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The Essence of Susan Jones	By : EllieK Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 1484 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The ways of the brilliant

Are the ways of the lost�

Chapter One: Enigma

�Why are you concerned about Miss Jones?� Susan inquired carefully.

�My�employer has asked me to locate her,� Snape answered.

�And who might this employer be?�

�Are you Miss Jones?� Snape pressed.

�Answer my question,� she demanded, �and then I may answer yours.�

�His name is Dumbledore.�

�Albus?� she whispered. �How do you know Albus?�

�I am a professor at the school. Here.� Snape handed her the letter.

Susan eyed the envelope, snatched it, and tore it open. She took a few steps away from Snape before she dipped her head to read. When she looked up, she asked, �Snape is it?� He nodded. She said, �I will accompany you.�

�Very well, Miss Jones. We leave in the morning,� Snape said. �Where do you suggest I stay for the night?�

She started walking, and he followed. �Professor, did Albus tell you much about me?�

�No.�

�Right, then,� she replied. �We are going to my home for now--unless you would prefer to stay in the lodge on the other side of town?�

�Your home will be satisfactory, I assume. Is it much farther?�

�No, it's just a short walk. Professor, were you a student at the school where you now teach?�

�That is not relevant to the business at hand,� Snape replied.

�As you say.� A cold, formal man--perfect for the job, except for that ridiculous attempt at a Muggle disguise: black boots, black, woollen trousers, and a black turtleneck under a black cable-knit jumper? He looks as if his Mum dressed him for sledding. For Merlin�s sake, it�s the end of August�

***

The house standing alone at the end of the lane was small and unobtrusive. It resembled all the others in the area, adding to the impression that a single blueprint had been imposed over all, yielding rows of the same house, varying in colour only from tan to white.

This one was tan. Thick, grey curtains covered the windows, blocking any view from the street. Wind chimes dangling from the overhang tinkled jarringly in the slight breeze as Snape and Susan climbed the three steps leading to the front door.

Snape�s first reaction to the interior was relief; he was pleased not to be assaulted by the usual feminine predilection for frills�lacy, puffed cushions, gaudy floral fabrics, and the like. Simple. Spartan. The room was unimaginative as Miss Jones. His general impression of the interior was that it left much to be desired.

�Professor, you will be staying in the office. It�s this way.� She ushered him down the short, narrow hallway and into a room on the right.

The room was neat and tidy but cramped. It contained little more than a lumpy couch, a bookshelf with trashy novels, a shiny black piece of obviously unused exercise equipment and a desk littered with flotsam. After a cursory glance at the accommodations, Snape followed Susan into the kitchen.

Susan rummaged through the cabinets and refrigerator as Snape watched. �I haven�t much,� she told him. �I was planning to stop at the market, but, since I�m leaving, that seems pointless.� She shook her head and pulled a box from the cupboard. �Um, do you like macaroni and cheese?�

He eyed the blue box in the woman�s hand. �Am I to believe that there is actual cheese in that box?�

She read the label. �Oh, look here, it says �just add milk and butter�. Milk plus butter plus orange powder equals cheese. Voil�!�

�How inventive.�

�You might go into the other room, Professor. I seriously doubt I will need any help with this.� She placed the box on the counter and showed Snape to the living room where she snapped on the TV and waved him to a chair. Some minutes later, she returned with an unsavoury supper of the stuff from the box, handing him a plate and joining him before the TV.

They ate in silence, staring at the screen. At last, bored to tears, Snape feigned fatigue, retiring for the night to the spare room.

***

Around midnight, Susan still could not sleep so she decided to check on her guest. Professor Snape was also awake. She found him wandering toward the kitchen.

�Would you care for some tea, Professor Snape?�

�That would be agreeable.�

She waited for him to enter the kitchen. As she bustled about with kettle and teapot, she asked, �How are we travelling?�

Snape tapped a finger against his lips. �Do you own an automobile?�

�No, I do not.�

�Then we will take a coach to the train station and, from thence, a train to New York. We will use a Por�another means of conveyance to cross the pond.�

Susan almost allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up. �I see,� she replied evenly. He had no idea�no idea at all.

�Tell me, Miss Jones, why would Dumbledore wish to find you?�

�There is no need for you to know the reason: Your only job is to get me to Albus.�

Irked by her high-handed manner, Snape raised an eyebrow. �Perhaps I shall tell the Headmaster that I was unable to locate you. I doubt you would be missed if you were to disappear suddenly.�

She snorted, and shook her head. �What is so amusing?� Snape inquired.

�You are, Professor. Isn�t that exactly what is going to happen?�

�Pardon?�

�You were attempting, and rather poorly I might add, to intimidate me. But, I am already �disappearing suddenly�, am I not?�

�Do not try my patience, Miss Jones. It is in short supply.�

Susan poured the tea. Handing him a cup, she asked, �How long have you been a teacher?�

�Longer than I would prefer to admit.�

She studied him with inscrutable brown eyes. �Would you care to elaborate?�

�No, I would not.�

�You are a miserable prat, aren�t you?� Susan said suddenly.

How odd that sounded coming from an American! �You are both impertinent and in no position to criticise me,� Snape shot back. Much to his amazement, she laughed heartily, and then said, �I am just as you say.�

She must be daft to laugh at my rebuke. Snape stirred his tea. �I wish to leave at sunrise,� he informed her. �Bring with you only necessities, as I shall not assist you in hauling your goods.�

�I will be bringing only one thing.� She rose from the table and left the kitchen, returning with a small, leather satchel. She held it up for his inspection.

�Hmm�I had supposed a woman would insist upon much more,� Snape admitted.

�You were wrong, Professor. I have nothing of importance.�

Severus Snape crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, appraising Susan Jones. She was a pathetic creature, utterly pedestrian. He had never seen a more unattractive female. She seemed almost faceless to him. What is it about her that makes her so? She is not misshapen, not plump, not scrawny�I cannot find the word.

Susan considered the man before her. It had been years since she had seen a wizard, and even then, not one like this. Black, he is very black. Susan sipped her tea nonchalantly as the wizard watched her with his fathomless eyes.

Draining her cup, Susan announced, �It�s getting late. Good night, Professor.� She departed without a backward glance at the black wizard. Many coloured are the shades of our emotions. I chose to remain neutral on such arbitrary notions. From red to blue is the spectrum of you. I chose to remain in the utter mundane. I could go in between shades of amber and green, while I watch as you skew from rosy to blue. I have already said my colour�s far from red. I am nearer to plum, which is far more glum. But if I had my way and could wander and stray, I would go in between shades of amber and green.

Sitting on her bed with eyes alert and fixed on her doorway, Susan recalled the events of the day. Her world was ripping open. I suppose I must go; Albus would not have sent for me unless... What was she leaving behind? There was truly nothing of personal value in Susan�s house. Strange how six years of living can fit into a satchel--six years of existing, more like.

Dawn found Severus Snape and Susan Jones walking down the road to the bus station. Snape�s companion was silent, a characteristic he wished some of his students would acquire. Only ten glorious days remained until the start of the term and it would probably take most of that time to reach Hogwarts. The Fates never allowed him to spend enough time alone, and neither did Albus. There was always one more errand, one more meeting, one more miserable class to teach; there was always an obstacle to the solitude for which Snape hungered. At least this morning he did not have to listen to Muggle drivel or circumvent her questions. Susan Jones was acquainted with Albus, which meant that she also knew of wizards, but exactly how far her knowledge extended was not clear.

I could be in my laboratory doing research at this very moment; instead, I am in a place that I would describe as some undetermined level of Hell. Which level I do not know as of yet, but I have little doubt that the coach I am preparing to board will usher me straight to its centre. �Miss Jones, you should purchase the tickets,� Snape told her.

With a mute nod, Susan proceeded to the counter, returning swiftly with the tickets. Wordlessly, she guided him to their bus, boarded the vehicle, and took a seat near the back. She chose the seat by the window. Turning her head to the right, she looked out at the station. Snape sat beside her and began to read a copy of the local Muggle newspaper.

After years of exile, Susan had learned to hold long conversations with herself inside her head. Some might think she was a bit mad; she believed herself to be more lucid than most. As the bus pulled from the station, she shut her eyes momentarily and mumbled, �I have a facsimile, an exact copy of me. Duplicate woman who is now in the ground. She was searching for something which will never be found.�

***

Four hours later, the bus rolled into a rest stop. The air was thick and hot. Susan felt her hair instantly plaster the back of her neck.

Snape stood tall in the blazing heat while observing the Muggles and their interactions. Fascinating. He watched a boy insert a green bill, presumably Muggle money, into a slot in a large, red box which had the word �refreshments� written on it. The boy pressed a button, and a bottle of dark liquid dropped into the opening near the bottom of the red box.

�Professor, you must be dying of heat in those black, woollen clothes of yours,� Susan realised. Without waiting for his answer, she walked over to the red box and deposited several coins.

�I assure you that I am not dying, Madam,� hissed Snape.

�Not yet,� quipped Susan. �Would you like a soda?� As if to prove it was not poisoned, she opened the bottle in her hand and drank.

Snape curled his lip in disgust as he watched Susan gulp down the contents of the bottle. �If that,� he pointed at the bottle, �is soda, then no, I do not. Is there any tea to be had?�

Susan grinned, pointing toward the machine. �Cold, sweet, and with lemon.� He shuddered. She shrugged and made her way back to the bus.

Their journey resumed. Hours of idleness, monotonous road, and confinement began to grate on Snape. Ordinarily, I would relish time to myself, but this is too much. What in the bloody hell is that stench? If that corpulent wanker enters the lavatory one more time, I shall charm a cork to stopper his overactive rectum!

To distract his mind from the odious lavatory, he focused on his companion. �It is now eleven o�clock, Miss Jones.� Snape had rather hoped this news would bring about some sign of life from the woman, but he was disappointed. Though inane chatter was not his habit, he would be damned if he would be ignored! �Might I inquire as to what is so very enthralling outside the window? You have been staring out there since this excursion began,� he grumbled.

Susan turned to him with a blank expression on her face. �I am unaccustomed to company. My apologies, Sir.�

�Do you always ignore direct questions?� he snapped.

�Generally, people do not ask me direct questions.�

This is more complicated than extracting teeth from a Thestral in heat. �Pay attention, Miss Jones, I am preparing to ask you a direct question,� Snape began in a dangerous tone. Susan arched her eyebrow, letting Snape know he had her attention. �Have you ever been evaluated for mental stability?�

Laughter began in the pit of her stomach then erupted in a cacophony of wails, causing many heads to turn in their direction.

�Should I decipher this display as a yes or a no?�

�Professor Snape,� Susan choked out, �I had no idea that you had a sense of humour. Oh, lord�that was an excellent question.� She continued to chuckle, wiping the tears from her eyes. �The answer is no, but thank you for asking.�

Snape shook his head. He tried another subject. �Miss Jones, what is �electronic filing�?�

�Would you like a dictionary definition, or would you rather know my personal characterisation?� Snape narrowed his eyes at her. �I�ll give you mine: Electronic filing is a task employers use to rip the very life force from their most intelligent employees, effectively creating an environment of boredom and turning the brains of said employees into vestigial organs.�

Speechless. The woman had rendered him speechless.

�I will miss my job so very much,� she moaned theatrically.

�I may have underestimated you, Miss Jones,� Snape decided. �I see now that your fondness for acting the deaf mute is not due to a lack of intelligence, but is, instead, an act of extreme courtesy.�

�Underestimations are the start of great things, Professor. Miscalculations, on the other hand, can be fatal.�

�You are quite the conversationalist,� he allowed.

�Not really. I think I am going to try to get some rest now, Professor.�

�Excellent idea.�

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Day two�

Screech, bang, sputter, jerk, jerk�phut.

The bus broke down near Nashville shortly after six in the morning. The passengers and their luggage were unceremoniously removed and deposited at a rest station located off Interstate 40. It would take four hours for another bus to replace the one that had died.

�Nashville has an airport, Professor. We could ditch the bus and take a plane,� Susan suggested.

�I do not fly in giant tin cans, Miss Jones,� Snape said firmly. �Aren�t there any trains on this god-forsaken continent?�

�Yes, but not many that would suit our purposes,� she informed him.

Neither Susan nor Severus had slept during the night, and the combination of exhaustion, foul odours from the bus� chemical toilet, unpalatable meals, and being abandoned on the roadside was fraying the already overtaxed nerves of the Potions Master. �This is abominable!� he huffed.

He was a mere step from homicide in Susan�s opinion, not that she wasn�t ready to wield a whip to punish the idiots responsible for the demise of the bus, but she remained superficially serene. Susan found a phone book and perused the section that listed hotels in the area.

�There is a hotel not too far away. I know I could use a nap and a nice, hot shower. What do you say, Professor?�

�Define �not too far away�,� he said. �Will it be a stroll or an expedition?�

Susan cracked a grin. Expedition? Are we on the Serengeti Plain following migrating giraffes? �I suppose that depends. If we could catch a ride with someone, it would take only ten minutes.�

�Hitchhike? I think not.�

�Then, it will take a while. I wonder if taxis collect passengers from rest stations?� Susan thumbed through the phone book once again, finding a multitude of options. After making several phone calls, the fruits of her labour became sweet. �You will be pleased to know that we have transportation. According to six different companies, it is highly unorthodox to pick up passengers from a highway rest area, but one company agreed to make an exception.�

�A taxi could take us the remainder of the way, could it not?� Snape asked.

�All the way to New York? Have you any idea how expensive that would be? No cab driver in his right mind would agree to take someone that far, even if his company would allow it.�

�Point taken.�

***

The hotel lobby was decorated in tones of peach and teal. Snape was certain the cretin who decorated the place had been colour-blind or had a dismal sense of humour. Their room was clean enough and, according to Miss Jones, it had all the major requirements, which consisted of two beds and a bathroom. Unlike the lobby, the room was unobjectionable; the bed linens and draperies were cream, while the walls were taupe and the carpet was brown.

Susan sank onto her bed and fell asleep instantly. Snape wanted to bathe. Contrary to popular belief, he had impeccable hygiene, not that that helped his perpetually oily skin and hair. He had tried many ways to calm his overactive sebaceous glands without success. Though he had used a Muggle shower before, usually while he was on one of Dumbledore�s errands, he found them to be far less enjoyable than a relaxing bath. Showers serve their purpose but nothing more, he thought regretfully.

Snape joined his companion in the bedroom, deciding to sleep above the covers of his bed so he would not need to remove his boots. Glancing over at Susan Jones, he thought, At least she doesn�t snore. Against his better judgment, he closed his eyes and surrendered to exhaustion, finding sleep swiftly.

***

Susan woke Snape after she showered. It was much like poking a sleeping bear with a stick, and she was greeted by having his thick, black wand aimed directly between her eyes. Recovering quickly from his rude awakening, Snape replaced his wand and asked, �What time is it?�

�It is midnight, Professor Snape. We slept the entire day. I thought you might be hungry.�

�You are correct,� he grumbled.

�We could order room service or we could go down to the snack bar. We have to decide immediately because the kitchen closes at one,� she informed him.

�The former is preferable.�

She read the menu aloud and then called the kitchen with their selections. �The food will be here in twenty minutes. If you are bored, you can watch the television. It does help to pass the time.�

He sniffed sceptically. Susan laughed and then handed him the remote.

�I assume the button marked �on� will start the machine,� Snape said.

�How very astute you are, Sir.�

He pressed the button cautiously. �What is the purpose of this?� he wondered, staring at the screen.

�That is an infomercial. Trust me, change the channel.�

Snape was just about to turn the TV off when he happened upon something of interest. It was the beginning of The Exorcist.

�I haven�t seen it, but I have heard that film it is entertaining,� Susan remarked. �It is a horror film.�

�Horror, eh?� Snape jeered. �We shall see.�

***

After the end of the film, Snape decided to try his hand at conversation with the woman. �Was the film to your liking?� he asked cordially.

She nodded. �It was competently done. What was your opinion?�

�I am certain that the girl from the film was one of my students,� he replied dryly.

Susan chuckled. �I have never cared much for children. They do make wonderfully evil creatures on film, though.�

�As they do in life.�

�And, there were no commercials,� Susan added. �I guess we should decide how we go on from here. I would really like to avoid another bus.�

�I agree.� Snape thought a moment. If I create a Portkey from here, it will leave a magical trail. I could Apparate with the woman in tow but, again, that would leave a trail, and she may not be ready for such an unconventional method of travel. Dumbledore had very specific instructions about the use of magic: no magic until we are in New York. �Due to our circumstances, we will have to continue by coach.�

�Must we?� Susan asked, frowning. NO! I could rent a car, but I haven�t driven in over a decade. He won�t fly�and, anyway, airport security is tight these days. Other means of transportation are probably out of the question�drat! �The bus it is, I guess.�

�May the gods help us,� Snape said darkly.

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Day three�

The journey was a long one. It took twenty hours to reach New York via coach. During that time, Snape had been unaccountably surprised by the intelligence of Miss Jones. They had had very lively and in-depth discussions. He was almost sorry their travels together were ending. However, when the vehicle stopped outside the train station, Snape and Susan could not disembark fast enough, as they had both had their fill of public transportation.

Snape took Susan by the elbow and guided her into an empty alcove, where only the painted eyes from the graffiti were watching.

�Miss Jones,� instructed Snape, �remain here while I survey the area. Do not wander.�

�I�m not going anywhere in this city alone, I assure you.�

She watched Snape walk around the corner, noting how twitchy he was when he walked quickly. She turned her attention to the train station and then to a man in worn, patched clothing sleeping on a distant bench. Trains�they carry so many people, so many lives, so many stories. The people have one thing in common: they walk through the train station. Sometimes they stop to look at graffiti or the broken windows in the ceiling. Occasionally, the drunk will sleep on the benches. When the night is over and the next train comes, the train station is soon forgotten. But another day passes by and the train will surely be on time�

�Miss Jones, this way,� she heard Snape call out.

She shook her head and then went to him. �Where is the Portkey?� Susan asked.

Snape was taken aback. �You know what they are?�

�I am not ignorant of your world, Professor,� she replied.

�Over there,� he told her, pointing to an old soda can. Shedoes know Dumbledore, after all.

�Why didn�t we just take a Portkey from my house?�

�Trails, Miss Jones. There are other wizards in New York so one more bit of magic will not be suspicious.�

�How did you get to Nebraska, then?� She asked.

�I Apparated, and on that occasion, Dumbledore was able to mask my trail. Since he is unaware of our exact time of departure, he cannot mask the return trail sufficiently. Now, unless you have any objections, kindly take hold of this,� he prompted impatiently.

They grasped the empty soda can. Before the spinning began, Snape offered genuinely, �It has been a pleasure conversing with you, Miss Jones.�

�Likewise, Professor Snape.�

***

In a matter of moments, they were in Snape�s office. While Susan took a seat to recover from the instantaneous journey, Snape tossed a handful of Floo Powder into his office fire and called for the Headmaster.

Less than a minute later, Albus Dumbledore stepped from the fire into the dungeon office. Susan stood up. �Albus!� She cried happily, reaching toward the elderly wizard.

�So good to see you, my dear,� Dumbledore said, taking her hands in his. �Was your trip pleasant?�

�Yes, thank you. Professor Snape was most pleasant.�

Clearly surprised by her reply, Dumbledore turned questioning eyes to Snape. �Miss Jones did not cause me any unnecessary irritation,� Snape offered honestly.

Dumbledore returned his attention to Susan. �How long have you been like this?� he asked gently.

�Five and one-half years,� she replied. �I had to make the changes. My other form was attracting too much attention.�

Snape struggled to conceal his astonishment. What other form?

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Thank you to my wonderful Beta, S
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The Essence of Susan Jones