The Overlooked

Seventeen

Time passed. Snape ordered another espresso, cast a jaundiced eye at the lowering heavens, and tried to tell himself not to worry. Perhaps this Aunt Bronwen of Celeste's was merely the verbose type, and Celeste was having a difficult time getting herself away. Still, as the minutes dragged by with no sign of the girl, Snape began to expect the worst. Visions of her being carried off by Death Eaters or struck down by an Avada Kedavra curse began to prey on his mind. Although Celeste hadn't said exactly where her aunt lived, Snape thought it wouldn't be too difficult to find out, even though he didn't particularly fancy having to ask the pinch-faced waiter where the local psychic lived.

A drop of moisture struck his face, and then another. Snape could have written it off as sea-spray -- the café was separated from the waterfront by only a narrow road and a stretch of white beach -- but he feared that the rain, which had been threatening all afternoon, had finally made up its mind to dampen this section of the coast. A few drops were nothing, but if it really started in, then he'd have to take his waiting game inside. He didn't care about getting wet, but a man who sat alone at a table in the rain was the sort of man who attracted notice, and of course that wouldn't do at all.

He'd actually begun to push his chair backward and gather up his espresso cup when at last he caught sight of Celeste, who was hurrying down the street toward him, her cheeks glowing in the brisk air. Any recriminations that he might have considered hurling at her over the length of time she had taken to visit her aunt evaporated suddenly as he looked at her, at the delicate face made even more luminous by its contrast to the bleak, gray day that surrounded them. Damn it, no one had ever told him that caring for someone would turn him into such a weak fool.

The first words out of her mouth were an apology. "I am so sorry, Severus," she said, blinking as a drop of rain tangled in her eyelashes. "Bronwen is a dear, but I'm afraid she does have a tendency to keep on talking once she's gotten started. And since I didn't think it was a good idea to tell her you were waiting for me...." She trailed off, looking at Snape with some uncertainty.

"It's fine," he said, although a few minutes ago he'd been feeling anything but fine about the situation. "But it's begun to rain -- perhaps we should go inside, or find somewhere else to take shelter."

For some reason Celeste flushed slightly, but she merely said, "It's almost dinner time -- there's a pub down the street that Mrs. Evans says has heavenly shepherd's pie. Does that sound any good to you?"

It sounded marvelous, actually; her words reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything since his meager breakfast. "That should be fine," Snape replied, and surprised himself by smiling down at her. He jingled the coins in his pants pocket. "I even remembered to bring Muggle money this time." Remembering that he hadn't paid for that last cup of espresso, he fished out a one-pound coin and laid it on the table.

The rain chose that moment to begin falling in earnest, and Celeste startled him by grabbing his hand and practically hauling him bodily down the sidewalk. He hastened his steps to keep up with her, feeling something of a fool. But all around them people were likewise scattering into various shelters, and none of them seemed to be paying much mind to his and Celeste's breakneck pace.

Their destination turned out to be only five or six shops down. Celeste pushed the door inward ahead of him, and he followed her into the pub's warm, smoky confines. Most of the time the smell of tobacco made him feel faintly ill, but here, mixed with wood smoke from the hearth at the far end of the room, the fragrance of something toothsome wafting in from the kitchen, and the vaguely homey scent of damp wool, it somehow intensified the sensation of warmth, of shelter.

"Two, then?" asked the plump woman who came to meet them.

"Yes, please," said Celeste.

They were shown to a small table off in a cramped corner that made up in privacy what it lacked in comfort. No menus here; the woman who had seated them reeled off a limited bill of fare, all of which sounded wonderful at this point. He ordered shepherd's pie, as did Celeste, then requested a Guinness.

Celeste asked for something called a Snake Bite, a name that made Snape lift an eyebrow in her direction before he could recall that she probably knew nothing of the different Houses at Hogwarts or their respective mascots.

"What on earth is that?" he asked, after the proprietress had moved out of earshot.

The rain had dampened Celeste's hair so that it clung to her forehead in damp little tendrils and straggled across the moisture-blotched shoulders of her worn suede jacket. Whatever eye cosmetics she had worn had smudged the skin beneath her lower lids. But her cheeks were flushed and rosy even in the dim penumbral light that made its way into the pub from outside, and she didn't seem to care a whit for her disheveled appearance. She grinned and said, "It's half lager, half hard cider."

"Sounds dreadful," he commented.

"It's actually very good," she replied. "However, I doubt you believe me. No matter."

"And so?" Snape prompted.

Celeste cast a curious glance in his direction, then said, "Oh, of course. My aunt. Don't worry -- it's all taken care of."

"So she hadn't spoken to anyone?" He refused to allow himself a feeling of relief.

"Well, only my Uncle Owen," she replied, and another smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "I didn't even know I had an Uncle Owen. I feel like Luke Skywalker."

"Who?" Snape asked, wondering if he had heard her correctly.

She shook her head, still with that smile playing around her mouth. "You have led a sheltered life, haven't you? Well, that would take more time to explain than we've probably got -- and I suppose it's not important. At any rate, Aunt Bronwen said she'd only had a chance to call my uncle in Swansea, and when I told her it was very, very important that no one know about my whereabouts, she immediately rang him back and explained the situation. So that's handled, then."

But was it, really? Snape knew that keeping secrets could be like fighting a hydra; cut off one head, and three more would grow in its place, all threatening alternate ways of leaking the information one was trying so hard to keep private. But Celeste had done the best she could, and he supposed that having only one more person in on the secret, when she had so very many aunts and uncles, was about the best he could have hoped for.

He remained silent as the plump hostess returned with their drinks. After she had gone, he said, "Let's just hope that both your aunt and your uncle know how to keep their mouths shut."

A flash of irritation crossed her face, but Celeste only replied, "I did tell my aunt how important it was that she say nothing to anyone else. And I heard her say the same thing to my uncle -- several times, in fact. After all, they've spent the last fifteen years keeping quiet on the subject; it's not as if they haven't had any practice."

Yes, but they held their tongues because the Fidelius Charm made them, the less charitable part of his mind thought. Whether they can do so through sheer willpower remains to be seen.

Snape knew, however, that voicing any further concerns would only upset Celeste, and for what? She had no control over the actions of her relatives. She had done what he told her to do, and beyond that he could only hope that her welfare was as important to those unseen relatives as it was to him.

Just because those worries could be pushed aside for now didn't mean that there weren't others equally pressing to be dealt with. He allowed himself a drink of Guinness before saying, "I do need to ask you a rather -- delicate question, if you don't mind."

Celeste looked almost amused. "That sounds ominous," she commented.

Snape decided the direct approach was best. "How long can you afford to keep staying here?" he asked. "That guesthouse you're currently in can't be cheap."

"No, it's not," she said candidly. "Could I live there the rest of my life? Of course not. Can I stay through the end of the summer? Probably. I've already told Mrs. Evans that I was thinking about keeping on through July and August, and she said she would give me a discount for that long a stay. And I'd only planned to keep the car for the first week or so. But after that?" Celeste lifted her shoulders, then took a sip of her own drink. "I suppose I hadn't really stopped to think about long-term arrangements. I just knew I needed to get out of Manchester for a time."

But her eventual residence was something that would have to be considered, if Manchester proved to be too risky for Celeste ever to return. Perhaps her precipitous flight had put the dementors -- and Voldemort -- off the scent. Snape couldn't be certain at this point, and of course he didn't dare make inquiries of the few people who might know something. He did not presume to visit the Dark Lord uncalled for, and asking questions of anyone else in the inner circle was equally out of the question.

But if she couldn't go back to Manchester, and couldn't afford to stay here indefinitely, what on earth could she do? He had a sudden mad idea of hiding her away in Hogsmeade, in one of the flats above the shops in the village. Surely no one would think to look for her there, and he could go visit her during his off-hours....

That was insane. Even discounting the very real fact that in Hogsmeade (as with most small villages), everyone knew what everyone else was doing, and that his comings and goings would certainly be noted no matter how careful he was in concealing them, plunking Celeste down in the center of the only magical population center in Britain, a place that Voldemort no doubt watched carefully, would be foolhardy to the point of madness. If Sirius Black had lived, perhaps she could have been hidden in the old Order of the Phoenix headquarters at Grimmauld Place -- though Snape doubted he would have enjoyed the thought of Celeste living in such close proximity to Sirius. But the Order had abandoned the house immediately after his death, so that option, however distasteful, wasn't available.

"Your pie," came a hearty voice at his ear, and Snape barely kept himself from starting. The proprietress laid an overflowing dish in front of him, settled a similarly laden one in front of Celeste, and then departed.

The food gave him an excuse to remain silent. He gathered up his fork and excavated a large mouthful of mashed potatoes, lamb, and vegetables. It tasted as good as it smelled.

"It is a sticky situation," said Celeste, her own fork hovering above the cloud of mashed potatoes. If it weren't for the fact that he'd have known if she were trying to read his thoughts, he would have said she'd been practicing a little Legilimency. Her mouth quirked, and she added, "I suppose I shall just have to move in with you."

At that Snape choked on his pie.

"I'm sorry," Celeste gasped, her expression halfway between concern that he was going to require medical intervention and amusement that she had hit so obvious a nerve. "It was a joke!"

Still coughing, he shot her a narrow glance before pouring some Guinness down his throat to soothe its abused muscles. "Very droll," he said, once he was able to get the words out.

Her eyes looked stricken, but Snape thought he saw the dimple flicker in her cheek. "Hadn't I warned you about my strange sense of humor?"

"Apparently not," he replied in disapproving tones.

What would it be like, though, to have her there next to him every night when he lay down to sleep, to feel her warmth pressed against him in the chill mornings of the Hogwarts dungeon? Celeste had said she was joking. Little did she know how close her chance remark had come to his heart's desire.

"I am sorry, Severus," she said, and this time she sounded completely serious. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You haven't," he replied, taking care to keep his tone cool and even. "However, that solution is out of the question, for a multitude of reasons."

Celeste's eyes dared him to reveal what they were, but she only took a few bites of her shepherd's pie and remained silent. For once her mobile features were curiously neutral; Snape could only guess that their current blankness was the result of a fierce effort to keep her emotions at bay. Had he hurt her, by dismissing her comment so coldly? How could he explain that, as much as he longed to be with her, he didn't dare? Fate would not allow him the same freedom of choice most men enjoyed. Perhaps one day, if he were granted some grace he really didn't deserve, but until then --

"It's all right," she said quietly.

Snape looked up to meet her level gaze. In the dim light of the pub her eyes appeared quite dark, and in contrast her skin was very pale. How he wished he could have reached out to lay his hand on hers, but not here -- the habits of isolation had been too deeply ingrained in him. Celeste had the courage to kiss him in front of everyone on Terrace Street, it seemed, but he knew that if their roles had been reversed he would not have done the same. He knew he should say something to ease the tension that stretched between them, palpable as the smoke that hovered over the men sitting at the bar, but he found himself at a loss. Instead, he lifted his pint glass and drank again, not because he really desired the taste of stout at that moment, but because he couldn't think of anything else to do.

After a few seconds Celeste tilted her head slightly to one side and asked, "Can I be brutally honest?"

That sounded more than a little alarming, but Snape merely nodded. At least if she kept talking it meant he didn't have to.

She fortified herself with a sip of the concoction that sat before her, then said, "I don't pretend to have the answers to any of this. I don't know why I was born with these talents, or why I have this connection with Vo -- with him. But I do know one thing." For a few seconds she glanced down and stared at the tabletop, as if she'd suddenly found something fascinating in the pattern of the battered wood grain. Then she pushed her half-eaten shepherd's pie off to one side, clasped her hands together, and gave him an earnest look. "We never know how much time we're going to have. I can see other people's futures, but I can't see mine. I could elude him for years, or he could catch up with me tomorrow. And if that's the case, then I want to have been with you at least once. Far more often people regret the things they haven't done than the things they have. I don't want us to be like that."

Snape found himself unable to do much more than stare back at her in dumbfounded silence. Was she really proposing what he thought she had? As much as he wanted her, and as much as he'd wondered how he would ever approach her in such a fashion, he'd never thought that she would be the one to broach the subject. He'd never thought that he would be on the receiving end of such a proposition.

Apparently discomfited by his continuing inability to speak, Celeste drew a nervous finger through the pooled moisture on the table top that her pint glass had left behind. "Have I misread you?" she asked at last. "I thought -- that is, from the way you kissed me, I -- "

A few words finally managed to force their way up to his tongue. "You haven't misread me," Snape replied, his voice sounding thick and halting even to him. "I simply didn't think you were ready." What a lie, his brain flung at him. It's you who aren't ready.

At that Celeste smiled, a look of enormous relief passing over her features. "Oh, I'm ready," she said. "Believe me." The dancing light returned to her eyes, and she added, "Let's get out of here, and I'll show you how ready I am."

***

Neither of them had an umbrella, and the rain had continued to pound the little seaside town throughout their meal, but Celeste laughed her way through the storm, lifting her face to wind and the wet. Snape found he couldn't be so blithe about the situation, but something about her joy communicated itself to him, even as his body both tensed and thrilled at the thought of lying with her. And underneath it all was a faint thread of worry that he somehow wouldn't be able to bring himself to commit the act, that either his brain or his body would betray him at the last moment, that it wouldn't allow him to finally take some pleasure in something he'd long thought of as the pathway to his damnation.

He paused on the back step of the guest house, hanging back, even though the rain continued its onslaught, and he was completely chilled and wet through. Although the place seemed quiet enough, its residents either retired for the night or gone out, Snape worried that someone would see him come in with Celeste and guess immediately what they were up to. Not that anyone except him would probably care in this day and age; Muggles seemed to jump in and out of one another's beds with careless abandon.

Celeste seemed to guess at the source of his hesitation and said, "Oh, don't worry, Severus. I already told Mrs. Evans that I might be entertaining a certain -- gentleman during my stay here."

"You what?"

Her teeth flashed in the glare of the light that illuminated the back door as she grinned at him. "Well, I had to say something in case you ever did end up coming back here. I had hoped...well, let's just say I was keeping my fingers crossed. And Mrs. Evans was quite understanding and said she was glad that I hadn't planned to spend my entire holiday alone. So come on -- it's freezing out here."

Snape couldn't argue with that, and although Celeste's casual attitude toward the entire situation still unnerved him somewhat, the desire he felt growing within him was strong enough to overcome any lingering doubts. He said, "Lead on, then."

Another smile, and she pushed open the door and led him inside. At least it appeared they wouldn't have to traverse the entire length of the downstairs corridor to make their way to her chamber; a smaller staircase almost immediately to the left proved to be a shortcut to the guest rooms on the second floor. He followed Celeste, trying to move as quietly as possible. Her room was located about midway down the upstairs hall, and she had the key out even as they approached the door. She unlocked the door and then shut it quickly behind Snape as soon as he entered the room.

The place was neat and had a sparse elegance of which he approved. Dark wood furniture that looked to be about the same age as the house provided the main focus of the chamber, which had plain white walls and a window that probably afforded a good view of the ocean during the daytime. A closed valise sitting on a luggage rack at the far end of the room and a glass on the table next to the bed were the only signs that the place was occupied; obviously Celeste had kept it as tidy as her home back in Manchester.

She crossed immediately to the radiator and adjusted the heat, then turned to Snape and gave him an awkward smile. "Awfully cold out there tonight," she said. Her breezy attitude seemed to have deflated now they were alone together, as if she had suddenly realized that the evening could have only one possible conclusion.

His own clothing clung to him, wet through and exquisitely uncomfortable. Of course Celeste would have a change of clothes here, but he had nothing. Then again, he could just excuse himself and go to the bathroom (which he was relieved to see was part of Celeste's guest room, and not located down the hall, as was so often the case in these older houses), cast a Quick-Dry spell on his soaked trousers and shirt, and be back out in a moment.

He'd opened his mouth to suggest as much when suddenly she was there next to him, her fingers working the buttons on his sodden shirt. Her eyes glinted up toward him, even as a wicked little smile touched her mouth. "You really should get out of these wet things," she murmured.

Perhaps it was the smile. Perhaps it was the feel of her hands against him, pulling at his shirt. Or perhaps it was just the realization that he was finally alone with her, in a place where no one could find them, where they were free to drown themselves in one another. Whatever the case, it was if she had uttered Incendio! and lit his entire body on fire.

His own hands grasped the shoulders of her wet jacket and pulled it from her, then tossed it to the floor. Underneath she wore a simple white undershirt, spotted with moisture where the jacket hadn't protected it. Amazed at his daring, Snape took two handfuls of the thin, elastic fabric and yanked it loose from the waistband of her jeans, then drew it over her head.

Celeste didn't protest this treatment -- far from it. She laughed as she was freed of the damp garment, then shook her wet hair back over her shoulders. Underneath she wore a plain white bra, utilitarian and unadorned, but it still served to reveal the sweet curve of her breasts and the narrowness of the ribcage it encircled. Dimly he realized that she had finally undone the last of his buttons and was pulling the shirt from him; he'd never been so unclothed in front of another person in his entire adult life. Perhaps at another time he would have felt some self-consciousness at the pallor of his skin or the faint beginnings of the belly he'd started to see in the last year or so. Now, however, the only thing that seemed to occupy his entire being was his overwhelming need for her -- a need that only intensified as he watched her reach behind and unhook her bra.

Reaching out, his hands cupped her revealed breasts. They weren't overly large, but full and rounded and so very, very soft. He'd never felt anything so wonderful in his life, nor as immediately gratifying as the low moan that escaped her lips as he touched her. But he needed more than that -- he needed to taste her, to know every part of her. He pulled her against him then, feeling the heat of her unclothed skin against his, the wave of desire that made him strain against the trousers he still wore.

But then he felt her fingers working his belt buckle, and next the button and zipper of his Muggle pants. She pushed them away impatiently, moving on to slide her hands inside the waistband of his briefs, and then on down, down...

His head rocked back, and he bit his lip to hold back the startled moan that had tried to burst forth from his lips. Never before had he experienced a sensation remotely close to this. For what might have been a few moments or even a few seconds he could only stand there, feeling the ripples of pleasure flooding through his body. Snape knew if he didn't stop her now, he'd climax immediately, long before things had progressed to their natural conclusion. So he stepped away from her, clasping her slender wrists in his hands, and led her over to the bed, pausing only to divest himself of his socks before they went any further.

Celeste still wore her damp jeans; his own fingers, so clever when it came to mixing potions or measuring ingredients, fumbled with the button fly, and in the end she gave a little laugh and pushed his hands away, then popped open the buttons and kicked the pants off into some dark corner. Her own underwear was as simple as her bra had been, and she fell back onto the bed, panting, as he pulled it away and flung it to one side.

Then they were on the bed together, bodies bearing down against one another. His mouth found hers and she kissed him, her hands caught in his wet hair as she pressed her lips against his. Once again he reached up to caress her breasts and listened to the low moaning sound in her throat as he did so. It seemed the most natural thing in the world then to move down and take one of her breasts into his mouth, to feel the indescribably soft skin against his tongue as she gasped against him. He felt her grasp his right hand and place it between her legs, showing him where she wanted to be touched. More softness, more heat...so much more than he had ever dreamed of. And even as he touched her she reached out to touch him as well, her slender fingers clasped around him, working the very center of his desire.

He knew if they went on much longer he'd explode then and there; even he had his limits of self-control. But he hesitated, knowing that, as far as they had gone, they could still stop now and not be lost forever.

"It's all right," her voice came in the darkness, husky and breathless with passion. "I'm on the Pill."

"What?" he asked stupidly, brain fogged with lust and near sensory overload.

"Birth-control pills, you silly wizard," Celeste replied, sounding almost amused at his obvious confusion.

Of course. The wizarding world had all sorts of spells and potions to handle that sort of thing, but obviously before now he'd never had the need to avail himself of any of them. Trust Celeste to have the situation covered, and although Snape usually had little good to say about Muggles or their science, in this case he was willing to make an exception.

But her words seemed to remove the final barrier between them; he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He moved on top of her, fumbling a little with the unfamiliar geometry of their bodies locking together, and suddenly he was inside her, feeling her move against him, her gasping cries as he buried herself in her, lost himself, forgot everything but the darkness and the heat and the waves of pleasure that washed over him, drowning him, and finally bringing with them the blissful oblivion he had so long desired and never dreamed he could attain.

If he died tonight, he would leave this world a happy man.

But never before had he possessed such a desire to live.

The Overlooked -- 226

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