TITLE: “AND NEVER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET”
AUTHOR: The Wandmaker
RATING: (currently) PG13
SUMMARY: In 1965 Greenwich Village, jaded New Yorker, Severus Snape, discovers there actually is such a thing as magic, when he meets a handsome young Englishman inside a not-so-ordinary neighborhood bar.
DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling is the brilliant creator of all things Harry Potter. I'm just taking the boys on vacation.
ARCHIVE: Part One of this story created for FROM DUSK till DAWN Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.htm Challenge.
BETA: Joshie, of course!
PART ONE
THE NEW YORK TIMES...
November 9, 1965:
Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Severus Snape makes a rare appearance today at The Strand Bookstore in Manhattan. The top-selling mystery writer in the world after Agatha Christie, Mr. Snape has also won critical acclaim for the numerous screenplays based on his books. The most recent, of course, “Dead Professor Talking,” received an Oscar nod at this past year's Academy Awards in Hollywood. The author will be signing copies of his latest novel, “Poison Pen Pal,” between the hours of 2pm til 5pm.
THE METROPOLITAN PROPHET...
November 9, 1965:
The town is still buzzing over the surprise visit of beloved war hero Harry Potter, who flooed into Manhattan last night to host a fund-raiser for The International Werewolf Welfare League. The legendary star seeker for England in the World Cup against Peru, young Mr. Potter stunned the wizarding world when he announced his retirement from professional Quidditch to pursue a mastery in Healing at St. Mungo's Hospital, London. When asked about plans for the rest of his stay in our fair metropolis, The Boy-Who-Killed-Grindelwald was quoted as saying that he “hoped to catch a few muggle Broadway shows and find some really decent pizza.”
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At precisely 5:12 pm on an otherwise pleasant autumn evening, a tripped relay at a generating plant near Niagara Falls triggered a cascading power failure that plunged most of Northeast America into darkness.
At 5:27pm in the middle of rush hour, the lights had gone out all over New York City - and every traffic signal, every subway train, every high-rise elevator had instantly shut down, as well. In a local hospital, a young woman had just given birth to her first baby. Its twin would be delivered moments later, by flashlight.
But these matters did not concern Severus Snape. All he wished to do at this moment, was extricate himself from the rather, ahem, awkward position in which he now found himself. He was trapped inside a pitch black bookstore with several hundred panicking fans, some of whom decided that total darkness was an invitation to accidentally “grope” his person!
Why on earth had he ever agreed to this ill-fated bit of ego stroking? His books sold well enough without any help from his agent's grinding publicity machine. Severus wasn't hypocritical enough to despise the money and accolades his fame had brought him over the years...but he utterly detested fawners and suck-ups.
At least, in Hollywood, a writer was typically invisible and barely acknowledged. Apparently, the idiotic movie-going public seemed to believe that actors wrote their own dialogue, and directors created the intricate plots.
“Oooh, Mr. Snape! Since we're going to be stuck here for awhile, can I call you Sevvie?” crooned a voice in the darkness.
ENOUGH! Snape threw his chair back and stumbled towards the faint red glow of an emergency exit sign. There was scattering of “oofs” and indignant “heys!” which he took evil delight in ignoring, as he stepped on numerous unseen toes. After smashing into several counters and chairs, Severus pushed his way out the exit door.
Now, moments later, standing on the corner of 12 th Street and Broadway, Severus wondered what the hell had happened. Traffic was at a standstill, the sound of car horns and police sirens grated on his ears. The only illumination came from the automobile headlights and the full moon above. A chill ran through him as he realized what was wrong. There was no skyline. Not a single light twinkled from the shadowy canyon of buildings.
Wait. There was ...something. A purple neon sign glowed in the window across the street – “The Flying Snitch” it read in cursive letters a foot high. Ah, yes. Some kind of dive bar. Severus had passed it hundreds of times over the years. It was a dim, dingy, unwelcoming sort of saloon which he'd never had the slightest inclination to patronize. Ever.
And yet, now, it seemed almost...appealing. Bloody hell, as his British acquaintances would say. Did he really feel like trudging several miles uptown in the dark to his apartment. Well, certainly not, without a good, stiff drink. And surely, he rationalized, it didn't hurt that this “Flying Snitch” establishment was probably the one place on the entire island of Manhattan which could actually boast of still having electricity!
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For a moment, he thought he had lost his mind. Severus had never seen such a motley collection of souls in his entire life...and he'd spent a good deal of every year in Hollywood! And he'd certainly been mistaken about the electricity. The only illumination appeared to come from candles flickering in sconces along the walls.
He couldn't figure out, exactly, what kind of world he'd just walked into. It wasn't a biker bar, it wasn't a Mod bar, it wasn't a hangout the nearby University crowd. Had he blundered into some bizarre masquerade party? But wasn't Halloween over? Although it obviously wasn't a gay bar, the other patrons all wore long capes or robe things, and odd sorts of hats. And they were all staring at him with undisguised curiosity.
Including the bartender, who wore an eye patch and a...hump?
“What'll be for ya, Jack?” he rasped.
Severus ignored the shivers running up and down his spine. “I'd like a Johnny Walker Black, straight up, please.” The bartender nodded and Severus slid onto one of the barstools, his heart still hammering. He hadn't felt so intimidated since junior high.
He glanced around at the shabby surroundings, taking in the long, blank exposed brick wall positioned to the left of the battered old bar. Oddly, it was bare – without the usual flyers, cheap nostalgic photographs or battered old metal beer signs one usually found in such a place.
Suddenly, as he stared at the wall, it began to blur, then dissolve for a moment. Severus blinked and continued to stare in disbelief as the most attractive young man he'd ever seen walked through. WALKED THROUGH????? A WALL??? Ah, that “thing” was happening again.
The bartender set his Scotch in front of him and Severus gulped it down, just as an endless series of shrieks and squeals echoed though the pub.
“It's Harry Potter!”
“Omigod, it's HIM!”
“I can't believe it!”
Severus could have sworn he saw the handsome young man's eyes roll in annoyance. Was this some kind of underground cult celebrity he knew nothing about? Who the hell was Harry Potter...that is, aside from being a damned gorgeous young creature...who, let us not forget, HAD JUST WALKED THROUGH A WALL!”
This “Harry Potter” person glanced at the crowd, put his hand up and shook his head firmly. This seemed to have a mollifying effect on the crowd who immediately shut up and went back to supposedly minding their own business.
But now, the young man's unbelievable emerald green eyes took notice of Severus for the first time, and he smiled with delight.
“You're...you're Severus Snape, aren't you?” he approached Severus almost timidly. “Wow!”
The young man's accent was unexpectedly British.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Sir,” Severus replied mildly. But there was that “thing” again. The thing that hadn't happened since he was a child and his parents had made him see a psychiatrist every Wednesday afternoon. Quickly, he shoved the strange sensation away, like he always did.
Yes, it was merely a trick of the mind. The things people imagined in the spooky lighting of a strange new place. Meanwhile...here was the single delicious upside of fame – being approached by a rare gorgeous admirer. Ah, yes...most definitely!
“I'm Harry...Potter,” his companion murmured, and seemed to hesitate...as if he were searching Severus' eyes for a flicker of recognition.
“So I've heard, however, the name doesn't ring a bell,” came the bland reply. “I'm not really into the rock music scene. Which band are you with? I assume it's one of the new British groups?”
“Band?” The green eyes grew even wider in disbelief. The eavesdropping barman gave a snort. “You're serious, aren't you?”
Severus shrugged, and sipped his Scotch thoughtfully. “However that may be, might I buy you a drink?”
Harry Potter beamed. “Please.” He nodded at the bartender who seemed to know what was required without even asking. A moment later, shimmering amber liquid seemed to steam from the glass set before him. He raised his goblet. “To fame, and how it sucks!”
“What on earth is that?”
“Oh, c'mon, Severus! You act like you've never seen fire whiskey before,” Harry grinned before taking a short swig. “Wow, I've got to admit, I never thought I'd ever get a chance to meet you on a trip to America. I've read every one of your books, but no one ever mentioned...I mean, you never gave any clue, about being one of us!”
“Pardon?”
“Got to admit, you've hidden it better than anyone I've ever seen. Amazing, man!”
Severus wasn't paying attention to Harry's words. He was too busy staring at the teapot floating across the room. It hovered over one of the larger round tables and began pouring itself into several delicate china cups.
“What the hell is this place?” his voice actually trembled.
There was a long silence.
“Oh,” Harry finally said.
“Crap,” sighed the bartender.
“You really have no idea, do you?” the handsome young man whispered, his green eyes shadowed with compassion. “But if you're a mu- I mean, how were you able to find this place?”
Severus didn't understand the importance of the question. “I've passed it by for years...never felt like coming in before.”
The bartender and Harry exchanged another glance. “So, you've always been able to see it?”
With a shaking hand, Severus pushed his empty glass across the bar, where it was hastily refilled. “One would have to be blind to miss that atrocious purple sign.”
“Squib!” muttered the bartender under his breath, and received a glare from Harry, who cleared his throat.
“Can you believe what's going on outside? The radio says the entire East Coast is blacked out. Wow!”
“Hmm,” Severus replied, not caring less if the entire world had blacked out. God, how likely would it be that he'd be able to cajole this exquisitely attractive and appealing young man into his bed this evening? Mr. Potter certainly seemed...receptive.
“I was supposed to see a preview of the new mug...musical “Man of La Mancha tonight. Guess that's cancelled.”
Severus nodded, “I suppose, in that case, you have no plans for the evening.”
Harry leaned forward and smiled disarmingly. “Don't I?”
Young, handsome, intelligent and apparently interested in him? Harry Potter seemed to good to be true. But Severus hardly felt like arguing about it. Delectable opportunities like this were few and far between.
“Is there any other place you might wish to go this evening?”
Harry gave another faint smile. “I've got a room upstairs.”
Severus was confused. His companion radiated wealth and accomplishment. Yet his residence was some shabby little studio above a dive bar? Wait. Had Harry just invited him UPSTAIRS? Indeed, this was turning out to be a most unexpectedly pleasurable evening.
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TO BE CONTINUED...