The Princess and the Bloodstone

The Graves B&B

Severus

It was like he was forced through a tight rubber tube, and then his feet slammed into a tarred road. A cityscape of sombre theatricality surrounded him. Crags and hills surrounded tall buildings and spires of dark stone towered above the wet street.

Ah, Edinburgh? Severus looked up at the Graves Bed and Breakfast. It was wedged between two empty apartment blocks at the dead-end of an alley-like street. Rain pattered against his cloak and slipped past the lip of the hood, falling into his eyes. He kept his hands balled in his pockets, wand at the ready.

It was the same image the Oculus potion had shown him earlier. The wind toyed with the once-grand sign above a deep-set door. The building seemed to have known better days. Its panelled facade was peeling in most places and the windows were small and dark, most curtains drawn. The success of his first-ever blood-tracking potion, which was written to be notoriously difficult, was overshadowed by his expectation of the full spectrum of unpleasantness that was sure to ensue soon.

Severus brushed rain from his face and pushed into the door. A bell announced his entry somewhere in the warm darkness. He wiped his boots on a particularly weary doormat. The reception desk was manned by a young Muggle with an earring and scraggly brown beard. Severus removed his travel cloak, trying to limit the dripping water to the welcome mat.

The room was low-ceilinged and small, lit by a single lamp on the desk. Severus stepped into the ring of light.

'Greetings,' the innkeeper said, eyeing him up and down.

'Afternoon,' Severus answered, trying to smile. But by the look on the man's face, he must have failed miserably.

'I'm looking for a woman. Green eyes. Scar,' he indicated to his forehead by way of explanation.

'Oh. Yeah,' he gestured to a dark stairwell. 'Room four. I can let her know—'

'Imperio.'

Severus put the man fall asleep in his chair before making his way toward the stairs. He reached the landing and made his way down the corridor. Room four was marked with a brass numeral. He took a moment to compose himself ere knocking.

The sound of his two sharp raps carried uncomfortably down the hall. A shuffling inside and then the door opened to reveal the green-eyed witch. His heart leapt at the sight of her.

'Holly—' he began desperately, fighting to keep his voice low.

'I told you to stay away,' she hissed, closing the door in his face.

Severus caught it with a boot.

'Please,' he said firmly. 'We need to talk.'

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

'Five minutes,' she ground out, letting go of the door and marching inside. Severus entered quietly behind her. The door clicked closed. They were alone.

A small wood stove heated the room near a quarter bed, which bore a colourful quilt and a scattering of books. Holly's Firebolt stuck out from underneath it. The ancient wooden floors were covered by a few loosely woven carpets. The curtains were only slightly open, letting the dim light into the small room and illuminating a seat by the boxed window. It smelled a bit of his grandmother's house, but Holly's scent was almost as prominent. Jasmine and lemon. She hovered by the window with folded arms, eyes burning holes through him. She wore a simple black dress reaching her ankles and white socks. Her hair was pulled into a long tail, showing more of her face than was usually visible. In the shadow of her anger, she was even more beautiful. Those familiar eyes, alight as if with fire.