[fic] Knightsbridge
Aug. 28th, 2009 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
babygrayA Harry Potter fic...
Title: Knightsbridge
Author:![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
babygray
Pairing: Severus/Female OC, Harry/Ginny, missed Snarry
Warnings: Typos. No beta. Implied het sex. Mild prostitution.
Disclaimer: This is just fanfiction, non-profit and just for fun.
Notes: I actually did research for this short little thing. Yes, I think that's amazing, too. Mostly, though, I just pulled out names from home and was pleasantly pleased to find their London equivalents perfect for the scenario. Also, if I cared enough, I'll probably write some more, with some actual Snarry and more explicit backstory. But, yeah...
Word Count: 860
Summary: Snape loses a customer and runs into a former student.
He rubbed some lotion into the inflammation on his neck, gritting his teeth against the sting.
"You know what I love?" the girl on the bed said. Her reflection in the mirror was stretched out on her belly, with her feet up in the air. She was flipping through a thick magazine. The glossy pages were brightly colored and unreadable in this light and at this angle. "I love going out for breakfast."
"Is that right?" he said, disinterested.
"In fact," she said, lifting herself into a sitting position. The oversized shirt she wore barely covered her thighs. "I thought you and I could go and get ourselves something to eat. It doesn't have to be anything special."
He wiped his hands of the lotion and readjusted the collar of his button-down, taking care to hide the scars on his neck. "I have other plans," he said.
"Marcus," she pouted, sliding off the bed and onto her feet.
"I knew it was a mistake to stay the night," he said. "Believe me when I say that it will never happen again."
She came up behind him and placed her manicured hands on his shoulders. "I know that this... relationship was not a romantic one at first, but I like you." She was on her toes, reaching up to touch his jaw with her lips. "We can be pretty good together."
"You are functioning under a delusion, Sylvia," he said, gently removing her hands from his person. "I think it's best if we do not see each other after today."
She looked up at his face. She was remarkably young with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a heart-breakingly naive expression. "You're young," he said, "intelligent, and fairly well-off. And even if you weren't, I would never let you settle for an old man like myself."
"Old?" Sylvia said. "You said you were 29."
"Goodbye, Sylvia," he said.
He let himself out of Sylvia's apartment. He hated losing a customer.
~~~
He walked to Knightsbridge, hoping the short stroll through Kensington would clear his mind, but there was no peace to be found in this part of London. The crowds were milling about, moving in and out of the high-end stores, leaving very little space for him and his thoughts.
It had been a while since a client thought of wanting more than he would ever offered. It was a pitfall of providing his services to a small group of individuals, especially when the individuals were of the female persuasion. Sooner or later, they begin to develop romantic notions completely unrelated to their arrangement, and it was time to move on.
It was oddly warm, and the nape of his neck was uncomfortably damp as he skirted around the clusters of shoppers and tourists, taking care to keep his head down and his expression dour. He would have to go to speak to Mrs. Northhart if she was willing to sell a few of his things on the next market day, as well as to speak to Aileen concerning their rendezvous that evening. The loss of Sylvia's patronage was substantial, but not insurmountable. A few weeks of hard work would negate any loss income.
He crashed against a body, nearly knocking him off of his feet as well as lossing his breath. The other person grabbed his arm, keeping him from colliding against another person and saving him from a bone-jarring fall onto the ground. The other person pulled him close. He could smell the sweat and soap on the man.
"Are you alright?" the man said as he pulled away. He made a show of dusting his front.
"I'm fine, thank you," he said, lifting his head to look at the other man's face only to curse his mistake in doing so.
He knew the other man's face, as well as he knew his own. The glasses were more stylish and the hair was shorter, but the eyes were as green as his mother's and his chin was as sharp as his father's. He looked mildly concerned, which was a good sign. It did not stop his arms from being covered in gooseflesh.
"I'm sorry," Harry Potter said, staring right into his eyes. He peered a bit closer. "Are you sure you're alright?"
He brushed away the concern. "I said I was fine, P-" he said, biting back the man's name before he completely forgot himself. First, he lost a customer, now he was losing control of his senses just because he stumbled into a former student. He pushed away from Potter, nearly crashing into the redheaded woman with him in his haste. "Good day," he said over his shoulder.
He felt the man's eyes on him all the way to the cold, musty entrance to the Tube. Only when he was long away from Knightsbridge did he exhaled, a tense relief replacing the tense fear of Potter recognizing the man he had accidently run into was a man that had been dead for over five years.
That he had, accidentally or otherwise, run into Severus Snape...
... to be continued? Uh...
Title: Knightsbridge
Author:
babygrayPairing: Severus/Female OC, Harry/Ginny, missed Snarry
Warnings: Typos. No beta. Implied het sex. Mild prostitution.
Disclaimer: This is just fanfiction, non-profit and just for fun.
Notes: I actually did research for this short little thing. Yes, I think that's amazing, too. Mostly, though, I just pulled out names from home and was pleasantly pleased to find their London equivalents perfect for the scenario. Also, if I cared enough, I'll probably write some more, with some actual Snarry and more explicit backstory. But, yeah...
Word Count: 860
Summary: Snape loses a customer and runs into a former student.
He rubbed some lotion into the inflammation on his neck, gritting his teeth against the sting.
"You know what I love?" the girl on the bed said. Her reflection in the mirror was stretched out on her belly, with her feet up in the air. She was flipping through a thick magazine. The glossy pages were brightly colored and unreadable in this light and at this angle. "I love going out for breakfast."
"Is that right?" he said, disinterested.
"In fact," she said, lifting herself into a sitting position. The oversized shirt she wore barely covered her thighs. "I thought you and I could go and get ourselves something to eat. It doesn't have to be anything special."
He wiped his hands of the lotion and readjusted the collar of his button-down, taking care to hide the scars on his neck. "I have other plans," he said.
"Marcus," she pouted, sliding off the bed and onto her feet.
"I knew it was a mistake to stay the night," he said. "Believe me when I say that it will never happen again."
She came up behind him and placed her manicured hands on his shoulders. "I know that this... relationship was not a romantic one at first, but I like you." She was on her toes, reaching up to touch his jaw with her lips. "We can be pretty good together."
"You are functioning under a delusion, Sylvia," he said, gently removing her hands from his person. "I think it's best if we do not see each other after today."
She looked up at his face. She was remarkably young with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a heart-breakingly naive expression. "You're young," he said, "intelligent, and fairly well-off. And even if you weren't, I would never let you settle for an old man like myself."
"Old?" Sylvia said. "You said you were 29."
"Goodbye, Sylvia," he said.
He let himself out of Sylvia's apartment. He hated losing a customer.
He walked to Knightsbridge, hoping the short stroll through Kensington would clear his mind, but there was no peace to be found in this part of London. The crowds were milling about, moving in and out of the high-end stores, leaving very little space for him and his thoughts.
It had been a while since a client thought of wanting more than he would ever offered. It was a pitfall of providing his services to a small group of individuals, especially when the individuals were of the female persuasion. Sooner or later, they begin to develop romantic notions completely unrelated to their arrangement, and it was time to move on.
It was oddly warm, and the nape of his neck was uncomfortably damp as he skirted around the clusters of shoppers and tourists, taking care to keep his head down and his expression dour. He would have to go to speak to Mrs. Northhart if she was willing to sell a few of his things on the next market day, as well as to speak to Aileen concerning their rendezvous that evening. The loss of Sylvia's patronage was substantial, but not insurmountable. A few weeks of hard work would negate any loss income.
He crashed against a body, nearly knocking him off of his feet as well as lossing his breath. The other person grabbed his arm, keeping him from colliding against another person and saving him from a bone-jarring fall onto the ground. The other person pulled him close. He could smell the sweat and soap on the man.
"Are you alright?" the man said as he pulled away. He made a show of dusting his front.
"I'm fine, thank you," he said, lifting his head to look at the other man's face only to curse his mistake in doing so.
He knew the other man's face, as well as he knew his own. The glasses were more stylish and the hair was shorter, but the eyes were as green as his mother's and his chin was as sharp as his father's. He looked mildly concerned, which was a good sign. It did not stop his arms from being covered in gooseflesh.
"I'm sorry," Harry Potter said, staring right into his eyes. He peered a bit closer. "Are you sure you're alright?"
He brushed away the concern. "I said I was fine, P-" he said, biting back the man's name before he completely forgot himself. First, he lost a customer, now he was losing control of his senses just because he stumbled into a former student. He pushed away from Potter, nearly crashing into the redheaded woman with him in his haste. "Good day," he said over his shoulder.
He felt the man's eyes on him all the way to the cold, musty entrance to the Tube. Only when he was long away from Knightsbridge did he exhaled, a tense relief replacing the tense fear of Potter recognizing the man he had accidently run into was a man that had been dead for over five years.
That he had, accidentally or otherwise, run into Severus Snape...
... to be continued? Uh...
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