Wait for Me

Two months ago...

The man dipped a finger in his drink and drew aimless patterns into the rough wood. He doubted anyone would notice the stain. In fact, he highly doubted the mere existence of cleaning supplies in that place...why, by Merlin's beard, am I here??? He coughed and squinted through the smoke, reluctantly taking the sight in.

There were no more than two dozen tables in the dim, dusty room, split by a narrow aisle leading up to the...stage, he supposed it must be called, for all it seemed to have been hastily built that morning by hungover teenagers. A door proudly proclaimed itself "Men's Room" flush by the stage, and it opened at that moment to disgorge a giggling woman and her even drunker male companion. A rusty sign labeled "BEER" was positioned on center stage wall, and, to top it all off, what appeared to be a moose's head surveyed the room, festoons of plastic bead necklaces around the neck.

He HAD to pick this place? Out of all the possible meeting places in the world?

He scowled at a passing man dressed in shiny black leather, who eyed him briefly but wisely chose to move on. Thus unrequited, the man refocused his glare on the stage, where two men were setting up some metal boxes with strange threads attached to the wall. A long pole was set up in the front center; the men looked at each other, shook their heads, and pushed the pole down more than a foot in length, chuckling to themselves.

Puzzled anew, the man's glare lessened slightly but he refused to be put off from his mood, which was rapidly going downhill. He coughed again and managed to suck in more dirty air down his windpipe. His eyes began watering and with a small groan of despair he began massaging his temples.

"Emergency..." he muttered to himself, long fingers kneading away, "said it was an emergency. No time, he says, blasted old man, hurry, he says...and what?" He lifted his head, unaware he was speaking out loud, to the interest of the couple at the table next to him.

"Where the HELL is the old bugger?"

His bleary eyes saw a flash of red through the murky air, and just then a chord was strummed by one of those strange instruments, the men taking their places on stage. Another chord, and a drumbeat, and a deep throbbing sound from another instrument, insistent and commanding...the man stared at the stage, taken aback by the sounds, and the fact that, gods, he LIKED them!

A wailing groan seemed to issue from the band, the slow tempo of the drums reinforced the pain surely felt by anyone listening; it beckoned him strangely, the raw despair, ah, the sorrow, in shades of brown and purple, and how could he not have known of this magic? Now another instrument joined in with its subtle backbeat, adding a counterpoint that made many of the patrons start swaying slightly in their seats, nodding in time. Someone whooped in the far back row, but most were silent and contemplative in their watch. The man closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over his body...he opened them lazily...and the flash of red came into his vision again.

The hanging spotlight by the stage was not meant to illuminate anyone but performers, but time and lack of money had taken care of that. The bright light shone on her hair, made it sparkle and glimmer gently, surrounded by darkness. Sleepily, he started counting the different shades of red he could pick out of her hair - five so far - and then she turned.

She turned and saw him. The soft blue eyes widened, fastened on his. Her intent gaze seemed to pierce him somehow, to know him like he knew nothing about himself...his mind protested while trying to break the hold her eyes had on him.

Rude girl, didn't your mother teach you not to stare?

He mentally gathered his scattered thoughts and arranged his features into his best, patented Snape family sneer. He imagined the girl sitting in a class of his, tried to picture her sniffling as he towered over her, taking points away from her House - Gryffindor? he wondered. Ravenclaw perhaps, but she looks like a - oh RUBBISH... and as he arranged his thoughts to stillness once more, she smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling slightly. The music was building to a crescendo, blaring pain and misery into the musty air, singing sadness to the still bar patrons.

He could not tear his eyes away. So blue, so familiar...so gentle...

She turned again, hair flowing down the length of her back, ascended the stage with two quick steps, surveyed the applauding crowd with a queenly air and just a hint of that smile -

And she sang.

She sang to them all, to him alone, to everyone, and they know her as if part of them. A blue, clear light seemed to steal through the air, surrounding the heavy smoke and banishing it as if unimportant. The Muggles sat as if enthralled, and the man distantly wondered why they could not see it. But the light, he knew, was simply...her. He closed his eyes and felt her warmth. Gods, how he needed it. Just for this moment...to forget...this magic...

"Hello, Severus," the quiet voice said in his ear as its owner settled into the chair beside him, then glanced at the stage proudly.

"I see you have met Miriam."

The last note hung on the air, absorbing the utter silence, possessing the room all too briefly before the roar of the crowd's applause scattered it to the winds.

Miriam desperately wanted to yawn, but that would never do, not if she wanted another gig. So she smiled at them, and despite her exhaustion the people's energy gave her a familiar sense of renewal.

They still like me, after all this time, she marveled inwardly. She stepped aside with a little bow and gestured to the band, and the cheers escalated. In the front row, Mack, their one and only real live groupie, gave a shrill whistle as he stood up with the others.

"Great hook on the last song, Bernard!" she shouted over the noise, and got an answering grin. She waited a bit longer, waved to the crowd and stepped offstage, to the loud disappointment of a few. The regulars didn't bother - they knew she didn't do encores. Stretching out a kink in her back, she went and picked up the tip jar.

"Your turn, Devin!" Miriam laughed, handing the jar full of one-dollar bills to the annoyed-looking drummer, and started digging in her pockets.

"Well..." Snape said, for about the fiftieth time in his embarrassed estimation. Dumbledore just looked at him expectantly.

The potions professor turned his eyes back to the red-headed girl - woman? - and raised an eyebrow. Her features seemed carved in shadows; the hiss-click of the lighter seemed unnaturally loud.

"She...is not what I'd imagined," Snape said at last.

"How so?"

"Just different, that is all. I had vaguely pictured her as...a little taller," he said, settling on the most trivial answer.

The old wizard laughed indulgently.

"Ah, but Miriam comes by it naturally, Severus...and really, she looks so small on stage because she's surrounded by those monsters she plays with. What else do you remember about her, my friend?"

Snape sighed. "She's the strongest witch born in centuries," he recited in a bored tone, "...destined to share in the toppling of the Dark Lord...her heritage is a mystery to everyone but yourself...and let us see, did she descend smiling from heaven wearing a halo?"

"Not really," Dumbledore said blandly. "But here she comes now; perhaps you can learn more..."

His last words were swallowed by the thud as the girl ran over to him, arms wide open.

"Albus, how wonderful! You haven't come in so long. Been too busy for me?"

"Never for you, my dear, but it's getting harder and harder to track you down, Miriam. I don't know how you keep such a low profile!" The joke was plain on his face, but Snape saw the suddenly tender eyes.

"I'm always careful, Albus, you know that..."

Miriam slipped her arm through Dumbledore's and faced Snape.

I remember you, her eyes stated while her voice said, soft and low,

"A pleasure, Mr...?"

"Snape, Severus Snape, madam," he replied with a slight nod, face impassive. Her eyes twinkled at him again as if reading his thoughts.

Blasted girl, she's doing it again...

He looked at her and mentally rephrased that thought.

...women, they're all alike...

The tall dark man who had played the drums walked by and placed a tightly bound stack of papers on Miriam's head.

"Thanks, Devin," she called after him, and took the bundle off her head with an unfazed air. Snape leaned forward to get a better look, and his lip curled slightly.

Muggle money...worthless rubbish, he sneered to himself, looking at the flimsy green paper, some of it heavily wrinkled and dirty. He opened his mouth to comment further, then closed it again out of a vague sense of politeness. Miriam looked at him inquiringly.

How much does she know? And then another thought came.

How much do they know? And suddenly he realized just where they were and who they were. You imbecile! he grated to himself. Aloud,

"Albus, we should leave. Separately, of course - perhaps we haven't been seen as yet..."

Snape half-rose from his chair, and paused at Dumbledore's slight headshake.

"If anyone hears a rumor of this, even a whisper - "

"This place is being watched, Severus," the headmaster said calmly. "It has been so for a few years now. I have taken care of it."

Snape opened his mouth, then thought better of it when he found he had nothing to say. I seem to be forming a habit these days...

"But you're right," Dumbledore continued. "I do believe Miriam has other commitments, if I'm not mistaken."

The girl's eyes flashed briefly, annoyed at being spoken for. Cigarette forgotten in her hand, she frowned at the bearded wizard, who just grinned back at her until her mouth twitched despite herself. She relented with a gentle tug on that beard and ground the cigarette out on the table.

"All right," Miriam groaned. "Yes, I should get back and finish some homework. Dr. Gardner seems to think I can be done in a few weeks if my last paper is satisfactory."

"Excellent! And the apartment?"

"It's Bernard's as soon as I get it signed over. The poor thing is living with his mother at the moment," she explained to Snape.

"Indeed," he said, completely unenlighted.

"Mims!" The shout came from the bar counter, and a hand beckoned from somewhere in the still-thick crowd. She waved back in acknowledgment.

"I'd better run." She kissed Dumbledore on the cheek. "Same routine next time, then?"

"Yes, my dear - just wait for the contact. It won't be long at all this time, I promise."

"Good...I'm not complaining, but...the waiting..." Miriam's eyes were shadowed. "I'll just be glad when it's over, that's all."

"I know, my dear," he said, even more gently.

She took a step away, then turned back. Those eyes met his once again.

"Forgive me, Mr. Snape. It was so nice meeting you."

Miriam extended her hand, and for a moment Snape stared at it, confused. Then without thought, he reached for it smoothly and bowed just a little. It was almost swallowed up by his long, white fingers. He even felt a smile hovering about his lips.

"Likewise, I'm sure," he replied. Her hand was quite soft, he thought distantly. When she withdrew it, it was slow, her eyes almost thoughtful, head tilted. Finally she shook her head slightly, gave a last smile to the old wizard, turned and strode away, hair swinging back and forth.

Snape turned back to Dumbledore and saw his eyes fastened on him with a...speculative...look in them he had never seen before. Then, with an inward groan, he remembered seeing it after all - years before, upon his recruitment as a double agent for the Light.

"What?" he snapped, all patience gone. Dumbledore did not react for a few seconds, seemingly lost in thought. Then his eyes grew brighter, and laugh lines appeared around the corners.

"Let us go - out the back way of course, Severus," he added before the younger man could say anything. As they walked under the antlers of the decorated moose and out the door, Dumbledore said casually,

"And after we pop off, meet me in my quarters. I have a little more to tell you about Miriam Weasley."

For the third time that evening, Severus Snape was left with his mouth hanging open.

"Damn it!"

"Up a half-step, Bernard," Miriam called, "and don't forget the stutter."

She heard a muttered "Okay" from the front room and the strumming resumed. Her black kitten, Wendy, trotted into the kitchen and bumped hard against her legs.

"I know, I know..." She picked the purring cat up and cuddled her briefly. "You're first on the list, I swear."

With Wendy perched on her shoulder, Miriam poked her head into the fridge and discovered that the contents were one unidentifiable substance in a casserole dish (courtesy of Bernard's well-meaning mom), a half-open package of processed cheese, and one lone pickle. She picked up the pickle and stared at it bemusedly.

"Um, I think we should go to the store, Bernard."

"Okay", came the disinterested grunt. She shook her head and went to get her wallet. I leave him here for a week by himself and this is all he can come up with...he's going to be hopeless on his own!

The late night air was quite warm, as it usually was in Texas this time of year. She enjoyed the walk to Ray's Market, where she bought some bread, tofu, frozen dinners, a few tomatoes, food for Wendy, and a couple of big, doughy, horrible-for-you Moon Pies.

She walked even slower on the way back home, breathing in the fragrant air. Crickets chirped, a car backfired in the distance; someone laughed in the house she had just passed.

It looks safe; it feels normal. Oh how I wish it could stay that way.

But she was no fool.

Miriam knew she really had been one this past week, however. She didn't think Albus knew she had been out of the country, but long experience had taught her it wasn't possible to put anything past him - he may have known already tonight. That mysterious man had certainly looked disapproving enough (although his eyes, she admitted to herself, were quite pretty, dark and mysterious - and she had such a strange feeling when she looked at him...)

He has to understand.

She had to get away, just for a little while. Trevor and Jan were visiting a college friend in England; they had an extra ticket and she accepted it. She went to a few places with them, but mostly she took cheap taxis around London and went wherever the summer crowds weren't. She saw Big Ben and wrote for hours in little cafes squished between bakeries and repair shops. And she even found a woman with a baby grand next to the flat they were all in, willing to let Miriam play at all hours of the night.

The freedom of being unwatched - so incredible! I know it's all for my safety...Albus only does what's best for me, but God this felt good.

She walked up to the porch - the screen door needs fixing - and sat down on the steps to smoke a cigarette. Looking up at the sky, Miriam found the star she wished on every night. It was silly, yes - childish, to be sure - but she wasn't about to stop her habit. They look up at the same ones too... Albus says the stars are the same no matter where you are...Hi Momma...hey Daddy...

She felt the tears as usual, and determinedly blinked them back, as usual. There was no one to share them with anyway; the casual closeness with her bandmates was all Miriam could seem to manage these days. Sometimes there were lovers, but all were content to stay outside the barrier she erected for herself out of necessity. Friends? They were there, but left when she had to move yet again.

Maybe it was the waiting. Ever since Albus had told her he would come for her soon, each day seemed like forever. Nothing he had told her over the years had meant more than that; she had grown up listening to his stories, seeing his magic - knowing that he put all his trust in her was more than enough. Learning that she had magic herself was no big deal - she was a child, so of course she believed in magic! And being in a world without it wasn't hard either; how could she miss what she'd never experienced? What she'd never had the chance to be? She felt like if she turned her head quickly enough, that sense of almost-knowing what she was, who she was, would suddenly burst into her head full-bloom. If it was real, anyway...

She was so tired of all the self-pity monologues, so ready to go home.

"Mims! What's the first chord after the bridge? Your songs freak me out!"

She sighed and stood up. England was still in her thoughts for some reason. She remembered many people over there as if she had been years a resident; it felt so familiar, so known...

There had been a little park, she thought while taking off her shoes by the door, almost hidden, that day I got lost in the suburbs. That boy was so sweet - I think we talked for over an hour, and he walked me all the way to the bus stop! Why do I remember his eyes? What was his name?

She took a deep breath and headed for the front room, ready to assist the ever-needy Bernard.

Harry?...perhaps it was Harvey...