Zenitopia

True to form, Severus was waiting for me at the main doors, though I didn’t immediately turn my attention to him. I was busy analyzing the conversation Septima and I had just finished, and puzzling over some of the whisperings I’d heard from students on my less-than-graceful descent to the entryway.

“Good afternoon, Elise,” he greeted in a voice so soft only I could hear it.

“Severus,” I replied, looking up into his eyes. He looked paler than I remembered, and weary. “If you’d rather not do this…” I began.

“Escort you, or attend the tournament?”

“Either,” I answered. “Both.”

“Attendance, unfortunately is a requirement of my position. Escorting you may make the event tolerable. How is your leg?”

From anyone else, such a question would be casual, from Severus Snape a personal query was a rare intimacy. “About the same. I’ve got Muggle painkillers, and charms to lighten the weight of the cast.”

“Be certain to tell Madam Pomfrey exactly what you are taking for the pain. She’ll need to make sure nothing she gives you is contraindicated. I will try to make time to be there if you like.”

“For a price, no doubt?” I teased.

“There is always a price, Elise. In this case, dinner. My rooms. Tonight. There is much of our world you are likely unaware of, and your uncle will not have told you.”

I nodded. “It happens I’m free,” I said.

He opened the main doors, and then came back to me. “Can you walk at all without those sticks?”

“They’re crutches,” I said. “And I can, yes, but I get a bit wobbly. If you take my arm, I can probably manage with one.”

“That will do.”

He arranged my arm through his own, and we slowly made our way across to the Quidditch grounds, which had been transfigured into an arena of a different sort. A few times we were swarmed by groups of students, but Severus merely straightened his stance and arched a brow or started a sneer, and they quickly dispersed. Finally, we arrived at the staff box, and he ushered me to a seat just behind Uncle Albus and Professor McGonagall and next to a blond man I recognized all too well.

Lucius Malfoy turned as I took my seat, and stared at me with his cool blue eyes. “Miss Foster. I wasn’t aware you’d returned to us.”

His tone was on the cool side of neutral, and though I was out of practice when it came to pureblood politics, I matched it with my own, “When I heard about the Tri-Wizard tournament, I couldn’t stay away, Mr. Malfoy. I’m just sorry Hogwarts isn’t represented by our own house.”

“I’d forgotten you were Slytherin, Miss Foster. Do call me Lucius. Tell me, are you still dancing? Narcissa and I attend the Idyllwild Nutcracker tour with our son Draco every year.”

“Sadly, an injury in front of a largely Muggle audience has ended my public career,” I answered, lifting the hem of my skirt to show my cast, “but I’m glad to know you and your wife are supporting the arts. Dance has a power beyond even our mere magic, don’t you think?”

“Too true,” he answered crisply. “I’m relieved you’ve returned here for treatment. A talent such as yours should not be wasted. Does it cause you much difficulty moving?”

“Only a little, and Severus has been gracious about chivvying me around. As has your son, in fact. I met him this morning, and we had a lovely chat.” On the other side of me, I felt Severus touch my hand, so I knew he was listening to everything. I turned my hand beneath his, and squeezed gently, so that he would know all would be explained at dinner. “He’s quite an engaging young man.”

“So he is.” Malfoy took a breath and then asked, ingenuously, “Narcissa would love to hear your opinion of American fashion. Miss – ah – I can’t recall your first name.”

“It’s Elise,” I said.

“Elise, then. I’ll have her invite you for tea while you’re with us. How long did you say that would be?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “And in truth, I’m not sure. But I would never refuse such an invitation.” I wasn’t lying, exactly. While I didn’t particularly like Lucius Malfoy, I’d met Narcissa on a few occasions, and she was never other than gracious.

“Very well, then. Ah, they’re starting.”

We all turned our attention to the center of the arena, which was tricked out with rocks and cliff faces that seemed to double back on one another, as a fanfare sounded around us. Uncle Albus cast Sonorus and introduced the champions – Victor Krum, the Quidditch star was competing for Durmstrang. “A ringer?” I muttered to Severus.

“Returned for seventh year,” he answered.

Next out was Fleur Delacour, representing Beauxbatons. She was pale and delicate, and exuded something that had every male in the vicinity staring at her. “It is rumored she is part Veela,” Severus breathed into my ear, and I nodded.

And then there were two more champions introduced, Cedric Diggory, the favorite, and a scrawny black-haired boy who was also from Hogwarts, and if his presence as a fourth competitor alone wasn’t enough to make me lean closer to Severus and ask for an explanation, his name, once announced, caused me to exclaim in a shocked tone, “That child is Harry Potter?”

“Leaves much to be desired in a prophesied savior, don’t you think?” came the silken tones I knew so well.

“Somewhat,” I agreed softly.

When they next explained the challenge – steal a golden egg from a dragon’s protection, I was unable to keep a Muggle folk tune I’d heard at a Renaissance Festival I’d attended as a student in America from wandering through my head, and leaning close to my black-clad escort, I sang very softly,
“Do virgins taste better than those who are not?
Are they salty, or sweeter, more juicy or what?
Do you savor them slowly? Gulp them down on the spot?
Do virgins taste better than those who are not?”

He did not laugh, of course, merely said, “Elise…” in a warning tone, but I suspected he would be asking to hear the complete tune at some point in the future.