Chapter 1

Waiting for Hell

***

The dark clad man sat in a shaded corner of the busy restaurant, idly playing with his silverware. He could not believe he had been talked into this... this date.

He could not believe she had agreed to this date.

His brow furrowed angrily. The entire business was ridiculous... beyond stupid... how was it Ginny Weasley had so gauchely put it?

Whacked. Simply Whacked!

He picked up his wine glass and took a sip. At least IT was good - but it should be, for the amount it cost. He listened carefully to the piped in music - the Overture from Madam Butterfly, if he was hearing correctly - as his eyes glanced at the clock.

7:05.

She was late.

Lovely, he thought to himself. I will finish my drink and leave. Chalk it up to...

"Sir?" A lovely woman, dressed in the uniform of the serving personnel, stood at the table, a basket of long-stemmed roses hanging on her arm. "Would you like a rose for your dining companion?" She nodded towards the empty chair.

He smiled... sort of...

"Are there any black ones?"

Her smile wavered. "Black roses?"

He continued to look at her expectantly. Finally, he looked down and lazily sifted through the flowers in her basket. "No, it does not look as if you do. No thank you."

Mumbled apologies as she moved away.

7:08.

Fine. So be it. Chalk it up for another lost cause in the love-lorn department of Getting Snape Laid. His rather hooked nose went deep into the wine glass, draining the remnants. As he set the glass down, a shadow fell across the table.

"Severus... Snape, I presume?"

A part of him sighed involuntary relief, where the other part was furious that he would NOW have to go through with this infernal evening. He looked up.

She looked like her picture. He had heard rumors, was warned by that annoying werewolf that sometimes, the pictures that women put in their internet profiles were doctored. She was not as tall as he, but still tall for a woman. A simple long sleeved black dress, high necked, slightly tight. A little extra poundage, not that he cared. Brown hair, brown eyes behind glasses, very... normal. No great beauty here, but neither was he, like he had room to be picky...

"Professor Snape?" Annoying chit was still standing.

"You are late." He gestured to the seat.

Her smile looked slightly strained as she pulled out her chair and sat down. She gingerly laid her black beaded clutch on the table.

"My apologies si... Professor."

Severus rolled his eyes. This was, after all, a date. "My name is Severus. You may call me that."

At least for now.

She checked her watch quickly and apologized again. "The weather is just frightful and the trollies were running slow. It didn't help that there were problems at work. I swear, the powers that be were just determined to make me late!" She took a deep breath and looked up expectantly.

"I hate excuses."

Her smile wavered.

"To begin with, it is February, so one must expect the weather to be frightful and one should make allowances for that. I have lived a rather secluded life therefore I have no idea what a 'trollies' is and I do not care. As for your work..."

"I am sorry." Her tone was clipped and Severus was slightly taken aback. "If you did not wish to meet me for dinner then you should not have asked me out! I apologized for being three minutes late..."

"Nine."

"THREE!" It was hissed. "By my watch, which is set to Greenwich Time, three! Certainly not anything to be burned at the stake for!" She reached for her purse and started to rise. "I am sorry I wasted your time..."

"Wait!" It was a command and she plopped back down in her seat. Severus leaned forward on his elbows, long fingers steepled under his nose. His smile was demented.

She opened her mouth to protest.

He cut her off.

"To begin with, I wanted meet you for dinner. Second, Miss Tarken, I am willing to forgive your inability to get here on time due to whatever excuse you managed to come up with. Thirdly, I have a desire..." and with this he scrunched his face, casting doubt upon this thought, "... to hear all about your work. You were not forthcoming about it." He paused for a few moments while he poured wine into both glasses. He handed her hers. "Drink up, madam. I assure you it is quite good." He watched in perverse humor as she lifted her glass, watching him warily.

"Why did you want to meet me for dinner? I am sure you had many eligible bachelorettes to answer you ad." She took a sip and watched an eyebrow arch in appreciation.

"Quite the opposite, I assure you. You were the only one to answer."

Her eyebrows arched high in surprise. " Really? You do come off as a little austere."

Severus snorted. Only a little? He would have to work on that. "My... superior and an acquaintance attempted to assist me with it, but they would have filled it with frippery and nonsense."

"So totally not you, I suspect."

"No." He smiled, absolutely not a merry one. "They would have had me waxing poetic and asking ridiculous questions - What is your sign, what color are your eyes... bah." He set his glass down a little roughly. He leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "M'dear, you have a most unusual eye color; in fact, it is rather stunning!"

She laughed. "They are brown, you git. Brown because I am so full of shite!" Her giggles continued as she lifted her glass.

In that moment, he knew. He KNEW! And she was unaware he knew.

"Miss Tarken?"

"Abigail."

"Ah. Abigail. May I ask you a serious question?"

"Please. This is a date designed for us to get to know each other. Ask away!"

Severus set his glass away from his plate and leaned back. He scrutinized her, her form, her face.

"Which one of my students are you?"

TBC

A/N This story has been plagerized several times by the same pathetic individual. I am the original author and have posted it in several other places, the first time at the Potion Master's Mistress for a writing challenge. Anyone who has been there for sometime will vouch for my ownership - if it can be called that - of this story.