Keeping Emma

Chapter One: A Summer Abroad

Emma Gianni emerged from the stairwell of the youth hostel and sighed. She was beginning to wish she had not allowed her mother to help plan this trip to England for her. Her mom was great at finding deals and bargains, but sometimes her bargains ended up biting them in the rear end, and this sure was an example. This was terrible.

One of the regulars at the restaurant where her mom worked had told her about this place. The elevator had been out of commission ever since her arrival two days earlier, ditto for the air conditioning. The shower had two temperatures--cold and colder--and there was only one working toilet on her entire floor. On top of that, the surrounding neighborhood was not London's finest. In two days, strangers had offered her drugs twice and asked how much she charged for sex three times.

Emma had worked and scraped and saved for this trip to England since she was in middle school. The only child of a single mother who waited tables for a living, Emma had dreamed of spending the summer following her high school graduation in England ever since she was ten and had fallen in love with the works of Jane Austen.

Emma had shoveled snow and babysat. While all the other kids were dancing at the senior prom in May, she had been there in a white blouse, black pants, vest, and bow-tie, serving them the crappy chicken cordon bleu entree their overpriced prom tickets had bought them. She had known that her mom could never afford college, so she had worked her butt off to get a scholarship for a free ride at Syracuse University, graduating first in her class. Emma knew the one thing she had going for her was her brain.

She began to grade her life as if it were a report card--Social Standing, F minus; Personality, D minus; looks, well, on a good day of low humidity that kept her long, naturally curly dark brown hair from erupting like Mount Vesuvius, maybe a C plus. Then there was her height, or lack of it. The one, or should she say two, physical characteristics that did attract a lot of attention were the ones she wished would go away. Her chest. Along with her hair, Emma had inherited her mother's oversized bosom. They had begun to grow when she was ten and had not stopped. She was so sick of dealing with the stares, snickers, and crude remarks of strange men who seemed to think they were public property.

She might have been more popular if she could smile once in a while, but she had the most damnable gap between her two front upper teeth, so she always tried to keep her mouth closed, or hid her smile behind her hand. She remembered, at age twelve, sitting in the dentist's chair and how her mom had nearly fainted when she had found out what it would cost to correct the problem. So, the gap had stayed, and she had gained a reputation for being quiet, serious, and shy.

But what had driven the final nail into the coffin that contained a social life was the fact that she was smart. Although she loved English, her real strength lay in math. She planned to use that scholarship to study corporate accounting. No boy wanted to date a quiet, short, average-looking girl who could whip his butt in AP Calculus. The few boys her best friend, Amy, had fixed her up with had never asked her out a second time once they had learned that she wasn't going to let them turn her chest into their personal entertainment center.

But Emma had watched her mother's life and learned. Emma knew her mom was the sweetest woman on the planet, but not too sharp in the upper stories. Her mom truly believed that a knight on a white horse was just around the corner--the man who would come save her and take care of the two of them. All that fantasy had ever gotten her mom was one broken heart after another as each Prince Charming had turned out to be losers who had lied about not having wives or who were abusive, drunks, or deadbeats.

Emma was not afraid of hard work. In fifth grade, her teacher had given her an application for a scholarship to the Nichols School, the most highly rated private school in Buffalo, New York. He had told her mom that Emma needed to get out of the public schools and into a place where her intelligence could be fostered. The scholarship, however, had meant that Emma had to work. She had to clean up after the snotty-nosed rich kids who, by a happy accident of birth, felt entitled to attend school there. The other kids, and even some staff members, had made sure to never let Emma forget that she was a charity student.

Emma was determined to depend on herself and never depend on any man to take care of her. If she did meet someone one day, it would be as an equal as far as education, career, and finances went. And, once she got a good job, she'd buy that dream house for her and her mom. Any guy who might eventually come along would have to accept that they came as a package deal. She would take care of her mom forever.

As Emma carefully made her way over the bodies of other young travelers lounging in the lobby, she bemoaned the fact that Amy had cancelled the trip at the last minute. Shy by nature, Emma always depended on Amy's outgoing, confident personality for meeting new people. But, Amy's dad had arranged for her to have a summer internship at a fashion magazine in New York City.

Emma knew that Mr. Merrington had never approved of his daughter's friendship with someone of Emma's less than stellar beginnings. Emma had never been included when Amy had parties and sleep-overs. Amy had explained that her dad was a snob and wanted Amy to associate with rich people. So, he had probably done it on purpose. Losing the $1500 prepaid hostel fee was nothing to the Merringtons, but Emma just could not eat a loss like that. So, here she was, at long last, in England for the summer. But she was totally alone.

The hostel was home to a motley bunch of young travelers. But, everyone seemed to already be a part of a group. Emma shared a room with five other young women, three of whom spoke Hindi and two others who were Russian. She had to laugh at the irony. She was in a country where she could, at last, hear the language spoken correctly and nobody around her spoke it at all. Even the desk clerk was Pakistani. The odd thing was that the hostel must have rented out Amy's bed. There was no empty bed in the room. So, by rights, Amy should get her money back. But the desk clerk had told Emma that he had no record of an Amy Merrington ever having paid for a reservation. This morning, she had hurriedly written a quick postcard to her mom asking her to contact the Merringtons and tell them to ask for a refund.

When she had checked in, the desk clerk had warned her to keep her valuables on her at all times. So, she kept her traveler's checks, ready cash, passport and identification papers in a fanny pack she wore even while sleeping. But, she'd already had a brand new top stolen from the locker that sat at the foot of her bed. So, now she had to lug her backpack containing her clothes and toiletries around with her as she went sightseeing. Luckily, she had packed light. A few pairs of jeans and tops, a jacket, underwear, the nice blue dress her mom had bought her for her graduation, and her mom's dressy high-heeled sandals, just in case she ever had a chance to go out in the evening. The only thing of any real value she had was her camera, which hung safely about her neck. It had been her graduation gift from her mom. If she needed anything else, she had enough in Traveler's Checks to buy it.

Leaving the hostel and walking up Wardour Street, she quickly passed by the dirty looking men hanging around outside an adult theater, keeping her head down and ignoring their filthy remarks. Today's agenda included making her way to Trafalger Square, so she turned left at Old Compton and headed up to Charing Cross Road. She was planning on spending the day sightseeing and scrounging through the street's second-hand bookshops.

After spending the morning taking photos of Trafalger Square and the surrounding attractions, Emma made her way down Charing Cross Road. It was famous for its used bookstores. The desk clerk had told her about a nice little sandwich shop where she could grab an inexpensive lunch. She was looking down at a map as she walked. Suddenly, she was jarred to awareness by collision with a tall man dressed all in black.

"Steady now," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Emma looked up to see a pair of black eyes staring down at her. For a split second, she caught a look of annoyance in them, but they quickly changed to shock and then an amused expression came over his face. He had the kind of face that made it impossible to gauge his age. He could have been anywhere from twenty to his early thirties. She could not call him handsome, but, with his long, black hair pulled back, he was possessed of a certain brand of attractiveness. And he was tall. Of course, at five foot four in heels, nearly everyone was taller than Emma, but this guy must be at least six foot three or four. Emma didn't even make it up to his shoulders. Suddenly, he smiled sarcastically, and Emma had the strange idea that he knew her thoughts. She flushed and stepped back quickly, but he did not remove his hands from her.

"I'm...I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Obviously," he said. He stared deeply into her eyes again. Emma felt vaguely unsettled by the stare and tried to break off the contact, but could not. "You're an American," he said finally.

"Yes, I'm trying to find a sandwich shop someone told me about. He marked it on this map. It was supposed to be right about here."

"That place closed down a few weeks ago. There's another the next block up on the other side. I was just going there myself," he lied smoothly. "Let me show you."

He kept one hand firmly around her arm as Emma, speechless, allowed him to propel her up the street. He walked so swiftly that she had to nearly run to keep up. After a few minutes, they were walking through the door. There was an empty table for two near the window. He finally released her arm and walked over to it. He pulled out one of the chairs and looked at her. "Sit," he said, making it sound more like an order than a request.

Emma slid her backpack off her shoulder and sat, removing the camera from around her neck and placing it on the windowsill. She looked at him nervously as he took the seat across from her. He was still staring at her with that look of sarcastic amusement. She had the distinct impression that he was toying with her. Seconds passed. Finally, Emma decided she had to say something. "My name is Emma," she said softly.

"So Emma, what are you doing wandering around London all by yourself at your age?"

"I'm eighteen," she said defensively. "I graduated from high school last month. My best friend and I were supposed to come together, but at the last minute she couldn't go, so I came alone."

"And your mother, she actually permitted this?"

"I'd already paid for the trip, so we thought it best if I just left as planned." She silently wondered why he'd said mother instead of parents.

"Your mother should be more vigilant. I should think the safety of one's pretty little daughter would be more important than losing a $1500 stay in a youth hostel. One never knows what kind of people one might...run into."

Emma started. "How did you know--"

"Where you were staying and how much the trip cost?" he asked, sitting back in his chair and smiling. "It's simple deduction, my dear Emma. You're young, and you're carrying all your belongings around in that backpack. If you were at a decent hotel, you wouldn't have to do that. And, $1500 is the going rate for a summer's stay in those establishments. I take it you're in the one on Wardour Street?"

By now, the waitress had come over. He turned his attention to her and said, "The lady will have iced tea, unsweetened, with lemon, and the egg salad on whole wheat with lettuce, but hold the tomato. I'll just have coffee, black."

"Okay, how did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Know what I was going to order. How did you know I don't eat tomatoes?"

"Maybe I can read minds," he said silkily.

"Really, then what am I thinking right now?" she asked.

"Really, Emma, I've never heard such language from such a young girl. I'm shocked."

Emma looked down and smiled. She had been mentally telling him to screw off, but he was, most likely, just intuitive enough to guess that. Then she realized that she still had no idea who he was. "So, as I failed mind reading in high school, how about telling me something about you?"

"My name is Severus, and I am twenty-two years old. I have just accepted a teaching position at a private school in Scotland starting this September."

"Severus," she whispered, as if she was savoring the sound of it on her tongue. "I've never heard that name before. It's nice," she said. Then she blushed and added, "Congratulations on the job. What do you teach?" she asked, as the waitress returned with their beverages.

Severus took a sip of his coffee. Then, setting the cup back on the table, he smiled and said "Chemistry," his voice betraying a secret delight at some obscure, private joke.

The waitress returned with their order and she began to eat her sandwich. Severus watched her. She was a pretty enough girl, dark-haired, but it was her eyes that had stopped him from saying something rude when she had bumped into him on the street. They were a beautiful emerald green. She had Lily's eyes. The response they had caused in him had been sudden, unstoppable.

This young Muggle girl intrigued Severus like nobody else had for years. She was, he knew, an innocent. She had no conception that evil existed in this world. Already so deeply immersed in it himself, he was surprised to find that he was enjoying this little encounter with someone so...what was the word? Pure. He let his eyes wander down to her breasts, their rounded curves straining suggestively against the little yellow striped top she wore. He imagined, for a moment, having her in his bed.

Emma noticed where his eyes were directed and flushed. She couldn't find it in her to become annoyed though. He was so darkly attractive and his voice was like silk, his British accent the stuff of many an American girl's dreams. And, he was the very first man who had ever looked at her like a lover. His gaze made her feel, for the first time in her life, that she was actually desirable. When he stared into her eyes, she felt drawn to him, mesmerized.

"Are you from London?" she asked.

"No, my home is in the north, in Manchester. I'm in London to purchase supplies for my classroom. Then I will be traveling by train to take them to the school so I can get my classroom and my chambers ready for classes to begin."

All of this was true enough. Dumbledore had provided him with enough Wizard gold to purchase whatever he needed for his Potions classes in Diagon Alley. Because his father had been a Muggle, Severus could slip in and out of both worlds with alacrity. Although in the Wizard world, Severus' finances left a lot to be desired, his father's death in an industrial accident had led to the factory offering a rather nice settlement. The man had been a violent, abusive drunk and Severus had not mourned his death.

Severus' mother had been a weak woman. She was a witch, able to do anything she wanted by magic, but she'd allowed Tobias Snape to bully and control her. Then, after he'd died, she had mourned herself into an early grave during Severus' sixth year at Hogwarts. Luckily, he had been seventeen, with a house and enough Muggle money to see him through, so he had not ended up in some Muggle orphanage.

Severus redirected his attention back across the table at his quarry. It was only July second. He had plenty of time to get those supplies up to Hogwarts, he thought. He could just portkey them there and get things organized later. Seducing Emma would be a pleasant diversion. Muggle women were so easily manipulated. He could use Legilimency to discover their desires, weaknesses and fears and exploit them.

He already knew that Emma was ashamed of being illegitmate and poor. She did not think very much of her looks, which was ridiculous because she was rather pretty in a quiet sort of way. She might be small, but her waist and hips were trim and those breasts were to die for. And then there were those eyes. Although she put on a good show of bravado, she was lonely and very much frightened of being alone here in London. And, despite the fact that her common sense was telling her to run, she was attracted to him. Then, of course, that little potion he'd come up with in his sixth year could always be used to make even the most recalcitrant girl more cooperative, if needed.

Severus suddenly reached across the table placed his hand over hers on the table, his thumb lightly stroking the expanse of skin between her thumb and forefinger. "You know, I am all alone here in London too," he said. "What do you think of the two of us being alone together over the next several days?"

Emma did not answer for a few seconds. She stared down at his hand as he continued to touch her. That simple, innocent touch was causing a chain reaction in her body that she had never felt. She felt the heat of desire rise up from the pit of her stomach and her face flushed. She realized that he was waiting for an answer. Half of her brain was screaming at her to say no, to get up and run out of there as quickly as possible. She was out of her depth with this man and she knew it. But, against her better senses, she heard herself finally say, "All right, that would be nice."