Twiglefix

The room glowed eerily, casting a shadowy light on Severus Snape, who lay calmly on the couch in front of the fire. The couch was near worn, the black leather beginning to be eaten away and the springs out of place. And yet, what was the point in getting rid of it? It was comfortable and it served its purpose; daring to convert his pristine quarters into a place of contentment.

The book he read, A Thousand and One Home Uses for Skreets, sat gently between his palms; his perusal of it becoming strained as the night wore on. Finally, unable to take any more of his loss of focus, he slammed the book shut with a snap, startling the cat in his lap.

Twiglefix, hopping onto the far side of the couch, curled into a ball, determined to finish her nap whether her owner permitted it or not. He still wasn't sure what had happened to her. She looked like a Muggle tabby cat, but that she was not. She was blue. Her short blue fur had dusted everything from Severus' black clothing, to his couch, to his bedspread. At least, that was until he'd cast a spell. And to top it all off, she'd somehow created a mental link- in English no less- between Severus and herself. Come to think of it, he could not even remember how he'd acquired her in the first place.

He snorted in disgust, unable to contain himself as she lowered slumberous eyes to him. He shook his head and stood up, wiping his lap subconsciously and stretching his legs. He hopped around for a few moments, trying to eliminate the numbness for them to function and cursed them when they wouldn't comply.

Leaning on the back of the couch, he sighed, his aggravation taking hold of his temper. He continued to shake out his leg and finally felt some feeling come back. He pursed his lips, forming them into a tight line as the initial discomfort of revived limbs took hold.

It seemed like forever, but at last, his legs were normal and stable enough to stand properly without fear of having to latch onto sturdier objects. Cursing loudly, he made his way to his window, hoping against hope that the view would alleviate his temper.

He hadn't always been that way; his patience drawn thin and sparing. Or maybe it had. He couldn't remember much of how he'd been when he was younger. Something about the troubled memories caused him want to rid himself of them- for which, at times, he was profoundly grateful. He could not remember as much sorrow, after he'd disappeared many memories. He knew the facts, but just did not remember the details, allowing him to live happily, or in a mild form of contentment, for a time. Of course, any time he felt like it, he could always look into his Pensieve to find the memories he'd lost.

He looked down on the streets, littered with Muggle life, and sneered. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why the boy had decided to live here, of all places. It'd been a smart idea to move internationally, but to a crowded street? Canada was a strange place, indeed.

He looked down on the people, swarming around a concert in one of the city's squares. For the life of him, he couldn't remember the name of the band that was playing, having seen the name plastered several times across the TV, but not truly seeing it. It was Lostin Park or something. He couldn't remember. Actually, he really didn't care.

The only thing that he cared about was that the boy he was supposed to be watching was down there, somewhere, moving in the crowd, with some friends and glowsticks in hand. He wondered if he still had the glowsticks in hand, or if he'd given out every single one of them.

The streetlamps illuminated the crowd slightly, but not enough, making the glowsticks seem all the more prominent. He scanned the crowd, searching for the sets of rainbow colors that the boy had bewitched.

THERE! He could see it! The red, pink, yellow and green reflected off his long black hair. It'd taken him several years to figure out how to lengthen his hair, skimming book after book to disintegrate the image of his father that he possessed. No matter how many years you let his hair grow, it'd merely stay the same length, but grow messier and untidier.

Now, it hung to his shoulders, continuously tied back with elastics, the black sheen enough to blind anyone when reflected by the sun.

To Severus, it was a fad, a Canadian fad, caused by youth's obsession with being different. He had to admit, though, that the look suited him far better than his father's short cut. That look had always grated on the man's nerves due to the constant disputes the boy's father and himself had always had. Now, perhaps the boy was more tolerable, without the spitting image of his father always being in the way.

Severus sighed, rocking back on his heels as he braced himself on either side of the four paned glass windows, continuing to watch the mesmerizing colors blur into each other. He snorted as a few kids fell underneath the swarm of the crowd, no doubt being crushed.

'It serves them right. Being in one of those 'mosh pits' is a dangerous game. They had better have been prepared for the consequences,' he thought bitterly, moving back to the couch to sit down.

'You know, you're beginning to sound like a cranky old man,' came an intruding thought.

He sighed, gazing over at Twiglefix. She looked up at him, her expression nonchalant as she continued to scold him in his thinking.

'Don't you remember what it was like to be a teenager? To do something crazy and dangerous?'

She yawned, stretching out in front of her.

"Yes, well, the last time I did something as crazy and dangerous, I was branded with the dark mark, and look where that left me- stalking Harry Potter for the Ministry," he voiced aloud.

'Don't be such a square. They're not doing anything that dangerous,' she persisted.

"That's what you think. For all we know, they could wind up in the hospital with no arms or legs. Limbs are an essential part of the body, you know."

She yawned again, showing her pointed teeth.

'Yes, well, limbs are not essential. A brain is essential. You should know that by now, Severus. After all, you used to be a teacher. Leave the kids to their fun; they have yet to harm someone.'

With that, she curled back into her ball. He sneered his most profound and dismayed sneer at the feline, and reached beside him. The small table there held his only solace in times like these- a bottle of wine, dreamless sleep potion, and cookies.

Yes, cookies seemed to make the world go round and they definitely seemed to fix life- or at least Severus' sweet tooth.

A glass of wine, a bottle of potion, and several cookies later, he sighed deeply, trying to remember why he'd agreed to this assignment.

Slowly, he picked up his book, placing it back onto the shelf with the rest of his odd collection, and went into another room of the apartment- his bedroom. His walls were near bare, other than displaying the occasional black smudge from an experiment gone wrong. His private lab had been in his bedroom, until the black smudges had started to become visible. Not only visible- but noticeable. He'd done everything he could think of to remove the stains hindering the gray color of his walls, but they wouldn't budge.

And, for that fault alone, he blamed Potter. After all, if it hadn't been for the boy, he'd never have had to move, to follow the damn teenager around the world to a new place, where everyone was polite, and spoke "eh" after nearly every sentence. What was it with these people, anyways?

A metamorphmagus at a young age, Severus had always been different. His parents had discovered his ability when he'd been given a garden snake at the age of two, and felt the need to communicate with it. So, he changed himself. Of course, his parents hadn't been overly thrilled at finding their son as a garden snake, but they'd quickly forgiven him once they'd labeled his capability. However, the only flaw in his parents love for him was that they did not notify the Ministry of Magic, and had failed to tell him of their slip.

So, when his parents had died of a Death Eater attack during their vacation, he'd gone to the Ministry at his sister's urging to pick up his parent's articles. Of course, they'd asked him questions, and somehow, in a follow up, they'd found an old friend of the family's who told them of a suspicion of metamorphing skills. Well, when they came knocking on the door, he'd acknowledged the truth of the matter, completely unaware that his parents had eluded the Ministry of this information.

Next thing he knew, the Ministry officials were knocking down his door demanding that he take an assignment- and to consider it his debt repaid to the wizarding world for his sins as a Death Eater. When he'd told them he'd already repaid his debt to society with his assistance a few years back with the defeat of Voldemort, they insisted that it would be the last thing he'd have to do. They always said that.

So, now he was stuck, trapped in Canada- a large place jokingly called 'Scarberia', with no one to have contact with.

'It doesn't have to be that way. You could actually make some friends out here, you know' came Twiglefix's intruding voice.

He decided he wouldn't comment on that as he undressed for bed. He pulled back the covers, sliding between the cool sheets, and sighed as they cooled his skin from the warmth of the fire.

He supposed it wasn't all bad out here. Yes, perhaps he'd had to move across the world, but it wasn't so bad. There'd been nothing left for him out at Hogwarts, other than wiping snotty little noses, and taking points from the trouble-making juveniles who thought themselves too good for rules.

'Kind of like Potter?' the mental link from Twiglefix said, though he could tell it was her form of teasing.

He chuckled lightly, resting his head on his pillow.

"Yes. Definitely like Potter."