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Bibliomancer by bibliomancer [Reviews - 2]

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Professor Snape collapsed on a park bench, scattering a flock of pigeons. He had been at it all day, walking to and fro across the the city. Who knew that finding a women would prove so difficult?


That morning, he had commenced his search at the Cambridge University Registrar's Office, expecting a quick victory. He confirmed that, many years ago, Adoxa's grandfather had been an archivist at the school. When Snape asked if Dr. Muir had left a forwarding address, the young clerk at the office tapped a few keys on his Muggle contraption, peered at its screen and informed Snape that, regrettably, Dr. Muir was deceased.


Unperturbed, the Potions Master continued his search. On a street corner, he located a call box, recalling from his boyhood that phone books were often available inside. Searching under 'M', he found a full page of 'Muir's, which he guiltily tore from the book.


The remainder of the day he spent lurking around corners and behind bushes, opening his mind to any trace of her magic, wherever he went. Spying outside posh flats, dingy terraced houses and quaint cottages, Snape observed the comings and goings of every sort of Muir. Young, old. Rich, poor. But nowhere did he find Adoxa.


As day turned to evening, he admitted the futility of his search. Why would the girl live in Cambridge, with her grandfather long since dead? Perhaps she had moved to London or worse yet, abroad?


With an irritated sigh, Snape rose from the park bench and pulled his coat tightly around him.


“Curse my luck,” he muttered, glancing up at the greying sky.


Sure enough, a frigid droplet of water hit his forehead, followed by a second and a third. They trickled down the bridge of his nose, landing on his upper lip, which turned down in a sneer.


Seeking cover from the impending downpour, Snape scanned the street. A rundown commercial area, most of the shops were closed for the day and a few, for good. Beyond a dodgy old pub, replete with a huddle of unsavoury characters out front, was another shop. And this one was open.


Racing across the cobblestone street, he avoided the gathering and pressed on toward the illuminated windows. In range of the shop's sign, he paused, dumbstruck.


“Curiosities & Muir. Purveyor of Rare and Magical Books,” Snape read and reread, for good measure, questioning his own sanity. For a moment, he could have sworn that it said …


“Magical books,” he repeated, hopelessly confused.


The rain was coming down in thick sheets, plastering his long, black hair to his scalp and soaking through his heavy coat. With no alternative in sight, save for the undesirable pub, he rushed toward the bookshop.


A sorry, soggy heap of a man, he burst through the door, setting the bell ringing.


Without glancing up from her accounts ledger, a woman working behind the counter at the back of the shop stated crispy, “I shall be closing up soon.”


As Snape took one step forward, the woman raised her eyes and dropped her fountain pen in shock. Closing the ledger, she stepped out from behind the counter.


She had glossy, black hair, wound into a classic chignon, as black as her eyes, which were framed by long, dark lashes. Her skin was pale. A delicate nose and faintly pink lips, held in a shocked expression, matched the arc of her thin brows. She wore a long, slim, black skirt and a knit, black sweater set. On her feet, a pair of pointy-toed stiletto boots disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt, completing the ensemble.


Blinking, the women walked sedately toward the drenched Potions Master, her initial reaction masked by a cool veneer.


“Professor Snape,” she stated plainly.


“Miss … Muir?”


She nodded, eyeing his soaking attire with contempt.


“I ...” Snape hesitated, “I have been searching for you.”


“Is that so?” she replied calmly.


“Indeed.” He straightened his coat, trying to preserve his dignity.


“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, cocking her head slightly to the side.


This was not the reception that Snape had imagined. In retrospect, he didn't know what sort of reception he had expected. Another few moments with this cold woman and he would soon wish that he had never embarked on this ridiculous search.


“I found something of yours,” he managed in his usual, firm tone. Reaching into his coat he found nothing and quickly added, “But I did not bring it with me, since I had not expected to find you.”


Taking another step forward, the woman mocked, “And whom did you expect to find? This is my shop, after all.”


“Quite,” Snape replied harshly. “I had managed to deduce that myself, Miss Muir.”


“But not before you set eyes on me,” she breathed, stepping closer.


“Obviously,” he responded, his gaze unwavering as he stared down at the women who had, unknowingly, bewitched his every waking moment since he had first opened her notebook.


Adoxa. Her melancholy prose, her perfectly-rendered illustrations, touched with magic and life, her wonderful self, standing within his reach. The pretty and unassuming girl from Hogwarts had grown into a reserved, darkly beautiful woman of uncommon poise. And clearly, she despised him.


“Whatever it is that you have come to do or say,” she said, stepping past him and walking to the door, “it will have to wait until tomorrow.” With that, she flipped the sign to 'Closed' and began lowering dark shades over the lead glass windows.


The Potions Master stood gaping in the centre of the room. Adoxa hated him, alright. Just like everyone else. All those amorous journal entries and flattering sketches must have been nothing more than a schoolgirl prank or, at best, a long-forgotten whim. He had given her a 'T', she hated him and that was the end of it.


Turning on his heel, Professor Snape strode toward the door where Adoxa waited impatiently.


“I regret that my unexpected visit has troubled you, Miss Muir. Please rest assured that, tomorrow, I shall restore to you that which is rightfully yours. Afterward, I shall not darken the door of your establishment again.”


With a curt nod, Snape reached for the door knob and, sparing no final glance at the woman, stepped into the pouring rain.


Adoxa closed the door behind him and walked stiffly to the back of the shop, where she collapsed into a chair. From the pocket of her cardigan, she withdrew a white handkerchief and dabbed at the tears threatening to dribble down her cheeks. The old grandfather clock in the corner showed ten on its dark face and Adoxa waited, sad and alone.


Bibliomancer by bibliomancer [Reviews - 2]

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