The Overlooked

Twelve

From the diary of Celeste Jenkins:

July 5, 1996

I am writing this from Aberystwyth, Wales.

I've never been to Wales before, which of course is why I came here in the first place. That way it'll be much harder to find me.

It's really lovely here. Right now the sun is setting over Cardigan Bay, and the promenade is alive with tourists catching the last bits of daylight. Everything is molten gold and royal blue; somehow the dank grayness that has covered much of the country hasn't made its way to the Welsh coast.

But I'm getting ahead of myself again. I suppose it's important for me to put that down, just to remind myself that I'm safe -- for now, at any rate.

After Severus Disapparated I knew I'd done something dreadfully wrong. Oh, he'd left in haste before, but there was an unease in his manner I'd never seen before. Somehow he must have caught the truth in my mind, had seen something of my feelings for him. I'd tried to hide them, done the best I could, and for a few minutes I thought I really had bested him.

I should have known better.

Exactly what he saw, I don't know, for of course we never had a chance to discuss the Occlumency lesson. Part of me is irritated that he would take himself off like that, running away like a schoolboy who just found out his best friend's sister was soft on him. Really, you'd think that a man of his age would have a little more emotional maturity. Deep down, though, I'm upset that he broke through my defenses so easily, that he found out in such a way. It doesn't really matter that on some level he feels an attraction to me -- I'm his duty, his charge, and I can tell he has such a tight hold on his emotions that he'd never admit to such a thing openly. Having it thrust in his face like that must have been very difficult.

Anyhow, afterward I was a bundle of nerves, unable to concentrate on anything, filled with that restlessness I sometimes refer to as my "anywhere but here" mode. When I get like that I just need to get out, to get away, go someplace to clear my head. Sometimes just a walk down Oldham Street is enough to satisfy the urge. But I could tell this wasn't one of those times. Suddenly I felt certain that the only thing which would do would be to get out of Manchester proper, to take a walk by the Mersey, to watch the sunset and smell the open wind from the moors.

Wonderful idea, except that I don't own a car. Most of the time this isn't really a problem, as one doesn't need a car in Manchester, public transit being more than sufficient. Anyhow, I figured I'd just go down to Topham's and see if Miles, the owner, was anywhere about. He'd let me borrow his battered '68 Morris Minor before, and if he was on shift he wouldn't be needing it for a few hours anyway.

As luck would have it -- or not, depending on how you look at these things -- Miles was in, rolling a new keg behind the bar. He grinned at me and asked me if I wanted a pint.

"Not now," I said, although the thought of a drink sounded very appealing at the moment. "Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow the Minor."

He straightened up and looked at me quizzically. His face was long and thin, topped with heavy brows, so when he lifts his eyebrows like that the whole geometry of his face seems to alter, like something you'd see in a fun house mirror. Once upon a time he'd tried to get me to go out with him, but after he figured out I wasn't really interested he was still willing to be friends. I've always looked on the crew at Topham's as sort of an extended family, and that feeling in large part is due to Miles and his openhanded generosity.

"Everything all right?" he asked. "You look a bit done up."

That was probably an understatement, considering the afternoon I'd had, but I still gave him a mock-severe glare and replied, "Miles, you know you should never hint that a girl is ever looking anything but her best."

"Oh, right." One eyebrow remained tilted at a questioning angle. "Sure, I've got the car behind the pub. Going far?"

"No, just a quick drive out of town. I'll have it back in a few hours."

He fished in the pocket of his baggy jeans and then pulled out a key ring with a scratched-up Manchester United fob. "I just filled 'er up, so there should be plenty of petrol."

"I'll replace whatever I use -- " I began, but he waved me off.

"For as short a trip as that? You won't even use up a liter."

I thanked him, then promised I'd have a pint of Boddington's when I got back. After that I went out the back entrance to the alley, where I found the car parked.

Luckily I'd driven the Minor before; although I didn't own a car myself, I felt it was important to keep my hand in. When I was in prep Boddy had taught me to drive, as neither of my parents had known how. At the time I hadn't really thought much about their reticence to get behind the wheel of a car -- lots of people in Manchester don't drive, after all. But as I slid into the Minor and inhaled the scent of stale tobacco and decaying upholstery, I wondered whether my parents had avoided automobiles because of a wizardly distrust of Muggle technology.

Traffic was fairly heavy -- at this point it was around half-past five, and vehicles choked the streets as people fought to get home after work. In a way I almost welcomed the crush, since it forced me to concentrate on the road and the sticky gearbox instead of what in the world I was going to do about Severus Snape. Eventually I maneuvered my way onto the M62 and headed out of the city center, going roughly southwest.

By that time it was past six o'clock, and although the sun wouldn't set for a few more hours the day had already taken on an extra drabness, as if it were tired of pretending to be early July when it looked and felt like the dregs of winter. I pulled off the highway and onto a much smaller two-lane road that ran roughly parallel to the river. Some years back my parents had taken me for a picnic in this area, and I remembered that there was a gravelly bit not too far down where I could park the car and walk.

No danger of running into any picnickers at this point -- a light mist had begun to fall, and I cursed myself for not throwing a cardigan on over my gauzy shirt. Still, I'd come all the way out here, and I was damned if I was going to let a little chill keep me from walking to the river.

At least the air smelled good, damp and grassy, with a faint overlay of honest moist earth. I walked through the mist and the rain, lifting my face to the wind and taking in great deep breaths. No one else was about, and I could feel the turmoil in my brain begin to settle. That matters were in an awkward place with Severus I couldn't deny, but somehow out here, away from the city and its noise, I found that things didn't look as black as I had thought. When he came back we'd simply have to sit down and talk like rational adults. Surely that wasn't completely out of the question, was it? After all, if you got right down to the heart of it, he was a man and I was a woman, and if we were attracted to one another, the rest was just details, wasn't it?

I don't know what it was that made me stop and hold myself very still. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and suddenly a wave of icy cold engulfed me, a chill far greater than anything I'd felt from the moisture-laden air. At the same time I had an overwhelming impression of despair, as if every dark memory from my past had swarmed up to assail me at once. I saw the waxy faces of my parents in the morgue, then the sound of the earth being dropped on their coffins -- I watched Alex moving away from me down the walk, disappearing from my life forever -- I recalled the night when that dark and murderous presence had lingered for so long on my front step and a formless dread had struck me. What was the point, after all? Why bother with existence, when it was merely a series of painful moments? And how could I possibly think that a man like Severus Snape would have a second thought for a silly girl like me?

Paradoxically, I believe it was he who saved me. Only a second after his frowning image appeared in my mind it seemed as if I heard his voice railing at me. Fight it, foolish girl! Make your mind a blank, and they will have no power over you!

They? I thought, and turned sluggishly, fighting to make the grayness in my mind match the dusky, mist-clouded dusk around me.

And that's when I saw them. Two enormous robed figures moved forward out of the fog, skeletal hands reaching toward me. I didn't know what they were -- they looked like the distillation of every nightmare about death mankind has ever had -- but I immediately knew that it was me they sought. Somehow they had brought the despair with them -- it swirled around them even as the mist did, a foggy exhalation of despondency that surely was meant to drown its victims in a black anguish from which there could be no escape.

Although my mind felt frozen, my body somehow found the will to react. I bolted then back toward the car, running as I never had before. Bits of gravel sprayed up past my flat-heeled shoes as I pounded through the rain and mist. I didn't dare look back, but the cold followed me, and I knew they couldn't be far behind.

I know it must have looked like every horror film cliché in the book -- the lonely female, the desperate scrabbling in the jeans pocket for the car keys as the inhuman predators closed in. But there was nothing remotely commonplace about the terror I felt close up my throat or cause my heart to pound so heavily that it felt as if it would surely burst through my ribcage. At least -- unlike most slasher-film heroines -- I got the key in the lock on the first try. I flung myself into the Minor and punched the door lock, then shoved the key into the ignition. Icy condensation began to form on the windscreen even as a shadow fell across the driver's-side window.

Thank God that Miles always took good care of the car's mechanicals, even though its exterior left a great deal to be desired. The Minor started after a minor hiccup, and I engaged the clutch even as I pushed the pedal to the floor.

My head slammed backward against the 'rest, but I didn't care. With a spatter of gravel and a few protests from the abused gearbox, the car screeched back onto the access road, leaving those -- whatever-they-were -- far behind. I risked a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw them moving down the road after me, but it was clear that they could not match the car's velocity.

Still, I didn't let up until I hit the M62 once again, and even then I went a good thirty kilometers over the speed limit. Not until I reached the familiar environs of Manchester proper did I ease up a bit. All the same, I kept throwing furtive glances over my shoulder, wondering if somehow they'd managed to track me here. And once I'd parked the car in the alley behind Topham's I sat there for a long moment, shivering as the reaction hit me.

What on earth were those things? Followers of Voldemort? Somehow I didn't think so; from the way Severus had spoken of the people who might be looking for me, I had assumed they were wizards and witches -- far from ordinary, but still human. And those things out by the Mersey had definitely not been human.

I gathered up my bag and let myself out of the car, faintly shocked to discover that my knees felt like rubber. I had to lay a hand on the fender for a moment to steady myself.

Don't think about it, I told myself. Otherwise, Miles is going to take one look at you and know that something's horribly wrong.

Somehow I did manage to hold it together once I was back in the pub. But I also knew that whatever else I did, there was no way I was going to spend the night in my house alone.

Luckily Miles was occupied with customers when I finally forced myself to walk up to the bar. I managed a shaky smile and tossed him the keys, then pantomimed making a phone call and disappeared back to the dim recess between the loos where the call box was located.

I glanced at my watch. Nearly seven. So probably Fiona would be home from work. Occasionally she had to stay late at the office if they were working on a big project, but never on a Friday night.

The phone rang four times before she picked up, however. At least the wait gave me time to manufacture a story. I told her that I'd locked myself out of the house and that the locksmiths I'd tried had already gone home for the evening; would she be a love and let me stay over tonight?

She paused and said, "Well, I have a date with Roger -- "

Oh, damn -- that bloke from the legal department at her firm. Still, at the moment impinging on Fiona's social life appealed to me far more than sitting at home alone in my house and wondering when those...things...were going to show up again. "If you're going out, I don't think it should be a huge bother," I replied. "He doesn't even have to know I'm there."

I could practically feel her hesitation flowing over the telephone lines. But being the good friend that she is, after a moment she sighed and said, "Oh, all right, then. If things progress, we'll just have to end up at Roger's house." She paused, then said with a laugh, "Just don't wait up for me."

Practically sagging with relief, I said, "No problem. I'll be over in a bit."

And after that I went out and thanked Miles again for the loan of his car, then walked up the street to a chemist's that I knew stayed open late and bought myself a toothbrush, along with a few other items I thought I might need. Because I was afraid to spend too much time wandering the streets, I hailed a cab and went straight to Fiona's.

She was looking fabulous in a low-cut sweater and skirt ensemble that played up her greatest assets and played down those she wasn't quite as fond of. I apologized profusely, she said it was no bother, and even though I offered to disappear into her spare bedroom when Roger showed up, she wouldn't hear anything of it and insisted that I meet him when he arrived.

"Besides," she said frankly, "you can shake his hand and get the measure of him. Just let me know if he's serious or if he's just in this to get some ass."

I gave her a shocked look -- Fiona was much more experienced in such matters than I, as Alex had been my one and only partner in the bedroom, but I didn't have time to say anything in reply, since at that moment the doorbell rang.

Roger turned out to be very nice, a tall brown-haired man in his early thirties with the sort of smile that put you instantly at ease. Of course it could have all been an act -- he was a solicitor, after all -- but when I shook his hand I got nothing but a friendly confused jumble, overlaid with a good deal of honest admiration for Fiona. When they got ready to leave, Fiona arched an eyebrow at me, and I gave her a thumbs-up sign. Perhaps my personal life was a complete mess, but at least Fiona's seemed to be going in the right direction.

And after that I had the empty flat to myself. Refusing to brood, I found a stack of videocassettes on top of the player, three of which proved to be the recent remake of Pride and Prejudice. That seemed like a good way to use up the evening; I needed to focus on something else, to avoid brooding over what had happened to me earlier. My choice proved to be an excellent one, although I couldn't help wondering who would come out ahead in a snark-off, Severus Snape or the redoubtable Mr. Darcy. By the time I'd made my way through all three tapes it was past one in the morning, and still no sign of Fiona. I couldn't help smiling. Apparently she'd been correct in telling me not to wait up.

The spare bedroom in the flat functioned as both an office and a guest chamber. Fiona had already made up the single bed with fresh sheets, and I climbed in between them gratefully, glad to be someplace where I hoped no one could find me. But that couldn't last -- or, more to the point, I realized that I had to move from this temporary haven to someplace far less likely.

But where? Somehow the thought of going to another urban center such as London or even Birmingham or Liverpool didn't appeal to me. No, better someplace quiet but not too isolated -- I somehow knew it would be wise to have some people about me -- and preferably someplace I hadn't been before. Damn it, if Voldemort and his minions were going to force me to flee my home, at least I could try to make something of a holiday out of it.

I suppose that's what led me to think of Wales. I'd never been there, despite its proximity to Manchester. Oh, my family had traveled quite a bit for our holidays -- Cornwall, Bath, the Lake Country, even the south of France one glorious summer when I was fifteen and my father had gotten an especially hefty bonus. But somehow we'd never gone to Wales, and once I was on my own I'd become so immersed in the life I tried to make for myself that I honestly hadn't thought of traveling much. Fiona and I made a pilgrimage to London's twice a year for some shopping and to take in a few shows in the West End, but other than that I really hadn't left Manchester.

Something about Wales appealed to me. It was supposed to be beautiful, of course, and since most of the towns were quite small compared to Manchester, I could get the combination of quiet surroundings yet with enough people around that I wouldn't have to be completely alone.

Once that was decided on, I shut my eyes and forced myself to fall asleep. Late as it was, and as psychically and emotionally draining as my encounters with those monsters had been, I found it difficult to get myself to settle down and relax. Images from the show I had just watched flitted across my mind, and I thought of that final scene when Elizabeth and Darcy kissed at last. I wondered then what it would be like to have Severus kiss me, to feel his arms close around me and those magnificent robes envelop us both. My body cramped with longing, and suddenly I felt myself almost overcome with wanting him -- and not even altogether in a physical sense. I just wanted to hear his voice and have him with me, to tell me I was overreacting and give me some perfectly plausible explanation for what had happened to me that afternoon. I wanted all of him. I wanted him to hold me in the dark, and tell me everything would be all right....

***

The next morning there was still no sign of Fiona, so I roused myself and took a shower, then got dressed in the clothes I had worn the day before. In the watery morning light I felt a little bit less worried about going home -- and I would have to, if only to pack up my things and make a few phone calls.

I left a note for Fiona thanking her for her hospitality and hoping that she'd spent a good evening, then took a cab back to my house. When I let myself in, it seemed as if everything had been undisturbed, although HBC let me know -- loudly -- that she did not appreciate being abandoned for the evening. I felt slightly less guilty when I checked on her food and water and found that she still had plenty of both.

"You're going to hate me even more very soon," I told the cat, after I had opened up a special tin of tuna for her. Normally I kept her on dry food, but I felt the occasion merited some indulgence. But I also knew I would have to board her -- I couldn't imagine a hotel accepting a cat, and my plan to slip out of Manchester unnoticed would be completely undone if I started ringing up my friends and asking them if they could watch my cat for a while. Besides, I didn't even have any real idea of how long I would be gone. I just had the overwhelming feeling that if I lingered in town much longer something even worse than those robed monsters might track me down.

For the next hour I busied myself on the phone, making arrangements. First off, I called everyone who had appointments for the next two weeks and let them know that something had come up, and I wouldn't be able to see them after all. Most took the news with equanimity, but a few asked awkward questions, which I dodged as best I could. I hated lying, but of course there was no way I could tell them the truth.

After that I rang up the National kiosk at the airport and booked myself an inexpensive Vauxhall Corsa because I had to get an open-ended contract. While it might have been fun to go zipping about the Welsh countryside in a Saab 9-5, the cost would have been prohibitive after the first week or so. And the travel agent I contacted was able to get me a room in what was supposed to be a very nice guest house.

"Only because of a last-minute cancellation," she told me, in tones that made it sound as if she wasn't quite sure I was worthy of the accommodations.

"I'll take it," I said immediately, and that was done. I knew I was lucky; dank weather or no, we were at the height of the summer holidays, and rooms in a tourist spot such as Aberystwyth were hard to come by.

Then I went on to pack what I thought I might need -- jeans and skirts and comfortable tops, along with a few jumpers and a proper coat in case the weather turned nasty. While packing my underwear my hand hesitated over a frothy bit of wine-colored satin and lace I'd bought while I was seeing Alex. It was probably foolish to pack it, but after all, it didn't take up much room, so in it went. I didn't let myself think about how much I wanted to wear it for Severus.

Throughout these proceedings HBC looked on with an increasingly jaundiced eye, and by the time I brought down the cat carrier from the attic she bolted under the bed. After much cursing and a few scratches I was able to haul her out and put her in the carrier. Then I rang up my vet's, who luckily had Saturday morning hours, to see about boarding HBC. The assistant said they could take her, and so I hurried her over -- the office was only two streets away -- and ran back home. Somehow the place seemed empty and forlorn already, with the cat gone and my two suitcases waiting for me in the hall.

On the cab ride over to pick up my car from the airport, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing. All I had to go on was a hunch and my feelings of increasing dread. But although I'd never been able to see my own future before, I certainly wasn't going to ignore what all my instincts were telling me. Once I was safely in Wales I'd ring up Fiona and let her know that I was all right -- I just wouldn't disclose my location. Getting word to Severus about where I had gone was an entirely different matter. I had no idea where Hogwarts was even located, let alone how to get a message to him there; I got the feeling that a school for wizardry mightn't even have a telephone.

Well, he is a wizard, I told myself. I'll just have to hope he has some nifty spell for tracking down missing people...and that Voldemort doesn't have access to the same spell.

Despite my reasons for leaving Manchester, I actually found myself enjoying the drive to Aberystwyth. It was a trip of a little more than two hundred kilometers, which meant it shouldn't take more than three hours or so, although the agent at the National kiosk did warn me that the roads in Wales were a little tricky and that I shouldn't expect any nice smooth motorways such as we had around town. She was right -- by the time I had entered Ceredigion proper the road had dwindled to a narrow two-lane affair that wound through some of the most stunning countryside I had ever seen. The terrain was much hillier than I had imagined, and although the little Corsa protested at the grades once or twice, it soldiered on, carrying me into Aberystwyth around three in the afternoon.

Mrs. Evans, the owner of Bodalwyn House, helped me with my suitcases herself, all the while keeping a running commentary about the local sights and the best pubs and shops in her lovely but difficult to understand accent. Feeling a little overwhelmed, I just smiled and nodded, assured her that I would be down promptly at six for supper, then shut the door behind her and allowed myself a sigh of relief.

It was a lovely room, really, with dark antiques and a nice large bed. I was able to catch a glimpse of the sea out of one of the windows, and the place was spotlessly clean. Reassured by my surroundings, I felt a little less mad than I had earlier in the day, when I wondered if I had completely lost my mind to be running off like this.

After supper I walked to the shore and breathed in the clean salt air, feeling curiously relieved to be surrounded by people who didn't know who I was and apparently didn't care. The other residents of the guests house were a mix of English and Welsh, and while they seemed a friendly enough lot, it was fairly obvious that they were here to enjoy themselves, not pry into other people's business. Mrs. Evans did seem rather curious about me, but after I had given deliberately vague answers to several of her questions she seemed to realize that I was not inclined to divulge any personal information.

And now that I'm caught up with all this, it's time to sleep. I find that I'm completely exhausted, and perhaps that weariness, combined with the ever-present murmur of the sea, will help me to find the rest I so desperately need. Perhaps if I lie here and think of Severus, try to send my thoughts across the gap that separates us, he'll know where to find me. That sounds insane, I know, but so many insane things have happened to me lately that I no longer know what's possible and what isn't. I can only hope that the connection between us is strong enough that he'll somehow find a way to be at my side....

139

The Overlooked --