The Moon Has Spoken

Molly Weasley had managed to turn Fiddler’s lonesome mausoleum into a cozy home indeed. She had filled the house with flowers and cheerful songbirds, and delicious aromas came out from the kitchen all day long. The house’s furniture had always been simple and made of clear wood, but Molly had charmed the linings’ previous patterns to new luminous, merry ones, had hung on the walls some pictures of Wallace McGonagall that Minerva had sent, and had polished late Eustace Greene’s weapon collection, that completely enthralled Fred, George and Arthur. She had aerated the long time empty bedrooms, got the fountains to work again, and charmed the gardens into a little version of Versailles’. She had also managed to fill the swimming pool in the terrace, bordered by pink granite, and the blue waters shimmered temptingly in the soft July’s sun.
It was wonderful.

The kids brought along the comic line, Fred and George making them all laugh to death with their jokes and inventive, infuriating the wits out of their mother, and making Severus Snape feel like commiting suicide thrice a day. They had told Fiddler all about their trip to Ireland, fair imitation of Snape included, and she had laughed heartily despite herself, imagining the man’s dismay.

“We planned it for months”, the twins confessed mischeviously, as if it had been a complicated war strategy.

And so, as they waited for Dumbledore’s orders, they devoted their days to extended waterpolo championships, strolls in the gardens, nocturnal bonfires and even rappeling down the cliff, as the twins could not resist the challenge. They had even tried to get the Greasy Git, as Ron called Snape, to agree to conga dance at their night fires, or at least catch him off-guard and throw him in the swimming pool, but they had not succeeded so far.
But not for lack of trying.
Severus was a very essiessive man, and he didn’t really fit with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, but he had been forced to live in close proximity to the rest of them, and even though he wasn’t sure he liked it, he was certainly getting used to it. He still hated Potter and it was a thorn in his side that he couldn’t duck points off them anymore, being as he was, stranded with a bunch of dunces, with no one with half a brain he could talk to, as Fiddler had gone back to the hospital and was out most of the day.

And, best be said, she was deeply thankful for it…
Because she was finding very hard to be around Severus Snape.

She had finally admitted to herself that the kids were right on teasing her, and that she was indeed more than just a little infatuated with the stern Potions Master. And she was sure that what she was beginning to feel for him was written all over her face. So she avoided him as much as she could, and when she did see him, her self protective instinct took over and she treated him with detached politeness and just the slighest hint of cocky irony…
Fiddler’s natural, self-admitted way to hide her feelings for someone.

But sometimes they did manage to have interesting conversations, and Fiddler never ceased to amaze at the outstanding intellect of that man, his sarcastic point of view about a large amount of subjects, and their sir tar tastes in literature, theater, science and even music.

“I didn’t think Wizards would be interested in Muggle arts and culture”, she told him once, when they were discussing one of Fiddler’s favorite plays, Cyrano de Bergerac.

“One ct lit limit the horizons of knowledge”, he had replied silkily, “with all boundaries already set around us…”

Fiddler didn’t reply, but she found herself agreeing with him.

She got to her feet to get them both a cup of tea and then, she returned to the library, to sit down in front of him, wanting more than life itself to crawl into his arms and stay there forever.

Oh, for crying out LOUD, Fiddler Greene, get a god damned grip.

Yeah, the biggest part of herself laughed rather openly at her longings, knowing deep down that he’d never look at her twice.
No one ever did.

“You’ve gone suddenly quiet”, she heard him say.

“Oh? Um— Yeah. I was… thinking”.

“About?”, Severus asked lightly, and he was more than amazed when he realised he actually cared about her answer.

“Oh… Nothing important, really”, she said, trying not to blush.

Severus did not insist.
He leaned back on his chair and looked at the wall clock, the music coming for the everpresent CD player the only sound in the library. She seemed to have one of those in each room of the house. It was almost midnight and Fiddler and him where the only ones still awake. He looked at her, lost in her musings, and felt strangely relaxed, as if he’d known her for quite some time and they were now spending a quiet evening together as close friends… or even lovers did.

Severus. Please, he told himself mockingly, as he looked at her intently.
It had been a while since he’d last thought of himself in those terms.

He was aware, of course, that his appearance was not appealing, but truth be told, he had never given it more than a seldom disdainful thought. He did not particulary care for relationships, as one experience in particular had left him scalded for life. He had been young, more than a little reckless and eager to grow in the Dark Lord’s appreciation, but nothing could have warned him for the shock he received when that heavenly creature had actually agreed to marry him.
He knew that, for wizarding standards, he was not a bad match; he was a Pureblood, an intelligent man with a wide grasp on various subjects, and the only heir of a nat-aat-all despicable fortune. Not that it mattered.
So was Wynn.
The Dark Lord chose his minions carefully.

But Severus Snape wasn’t a nice man, and his recent allegiance with Voldemort had only but accentuated his innate cruelty. Still, the Dark Lord had practically ordered their union, and back then, it was not a matter of disobeying. Now that he thought of it, marrying Wynn Ludlow had been one of the last orders that he ever took willingly from the Dark Lord.
He shook his head, ushering the memories away. There was no use in dwelling on that painful path.
Sudden images came to his head, an old cemetery, covered in dried leaves, withered roses, statues of black-winged cherubs, holding bows with poisoned arrows, howling winds, snow flying to the moon, blood dripping from the celtic crosses…
A graveyard of dreams.

Severus looked up to see Fiddler, who was eyeing him as if she’d seen the images in his head as clearly as he had. He pulled up his usual sneer and watched her wither under his gaze. She’d never faltered before, but somehow, tonight she seemed vulnerable, and Severus wondered idly how that change had come about.
He saw her hastily return her eyes to her book and sigh as she pretended to be reading.


Cyrano de Bergerac. How fitting. The romantic, cocky, big nosed cadet from Gascony, swordsman, poet, philosopher, arrogant, proud, moonlover… Lost in love for his beautiful cousin, never daring to tell her because of his looks, helping instead the blonde, devastatingly handsome dunce she was in love with; Cyrano would write her passionate letters and whispered his love for her under her balcony, pretending to be Christian the Stunning. For what he had in beauty, lacked in brains.

As usual, she thought bitterly. And it also goes the other way around. As if you didn’t know.

Fiddler was intelligent, and most of the time she was proud of it, but sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to be beautiful, to walk down a street without feeling miserable, without using her scrubs as a shield, as a banner that broadcasted: “Yeah, so I am ugly, but look at me, I am a doctor!”

She laughed inwardly as she suddenly realised Severus Snape did the exact same thing with his billowing black robes. But he seemed proud of what he’d become, and Fiddler wasn’t so sure about herself sometimes. Not that she showed it, of course not, she had learned soon enough that her best defence against a world that didn’t need her and most of the time only bullied her was to become a cocky, scathing sargent, and she’d managed it quite all right. She was respected wide and long at the hospital, and well famous for her biting remarks and withering looks. Her superiors were amused at her stickliness and utterly encouraged it, and nurses and med students deeply regretted if they did the same mistake twice in her presence. Once, she could stand, but twice in a row and heads rolled for sure.
She was not so different from a certain Potions Master, although she didn’t know. Nor did he.
But she could also be nice; she never scrimped a compliment when deserved, and she could be faultlessly polite if she chose. Only she seldom did. She had grown tired of being courteus to rude people and she’d chosen to pay back with the same coin, finding that it worked better than she’d expected. And there was also the question of her looks. Fiddler felt the need to break her mirror everytime she looked at herself in it, which was probably why she seldom did it, and she would have given her kingdom for a pretty face sometimes.
She stole a glance from Severus, wondering what type of women did he like, if he liked them at all.

Not your type, lass, be sure of that, her mind told her, and she thanked it ironically for its support. It was hard to live with an enemy inside your own skull, but Fiddler was an enduring person and she had learned to put up with it.
The music had changed to a melody of guitars and drums, and a rather screechy male voice singing in what he surely thought it was a soft voice:

I kept the right ones out,
And let the wrong ones in,
Had an angel of mercy to see me through all my sin.
There were times in my life,
When I was goin\' insane,
Tryin to walk through the pain…

When I lost my grip
And I hit the floor
Yeah, I thought I could leave, but couldn\'t get out the door
I was so sick and tired
Of livin\' a lie
I was wishin that I
Would die

It\'s Amazing
With the blink of an eye you finally see the light,
It\'s Amazing
When the moment arrives that you know you\'ll be alright,
Yeah, it\'s Amazing
And I\'m sayin\' a prayer for the desperate hearts tonight.

Fiddler felt goosebumps in her skin, the songepineping up her spine as she’d found it so fitting, and looked up at the clock. She squeaked at the time, she had to get up early in the morning, so she got to her feet, turned the CD player off, and excused herself, wishing Severus a good night. She left him there to his musings, succeeding on not looking back.

A nearly dead part of him regretted her departure. True, they had barely talked, but it had been a wonderful, peaceful evening indeed. Maybe all the more enjoyable because they had shared it in amiable silence. Being quiet when there was really nothing to be said was a rare quality in a woman.

With a sigh, Severus rose from his chair and, with one last glance at the clock, he left the library himself, feeling as content as a man of his nature could feel. It had been a good zenith for the day, if he didn’t include the blasted song. It had more underlying similarities to what he’d been thinking to feel totally comfortable about it.

But, despite his growing nervousness at Fiddler’s ability of finding a song for every occasion, thought and feeling, he told himself, as he climbed upstairs, he he enjoyed her quiet company a great deal indeed.

~*~*~*~*~

“Oi! Fiddler!”, a tall, bubbling, redhaired woman addressed her from one end to the other of the immaculate Hospital’s main Hall. “How are you? Long time no see!”

“Yeah, you know… Been travelling around a bit”.

“That’s marv! Where did you go to?”

“England”.

“Oh, but that is such a coincidence! Did I tell you I am seeing a british someone?”

Fiddler’s lip curled up ever so slightly. Anna Willoughby was always seeing someone.
She was a surgical nurse with a story worthy of VC Andrews, in Fiddler’s opinion. Her father had been a Knight of the Garter, and a dissolute boozer who had been found dead in one of his many mistresses’ bed, wearing a furry cloak, a bronze crown and stiletto heels. His Honourable Wife had buried him discreetely, dismissed the pleading mistresses and inherited a whole load of gambling debts, thus returning to her natal Ireland with her only child, who apparently had inherited her father’s attractive features and lusty nature. Fiddler had been her hanky of tears for more years than she could count, and had dragged her out of more emotional troubles than hairs had her head.

“He comes from a very wealthy family”, Anna was just saying. “He’s a noble. In fact, there wie a e a hunting this weekend held at his Manor and I am invited to attend and meet his Family… Oh, Fidd, I am sure he’s the One!”

“That’s marv”, Fiddler mimicked her absent-mindedly. “So what’s his name, anyway?”

Anna drew in a deep breath and showered Fiddler with her beloved’s full name and titles:

“He is the Most Noble Paul Nicholas Francis Malfoy Ahlendale, Duke of Stafford and Marquis of Kettering; Earl of Stafford; Baron Ahlendale of Beresford, Knight of the Garter, and Knight Grand Cross of the Bath”.

“Amen”, Fiddler said, not in the least impressed, for only one word in the waterfall of titles had caught her attention: “Malfoy, you said?”

“Oh, yes! Apparently, his mother’s Family is quite ancient as well. But they disowned her when she married his father. Something about purity of blood that I didn’t quite understand, since the Ahlendale’s peerage is worthy of a King… But Paul couldn’t care less about his noble blood and he uses his mother’s name as well, just to annoy the family… He is such a doll!”

Fiddler quivered, a little nauseated.

“I am sure he is”.

“Oh, but Fiddler, I am so nervous! I’ve never dated a nobleman before! I don’t know how I am supposed to act… Oh, I knew I should have payed attention to Mr’s r’s etiquette classes!”

Fiddler was tempted to say “Just be yourself”, but she thought it better.

“Oh, Fiddler… would you join me this weekend?”

“Me? Do you want to scare them to death at your acquaintances? I am hardly suitable to alternate with nobility! I am sure I’d commit every faux-pas in the book… I’d sit on Queen Victoria’s chair or something… Oh, no, that’s in Highgrove, isn’t it?”

And she laughed at the mere thought. Had she been born a noble, Fiddler mused, her savory scandals would have never left the front pages… Princess Fiddler gets pulled over for speeding. Princess Fiddler knocks out the officer that pulled her over for speeding. The Honourable Fiddler gets another tattoo. Her Graces ins into med School. Princess Fiddler electrocutes a nurse. Her Grace is actually a Halfbreed Witch. Princess Fiddler wails at the Prime minister and knocks him unconscious. Mystery solved, the Most Noble Fiddler is a Banshee! Lady Fiddler works along with a Wizarding Order to save the world from a psychopatic Dark Lord. The Honourable Fiddler marries the Greasy Git…

Fiddler, for Heaven’s sake, behave!

She smiled once again and listened to what Anna was saying.

“You’ll be great! Come on, Fidd, you know you can be such a lady if you want to… Besides, you always manage to make swearing sound funny! They’ll love you, a good breath of fresh air for all those starched nobles… Come on, say yes, say yes!”

“I couldn’t possibly”, Fiddler replied, reading through the shower of compliments. “Besides I have people staying over”.

“Oh, bring them as well! I am sure Paul won’t mind…”

Fiddler wasn’t so sure herself but she chose not to argue. After all, if the Most Noble Paul Nicholas Francis Malfoy Ahlendale, Duke of Stafford and Marquis of Kettering; Knight Grand Cross of the Bath, yada, yada, yada, was indeed related to the Malfoys, Fiddler was sure that Moody, Lupin and Severus would like to get the chance to investigate. But Fiddler, despite she wouldn’t admit it, had some Royalty protocol within her, and would have naver dared to show up uninvited, so she smiled genially and told Anna:

“Tell you what, Anna, why don’t you ask your noble man first and then let me know if he’s all right with the idea? I assure you, if he is, we’ll be delighted to attend.

Anna found Fiddler’s suggestion marv, and with one last effusive hug, she left the hall walking like she’d already been crowned Queen.
Fer fer found hard to concentrate on her work for the remainders of the day. And, for once, she was the first one to leave the parkint ont once the shift was over.

She got home to find her new adoptive, redhead mother already cooking dinner, and the kids laughing their heads off at Fred and George’s jokes. Lupin and Tonks were snogging discreetely they thought in a corner, and Moody was scrubbing his magical eye with a toothbrush. Snape was sitting on a chair, apart from the others, his hair hiding his face, thin legs carelessly crossed at his ankles, holding a book in his large hands. He hadn’t noticed her presence, and Fiddler couldn’t help to stare. She didn’t know why she found him so alluring, especially sitting like that, but there she had it.
Clearing her throat, she willed her eyes away from him and began informing them about Anna, the Most Noble Paul Malfoy Ahlendale, and the Hunting.

“She said she’d call me”, Fiddler said, sensing more than seeing Severus’ gaze on her, “I\'m sure we—”

The telephone rang at that very same minute and Fiddler picked it up. It was Anna, to tell her that Paul had thought it was a marv idea for them to join them, and that they will require formal attire to attend to the Closing Ball at Ahlendale Hall. Fiddler thanked her profusely and informed the rest.

“We’ll need to go shopping”, Hermione observed practically.

“Well”, said Moody. “As much as I would like to attend and honor them with my overwhelming presence, I am afraid I will have to decline. My face is so easily recognizable… And if that chap is in close relation with Malfoy…”, his very scarred face was distorted by a smile.

“We could say the same about me, then”, Severus said, and Fiddler’s heart sunk, as she had wanted him to come along.

“I am terrified of horses”, Molly confessed blushing.

“Malfoy could recognize me as well”, Arthur added.

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss, Dad”, George said.

“Yeah, if we keep this up, we can say he could recognize us all”, George supported his twin.

“Come on, think of it”, Ron intervened, “Fiddler’s friends with this Anna lassy, isn’t her? And we’re her friends as well, visiting her. Nothing more natural than her bringing us along… After all, the Death Eaters don’t know where Fiddler lives and the house’s Unplottable anyway…”

“So was Grimmauld Place”, Harry reminded him.

“Um… Right. Forgot about that”.

“So, are you coming or not?”, Ginny asked.

“We definitely are!”, Fred and George said.

“And us”, Ginny chimed in, pointin an, Hn, Hermione, Harry and her.

“Oh, I am going as well!”, Tonks exclaimed happily. “Are you, Remus?”

He eyed her with the sort of look reserved for people in love and denied quietly. Fiddler felt a pang of envy and her smile tensed on her face. She looked away quickly, not even daring to put her eyes on Severus. She was going to say it was settled then, when her heart began racing frantically out of no apparent reason.

“I will go as well”, she heard Severus’ce sce say from his corner.

It had sounded like he’d just offered an apprenticeship to Harry, but his eyes met Fiddler’s fractionatelly, and for her it was as if time suddenly had stopped. She felt her lips go dry and she moistened with her tongue. She probably just imagined it, but she thought she’d seen Severus’ glittering eyes follow her action with a hungry sort of expression.
Fiddler cleared her throat yet again and managed to say:

“It’s settled then”.

“Well then”, approved Tonks. “Now, where do we get some decent riding suits?”





A/N.

TBC, please R & R!!!!!

Thanx a lot y kiy kind beta Ian for his BRILLIANT thoughts!!!


Disclaimer: All characters and HP universe belong to J.K. Rowling, except for the ones you don’t recognize. The plot as well is mine and solely mine!! No profit is being made!!!!