Mist and Vapors

When he entered the shabby inn, he found the dining room almost deserted. He seated himself at a corner table, and perused the menu. Nothing looked particularly good. He finally settled on some roast, boiled potatoes, and peas, and placed his order.

He was going over his list while waiting for the meal to arrive - he really would have to find a different supplier for Ephedra Sinica; Slug and Jiggers' supply was simply not up to snuff - when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Well, looky who we have here," a grating voice said. "Slippery-slick Severus Snape."

Severus looked into the florid face of Frank Hannigan, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for over a year now.

The beefy, thick-necked man was no friend of his. Not by a long shot.

The Potion master's mouth clenched tightly. His last encounter with the former Auror still burned bitterly in his memory.

"You know, I will get you one day," Hannigan said conversationally. "You are a bad tree, Severus, bad to the roots. You may have fooled the Wizengamot, even fooled them twice, but bad trees bear bad fruit. You will show your true colors again. And then I will get you." He spoke with relish, like he could already taste victory.

"Sore loser, are you?" Snape said coldly, his lip curling.

"I may have lost the case, but that doesn't make you a winner, does it now?" Hannigan asked with narrowed eyes and a half-smile. "You still lost." He gave a little wave as he left. "Tata, Severus. I will see you again. Count on it."

When the waitress arrived with his plate, Severus pushed it away. He had lost his appetite. The roast was stringy, the potatoes soggy, the peas grey. Even without thoughts of Frank Hannigan, the meal would not have been appealing.

Hannigan had taken over the Department when Amelia Bones had been assassinated. The murder had never been solved, but the official press release had placed responsibility at the feet of the Death Eaters.

Privately, Severus thought it very likely that Hannigan had had his finger in that pie. The death had certainly been a convenient avenue of career advancement. And Severus should have heard something had the Death Eaters been involved.

He pulled the plate back towards himself, and started picking at the food.

Old Frank would certainly not have soiled his own hands; he would have found someone else to do the dirty work for him. Severus was sure nothing could ever be proven. Hannigan's position gave him too much power.

It was Hannigan who had welcomed the Dementors back as guards of Azkaban after the Dark Lord's fall. He had rightly pointed to the fact that escapes had become much more frequent since the soul-sucking creatures had departed. And that without them, Azkaban was just a prison - it was the thought of the Dementors that made the mere idea of a term in Azkaban change a potential criminal's mind. Yet much of the Wizarding world had opposed such a move, since the Dementors had lost little time in allying themselves with Voldemort. Hannigan had somehow managed to bulldoze over all objections.

And it was Hannigan who had restored to the Aurors the unrestrained power they had once been given under Crouch - power to use Unforgivables, power that made their conduct barely different from that of the Death Eaters.

With a sigh, Severus gave up on the meal. Enough time wasted thinking about that maggot. He still had a couple more shops to visit before returning to that blasted inn in that blasted village. If Minerva hadn't expressed dire doubts about his ability to take a proper holiday, and offered to partner him in a rousing game of Wizard's Chess when he decided he had had enough, Severus would have been sorely tempted to return to Hogwarts. As it was, he liked to finish what he started. He would take the bloody holiday if it bloody killed him.

When he looked out his window the next morning, the sun was doing battle with a layer of mist, but it looked like the sun was winning this time. Finally.

Shortly before lunch time, he climbed down the narrow wooden steps that led to the small half-moon shaped beach. The high tide had swallowed most of it, leaving only a narrow strip of sand.

He stopped in consternation when he reached the bottom. Someone was already there. A blanket, covered with books, some knitting, a bottle of water, and assorted other bits of flotsam took up space next to a large rock on the far side of the beach. Just terrific. As if there weren't enough other beaches around here.

The frown line between his brows deepened as he looked around. The owner had to be somewhere. He had just turned to leave before whoever-it-was showed up, when a voice greeted him from above.

"Severus. How nice to meet you again." The woman from the pub was coming down the stairs, smiling at him. "I see you found my beach."

Severus felt a stab of irritation. What did she mean, her beach? He had been coming here for two weeks already.

"I was just out for a bit of a walk. It's so nice that the weather has turned, isn't it? I was getting tired of the rain." As Hannah reached the bottom step, she sat down and took off her sandals.

"Would you like to join me for lunch? I brought plenty." She gestured towards her blanket. Noticing the frown on his face, she added, "Please? You would be doing me a favor. I hate eating along." She smiled up at him. "You won't regret it. I'm a good cook."

"Um, I..."

"Please?" There was a pleading note in her voice.

There seemed to be simply no way to politely refuse. And she was still blocking the way up the stairs. With a sigh, Severus gave in. "I would be honored," he muttered.

He stiffly followed her to her staked claim and, spreading his coat on the sand, sat down next to her. She started pulling assorted containers and packages out of her bag. Surely, it must have magical properties if it had held everything now spread out on the blanket. Fried chicken, cold ham, asparagus salad, a loaf of brown bread, and buttery lemon bars were joined by a bowl of fresh cherries.

Severus wryly thought of the soggy ham-and-cheese roll residing in his lunch bag, and concluded that at least something about this time would not be a total loss.

Next, she pulled out a bottle of Italian Red, and handed him that and a corkscrew.

"Would you do the honors?"

While he deftly removed the cork, she added a couple of glasses, two plates, forks, knives, and napkins to the growing array on the blanket. She leaned back with a satisfied look.

"Well, dig in."

She had been right about her culinary abilities. The food was delicious. And the wine did much to assuage his bad mood.

"Do you like picnics?" she asked, as she sent a cherry pit flying.

It wasn't a question he had ever given much thought to before. He shrugged. "You must really like them, judging by the... abundance of provision."

"Guilty as charged." She laughed. "Seriously, as I said, I don't like to eat alone. So I pack enough for two and hope for the best."

Inwardly, he recoiled a little. She was entirely too... nice. It seemed...odd. What exactly did she want from him? Yet at the same time, there was something disarming about her. Something... nice. Gad, he hated that word.

Somehow, lunch didn't go too badly, with conversation meandering down commonplace paths while they enjoyed the food, the sunshine, and the view.

Afterwards, she pointed to the book he had put down. "Is it any good?"

"I haven't read enough to form an opinion."

He motioned to her pile. "How about you? What are you reading?"

"Just rereading some of my favorites. The holidays are a good time to revisit old friends, don't you think?"

He looked at the tome at the top of the pile. Five Children and It.

"Children's books?" He smirked.

"Some of them. What about it?' she said defensively. "It's a good story. What's your favorite book?"

He didn't reply. None of her business.

"Never mind. I bet you it's not a Wizarding book, though," she said.

"And how would you know that?" he said somewhat waspishly.

She grinned. "Gah - have you looked at Wizarding novels? They are the most dreadful drivel. Virtually every one of them seems to feature some hapless witch in too-tight robes waiting for an all-powerful wizard to rescue her from the clutches of some Dark Creature."

She put the back of her hand against her forehead and dramatically swooned against him. "Save me! The werewolf is about to bite me! Of course, he should have bitten me two hours ago, but he was waiting for you to arrive, so you could by sheer daring-do and heroism rescue me from a fate worse than death!"

He made a snorting noise that almost qualified as a laugh. It was true that the Wizarding world was not known for its great contributions to English literature.

"Well, you didn't specify the book had to be fiction," he protested. "There are some books about history that I quite enjoy." He nodded in the direction of the one he had brought. "Like this one."

"That may be true, but that's not the kind of book you really love." She spoke with conviction as she started to collect her belongings and stow them in that capacious bag.

When she had packed everything up, she stood up.

"Would you meet me again tomorrow? Same time? You bring the wine?"

To his surprise, he found himself nodding.