The Man Who Came In From The Cold

JK Rowling's characters and Wizarding Universe are all uniquely hers. Plot, new characters, new magical terms and abilities etc. are my intellectual property. If you want to borrow then please kindly ask.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. If you are looking for strict Canon or even a slight deviation from Canon you won’t find it here.

Summary: The war has carried on well past Harry Potter’s 7th Year. Snape is on the run from Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic, both of whom will stop at nothing to silence him. He finds unexpected refuge in the most unlikely of places.

The Man Who Came In from the Cold


Chapter 007: Temperance

Time passed slowly as Snape struggled to get better. It seemed the more he pushed himself to get better the slower his recuperation went. He was able to get out of bed now and mercifully the house was on one level.

Christiane discovered how fiercely determined he was to not stay in confined to her bedroom for too much longer. She was hunched over a large accounting book at a small desk in one corner of her living room. Music was going full blast and she was trying to concentrate on reconciling the farm’s accounts. Her guest had stood for a few moments watching her from the doorway and then slowly ambled over to where she was seated. He placed a cold hand on her neck, causing her to shriek as she jumped from her chair.

‘Jesus Christ!’ she roared as she clutched her chest. ‘Are you out of your damn mind!’

‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Snape said woodenly, sounding as though he really had intended to send her to an early grave. ‘I did call out to you, several times as it so happens. But you were too absorbed in your…ahh…noise to hear me. Had I any ill intentions you would be dead by now, Miss Barthélémy.’

‘Full of cheer as always this fine afternoon, aren’t you sunshine?’ The young woman snapped as she gave him a withering look. ‘So – to what do I owe this pleasure, hmm? Bored with your own company? Experimenting with new ways to torture us both?’

Snape scowled as he moved slowly over to her sofa where he collapsed in a heap.

‘Bitch!’ he thought to himself.

He wasn’t used to coldness from her and somehow it got under his skin, causing him to lash out even more.

As always, the young woman ignored him. Christiane took pity on him as always and began to fuss over getting him settled. Of course, this irritated him even more and they began to bicker. She made it a point to annoy him even more by lingering; it was her house and therefore her prerogative. Despite her guest’s protestations, she knew he quite liked being waited on hand-and-foot. But he was restless, incredibly restless. The stranger was visibly willing his weakened constitution to improve and she could only wonder what the motivation for this was. He wouldn’t tell her though.

Ravenscroft had been with her for several weeks now and she was no closer to finding out anything about the man than she had been when they first set eyes on each other. They spoke minimally and only about the parish and parish life, the farm – innocuous bits and pieces. But not a word was spoken that was ever personal, not even anything personal about her. There were photos of her and her family and friends everywhere but not once did he broach any aspect of her life laid bare before him.

Her guest was clearly determined to not be on intimate terms with her. And yet they had connected enough for him to have not taken off at the first sign of recovery. He was all alone in the world with no place to go, no money, no prospects and no one to care for him. He needed her; it was as simple as that. Ravenscroft resented it – and made sure she knew it.

However, Christiane was certain that once he was fully healed, he probably wouldn’t be in too much of a rush to head out into the unknown. He asked all the right questions about the farm, and the work it took to keep it up. She answered his questions truthfully – being a farmer was not without its problems, especially for someone like her who just fell into it by accident. It was more than she was able to deal with, and especially alone, to be honest.

Snape lay watching her more than the horrendous programming of British daytime television. He couldn’t understand it – she was supposed to be concentrating on her accounts, and yet she had both her television andstereo system on! The music she was listening to was far preferable to watching some banal Muggle discussion programme that was less intellectual discourse and more hormonal pub brawl.

‘So why is it that you persist in this venture if does not suit your aptitudes, Miss Barthélémy?’ he asked as he turned the television off with a flick of the remote on the table before him.

‘Next question…’

Snape quirked an eyebrow. For the first time since he’d met her, Christiane Barthélémy was deliberately refusing to answer. He knew of enough of her to be sure that she would never side-step a question. However, he had definitely taken it for granted that she would answer whatever questions he put to her.

‘I asked a simple question.’

‘And I gave you a simple answer.’

‘Something to hide?’

‘Pot and kettle, Mr. Ravenscroft,’ came a tight reply.

Snape looked at Christiane’s profile in the bright light reflected into the room through its large windows. She was definitely upset about something, and that something had to do with her accounts. She glanced over at him and he could see that she was near to crying. The young woman slammed the large book closed and threw down her pen before getting and steaming out of the room.

The former professor sighed heavily. The last thing he needed was to have to put up with a moody woman. He forced himself to get up and go over to her desk. He listened for a few seconds before opening the book and skimming the pages. What he saw made him blanch.

Christiane Barthélémy was in trouble – deep trouble. She was out of her depth and near to financial ruin according to these figures. He looked closer and then frowned.

‘No – that can’t be right,’ he said as he did some mental arithmetic.

He looked at the receipts carefully attached to the page and rolled his eyes. The woman not only need a farmhand – she needed a professional accountant. Or better yet, since she was definitely cash-poor, she just needed someone who was competent at keeping proper financial records. He had a suspicion that given the mistakes he’d seen so far, Miss Barthélémy was not as badly off as she obviously believed herself to be. But given her atrocious mismanagement she probably would end up bankrupt without someone to put things in order.

Snape moved out of the room and towards the kitchen where he suspected she was. As he drew closer he heard the distinctive sound that could only be crying.

He stopped near the doorway and ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. This was none of his business and certainly not his problem. He shouldn’t care about her – and he didn’t really. Well – perhaps just a bit. After all, it wouldn’t do for his benefactress to go broke while she was nursing him back to health. Once he was fully recovered he could leave… although truth be told his chances were as good with her as they would be with another stranger.

At least she didn’t pry and ask questions he definitely would never answer. He would do everything in his power to stay alive and make sure than the truth of who he was and what he had done remained buried deep inside him. But he’d gotten lucky – damned lucky. Not everyone would show him so much kindness.

The blasted woman was too good to be true, much like D’Arcy had been. He shook his head violently at the memory of the man. Being nice – the thought of it made his insides curl up. He didn’t trust her any more than he’d trust the gentleman farmer – at least he didn’t want to...

But she did need someone and he quite liked the idea of being needed. It gave him the advantage, and with that came control. There weren’t too many times in his life where he had been able to assume the superior role in a relationship – he’d be a fool to walk away from the opportunities inherent in this one.

Snape stood in the doorway looking down at Christiane, seated at her kitchen table. Like the rest of the house, the room was expansive, modern and in desperately in need of a good cleaning. Miss Barthélémy was no better at cleaning than she was at farming or accounting from the looks of things.

Christiane’s head was buried in her hands. The more she tried to stop crying, the worse her crying jags became.

‘Miss Barthélémy…’ he began.

‘WHAT DO YOU WANT?’ Christiane screeched as she jumped up from the table. ‘Is this some game to you? You like provoking me, is that it? Well there’s nothing you can say that I haven’t heard before – so just back off!’

The former professor’s nostril’s flared violently as he took a menacing step towards her. He opened his mouth to speak and then turned abruptly on his heel, steaming out of the room as fast as he dared.

Christiane looked tearfully at his retreating back until he had disappeared. The sound of a hard slam reached her ears.

‘Great…just great…’ she whispered as hot tears began steaming down her cheeks.

xxxOOOxxx

Elizabeth D’Arcy sat in her husband’s study reviewing the summary sent over by his Accountants. She was incredulous at the tenants who clearly were losing the estate money. Some of them were so in the red they should have been sent packing ages ago. She shook her head silently and continued to read. The D’Arcy fortunes were taking a sound beating – this could not go on.

On his own, her husband would never do what any other man would do. But with her influence…

Her influence.

She hadn’t slept with him for months.

Elizabeth let out a great sigh.

She hadn’t given him the time of day until she holidayed here with her aunt and uncle and seen what she had turned down. They’d walked the grounds and taken a tour of the Manor House that D’Arcy refused to live in thinking it much to grandiose. He preferred a simpler life, the housekeeper had told them at the time.

She vividly recalled thinking at the time that she’d been a fool to not appreciate the value of the man’s wealth and connections even if she didn’t particularly like the man himself. He’d changed so much from the haughty, reserved man filled with his own self-importance and conceit. His vanity, arrogance and pride hadn’t done him any favours amongst her family and circle of friends. And despite the seemingly outward appearance of radical change, Madame D’Arcy knew that her husband still had his faults and it was only a matter of time before his mask slipped yet again. His goodness was sorely tested many times – that she knew too well.

He had wanted her to become involved with the management and running of the estate as all the D’Arcy wives had before her. It was time to play the game again – and this time battle would be joined. There were a lot of advantages to being his wife. She and her family were well looked after for a start.

Wealth had its privileges. And being a D’Arcy in Jersey was very advantageous.

She would use her own formidable talents – the ones that had secured his affections to start with. D’Arcy wasn’t altogether bad in bed; but he could do with learning a thing or a few. He’d certainly learned a lot on their honeymoon. And like many men, he was very insecure with his wife’s prowess. Of course he would be given the lovers he knew she’d had. She could give them up easily – not one of them could give her much beyond what was between their legs. Truth be told, they couldn’t match her husband in that regard either.

Elizabeth scanned the report again and frowned at several of the names.

Yes, it was time she asserted herself as Mistress of the estate.

xxxOOOxxx

Several days later D’Arcy returned from his drive into St. Helier loaded down with packages. The monthly Farmer’s Market always yielded some excellent finds. Their larder would be filled to overflowing. He deposited his bags and boxes in the kitchen with strict orders about the dinner menu.

‘Oh – Madame D’Arcy has already seen to it, Sir!’ his housekeeper Emma exclaimed. ‘She set out the menu for the next two weeks as a matter of fact!’

‘Really?’

D’Arcy looked at the large notebook that was pushed towards him. Elizabeth had created menus that were a rather interesting blend of English, French and Jèrriais cuisine. There were things in each that could satisfy even the most pernickety of tastes, particularly hers.

‘Excellent choices – well then, I will leave the domestics to your Mistress then…’ he concluded with a nod.

Emma was as plain-speaking as her husband Hill, but she offered no comment nor did her countenance reveal what she was thinking. Feeling uncomfortable with her silence, D’Arcy took his leave.

He thought crossly to himself as he went up for a hot shower that it about time Elizabeth took an interest in the household – although he didn’t see the point in starting what she didn’t intend on finishing.

D’Arcy crossed his bedroom, discarding his clothes as he headed for the en-suite bathroom.

He closed his eyes as he let the hot jets of water run over him. His arms were stretched out and he propped himself up leaning against the marble tiles. The gentleman farmer let out an involuntary gasp as he felt the warmth of a body against his back and soapy hand caressed a nipple.

Elizabeth purred as she rubbed herself against him.

D’Arcy opened his mouth to speak and couldn’t find the words as her hand grasped his thickening arousal and began to stroke it.

‘Do you like that?’ she whispered as she pumped harder.

Her husband’s breathing became shallow and ragged.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult. You were right, Darling; I haven’t tried to settle in at all and it’s gone on for too long…’ she purred in his ear.

‘What… what brought this on?’ he said, reluctantly removing her hand from his hardness.

‘We were happy once – and I want us both to be happy again.’

‘You...you have behaved abominably. You have been heartless, cruel and unconscionable in your dealings with everyone. No one has deserved it; least of all the staff and me. We’ve done everything we can to satisfy you and nothing is ever good enough! I am your husband and yet you treat me no better than some vagrant off the street and in front of the hired help and even our guests!’

‘I was wrong to act that way,’ Elizabeth said, hanging her head in shame and choking back a sob. ‘I will do whatever I can to make amends – I promise. I don’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, but I will do what it takes to earn it”’

She put her head in her hands and began to cry.

‘For god’s sake, Lizzie,’ D’Arcy murmured. ‘You know I hate it when you cry…’

He pulled her into his arms and swallowed the lump in his throat. After all this time, after all the rows and stand-offs – his prayers were finally being answered. A multitude of conflicting thoughts ran through his head. Elizabeth, having anticipated them, lifted up her agonized face and looked at him regretfully. She moved so that her body was pressed hard against his.

‘I’ll do whatever you want…’ she whispered as she rubbed against him. ‘I’ll make it up to you…’

D’Arcy pushed her out of the shower and into the bedroom. His wife fell back on the bed and opened her legs wide.

‘I’ll make it up to you…’

The farmer was no gentle man as he mounted her and began thrusting hard.

‘No more!’ he rasped as he pounded her, causing her to cry out. ‘No more lovers, no more disrespect, no more hatefulness!’

Elizabeth moaned as she began thrusting hard against him.

D’Arcy grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back.

‘I’m not stupid, Madame D’Arcy! Don’t mistake me for one of those idiots you keep on a tight leash!’

He began to use her body the way he knew she enjoyed having it used.

And for the first time in months – he found pleasure in being with her.

And Elizabeth, unaccustomed to seeing this side of her husband since they were engaged, found herself taking pleasure in him for the first time in a long time.

Battle was indeed joined, and D’Arcy was set on a course that would have profound reverberations for himself and all connected to him.

xxxOOOxxx

Snape and Christiane sat across from each other at her kitchen table.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I was wrong to be so…bitchy to you…’

The former professor said nothing and continued to eat his breakfast.

‘I know it shouldn’t have taken me this long – but I am sorry,’ she continued.

There was no response, not even so much as the flickering of an eyelid.

‘You are one tough customer,’ she said quietly before getting up.

Snape continued eating.

She looked over at him from the doorway.

‘I…I guess there is just no pleasing you – is there?’

Silence.

There was just the shake of her head as she fought back tears,

The silence was oppressive and she left her guest in peace.

xxxOOOxxx

Snape waited a few minutes and then quietly made his way to the living room.

Christiane was sat at the desk with her accounting ledgers, crying her eyes out. He couldn’t go on like this – it was folly to do so. And yet the woman’s behaviour did prove to him just how much power he really held with her. It made no sense; it made no sense at all.

‘Miss Barthélémy,’ he said curtly.

‘Yes?’

‘I think it is time we had a little chat, don’t you?’

‘Fine – go ahead, get it off your chest. I can’t say I don’t deserve it…’

‘Do you always give up your control so easily?’

‘What?’

‘One would think me the master of this house rather than you…’

The young woman snorted.

‘Having the decency to admit that I was wrong and behaved abominably doesn’t mean I give up anything, Mr. Ravenscroft – nothing besides bad manners.’

Snape looked at her incredulously.

‘You are heading down a very slippery slope towards ruination, Miss Barthélémy.’

‘I was ruined the moment I…’

‘The moment you what, Miss Barthélémy?’

Christiane sighed and gestured for him to take a seat.

Snape remained standing, looking down at her like she was some dunderheaded twit of a student at Hogwarts, hauled into his office for punishment.

‘Will you please sit down? My neck is starting to ache!’

‘Very well!’ Snape muttered irritably.

‘Look – the truth is that I am just not cut out to do this, alright. I am in way over my head…’

‘As I enquired some time ago, Miss Barthélémy, why do you persist in trying to make a living in a manner that clearly does not suit you?’

‘Because it’s all I’ve got! I made so many mistakes that I can’t undo and this was a lifeline when I thought I had nothing left!’

‘You are not making yourself clear…’

The young woman picked up the accounting ledger and then tossed it at him.

‘I didn’t choose this life, Mr. Ravenscroft; it chose me…’

Snape looked her appraisingly.

‘Now that I do understand…’

He tossed the book back at her.

‘The circumstances of your life brought you to this place; and I take it that this opportunity was presented to you when you were probably quite down on your luck, as it were…’

‘Exact!’

‘You are not from Jersey, are you Miss Barthélémy?’

Christiane looked at him wearily and shook her head ‘no’.

‘I grew up in a village outside Bayeux,’ she said quietly. ‘I miss it there…I miss my family very much.’

Her guest frowned. But such an open answer deserved to be addressed and sensibly.

‘Then why remain here if it’s not what you want?’

‘I didn’t say I don’t like living here.’

‘Alright then – why do you persist in pushing yourself to fail?’

‘Because I don’t have any other choice! I don’t want to be a shopkeeper or a sales clerk. I don’t want to work in a stuffy office doing some tedious nine-to-five job that I will hate. I want to be my own person and do my own thing!’

‘And this is it?’ Snape snapped. ‘Miss Barthélémy unless you begin to turn things around immediately you will find you have no choice but to take on yet another role that does not suit you in a year’s time.’

Christiane gasped and then rolled her eyes.

‘I guess my secret’s out then. You’ve obviously been poking your nose into my business!’

‘Surely you expected no less? It is quite intriguing how all the accounts of the house and the business seem to have found their way out into the open since your display of temper last week. I have done as you hoped I would do and looked carefully at all the records.’

The young woman looked cross and then slumped in her seat resignedly.

‘God you remind me of Monsieur Auteil…’

‘Auteil – a resident here?’

‘No – my high school maths teacher…’

Snape choked back a snort as his eyebrows flew up into his curtains of hair.

‘Come, Miss Barthélémy, and sit beside me.’

Christiane looked at him suspiciously for the first time since they met.

Her guest glared at her and gestured for her to sit after telling her to bring her ledgers to him. As she did he opened up the lid of the chest that served as her coffee table. Christiane looked like she wanted to murder him, and Snape continued on as if he was lecturing a room full of Gryffindors.

‘I took the liberty of reviewing all the accounts and re-doing them properly. I am not a professional accountant nor do I claim to have any particular expertise. However, unlike yourself I do have an excellent aptitude for maths and approaching the work logically. It is not rocket science – just simple basic maths: addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, Mademoiselle.’

Snape continued on talking, detailed everything that she had done wrong for two hours. By the time he finished, Christiane felt phenomenally demoralised and incredibly stupid. The former professor handed her his ledgers with a flourish and curt nod.

‘Are you finished?’ she asked tightly, choking back tears and anger.

‘Well, I have done all that I can with your finances. That should suffice for the moment. I would propose that you and I work on the accounts together going forward.’

‘You and I? Going forward?’

‘You are in need of assistance and I am in need of a living, Mademoiselle. You don’t have to like me, and I daresay you don’t at the moment, but you do need my help and with more than the chores of farming.’

‘You don’t strike me as the sort of man who could be happy with farming.’

‘And you are clearly woman who is no happier with her lot in life than I am with mine. You hate making your living this way and yet you show no signs of trying to do anything else. You have a reason for continuing on with this charade, and as long as you carry on with this venture you will need someone; someone who can live on what little you have to offer.’

Christiane fought back her anger. She had never come across anyone so arrogant and condescending in her life! And him – no better than a vagrant! But damn it he was right and on more than one score. She was treading dangerous ground with the farm – and she needed help badly.

‘I can only offer you room and board and a small remuneration, Mr. Ravenscroft.’

‘You will find that I do not generally require a great deal to be settled, Miss Barthélémy. What you propose is acceptable. However, as your fortunes improve I would expect to see that reflected in my compensation.’

‘Fair enough,’ Christiane said with a nod. ‘I have an extra bedroom that needs sorting out… or there is another outbuilding, just across the field a bit from the house. It’s open plan: two spaces on the lower level and it has a loft. The foundations are sound but it needs quite a bit of work inside. There is a functioning bathroom, the last tenant did that…’

‘Tenant? Then you don’t own this farm?’

‘Oh Lord no! Like I said – I fell into this by accident…’

‘I see…’ Snape said carefully. ‘And the owner – have you any idea of his feelings about you taking on additional help?’

‘You can rest easy there – he’s been at me for quite a while to hire someone. But I wanted to do it on my own terms, not his. Despite what you think, I didn’t want to give up what little control I had over my work here. If he hired someone else and paid them himself – well that’s a different situation altogether, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Indeed I would. Very astute of you, Miss Barthélémy.’

‘So at least I have done one thing right in your eyes…’

‘You don’t require my approval, nor should you seek it.’

‘Ahh, but your approval seems so rarely given that one feels challenged to earn it.’

‘Such feelings are entirely your own, Mademoiselle.’

Christiane said nothing and looked out the window. It was a winter wonderland, perfect for the Christmas season about to get underway. Snape looked past her shoulder and could see the glistening landscape. His life in exile was picturesque indeed, if one cared about such things.

‘I should start seeing to my new home,’ he said standing up.

‘There is no rush – and since we are going to be working together you might as well call me Christiane – or Chris like most people do…’

‘You may call me Mr. Ravenscroft – although I suppose that are likely to refer to me by my Christian name…’

‘What else can you expect from an incompetent heathen like me.’

‘Do not speak ill of yourself. Self-deprecation does not suit you…Christiane.’

‘Is that a fact…Sebastian?’

‘Yes. It is.’

‘And you are never wrong, is that it?’

‘Rarely; but yes I have made mistakes, very grave ones indeed. I grossly underestimated…’

Snape stopped himself and then stood up abruptly.

‘It’s best I get myself situated in my quarters sooner rather than later. We can discuss the farm work at dinner if that pleases you.’

Christiane sat in disbelief, not quite believing what had just happened and filled with questions about her new employee.

They were just as many as he had about her.