A New Beginning (DH -COMPLIANT)

Chapter 38 ~ Making Arrangements

The next morning, a rather surprised Bartleby found Snape waiting for him outside of his office. He greeted the dour wizard and let him in, curious as hell as to what would bring him out. True, his existence was no longer a secret, but usually he sent his instructions by elf. It was convenient.

Snape took a seat as did Bartleby, who shuffled through a large stack of parchments on his desk. The solicitor shook his head and looked at Snape.

“This are mostly requests for you, Professor,” the wizard said, handing him a stack of the letters.

Snape took them, read the first three, then shuffled through the rest impatiently, finally handing them back to Bartleby.

Most of the letters were from officials who wanted him to attend various functions. A couple were fan letters and one or two from witches who would like to meet him over dinner.

“Not interested,” the wizard said shortly

Bartleby looked at him.

”Well, these are definitely going to get worse before they get better,” Bartleby said, “Might I make a suggestion?”

Snape nodded.

”As far as those asking for you to make an appearance, why not charge a fee for your attendance? Something rather hefty,” the wizard suggested, “After all, your time is valuable and a few more galleons doesn’t hurt. It also might serve as a deterrent. And this way, you can inform those making inquiries that you have other pressing engagements if you don’t wish to attend. They would have no reason to doubt it if you are being paid for your time.”

Snape considered it.

”All right, Bartleby. I’ll leave that up to you. Prepare some type of brochure to cover that and send it to all those interested,” the wizard said.

”Good show,” Bartleby smiled, “Now to what do I owe your presence in my office?”

”I would like you to make dinner arrangements for me for this Friday,” Snape said to him, “Someplace nice, where I and my companion will not be disturbed. Still, it has to be a public establishment,” Snape said, “and the dinner must feature roast duck.”

Bartleby looked at him with raised eyebrows.

”You’re going on a date, Professor?” he asked the wizard, a little taken aback.

Snape wasn’t wasting any time, was he?

”Yes. I am, Bartleby. I want to make a good impression, but I don’t want it to be too intimate a setting. My companion might feel uncomfortable,” he said, “This is to be a low-pressure excursion.”

“Might I ask who you are taking out?” Bartleby said curiously.

Snape looked at him.

”Mrs. Weasley,” he replied.

Bartleby blinked at him.

”Your employee, Hermione Weasley?” the solicitor asked.

”The same,” Snape replied.

Bartleby began to think of all the legal problems dating an employee could cause if anything were misconstrued. Particularly sexual harassment issues. The Professor could be facing a lawsuit if he wasn’t careful. It wasn’t wise to shag the help.

”Er . . . if this is a matter of finding a suitable dinner companion, Professor, I know of several escort agencies that provide a fine selection of witches for just that purpose,” Bartleby said delicately, “It might be more prudent than dating an . . . employee.”

“What do you mean by ‘more prudent,’ Bartleby?” Professor Snape asked him.

His eyes were slightly narrowed.

”I can give you several examples of legal horror stories concerning witches ‘dating’ their bosses, Professor, with resulting charges ranging from sexual coercion, to unmet promises, to sexual harassment and even rape. There are reasons some corporations have strict rules against management fraternizing with employees, good reasons. You could be ruined if Mrs. Weasley decided you were being untoward in any manner and accused you of using your position of authority to force her into a compromising situation. After all, who can say no to the person who pays their salary?” Bartleby said, frowning slightly.

“Mrs. Weasley has no problem saying no to anything she doesn’t wish to do, Bartleby, I assure you,” the Professor said evenly, “Besides, we have been dining together twice a month for quite a while now as well as spending time together.”

Bartleby looked horrified. Was Snape really shagging Mrs. Weasley? Oh good gods, this was terrible. The solicitor had been wondering why there had been no “entertainment” charges under business expenditures lately. This explained a lot. Why pay for sex when you could get the trim for free?

By the look on Bartleby’s face, Snape realized how this sounded and quickly made a few amendments to his original statement.

”The time we spend together is spent discussing topics to do with our fields of expertise, Mr. Bartleby. Purely platonic up to this point. We simply enjoy each other’s company and the mental sparring. The witch is brilliant and formidable. I simply wish to change our surroundings for this meal. Now that I am no longer a secret, I see no reason why I should continue to hide out,” he said by way of clarification.

But Bartleby was a solicitor used to divining the heart of a matter and focused on the six words, “Purely platonic up to this point.”

”Up to this point, Professor? Has something changed?” he asked the wizard.

“No. Not yet, Bartleby, but I am hoping it will in time,” Snape replied.

Bartleby shook his head slightly. This was not the time for Snape to tie himself down with a witch, particularly a witch who was an employee. He should be cashing in on his fame, playing the field, sampling a number of women. He was a hero and women loved heroes, quite physically. True, Snape wasn’t much on looks, but most witches wouldn’t care about that, he came with so many perks. In an intimate situation they could always close their eyes and pretend passion made them do so.

“Professor, I may be overstepping my bounds in saying this, but because of our long association I believe I do have a duty to speak honestly to you when I say that I don’t believe it is wise to pursue a relationship with Mrs. Weasley for a number of reasons. Firstly, she has already been married, is a widow and has children. It would be better if you found a woman who doesn’t have such . . . baggage with her. A witch who has never been married or employed by you. Someone who can start out fresh. Who can give you children of your own. Not to say Mrs. Weasley isn’t a pleasant individual, but a man in your position could do much better. You could find someone younger, more physically attractive . . .”

Bartleby was suddenly cut off by the Professor, whose voice was low and harsh.

”You are correct Bartleby, in saying you may be overstepping your bounds. You are, and I do not appreciate it. In matters of business, we have often ‘bumped heads’ so to speak, you voicing opposition to steps I wish to take. That is understandable and in essence what I hired you for, to be a kind of steward for my interests. However, that right extends ONLY to business, Mr. Bartleby. I am not in need of a counselor when it comes to my personal life, or someone to point out what I need or would be better off with when it comes to witches. I already know what I want, Mr. Bartleby, and it isn’t to sit across a table watching some piece of eye-candy who couldn’t string two coherent sentences together if they were pierced and threaded stuff her face. Nor is it some clingy, perky-breasted sex kitten in a thong barely out of puberty to roll around a mattress with because she can ‘breed.’ Someone who, I might add, would most likely come with a pre-nup at least ten pages long.”

The wizard’s voice softened somewhat.

“I am looking for a woman with life experience and intelligence, who won’t burst into tears the moment I say something thoughtless or forget to tell her how sexy she is. Someone who knows herself and what she wants out of life. Someone who can function with or without me. Mrs. Weasley is far from old, Mr. Bartleby and completely capable of providing what I need, even of bearing children if that is what we both want. Unlike most men, Mr. Bartleby, I am looking for something more, something worth having, something worth working toward. I am not getting any younger, and wish to have a relationship that is mature and will last a lifetime. So you see, Bartleby, as well meaning as your intentions are, I don’t need or want your advice in this matter. I only need you to do as I ask. Do we understand each other?”

Bartleby studied his client.

”Yes. Yes we do,” he said quietly.

”Good,” Snape said, sitting back and relaxing somewhat, “Now you need to update the public information on Sparse Venues Inc., using my name openly. This blasted fame should be good for something.”

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It was nearly December now, and Hogwarts was all a-buzz about the upcoming Christmas dance. Witches were running about the school in giggling clusters as young wizards looked at them furtively, trying to figure out exactly how to cut one out of the group in order to ask for a date.

Rod was made aware of the dance as he walked through the Slytherin Common Room on his way to breakfast. A group of witches were in there. Now that Rod was properly sorted, had a private room and didn’t clean stables any longer, he was much more palatable.

”Hi Rod,” they all sang out at him.

“Hi,” he called back, not slowing his walk at all. Suddenly he had to pull up short, a black-haired, green-eyed seventh-year witch almost seeming to materialize in front of him.

”Where are you going, Rod?’ she asked him, her voice a purr.

“Ah, the only place to go at this time of morning is breakfast,” he replied, trying to step around the witch.

The others giggled.

”Oh,” the witch said, still blocking his way.

”I’d like to get there early,” Rod said to her. She was pretty, but he didn’t like her. He didn’t like any of the witches in Slytherin, they had treated him so badly.

”We were just wondering who you were taking to the Christmas dance,” she said to him.

Rod blinked at her.

”Christmas dance?” he repeated a bit shakily.

”Yes. You know what that is. We have one every year,” she said to him.

They might have one every year, but Rod never went. He didn’t want to be laughed out because he didn’t have nice clothing to wear. Besides, he wouldn’t have a date.

”Yes, I know,” he said, still a bit dazed at being asked about it.

The witch looked at him impatiently.

”So who are you taking?” she asked him again.

”I . . . I haven’t thought about it,” he replied, “I haven’t asked anyone.”

All the girls giggled again.

”Go for it, Muriel,” one of the witches said as Muriel smiled at Rod a bit predatorily.

”Well, you can ask me, Rod. I’d go with you,” she said to him, fluttering her long, black lashes.

Rod thought she looked a bit as if she’d bite him.

“I guess I could ask you,” he said, “But I’m not going to. I don’t even think I’m going.”

Muriel scowled at him.

”If you’d just ask me, then you could go!” she snapped, “You’d have a date then.”

“I . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said a bit lamely.

Rod didn’t want to blatantly tell Muriel he didn’t want to take her to the ball, or any of them actually. He had a feeling they wouldn’t take it very well.

Actually, they weren’t taking his hesitance very well either. You’d think he’d hop on a chance to take a witch like Muriel to the dance.

A black witch, Laquita Slythe called out, “Forget it, Muriel. He probably wants to take that Gryffindor to the dance. The one he saved. Thinks he’ll get a bit of a shag for it.”

The witches all gave an ugly little laugh.

Muriel gave Rod a scornful look.

”Is that it, Rod? You want to get under Rose Weasley’s robes? Is that why you’re turning your nose up at Slytherin witches from your own house? You’re pathetic,” she snarled at him, “You have no taste at all.”

Now Rod scowled.

”I have taste all right, but you birds leave a bad one in my mouth,” he snapped back at her, pushing by and heading for the exit.

Suddenly he drew his wand and quickly turned, blocking a stunner an irate Muriel threw at him. The spell bounced back and hit her, the witch falling unconscious as the others screamed and ran toward her.

Rod shook his head and put his wand back in his pocket, opening the double doors and walking quickly down the damp corridor.

”Witches,” he breathed, heading for breakfast.

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A/N: Snape certainly told Bartleby, didn’t he. And lol about poor Rod. Thanks for reading.