Spinner's End

Spinner's End

Severus stalked up the street to the dark, dusty house at the very end. Once again, Dumbledore had offered Hogwarts as a summer residence, but the last thing Severus wanted was to stay in that miserable castle for another two months. Ten months out of the year was bad enough.

The sun was setting behind him, bathing the street in what would have been a beautiful golden glow; unfortunately, what was being bathed in the amazing light was so depressingly decrepit that the light's own beauty seemed diminished by what it touched.

He reached the front door and glanced around to make sure there were no Muggles still on the street. The only people who still lived here were usually inside getting quietly drunk at this hour of the evening, waiting for the sun to set so they could drift off, only to wake up again a few hours later to bright sunlight shining through the cracks of their hovels. No one was about, so Severus pulled out his wand, tapped the doorknob, and the door opened.

One would have thought that it would squeak on its hinges, or stick, or be otherwise fussy, considering its apparent age and the many months it had gone unused, but it opened silently and cleanly, and Severus breathed the smallest sighs of relief as he took in his home.

It was his home; it had been his home for many years. Living among Muggles was always cheaper than trying to find a place in a Wizarding village--prices in Hogsmeade were simply ridiculous--and it was easy enough to maintain anonymity simply by being odd. The Muggles didn't like to have their little world disturbed, and tended to ignore anything that didn't fit with their ideas. He'd bought the so-called "cottage" about ten years ago, after realizing that staying at the school over the summer would simply lead to madness. It was his home, no matter how decrepit it appeared, and he loved it.

The first thing he did was remove a small package from his pocket and enlarge it. He set the stack of books, wrapped in paper and string, on the rickety table to unpack later. As he set them down, a small storm of dust puffed up from the surface. He ignored it and he walked to the bookshelf, where he pressed his nose to the nearest inviting spine of brown leather and breathed in heavily. The smell of dust and leather made his nose tickle, but it was a comforting tickle. He could feel the tension in his neck ebbing away as he rested his nose against the bookshelf.

It wasn't much, but it was home, Severus reflected, retreating from the shelves and returning to the rickety table. He removed another package from his pocket, enlarged it as well, and took the two plastic bags of groceries over to the small cupboard just inside the door. The bottle of red wine he placed on the little counter; the cheese and apples went inside the charmed cupboard where they would stay cold; the bread he set in the other cupboard. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust, but it didn't bother him very much. Something about Hogwart's cleanliness always bothered him. If the place was a thousand years old, why weren't there several inches of dust in places? The blasted house-elves had to go and tidy up everything, including his store cupboard.

Well, they'd no longer be in his store cupboard. It would no longer be his store cupboard. Severus smiled broadly at that thought. It was finally his post, finally his role. He would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at last. There was something about teaching potions that he simply could not stand. Potions required subtlety, and more often than not there were only two or three students per year who could appreciate such careful magic. No doubt Horace Slughorn would be more lenient with the brats. Providing, of course, that Dumbledore convinced him, but there was no doubt in Severus' mind that he would succeed. Dumbledore always succeeded.

As Severus set about making sure the water still ran properly and the mattress wasn't completely full of rats, there came a knock on the door. No doubt that was Wormtail, he thought resentfully, eyeing his tall bookshelves and lamenting the loss of peace that his new "assistant" would mean. Then again, there was the secret passage behind the Astronomy collection; perhaps Wormtail would find it an adequate hidey-hole. Yes, that would do, he decided cheerfully. Give the rat a rat-hole to live in, and all will be well.

"Coming!" he called out, and strode to the door.

~fin~