Dianthus Stories
Chapter Thirty One - Getting Comfortable
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Anything you
recognize belongs to someone else, namely, JK Rowling.
the HP universe, characters from same.
Sadly, I have no hope of publishing this story outside the fan fiction
characters I’ve created. Feel free to
give me critical feedback, including flames and harsh criticism.
personal embarrassment, but I do promise to read it and incorporate it if I
feel it improves the story.
*****
This is Chapter
Thirty One. This chapter contains no
smut. But fear not, sexual activity
reappears in Chapter Thirty Three, so if you’d like to, skip ahead.
bit confused if you don’t read the in-betweens.
*****
Chapter Thirty One
– Getting Comfortable
Dianthus met with
He showed her photos of several flats that he considered suitable.
high ceilings and large rooms. “Are you
sure?” Ogey said.
“It’s only got the one bedroom, and the master bathroom’s pretty
outdated.”
“But look at the
space, Ogey,” she said absently.
with me. I can put a huge bed in that
bedroom. I’ve never had a big bed,” she
hastened to add. “I’ve always wanted
one. I’ve always wanted my own private
retreat, like my grandmother had.” She>She
cast another admiring glance at the photo.
“This flat has character.”
“Well, now you
mention a bed, that’s our next step, Miss,” he said cheerily.
“Please call me
Dianthus,” she interrupted.
He smiled brightly
at her. “Alright, then – Dianthus it
is. As you know, your grandfather has
left you a trust, out of which my office will pay for the flat and your
education.” Dianthus nodded.
you as well.” She nodded again – she
knew all this. “However, I’m assuming
you would like for us to set you up a Gringott’s
account from the trust for your incidentals, furnishings, the
like?”
“Is – is that
allowed? I thought the trust had to sit
until Aster came of age, as well, anen ben be divided between the two of us.”
“It was originally
set up that way,” explained Ogey.
life, realized that having to sell the farm and most of your childhood
furnishings might make things rather…ah…difficult for you.
the money in the trust, beyond the allowance allocated for your housing and
schooling.”
Dianthus smiled,
touched at her grandfather’s foresight.
“Well, in that case, yes, please, let’s set up another
“Very
good.” He made a note on a piece
of parchment. “Now, that won’t take
long, I’ll send a man over to the goblins right away.
to start shopping for that big bed and whatever else you’ll need, dishes,
linens – unless you’ve already got some?”
“Some,” Dianthus
said. “Linens mostly,
some furniture from the house, a couple of dishes.
“Ah, yes, of
course.” He made another note.
we’ll have it all sent over directly.
You can move in whenever you’d like, I imagine – the flat has been
vacant for some time.”
Dianthus
considered. “How’s Wednesday?”
luxuriate in the hotel, before she had to start acting like a real adult.
“That should work
very well. I’ll have your belongings
delivered tomorrow, that way you can move right in.”
Dianthus spent
several days deciding on just the right bed.
She went to Muggle shops as well as wizarding ones, carefully examining
the available stock in each. It was true
that she’d never had a large bed – had never needed one.
side of extravagant, and she was willing to invest some time, even if her
impatient nature griped at the number of stores she visited.
She finally
decided on a large and heavy four-poster canopy, made of delicately carved
mahogany. She went with cream-colored
linens and beautiful opaque curtains to match.
No fewer than six plump pillows jostled for space along the
headboard. She layered the already cushy
mattress with a heavenly featherbed as well, and bought the softest, most
decadent blankets she could find, trimmed in silky bindings.
surrounded by the whisper-soft embrace of pure warm air.
herself out of in the morning, especially when she allowed herself to imagine
it was Snape burrowed next to her, rather than three pillows.
Of course, there
were other items she needed – cookware, dishes, ble,ble, bath things – the
shower didn’t run perfumed water, she’d quickly changed that – school supplies
for the upcoming term. Martine came to
stay for several days after Dianthus settled in on Wednesday (Dianthus was
immediately glad for the large bed, as Martine had always tended to thrash
around quite a bit in her sleep), and together they went on a fabulous shopping
spree – it felt to Dianthus as though they’d never finish discovering things
they “had” to have.
All the while,
Martine kept up a steady stream of conversation, mostly about Kevin
Dianthus finally, upon hearing once again how Melanie could hardly bear this
separation from him, and how she missed brushing his hair out of his green
eyes. It sounded to Dianthus as though
all he really needed was a haircut.
“Oh, I don’t
know,” tittered Martine. “He hasn’t
asked me. Could be I find something
better once I start my medi-wizardry coursework.”
Dianthus rolled
her eyes. “Don’t you love him?”
Melanie laughed
out loud. “For pity’s sake, Di, I don’t
know. I love being with him, that’s for
sure, but how can you know if you love someone, at our age?”
Dianthus shrugged
and said no more, running her thumb over the ring Snape had given her.
explanation that she’d gotten it in town – Martine had said only that she
thought it was a fantastic start to their shopping extravaganza.
“Really, Di, you
need your own owl,” complained Martine, as they exited the post office for the
third time that week, having just send long letters with updates to Erin and
Melanie – and of course, Martine’s two letters to Kevin.
“I don’t know…owls
are expensive…” Really, Dianthus felt
warm and sleepy, and just wanted to go home and take a nap.
“
mum and dad got her one ages ago, remember?
They can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah, well, I
don’t see you running out to Eeylop’s,”
“I’m not sitting
on a huge trust fund, am I?” teased Martine.
“Besides, with an owl, you can send a letter any old time, you don’t
have to run to the bloody post office and hope they’re open.”
“Oh, fine, if it
will shut you up,” grumbled Dianthus, and she allowed Martine to drag her to
They looked at practically every owl in the place before Dianthus
decided on a female Powerful Owl with bright yellow eyes.
“Pretty thing, but
it’d give me the creeps, if that owl stumbled on me at night,” whispered
Martine, as the shopkeeper bundled their purchases (owl treats, lots of them,
at Martine’s insistence) into wrapping paper.
“Hmm,” said
Dianthus, an idea coming to her. She
smiled broadly and said, “You know what Martine?
my own owl. It’ll make things so much
easier, all around.”
With Martine gone
Thursday night, in a whirlwind of hugs and kisses, Dianthus looked around her
apartment and thought they’d done well.
She’d set up a small lab in the corner of the living room, and there was
a casual couch and overstuffed chair set in the large open space in front of
the fireplace. She’d had to check with
it. She was increasingly grateful to the
old lawyer, as she’d already received several updates on Aster’s activities,
and felt much more at ease about the whole situation with her sister.
The kitchen was
still a bit lacking – Dianthus had never been much of a cook, so it was really
just the basics in there: her
grandfather’s teapot, a few pots and pans, a recipe book Martine had forced her
to buy. Some good things were stored in
the high cupboards for the day she needed them.
She idly paged through the recipe book, noting with some disgust the
number of recipes that seemed to take hours to prepare.
presence – her sister was a wonderful and inventive cook, and enjoyed it to
boot.
The bedroom was
what made the whole flat, really. It was
huge, and Dianthus had taken advantage of the space.
didn’t seem crowded in the cavernous room.
Another overstuffed chair sat next to the old desk from her
grandfather’s library, along with the books she’d chosen to keep, nestled in an
antique bookshelf. In one corner sat her
grandmother’s vanity, along with the mirror Dianthus had spent months cajoling,
hoping to learn how to curl her hair with magic.
room, and she lit them now as she approached the huge desk, intending to get
started on Snape’s ‘assignment’.
She worked in fits
and starts over the next few days, sometimes writing a few lines, sometimes an
entire paragraph, sometimes nothing.
Often at the end of writing a page she scratched the entire thing and
then tore up the parchment for good measure.
She was terribly embarrassed when she read anything she’d written, and
embarrassed as well that reading it aroused her.
and out of the open bedroom window delivering letters and notes, or hunting
small prey, as Dianthus sat writing into the night, struggling with her quill
and parchment.
She slept late
into the mornings and lazed most of the day every day, enjoying what would
likely be her only free time for the foreseeable future.
decent (or at least edible) dinner, picked at whatever results she was able to
manage, and wandered around the flat, moving this knick-knack, straightening
that couch throw. By the time she
meandered to the desk, it was typically after ten.
Although she
forced herself to write something every evening, she never began with Snape’s
letter. Usually she began by writing
long and chatty letters to her friends from school, now scattered across
to continue their education or begin their chosen jobs.
longer would she pick up those pieces of parchment that had survived the
previous night’s session, and began again.
By the following
weekend, though, Dianthus thought she was doing pretty well on her letter to
Snape. She had finally managed to convey
most of what she wanted, and not feel stupid about what she’d written.
thought – especially since it came exclusively from her own admittedly naïve
mind. Melanie had been correct, and once
she’d gotten started, it seemed a bit easier each time she approached the desk.
Melanie had
suggested, in one of her numerous owls on the subject, that Dianthus
Alley for ideas. She’d actually gone
down there, terrified the entire time to be in such a place by herself, and had
peeked in the windows of one or two of the numerous shops that offered “sexual
enhancement materials”. In the end,
though, she couldn’t make herself enter any of the shops – the very idea made
her skin crawl. Plus, Dianthus was
worried that Snape would somehow know if she was cribbing from wizarding
pornography. It would be just like him
to reject something he suspected was not of Dianthus’ own imagination.
Late Saturday
morn she she carefully organized all of the bits and pieces she’d written, and
placed them in a row in front of her.
Crossing out lines here and there, adding words sporadically, she honed
the notes into the essence of what she desired:
frustrated
taken
beyond
physically
magically.
futile.
movements.
by when and where and how you touch me.
press
the wall
kneel
with
my mouth
while
She knew that not
all of it wanton or
was pretty fucking good. She was no
poet, but it did seem to have a nice cadence to it.
detailed enough. Finally, as satisfied
as she could be, and not wanting to give herself more time to pick it apart,
she sealed the parchment (a sheet from the set he’d given her, of course) and
called gently to Iris.
“Severus Snape…I’m
not sure where he is, but you’ll find it.
Wait for a day or two if it seems like he’s going to reply.
few additional instructions to the bird.
Iris looked at her impassively, her leg held steady so that Dianthus
could tie the parchment to it.
Dianthus couldn’t
tell whether the bird understood her request or not.
play, after all, and she intended to make Snape squirm as much as was possible,
in every way she could. The owl hooted
once and flew out the window. Dianthus
watched her take wing and rise into the air.
Nothing to do now but wait.