A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 35 - In Dublin

After the interminable train trip, he first had to transfer to a ferry to get to Dublin. Snape vowed he would never travel by Muggle means again. He welcomed the dull monotony of the ferry trip. Disembarking, he followed the directions he had gathered before leaving London. He found his way to Ascaill Manannan, the main thoroughfare of Wizard Dublin, and slipped into The Golden Shillelagh, which seemed at that moment to be the meeting place for a crowd of leprechauns, most of whom seemed exceedingly tipsy.

One, apparently a bit less inebriated than his companions, screamed at the sight of Snape. He pointed and yelled, "What air ya doin' herrre?"

Was his foreignness so obvious? Then it occurred to him; he was still in Muggle dress. "Silly creature!" he muttered. He headed down to Cúirt stepped out into the Lane, quickly locating another inn, The Crooked Codpiece, where he took a room to change into his normal attire and to drop off his bag and packages. He signed into the inn as 'Eamon FitzGerald"; speaking to the clerk with the brogue he'd been practicing, its authenticity enhanced with a Mimeticus charm. To his gratification, the clerk did not question his identity. After changing his clothes, he returned to the Lane. It largely resembled Diagon Alley, except the streets were wider and better paved, and many of the shops were cheerfully adorned with flowers and herbs in colorful tubs.

Walking down the Lane, he examined the shop-fronts he passed, when one particularly caught his eye. A small shop set away from the street and squashed between two larger structures, Peckham's Apothecary, Ltd. had none of the charming little touches that some of the other shops used to appeal to the public interest. However, it appealed to his. Dust and grime partially obscured his view of piles upon piles of bottles, boxes, vials, jars and cans that rose well past the height of the window, teetering precariously against one another. He was irresistibly drawn into the shop.

Behind the counter stood an elderly grey man with a thick grey beard and a thin crest of grey hair, wearing a dull grey robe that had seen better days. "May I help you?" Snape's black eyes eagerly scanned the rows and columns of containers. Towards the front were many identical jars of common items. As he looked towards the rear of the shop, he noticed more esoteric and arcane items. Several bottles of vampire oil in one corner made him wrinkle his nose in disgust as he thought of his vexatious travel companions on the train. "Mr. Peckham?" The man nodded. "D'ya have any dried Hungarian horntail horn - no," he corrected himself. "Any Roumanian stellate-horntail fetal horn-root?". Roumanians had long ago been hunted to extinction, and the item he'd asked for was extremely difficult to obtain.

Mr. Peckham furrowed his brow and pulled on his beard. "Hmm - one moment, if you don' mind?" He disappeared behind a wall of jars and bottles. Snape waited. And waited. After a while, he began pacing impatiently, but was careful to avoid knocking over any of the merchandise; to do so would surely have initiated an avalanche. Finally, the man returned, looking greyer than ever with a film of dust over his clothing. He cradled a small jar in his hand, and proudly handed it to Snape. "Here ya go, sir. Only one like it I've got"

Snape took it from him and examined the ancient jar. A familiar crest, three intertwined serpents, with the letters BSM below it, adorned the cracked and faded label, which was partially peeling from the container. "About 200 years old? Perhaps 220 years old? Black, Snape and Malfoy, isn't it?"

The grey man gingerly lifted the corners of his mouth into a crooked smile. "Always a pleasure to serve a knowledgeable customer."

In the dungeon of the family manor, Snape still had a number of such rare items, even a few from the days of Black and Snape, before the first Malfoi interloper, dating back as much as 450 years. He wondered what sort of sum those would fetch, merely out of curiosity. He would never have seen fit to sell them.

With no regret, he paid the rather hefty price of the item, giving his name once again as Eamon FitzGerald. Mr. Peckham commented, "Surprised I haven't seen ya in here before, sir, a connoisseur such as yourself."

Snape looked at him thoughtfully, and pulled out an extra 50-galleon piece. "Of course you have, Mr. Peckham. It's just been a while; I haven't had a chance to stop in recently." He looked at the man quizzically. Mr. Peckham pocketed the coin. "Certainly, Mr. FitzGerald. How could I forget such a good customer as yourself, sir?"

Snape nodded and favored the old wizard with a genuine smile; he was pleased with his purchase, and with Peckham's cooperation. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Peckham".

"Indeed it has, sir."

With his newest acquisition in hand, he moved on to his intended destination, a shop specializing in formal wizard attire. Although daily attire for the Irish wizard was not significantly different from that of the English wizard, the cut and style of formal attire was noticeably distinctive and distinguishable. Eamon FitzGerald was fitted for and purchased an elegant silk costume, in a very dark green. This suit would be delivered to him in approximately one week. For a man who so rarely wasted his limited funds on inessentials, the contemplation of how much he had spent on clothing in two days was enough to cause him a severe headache

After a decent lunch, with which he allowed himself a glass of ale laced with Tofieldia palustris, Snape wandered casually down the lane. He had made up his mind: the mission that he was on was really quite a pleasant one, if he could ignore the fact that he was squandering large sums of money on utterly useless purchases. After all, frittering away a few paltry galleons would be of no concern to Mr. FitzGerald, and it was he who was making the purchases, according to the trail of invoices he left in his wake. A bottle of fine cognac, some Cuban cigars, an English-to-Cyclopsian translator, a stockminder (letting you know when a particular item was running low), and a silver frog with a dragon-hide wandsheath. He would never use such a thing, of course, but, he smirked to himself, Mr. FitzGerald would and will.

After buying a few last odds and ends, he returned to the inn, gathered his belongings, and found his way to the railway station. The TBWRL (Trans-Britain Wizard Rail Line) would take him directly back to London, passing through a tunnel, which was unknown and invisible to the Muggles. He purchased a ticket and was pleased to find that the train was nearly empty; he would have a compartment to himself. He sat down and made himself comfortable.

There was a certain satisfaction he felt as he spent his last few sickles on a cup of tea and a copy of the Prophet; he would arrive home penniless, having, apparently, anticipated his needs to the last knut. Snape was surprised how exhausted he felt from a pursuit as seemingly simple and effortless as shopping. He actually looked forward to returning home. Miss Faraday would, no doubt, be anxious to see him. In fact, she would very likely greet him with great enthusiasm, especially when he returned with an unexpected gift..... And was there really any harm in allowing her to express her feelings? Or in allowing matters to take their course, as they might? The gentle motion of the train, and the pleasant homecoming scenario that filled his thoughts, lulled him into a peaceful slumber.