then looked around at Mia too. He flushed a brick red and George wondered if he was having a stroke.

George looked across the table. Mia stared at hands clasped in front of her, breathing shallowly but otherwise giving no indication that anyone else was in the room. He looked across the room again. The man was agitatedly whispering back to the woman, now ducking her head to root through her handbag and refusing to look at the man. He reached out a hand to touch her and she jerked back as if burned. They glared at each other, then the woman stood up and said in a shaky voice, "I'm sure I left it in the car. I'll be right back." She pushed the chair back and walked out, almost running through the door.

George helped himself to more wine. This was most interesting indeed. Mia looked over at the other table, staring at the man with wide eyes. He gave her a hard look, then turned his back with almost insulting resolution. Mia scowled for a moment before realizing that George was looking at her with amusement. She snatched up her handbag, muttered "Lady's room" and flounced away from the table.

None of the other patrons of the restaurant seemed to take any notice. Even the two older women were caught up in their own business. George picked up his glass of wine and stood up. This was really too good an opportunity to miss. He knew a moment of keen regret that Joya wasn't there to watch the fun too. She'd be all over the couple, trying to sort out their lives for them.

George crossed to the other table, pulled a chair out and sat down. The man looked around in surprise, his jaw sagging slightly as he recognized his uninvited guest. George waved a careless hand. "Yes, I'm George Nott, pleased to meet you. Yes, I did all my own stunts in that crusader movie but for the pirate movie they used a stunt double. No, I haven't had affairs with all my co-stars. No, that tabloid story about the sixteen-year-old choir girl was total bunk. Yes, they do pay us rather a lot of money but after Inland Revenue gets their hands on it I barely have enough to feed the Jag. Now enough about me. What's up with you and your lady?"

The man's jaw fell even further and he blinked rapidly. He seemed to be trying to say something. George waited politely, sipping his wine. Finally the man pulled himself together. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please." George rolled his eyes. "Please, please, please, puh-leeze! There was more warmth around the table the last time the government negotiated with the IRA. Very well, since you won't tell me, I'll have to get nosy. I take it you've both met Mia?"

"Yes." It was a clipped sound, as if it pained the man to admit it. "I'm afraid we have. She used to work for me, in fact. My name is Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry." George nodded politely. "I guess you knew her quite well then. Perhaps even in the biblical sense of the word?"

Harry shot to his feet, almost dislodging the cutlery and stemware on his table. George rescued his wine and the bread basket. "What do you mean - Has Mia said anything - She said she wouldn't - I mean - I don't know what you're talking about!"

George gave him a pitying look. "Pathetic, my friend. Truly pathetic. Wouldn't convince a nursery school audience. If that was the tactic you took with your wife - she is your wife, isn't she? The one who went out to the car quite some time ago? - no wonder she saw through it so fast."

"Yes, Karen's my wife. She forgot something in the car. She'll be right back." The man sank back into his chair.

"I doubt it." George shook his head. "She's had time to take the whole chassis apart by now so if there's something she's looking for, it's probably at home. But tell me about Mia. Or rather, tell me about your involvement with her. I can probably tell you about Mia myself."

"And what business is it of yours, might I ask?" Harry demanded. George grinned; apparently ignorance had been abandoned and the new strategy was belligerence.

"None whatsoever." George selected a roll from the basket and dipped it in the oil. "But tell me anyway. You're dying to tell someone with a sympathetic ear, aren't you? Come on, man to man. I promise not to laugh."

Harry regarded him, then propped his elbows on the table and dropped his face into his hands. George waited, munching bread. Finally Harry looked up, took a deep breath and began to talk. "She was my personal assistant. She made it clear to me that she was interested in me as a man, not as a boss. I - allowed myself to be tempted. I bought her an expensive necklace as a Christmas present and she let me - that is - we went to her place and -" He broke off, staring at the tablecloth, lips tightly compressed.

"And you had a gift exchange. I get the picture." George dipped the bread in the oil again. "How long did it last? Your affair?"

Harry lifted his head. "Just that once. My wife found out. She confronted me. It was like being dropped into the North Sea. I'd been dreaming and suddenly woke up and realized what I'd done. She's barely forgiven me." The last came out in a husky whisper.

George regarded him dispassionately. "And how did Mia handle it when you told her you weren't interested anymore?"

Harry laughed, a gruff sound. "Well, after the holidays I went back to the office determined to have it out with her. But she didn't come in that morning. I had to go to a meeting that lasted most of the day and when I came back the office was in an uproar. Mia had waltzed in at 10:30 in the morning and taken three hours for lunch so she could go shopping. She'd been rude to the women staff, insulted my senior people, and generally made it clear that the office situation had changed. By the time I got in that afternoon I had four letters of resignation on my desk - none of them Mia's - and a line-up of angry employees threatening to quit if something weren't done. I called Mia into my office and she tried to climb into my lap! We ended up having a tremendous argument and I fired her. She got severance of course but I had to find extra money." Harry stopped abruptly.

"Let me guess: you had to find extra money because she blackmailed you." George reached for the wine bottle and filled his glass. This was better than a novel. "And did she leave after that?"

"Oh, yes. She took her stuff home and that was that." Harry lifted his own glass as George topped it up. "I haven't seen her since that day. Until now, that is. And I'm afraid that Karen won't believe me if I say I didn't know she'd be here."

"Leave that to me." George toasted him with a glass. "I'm very persuasive. Professional training, you know."

Harry looked alarmed but before he could respond, the front door opened and the woman that George now knew as Karen came in, her face flushed, her eyes suspiciously moist and her smile almost dementedly cheerful. She came up to the table, beaming as both George and Harry rose. "Well, it wasn't there after all so I suppose it's at home. And is this really Mr. Nott?"

Harry seated his wife, then both men sat down too. Karen seemed startled that George hadn't returned to his own table but beamed at him as if he was a toddler who was misbehaving. George turned his most debonair manner on, shrewdly guessing that like a lot of people, Karen expected actors to be rather odd. Well, it was an assumption he was going to take full advantage of. He leaned closer to Karen, ignoring Harry's fearful gaze.

"Yes, George Nott, at your service. So pleased to meet you." She dipped her head gracefully. She really was an attractive woman; why she didn't do something with her hair perplexed him. "I've been watching you from across the room. You arouse me."

Harry gaped. The smile froze on Karen's face. "I beg your pardon?"

"You arouse me." George hitched his chair closer to hers. "You have a wonderful profile, a classical beauty that I haven't seen in a long time. I want to take you to a small inn that's quite close by and take you up to the large room on the third floor. Then I'd dim the lights and remove your clothes item by item until you're standing in your slip. Then I'd lift you onto the bed and shag you until -"

"Mr. Nott!" Karen's flushed scarlet, whether from anger or embarrassment George couldn't tell. "I don't know if you're trying to be funny but I assure you that I do not find you at all amusing!"

"No, I'm not trying to be funny. I get paid double for comedy roles; it's considered out-of-character for me and more of a stretch." George smiled tolerantly. "I'm just telling you what you do to me."

"Well, stop it!" She looked at her husband. "Harry, do something."

"Yes, do something. Yes, I will." Harry came out of his stupor. "Nott, step outside so I can punch your lights out!"

George dismissed him with a glance. "No. I deplore violence that isn't performed by a stuntman. Don't be a fool. I'm not going to act on my inclinations. I'm just telling you about them, that's all."

"I see." Karen's tone was clipped. She was definitely angry now. "Well, that is a surprise. I rather thought men always acted on their urges. It seems to be something they can't control."

Now Harry flushed too. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

She glared at him. "You know exactly what I mean!"

"You're referring to Mia, aren't you?" George intervened. "I know all about that."

They both spun around and gawked at him. Harry looked as if he'd been stabbed in the back but Karen was just stunned.

George gestured with a bread roll. "You shouldn't take that too seriously, Karen. May I call you Karen? And you must call me George. Anyway, as I was saying, Mia is nothing for a woman like you to worry about."

"Oh, really?" Karen breathed hard, her eyes narrowed. "How would you know? Are you her latest boyfriend?"

"God forbid." George shuddered. "I wouldn't touch her with six-foot cameraman. No, I just recognize her type. Poor Harry here, on the other hand, didn't. You see, you'd spoiled him, Karen. He thought all women were like you, just packed slightly differently. So when Mia came onto him, he put his brain in his desk drawer and let another part of his anatomy do the thinking for him. And what happened?"

"He had an affair, that's what happened." Karen's voice cracked and she swallowed hastily. Harry reached out to touch her arm, then pulled back, uncertain.

George shook his head. "No, Karen he didn't have an affair. He took part in a commercial transaction. The biggest mistake he made was actually wasting time buying a necklace; he should have just handed her an envelope of cash. But that's not what I meant when I asked you what happened. I meant - do you think Harry enjoyed himself?"

"Mr. Nott." Karen stood up. Her face was white. "This has gone on quite long enough. I will not sit here and be subjected to this abuse any longer."

"Sit down." George said calmly. "Now. Or I'll make a scene that will make it onto the front page of every tabloid in London."

"Come on, sweetheart. Sit down." Harry reached up and tugged gently at Karen's arm. "It's all right." He turned his attention on George. "I still think I should take you outside but that can wait. To answer your question, no I did not enjoy myself. It was beyond a doubt the worst sexual intercourse I ever participated in in my life and I'm including the time I was caught in the garden shed with Polly McMurchen when I was fifteen. It was simply terrible."

"Yes, it would have been. Mia was probably more excited about the necklace. She wore it, right? And don't touch the hair?" Harry nodded reluctantly. George nodded knowingly. Karen was staring at Harry as if he'd suddenly sprouted feathers. "You see, Karen, you haven't lost Harry at all. He managed to get himself lost and he's desperate to come home."

"I never kicked him out of the house." She was still staring at Harry, as if she'd never seen him before.

"You didn't have to." George sipped his wine. "It's that arctic breeze blowing across the bed that did the trick." He grinned as they both flushed again. "He's not comparing you to her, Karen. The only woman who got measured against a higher standard was Mia, and she failed. And the sad thing is, she thinks she passed because she got a piece of jewelry and didn't have to give it back."

"Really, Harry?" Karen whispered. She reached out and touched his sleeve, cautiously. "You haven't been comparing me or pretending that about someone else?"

Harry clutched at her hand and squeezed it tight. "No. I swear it. I know I was a classic fool. I was so in the wrong. But I'm so sorry!"

"Not a classic fool." George responded, addressing the ceiling so as to give his victims some privacy. "More of a garden-variety one, I'm afraid. And now I think I shall wander back to my table, since you're out of bread, and have my lunch." He stood up and retrieved his wine glass. "Now if you want my advice, there's still that inn that's quite close by. And I can vouch for the room on the third floor."

Harry pulled Karen to her feet. "Let's go."

Karen clutched his arm. "Yes."

George watched benevolently as they left, eating each other with their eyes. The waiter glared at him, then at the empty wine bottle on the table. George shrugged. "My tab. I'll take care of it." He looked over his shoulder. Mia was back at their table, watching him closely. At least she hadn't climbed out the bathroom window while he'd been occupied. He wondered if the necklace she was wearing had been the one Harry had referred to. Interesting coincidence if it was.

Outside a car door slammed, then another. George pulled himself together and crossed to the window. A familiar car was now in the parking lot. A familiar voice floated through the air. He made it back to his table in two strides.

The curtain was about to go up.

Magda
A long one tonight - over 4,000 words - just tidying up some loose ends from another production...., - Saturday, January 10, 2004 at 21:26:23 (EST)

Lee, thanks so much, you have made a difficult day so much better!
MWM
SD - Saturday, January 10, 2004 at 21:10:44 (EST)

Happy Birthday Baby!
Feet
- Friday, January 09, 2004 at 14:36:04 (EST)

Hans -- with his fingers curled around the walkie-talkie.
Cindie
Wishing Renie a Merry Birthday., - Friday, January 09, 2004 at 14:13:57 (EST)

Grit- I agree with you totally. Lee, is it Voltaire?, it has to be!!! Love it, good way to end a weeks story. Have fun this weekend everyone.
Claireprague@iwon.com
- Friday, January 09, 2004 at 11:48:26 (EST)

lee
- Friday, January 09, 2004 at 11:37:04 (EST)

Gwenevere went directly to the owlry
after leaving Professor Parker and collected her mail. There were several letters amongst the lot but still nothing from her grandmother. She headed back down to the library and borrowed two more books before arriving back to the second floor for an early lunch. She was famished.

Dobby brought her meal and they chatted for a time about current Hogwarts news. Sometimes Dobby told her a bit more than she actually needed to know, but she simply dismissed irrelevant information from her mind. She carried the tray to her office and added the new mail to the basketful on her desk. She viewed the accumulation ruefully and decided to delve into the contents whilst she ate her lunch.

Between bites of baked eggs with asparagus and spinach with beetroot salad, she sorted the mail basket into groups containing financial periodicals and newsletters, formal speaking engagement requests, potions related information, and personal letters addressed to her in non-professional capacity.

As she sorted through five days worth of accumulation she discovered the letter, previously thought to be missing, from her grandmother. It had been there all along but apparently had been placed in the basket together with other mail and Gwenevere had not seen it. She recalled last Friday and remembered that when she was leaving the owlry with that day’s mail, Madam Trelawney interrupted her with the bizarre prediction that she had yet to tell Severus about. She made note to tell him about it soo