Mist and Vapors

Chapter 2: St. Comgan

The village of St. Comgan snugly hugged the mouth of a small river as it emptied into the sea. A small Wizarding community had existed here since their ancestors had fled to this out-of-the-way place as a result of the persecution that had shaken the Scottish Wizarding world during the reign of James VI.

While the warmer waters and wide, sandy beaches in the South attracted those with families or a liking for promenades and night life, this sleepy fishing village catered to those souls who could find contentment in ruggedness and solitude. A part of the coastline had been protected with a Muggle Repelling Charm for centuries, leaving it in its natural, unspoiled state.

Severus had thought long and hard about what he wanted to do with his first free summer in years. Staying at Hogwarts had not sounded appealing. Dining in the almost empty Great Hall with the other three Heads of House, the Headmaster, and Argus Filch was not something he enjoyed. There was something unsettling about the castle when the only beings in residence were six humans, the ghosts, and the house elves. And he had seen enough of Minerva and Albus in the last few years, both on and off the job, to last him a lifetime.

On the other hand, the thought of sight-seeing or summer crowds sounded about as appealing as moldy bread and sour milk. So he had finally settled on St. Comgan.

The small inn where Severus had booked his stay provided reasonably priced room and board to those in the Wizarding world wanting time away from it all. Far away from it all. He left the appropriate number of galleons for a six week stay with the clerk at the front desk, and climbed up the creaking stairs to his room. After unlocking the door, he stepped into his new abode and looked around. Not bad.

The room appeared reasonably clean. A sturdy-looking bed dressed up in snowy linens stood against one wall, and there was a low-armed, high-backed leather chair in front of the large fireplace. It looked like a fine place to spend the evenings with a glass of wine and a good book. Yes, over all, quite satisfactory.

Within a couple of days he had settled into a routine. Breakfast at the inn, an amble along the shore or through town, then walk to the small, sandy cove he had discovered about half a mile up the coast, toting the sack lunch provided by the inn for its patrons. Read there until evening, then return to the hotel for dinner, and read in his room until it was time for bed. For the first three days, it was heaven. Within a fortnight, he was bored to tears.

The inn was not exactly overcrowded. The only other guests were a group of middle-aged witches who seemed to take great pleasure in days spent wandering across the lowlands, and evenings spent playing Wizard's Whist in the common room. And an elderly couple who didn't seem to go anywhere without their very tall walking sticks.

After they had tried to involve him in conversation one evening, he came to the conclusion that no matter what else one might say about Minerva and Albus, at least they were not terminally dull.

The third week, a low pressure front moved in. For two days, there was a constant drizzle, only interrupted by heavier showers. It didn't seem to bother the witches much, whose shrieking laughter resonated throughout the entire house from the parlor. By the evening of day two, Severus decided that if the didn't get out, he would end up strangling one or two of them, if not the entire gaggle.

There were only two magical establishments in town, one the Waterside Inn, where Severus stayed, the other a small pub not far down an alley. It was there he decided to go.

After dashing in from the rain and shaking drops off his wet overcoat, he stepped up to the pockmarked oaken bar, and asked the matronly bartender for a whisky on the rocks. He needed it.

He looked around for a place to sit. Apparently, every witch and wizard in town had had the same idea on this dismal evening. The only open seat was at the far side of the bar. Drink in hand, he made his way through the smoke-filled room and slid onto the tall barstool. On his left was a young couple with two pints of bitter in front of them, oblivious to the world. On his right, a woman sat lost in thought, nursing a glass of white wine. He frowned briefly as he cast a sideways glance at her. She looked quite familiar.

He was sure he had seen her around town before. Yes - at first he had assumed she was a Muggle tourist. He had seen her sitting at one of the small tables the Muggle pub kept out on the sidewalk during warmer weather, her nose in a book. And later, throwing bread to the gulls on the quay. But then he had passed her while hiking the trail on the muggle-protected part of the coast. She had smiled at him as he walked by.

He furtively looked her way again. Medium height, angular build, brown hair carelessly tied back. About his age, maybe a few years younger. Yes, he recognized her.

At that moment she turned to look at him. "I've seen you around here somewhere, haven't I?" she asked quizzically. She held out her hand. "My name's Hannah."

He regarded her hand in consternation for a moment before shaking it. "Severus."

"Severus? Unusual name. It fits you, somehow."

He looked at her sharply. She was smiling at him - there was no indication that she had meant it as a jibe.

"I don't know if that is a compliment or an insult," he answered with a smirk.

She laughed. "Take it as a compliment. Hannahs are a dime a dozen. I always wished I had a more unique name."

Before long, he found himself in an amiable conversation, mostly carried by her. When she got up an hour later, he realized with considerable surprise that he had actually enjoyed himself.

"It was nice talking to you," she said wistfully as she picked a capacious bag off the floor to leave. "Will I see you again?"

He shrugged diffidently. "I will be in town a few more weeks."

"Here's hoping, then." With a smile, she was gone, leaving him to contemplate how many more whiskies it would take before he could face those shrieking witches again without committing murder.

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When the next day again dawned gray and drizzling, Severus admitted defeat. St. Comgan would have to do without him for the day. After an early breakfast, he decided he might as well take care of Hogwarts business since there was nothing better to do, and Apparated to Diagon Alley. He knew he could easily while away several pleasant hours in the apothecary, browsing the new stock and ordering supplies for the coming year.

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The jingle of bells in a back room announced his arrival to the clerk, who hurried out front to see to his customer.

"Professor Snape. We weren't expecting you yet," the clerk exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. The arrival of the Hogwarts Potions master was always good news for business.

Severus Snape deeply inhaled the stench of rotten eggs and spoiled cabbages that clung to the establishment. The inside of Slug and Jiggers might not be appealing to the olfactory system, but the vile smell didn't deter him. On the contrary, should he have arrived one year to find the apothecary smelling like rose water, he would have been quite put out. This was as it should be.

"I thought I would get a head start this year," he said. "Did you get any Black Hellebore in?"

"Yes," the clerk answered, "top quality, very fine. What are you looking for, in specific? Whole root? Powdered? Dried or oil-packed petals? We even have a small supply of seeds, if you are interested."

"Whole root."

The clerk climbed up a tall ladder and rummaged among the jars on the top shelf. "It should be right around here -- ah, yes." A flick of his wand sent the jar down to the counter. "We don't get much call for that. Most people seem to prefer the processed version," he explained as he climbed back down the ladder.

Severus snorted as he expertly fingered the shriveled rhizomes. As far as he was concerned, the less an ingredient got handled before use, the better.

"I'll take six ounces."

Several hours later, the pile on the counter had grown by quite a bit as the red-faced, sweating clerk wiped his face with a checkered cloth.

"Anything else I can show you?" The clerk's voice hovered between hopeful and weary as his thoughts went from the commission he would earn to his poor tired legs.

"I think that will do for now. You will see to it this is sent to my office at Hogwarts?"

The clerk nodded respectfully. "Yes, sir. Of course." He shook the professor's hand. "Always a pleasure."

As Snape left the store, his rumbling stomach reminded him that he was two hours overdue for lunch. The Leaky Cauldron, then.