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The Overlooked by ChristineX [Reviews - 5]

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From the diary of Celeste Jenkins:

July 1, 1996

My hands are shaking as I write this. I’d like to say that it’s simply because I’m still trying to process the idea that I have relatives out there, that I’m not as completely alone in the world as I thought I was. Or perhaps it’s the fact that all those gaps in my memory weren’t caused by some deficiency in my brain, but rather by a series of spells cast on me by my parents in a desperate attempt to hide me and my burgeoning powers from this Dark Wizard, this Lord Voldemort.

If only it were that simple.

The day went well enough. Diagon Alley is beyond fascinating, and I regret the fact that I only got to see one shop and one pub -- and even the Leaky Cauldron isn’t strictly in Diagon Alley itself, but sort of straddling the two worlds, as it were, with its main façade fronting on Charing Cross Road. To think that everyone I saw there was a witch or a wizard, or some other sort of magical being! The bones of my right hand still feel faintly crushed by Hagrid’s overwhelming grip; it amazes me to think that he’s half giant. Of course, that makes me wonder which parent was the giant. Perhaps I should ask Severus the next time I see him.

Bugger...

Well, first things first. I am now the proud owner of a wand -- a really lovely thing carved from beech, with some pretty detail work about the handle that looks like stylized leaves winding around the grip. And the bloody thing actually does work; I still doubted that I had any sort of magical abilities, but just following Severus’ instructions, I was able to levitate all sorts of objects. This is the first spell taught at his school, apparently. He wants to start me out with the basics, but by necessity there will be large gaps in what he shows me, simply because there’s no way I can possibly get caught up on everything taught during seven school years over this brief span of time we’ll have together. During dinner Severus mentioned that the fall term always starts at Hogwarts on September first, so that’s all the time we have.

I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. Quite beyond the fact that I’m now feeling extra pressure to absorb as much as I can as quickly as possible, part of me is also dismayed that our time together has such a definite end cap.

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.

I planned quite a lovely dinner, and although I didn’t want to admit it to myself as I shopped for everything, the care with which I put the meal together indicated that I wanted to impress Severus. Although Fiona calls it a tedious bore, I’ve always enjoyed cooking. It’s such an art form, really, and I find the preparation sort of relaxing in an odd way. The cleanup is another story, unfortunately.

We did have somewhat of a sticky moment when Severus let slip that he had erased some of my memories after our first meeting. That made me unbelievably angry -- how dare he muck around in my mind? -- but he did try to explain that he’d only done it out of concern for my safety. In the end, though, I needed to reassure myself of his intentions my own way, by seeing his thoughts and memories of the incident.

He was reluctant, but I think he could tell I meant business. So he let me take his hand and enter his thoughts.

I think I mentioned in one of my earlier entries how beautiful I thought his hands were. I tend to notice things like that -- hands can be so eloquent in their way, and his were as long-fingered and strong as a concert pianist’s. He’s so stiff and dour most of the time that for some reason I had assumed his fingers would be cold, but they felt warm and strong under mine.

And then I went into his mind.

Immediately I could tell he was hiding things from me, and I can’t fault him for that; he’s certainly not the sort of person who wants or needs to reveal all of himself. But I could see the scene through his eyes: The sudden look of terror on my face. The unthinking instinct that led him to move forward and catch me as I fainted. The sight of me lying in his arms, and then on the couch, where he placed me so carefully. And overriding everything the worry that the words of prophecy which had spilled from my lips might have put me in mortal danger. I understood then that my vision was somehow connected to Lord Voldemort, and Severus had only acted as he did in a desperate attempt to protect me.

I withdrew from his mind after that. He’d looked at me in concern, and I’d hastened to reassure him that he hadn’t destroyed my trust in him. Although he’d remained expressionless as usual, I sensed a slight lessening of a tension I hadn’t even known was there. So he did care a little about what I thought of him.

By that time dinner was almost ready, so I told him to choose a bottle of wine and then get himself out of the kitchen while I finished the last little bits. I don’t mind having someone around while I’m doing the actual cooking, but things tend to get a little frenzied at the last minute, and it’s just easier for me to work without having to worry about tripping over anyone.

I’d set the table in the dining room before Severus even arrived; again, it was just one of those things that makes the meal go so much more smoothly if it’s done in advance. He waited for me there, the bottle of burgundy he’d chosen already opened and breathing. How he got it open, I don’t know, since I hadn’t brought out the corkscrew yet, but I suppose that sort of thing is child’s play for an accomplished magician such as Severus.

After I set the food down and took my seat to Severus’ right -- I’d seated him at the head of the table, guest of honor and all that -- we ate for a few minutes in silence. Not an awkward one, actually; we were both probably just hungry. At least I know I was, even though I’d taken the precaution of eating a larger lunch than I normally would, since I hadn’t known at the time how long we would be out. Somehow I had the feeling that Severus was the sort of person who often forgot about eating if he had more important matters occupying his mind. Maybe performing magic doesn’t sap his energy the way it does mine; by the time dinner was ready, I felt as if could have eaten both steaks myself.

But after I had satisfied my raging appetite enough to indulge in conversation, I asked, “So how long have you taught at Hogwarts?”

“Sixteen years,” he replied.

I had gotten the impression that he had been there for a while, but still the answer surprised me. Again I wondered how old he was. I knew better than to ask such an impertinent question, however. Instead, I inquired, “Do you enjoy it?”

A quick black glance was my only reply, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a muffled snort.

Well, I should have known that Severus Snape wasn’t exactly the sort of instructor who took much joy in his pupils -- I’d gathered as much from the little bit I’d seen of his mind that first time I’d done a reading with him. But I’m nothing if not persistent. Ignoring the baleful look he cast in my direction, I said, “Then why teach there, if you don’t like what you do? I would think that there must be many wonderful things one could do in the magical world.”

“Perhaps...for some,” he said, his tone even blacker than his eyes. “Hogwarts suits my needs, Miss Jenkins.”

So he was back to that, was he? I noticed that any time I tried to get too personal, I received some sort of rebuff; in this case, his use of the formal address surely meant I had strayed into forbidden territory.

I refused to let the conversation die there. Of course I respected his boundaries -- one couldn’t do the sort of work I do without understanding that people need some privacy, even if they do end up revealing all sorts of personal details in the end. But it’s up to them to decide how much. In Severus’ case, I guessed that meant little or none at all. Surely, though, he wouldn’t mind discussing magic in a more neutral way.

“So how does magic really work?” I asked. “Why do certain words seem to act as a focus? Obviously there’s much more to a spell than a mere verbal component, or things would be flying across the room every time a magically gifted person opened his mouth.”

For a second I thought I saw a glimmer of grudging respect in Severus’ dark eyes. “That question has been debated since wizard-kind began,” he replied. “It is true that wizard-born children begin to manifest their gifts fairly early on, for the most part. How early varies from child to child -- I began performing simple levitations as young as six.”

My brain made a desperate attempt to imagine Severus as a young boy and didn’t get much farther than visualizing that horrid mop of black hair atop some sort of outlandish Little Lord Fauntleroy ensemble. To avoid bursting into laughter, I took a swallow of burgundy. “Is that common?” I inquired, once I was sure my voice sounded reasonably steady.

“Not particularly, but not unprecedented.” He paused for a moment, a piece of my mother’s good silver drooping gracefully from his left hand. “Often it depends on the level of magic ability of the person in question. I doubt that certain of my dunderheaded students did much of anything magical before attending Hogwarts.”

“They can’t all be that bad,” I protested, feeling a little sorry for those unknown pupils of his.

The scowl he gave me left no question as to what he thought of my remark. But I wasn’t one of his students -- well, not officially, anyway -- and I wasn’t about to let him think he could intimidate me in such a fashion. Lifting a piece of steak to my mouth, I took a bite and chewed thoughtfully before I said anything. Then I set down my fork and commented, “Perhaps you’re a little too hard on people.”

“Indeed?” His eyes narrowed. “I would say that one learns from experience, Miss Jenkins. Perhaps you have simply led such a sheltered existence that you’ve had nothing to ruffle your halcyon view of the universe.”

“Oh, yes,” I retorted. “My sheltered, perfect life that involved my parents lying to me about who I really was, who they actually were! My sunny existence that led me to have to identify their bodies in the morgue after the car accident because there were no other known relatives to do it! Have you ever had to do such a thing, Severus?”

Silence then, as he stared at me for a moment. Then I saw perhaps the slightest bit of softening in the hard lines of his mouth. But I also noticed the bleak look in his eyes. Perhaps he had never gone through exactly what I had, but somewhere in his past lay buried a great deal of pain. Obscurely, that realization made me wish I could find some way to reach out to him, to let him know that he wasn’t the only one who had suffered.

I wasn’t brave enough for that yet. I guessed that any overture which smacked of the slightest sympathy would most likely meet with a chilly reception.

“No,” he said at length. “I have never had to do that.”

And the way he said the phrase made me wonder what sort of horrible things he had been forced to do over the years. Something a good deal worse than dealing with slow-witted students or grading piles of sub-par essays, I imagined.

Feeling somewhat deflated, I just murmured, “Well, then,” and dug back into my meal.

We ate in silence for a bit, both of us preoccupied and edgy. I had hoped this meal would go better, but I should have known that things would never run smoothly around as prickly a personality as Severus Snape. Really, what had I been thinking, anyway? That I would impress him with my domestic-goddess routine? So far he’d not given any indication that he was even enjoying the food I’d prepared -- he ate almost mechanically, like a man who knows that he needs to ingest some sustenance to keep going but who pays very little attention to what’s actually going into his mouth.

“It’s very good,” Severus said abruptly. “I suppose I should have told you that earlier.”

Startled, I gave him a wary glance. Had he said that merely because some instinct had told him that it was good manners to do so, or had he somehow picked up the stray thoughts from my mind?

His eyes met mine for a second, and I saw him smile for the first time. Oh, it wasn’t much of a smile, just a little lift at the corners of his mouth, but at least it proved two things. First, that he actually was capable of smiling, and second, that he did possess teeth. I’d been beginning to wonder.

“I’m not practicing Legilimency now,” he said, his tone dry. “No need for that, when someone has as easy a face to read as you do.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to work on that,” I replied.

But that was enough. From then on, the tone of the evening lightened considerably. We talked a little about Hogwarts, and then I inquired as to his plans for my next lesson. He explained a bit about Defense charms, which would be the next order of business. After he had assured himself that I could manage at least rudimentary self-defense, then we would move on to the actual practice of Occlumency.

And as he spoke I listened intently, attentive not just to what he was saying but how he was saying it. Despite his cool, businesslike manner of speaking, I could tell he really did care about the practice of magic, in all its intricacies. Perhaps his impatience with his students lay not so much in the fact that he believed them all to be dunderheads, but more that he felt they weren’t living up to their potential. That annoyance I could understand. So many times I’ve felt during the various readings I’ve performed that people had the ability to do so much more. But they allow themselves to be trapped by self-imposed limitations and never accomplish even half what they’re capable of.

The other thing I’ve learned is that the individual who is hard on others is often doubly hard on himself....

I watched Severus speak and listened to that gorgeous black-honey voice of his, feeling myself fall under its spell. No magic there, though, except perhaps the normal kind that happens sometimes between a man and a woman. What a nice mouth he had, after all -- his lips were thin, but beautifully sculpted, and though his lower teeth were a bit crooked, I found their asymmetry charming somehow. And with a slight shiver I recalled his memory of catching me when I fainted, the way he had been unable to ignore the brush of my hair against his hands, the weight of my body in his arms...no, he was not quite as indifferent as he chose to appear, this Severus Snape.

Then he broke off in the middle of a comment about the Expelliarmus Charm, giving a small wince as if something had pained him. His right hand touched the tight black wool sleeve that covered his left forearm.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said immediately, although somehow I got the impression that he wasn’t telling me the truth. “It’s time I went, though.”

“Now?” For although we had eaten most of our meal, still half the bottle of burgundy remained, and I had made a sticky toffee pudding for dessert.

“Yes,” Severus said again, then stood and placed his napkin on the table next to his plate.

“Well, erm, all right,” I said, feeling a little idiotic but unable to come up with a good enough excuse to keep him from running off. I got the feeling that an offering of sticky toffee pudding wasn’t going to do it.

“Thank you for dinner,” he went on, formal as ever, even as he moved out of the dining room and out into the hallway. I wasn’t sure why -- perhaps he thought that Disapparating directly out of the room where we had eaten would be rude.

“But when will I see you again?” I asked, wishing I didn’t sound so desperate. “I mean, we still have to do that Expelliarmus thingy -- ”

“Later this week, I’m sure,” he replied. “I’ll send you -- ”

“Don’t send me an owl again,” I cut in. “One was bad enough. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to explain a bloody owl on your doorstep?”

He almost smiled. Almost. “I will contrive some other way to send you a note.”

“Yes, we have something for that. It’s called the mail.”

Of course he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he replied, “I’ll consider it.”

And then for a moment we just looked at one another. Part of my brain whispered, Just kiss him goodbye and see what happens! Luckily, my rational side won out, and I only remained rooted in place as he stepped away from me and whirled into nothingness. At least, that’s what it looked like on my end. One second he was turning, a flash of black robes, and then he was gone. I was left standing there, as I stared at the spot on the Persian runner where he had stood only seconds before and wondered exactly what had just happened.

After a few moments I wandered back into the dining room and began to mechanically stack the plates on top of one another. HBC strolled in, sniffing the air.

“Like I’m going to give you any leftover steak, you wretched brat,” I said.

Of course she knew me better than that. I took everything into the kitchen, cut the little bits of leftover meat into even smaller bite-sized morsels, and then scooped them into HBC’s bowl. At least the kitchen did have a dishwasher -- my father had it put in during my first year of secondary school -- so the cleanup wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still, the mindless tasks did nothing to keep my brain from churning through the evening and trying to figure out when things had changed.

When I was done in the kitchen, I went out to the front parlor and switched on the stereo, but a few seconds of listening convinced me that Nirvana would do nothing to improve my mental state. Instead, I stopped the CD player and pulled out the disc, then put in one of Glenn Gould playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations. My father had always loved that CD.

Then I pulled out this diary and began writing away. The diary’s always been my defense against my “blank spots” -- that’s what I used to call them when I was younger, and although now I know that they weren’t caused by anything wrong with my own mind, still the habit’s been set. I suppose it’s a good idea, anyway; one tends to forget all the details after a while, and if you write a thing down while it’s still fresh in your mind, you’ll have it with you forever.

If only I knew what I should write.

Is it even possible that I could be falling for a dour, lank-haired wizard named Severus Snape? What the hell am I thinking? I’ve never been one of those “love at first sight” sorts of girls -- a man has to earn my respect before I’ll even consider having those kinds of feelings for him. I suppose that’s what upset me the most about Alex. I was careful, I made him work for it -- and then I finally let him in when I thought I knew him, and he broke my heart anyway. So this thing with Severus has come on slowly, I know. After all, even if I can admit here that I’m attracted to him, he isn’t exactly the sort to inspire wild, instant passion.

But I find that I miss him now that he’s gone. I want to know what is so painful about his past, and why he’s so closed off. Oh, that sounds like rubbish when I write it down. I see women do silly things because of men every day, and I’ve always prided myself on not being the type to run after emotionally unavailable men just because I need a challenge or think I can change who they are.

I don’t want to change Severus. It’s because he is who he is that I find myself attracted to him. He’s brilliant, after all. I can’t abide dull men. And that voice -- those fascinating creases over his eyes -- the shape of his mouth....

Oh, bugger. I really am in trouble, aren’t I?

And what scares me the most is the fact that, although I know deep down he feels some sort of attraction to me, I’m worried he’ll never allow himself to act on it. I know I don’t dare say or do anything until I’m fairly certain I won’t be rebuffed in the very worst way. I couldn’t bear that.

Scratch that. The idea of rejection frightens me, but of more immediate concern is the fact that very soon he’ll be training me in Occlumency. Just the thought that he’ll be trying to get into my mind and may be able to detect these feelings is enough to turn my stomach into knots.

On the other hand, I now have a very good incentive to become the best Occlumency student Severus Snape has ever seen....

The Overlooked by ChristineX [Reviews - 5]

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