#snape lives

He whipped his head about to move the long strands of hair from his face, hugging himself as the wind tore at his sweater and the chill of winter ate at his thin teenage body, littered with secrets if anyone ever came close enough to see. He was scrawny, lanky, and there was nothing on him to keep him from experiencing the cold biting through the thin layers covering him now that his thrice-gifted and once donated coat kept the chill away from your raised shoulders as he watched you hurry toward the grand carriage drawn by six white pegasus. You were far beyond his reach in every way, yet you had been by his side even when he did not deserve it, when all others kept a distance, and when all others removed themselves.

Still, he smiled gently to himself while his heart experienced a warmth that no wind of December could chase away, even if he knew his coat would be lost until your return from the Christmas holiday. “She will find me then,” he murmured, no matter how silly it made him feel when his voice still squeaked from time to time. But for three years now, he had grown fond of you — nearly liking you, even? I do like her. I like her quite a bit…

⩤• YOU - December 1999 •⩥

The shopping street was full of people, all flying about in a rush to get their Christmas shopping sorted. It wasn’t odd, given it was the first Saturday of December and life seemed to be in a rush to have a grand Christmas, given the last few years hadn’t been either joyous or warm. Last Christmas had been better than the previous two, obviously, but still not good. This year, you were determined to make it all three things. You’d been safe enough back in Sweden, yet something had persistently tugged inside of you to return to England, to Haywood House on Rosing Road in Hartland. You had known of it for many years now, but the courage to return hadn’t taken hold until January, when Yvonne brought it up yet again, as the darkness and danger were no longer so long after the war. This time, she’d asked to come with you until you had settled in, too. Yvonne had stayed for three months, and in that time, you and Maria had become good friends and close neighbours — even if it was a good walk between your estates.

You shook your head, returning to the thought’s of what a wonderful Christmas you’d make for yourself and the servants. There was just one issue with that. You couldn’t quite remember what a good, joyous, or warm Christmas felt like. What it entailed, or what was needed, or what actually made it into a wonderful Christmas.

There was something in the back of your head, though. A sensation wrapped in a red scarf, with an oversized coat skimming your legs, and a dark figure in the background looming tall in hazy lantern light — but you still had no idea what that sensation was or where the weird memory that felt more like an imagined dream came from. It was the last you had. After it, there was just nothing but strawberry red snow in a haze of fluttering snowflakes and terror so shattering thre were no words for it.

“Y/n! Look here!” called Maria, who had agreed to come with you to Diagon Alley — you knew you ought to know the street, but you couldn’t remember ever having been there despite there being photos of it at home. “I adore these!” Maria called further as you moved toward the vendor. “Oh, they’re lovely,” you said, seeing snowglobes in all the colours of the rainbow with all the statues imaginable within. “That one is cute, I love the snowman.” You leaned closer as a snowball flew again within the globe, pushing the cute snowman’s head to the ground before he grabbed it and put it back with a grin of teeny-tiny coal-like stones, and then it happened all over again while you giggled and Maria called you morbid.

“I’ll take this one,” you announced to the vendor after a minute. “There’s so many cute ones, why d’you have to go for the weird one?” Maria asked while you handed over the money and received the snowglobe in a little bag of cotton. You shrugged. “I guess I like weird things, the oddball, the strange one. I don’t know.” “Honestly, you’re such a strange sort of sunshine person. I swear, if you’d have to choose between a bat and a cat to cuddle, you’d take the bat and dress it in a Santa hat.” You laughed loudly. “A cat would never let me put a Santa hat on it, so that’s an easy choice,” you said, letting her hook arms with you. “You’re my friend, so you obviously like weird things too.” “Seriously, I adore you, but I worry,” she snickered. “As any good friend ought to,” you replied while grabbing her arm tighter as both of you laughed and the strange pull in your chest remained as the hazy memory of a dark, tall figure shrouded in swirling snow through low lantern light offered a warmth you weren’t sure of.

⩤• SEVERUS •⩥

A familiar sound so awfully beautiful made his ears ring as his body froze, his hand a mere wand’s width from the door’s handle. He turned around, and there you go, smiling and chatting while swallowed in a coat so large — as if life had done you no harm when it stole his only warmth as it had taken you without so much as a whisper to comfort his broken heart through the dark years.

His eyes followed you through the pack of people, you moved closer and closer, not a hint of any damage being done to you at all, while he moved stiffly and spoke roughly now. Your face wore a sparkling smile, just how he remembered you, and there was nothing with your appearance he could find any fault with. Some part of his cold heart eased at that; something unbearable he’d hidden away since the day you didn’t return.

A searing torment took its place now. You were alright, you were well and happy, and he was ever grateful while his heart broke all over again as you were swallowed up by the rushing crowd. He stood frozen far too long, loosing sight of you long before he realised. Before he could take a deep enough breath to stifle the tremors in his heart, you were once more gone.

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: CHRISTMAS IS SUPPOSED TO BE CUDDLY, FLUFFY, AND WARM, PLEX!

Yeah, well, not around here. *insert Sid meme of “they do this every year”* Yes, yes I do 😂👌

We have some secret trauma to unpack, some pain to reveal, and some horrors to overcome in this story - but we’ll get there, a few tears lighter perhaps, but whole and smiling in the end 🙈 I seriously cannot write anything while this song is on without it turning painful and drenched in a sense of loss… Let’s hope the next one will be the turning point for our long-lost lovers 😭

NEXT PART>

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   He approached the large stone gargoyle which concealed the spiral staircase leading to the Headmistress's office, and gave the password in his deep baritone: "Sherbet lemon."  Though in her second year as Headmisstress, Minerva had opted to keep the old password set by Albus as a small tribute to her beloved friend and mentor.  Severus found the gesture touching, even if it did reconstitute the ache in his soul each time he had to say it.

   The gargoyle slowly rotated, revealing the twisting stone steps, and he made his way up to Minerva's office, knocking softly on the door.  

   "Oh, Severus.  Do come in.  I'm afraid I have a favour to ask of you."

   He took a seat across from her at the desk.  Whatever her favour might be, he could say with profound certainty that the previous Headmaster had asked much, much more of him.

   "Yes?"

   "I've been called into London just now on very short notice.  The Ministry needs me to report on some school business.  Nothing to worry about, but it is urgent.  I won't be here to greet our new Music professor. She arrives tomorrow afternoon from New York.  Hagrid will be collecting her from Hogsmeade around two o'clock. Knowing him, he will insist on taking her for a drink at the pub, so I would expect her no earlier than three. Would you please make her feel welcome?  Show her around, take her to her chambers."

   Severus tried not to let his annoynance show on his face.  He didn't fancy playing tour-guide. "Of course."

   Having known Severus since he was a child, Minerva knew he wasn't exactly the gregarious sort; his serious disposition and dry remarks could often leave others a bit on edge. She gave him a knowing look.  "Please, Severus.  Do make her feel at home.  She's a lovely woman and will be travelling quite far.  The castle will be empty and I don't want her to feel lonely."

   Severus raised an eyebrow.  "You seem to have little faith in my... congeniality." 

   Minerva smiled, her eyes warm.

   "I have all the faith in the world in you, dear." 

 ********

Friday, 18th August 2000

   The portkey trip was quick, but dreadful, as usual. Stella found herself at the Hogsmeade Portkey Depot feeling as though she'd just tumbled over Niagara falls in a barrel.  Everyone always said portkey travel became easier the more you did it, but she'd never found that to be true.  Her head swimming, she found a wall to lean against and breathed deeply, willing the nausea to disappear.

   "Yeh must be Miss Rosenbaum!" a cheery voice rang out.  A very tall, broad, bushy-bearded man with a friendly smile and sparkling dark brown eyes walked over and stuck out his giant hand.  "Rubeus Hagrid, pleased t' meet yeh. I teach Care o' Magical Creatures at Hogwarts." 

   She smiled back at him and placed her hand in his massive paw; his handshake was suprisingly gentle for such a large bloke.  "Stella, nice to meet you. Thank you for picking me up."

   "Oh it were no trouble, no trouble a'tall! How was yer trip?  Yeh look a might bit peaky if I'm bein' honest."

   "Oh, I'll be alright.  Portkey travel always makes me a little nauseous."

   "Well, tain't nothin' better fer that than a nice cold gingerbeer!  C'mon, let's get yeh sat down in the pub and yeh'll be feelin' mint in nowt time a'tall!"  

   Five minutes later Stella found herself at a table with Hagrid in The Three Broomsticks, watching a sheer layer of ice crystals lace their way around the glass of cold gingerbeer in front of her.  She looked around as the dizziness gradually subsided, taking in the warm ambiance.  The pub was shabby in a cosy kind of way; the furniture weathered, the lighting dim. At the bar, the witch bartender was scourgifying the counter as a bottle of ale poured itself into a pint glass nearby. Two old men in a corner were deeply engrossed in a game of Wizard's chess; she watched as one of the game pieces smashed another into bits.  Everyone around her was dressed in robes, long dresses, and cloaks.  She took a deep breath and let it out with a small, happy sigh.  It was so good to be back in the wizarding world after so many years.  

 ********

   Severus observed as a gaggle of house-elves nimbly moved the mountain of trunks into the vacant teachers' chambers on the fifth floor of the castle.  How many trunks could one person possibly need?  It must have cost her a fortune to have them all delivered.

   The new Music professor was due later that afternoon.  He recalled Minerva's panic when, with impeccable timing, Filius had announced his retirement just two days after the Ministry decreed that Hogwarts was to expand its arts program, leaving her to source both a new Charms professor and someone to teach Music in a hurry.

   In the wake of the War, there had begun a sort of Wizard Rennaissance, the zeitgeist shifting from an overarching sense of dread to a renewed enjoyment of life. After so many years of uncertainty and fear, so much loss and misery, people at last felt relieved, joyous, and eager to celebrate the beautiful things in life. New shops and restaurants were opening in Hogsmeade, along with art studios, music venues, galleries, and the like.  The Ministry proposed a three-year plan to expand the arts lessons at Hogwarts, starting this year with a new Music and Dance programme.  

   Minerva had interviewed several applicants, deciding on Stella Rosenbaum, a Muggle-born witch who had experience teaching music and dance in Muggle New York.  Severus had questioned her decision to hire someone with no experience working in the wizarding world, but Minerva held firm.  Stella was a witch after all, educated at the American magical school Ilvermorny, and teaching is teaching no matter who the students are.  She had personally interviewed her and found her to be the best candidate for the job.  

   Severus respected Minerva's decision, but balked inwardly at the thought of another American teacher at Hogwarts.  They'd had an American Muggle Studies teacher last year, whom he had found entirely disagreeable. She was also Muggle-born, and was loud and brash, with a shrill Boston accent, and she refused to let students use magic in her lessons.  She insisted on wearing only Muggle clothes; baggy jeans and sweatshirts, trainers in garish colours.  Severus found it slovenly, unprofessional, almost rude; to come work at a school in the wizarding world, yet refuse to adjust to the culture even the tiniest bit.  She was overly-confident in that stereotypically American way, always the loudest in the room, always pushing her opinions as if they were the only correct ones.  He could still hear the way her nasally, grating voice echoed off the castle walls.  Luckily she had only lasted half a year, to be replaced with Beth Sterling, a Welsh woman of the quiet, bookish sort.  Beth seemed to find Severus initmidating and kept her distance.

   Bloody Yanks. She probably has one of those hideous New York accents, he thought to himself as the elves scrambled into the soon-to-be inhabited chambers with the last of the trunks.

   He thanked the elves - he was always polite to house-elves - and retreated back to the cool, quiet solitude of the dungeons, into his office, where he spent the morning busying himself in his personal potions cupboard.  The summer break had seemed to drag on endlessly.  Long, hot days spent alone at his home in Cokeworth, just trying to fill the time - and silence his thoughts. 

   He was glad to be back at Hogwarts, where at least he'd be kept busy.  The previous year, his first year back at the school after the end of the War, had not been the easiest.  Not because of the work, or anything happening at the school.  No, the wizarding world had been truly at peace for the first time in years.  But few speak about how difficult peace can for the survivors - especially those who were never meant to survive at all.

   He wasn't a stupid man by any means.  Ever the crafty potions master, he'd been carrying various remedies everywhere he went for years:  dittany of course, bottled phoenix tears, antivenom.  Nagini accompanied the Dark Lord everywhere; one could never be too careful.  But that night when the world went to hell, when the snake sunk her fangs into him so violently, Severus had made his peace with death.  Years of fighting, lying, playing both sides, and for what?  It wouldn't bring back Lily, nor Albus, nor any of the other lives so needlessly taken in a madman's pursuit for power.  He'd fulfilled his misson, had done everything in his power to atone for the bad decisions made in his troubled youth, and he did not wish to fight any more.  So, after Harry left that night, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate.

   Days later, he found himself waking up in St Mungo's, his mind groggy and his body screaming in agony. As he slowly came back to life, he pieced together the story from snippets of overheard conversations.  A Hogwarts house-elf, wandering in fear after the battle, had found him barely clinging to life. Remembering that Professor Snape had always been kind to the elves, Lolly had apparated him to the magical hospital.  The staff treated him, grudgingly.  ("We only have to get the bastard well enough to stand trial," he'd overheard one nurse say.) As soon as he was strong enough, he apparated himself back to his home in Cokeworth, preferring to struggle through his recovery alone.

   His trial was over quickly. When Harry Potter himself vouches for you, there isn't much left to discuss. He had to give evidence against a number of other Death Eaters, but was himself cleared of all charges.

   A few months later, Harry gave a long interview with a respected journalist (much to the chagrin of that infamous tabloid wench, Rita Skeeter, who had been desperate to get the first scoop.) Published in papers all over the wizarding world, this would be the only time Harry spoke publicly of the events.  Severus's name was cleared, and public opinion of him warmed overnight.  Minerva contacted her old friend and asked him to return to Hogwarts, offering him the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.

   Severus agreed to return; what the hell else was he going to do?  He turned down the DADA job, not wishing to dwell on the Dark Arts any longer.  What would be the point now, anyway?  He agreed to return to his previous post as Potions Master, and was reinstated as Head of Slytherin House.  His colleagues and students all knew his story by now, and whilst he maintained the same dour demenour as before, they regarded him with a fair bit more warmth and appreciation.

   His first year back at Hogwarts passsed, for the first time in ages, without serious incident.  Severus, however, was plagued by nightmares and flashbacks more garish than ever before. They came out of nowhere, any time of the day or night, wreaking havoc on his mind as if the Dark Lord himself were inhabiting his thoughts.  Once whilst looking through his personal potions cupboard, the door had slammed shut, and the sudden loud noise jarred something in his ragged soul; his mind took him back to that night in the Shrieking Shack when Nagini had nearly killed him.  When he finally came back to reality, he was huddled on the cupboard floor, surrounded by broken glass and spilled liquids, battered and bruised from battling his own inner demons.  He was relieved that it happened in his own office, deep in the dungeons, where no one would have heard his screams.

   More difficult than the nightmares or flashbacks was the existential why of it all. He wasn't supposed to live; why was he still here?  He'd done his part; what more reason was there for him to be alive? To muddle along for the next fifty years, teaching dunderheads and playing with potions?  It all seemed so empty, so pointless.  As twisted as it seemed, playing double agent had at least given him a mission, and some sense of purpose. Now it was over. The Dark Lord was dead, but so were so many others, and so was any sense of meaning or direction in his life. He'd thought about ending it, more times than he cared to admit.  He could brew something that would do the job quickly.  He'd even gathered the ingredients on two occasions.  But ultimately, he berated himself for being too much of a coward to go through with it.  Severus Snape, the man who had helped defeat the Dark Lord, didn't have the guts to put himself out of his own misery.  Pathetic.

   It wasn't that he felt suicidal every day.  It had been early days after the War when he'd had those thoughts.  These days, there was mostly just a cold, lingering sense of... nothingness.  He went through the motions every day, teaching, grading, brewing; and that would have to be enough.  It was all he had.

 ********

   Hagrid was right; the gingerbeer did make her feel much better, and they soon made their way back to the castle.  They had a pleasant conversation as they walked, Hagrid telling her about the phoenix eggs he was incubating and inviting her to come meet his hound, Fang. Stella thought he was lovely, and hoped her other colleagues would be just as delightful.

   As they approached, the castle came into view in all its splendour.  Stella couldn't help but gasp.  It was maginficent, straight out of the fairy tales she loved as a child.  There was certainly nothing like this in America, even in the wizarding world.  No, this was the kind of maginficent place found only in Europe, heavy with history in its opulence.  And she was going to live and work here?  It seemed utterly unreal.  

   Hagrid led her through the wrought-iron entrance gates and up to the main entrance hall.  Through the doorframe she could see a cloaked figure stood, waiting.  

   "Well Professor, wonderful to meet yeh. I'll leave yeh with Professor Snape now to show yeh 'round.  Professor Snape, this here's Miss Rosenbaum.  Careful, she's a might bit queasy from the trip." 

   The man stepped out of the shadow and drew nearer.  Dressed all in black, he was tall, with long black hair that framed a distinctive face with piercing dark eyes. His voice was deep, rich; his words precisely articulated in a languid drawl. "Thank you Hagrid.  Lovely to meet you, Miss Rosenbaum.  Your trunks arrived earlier and I had the house-elves deliver them to your chambers."

   Stella's brain went into overdrive, trying to process a hundred thoughts at once.  Snape?  As in Severus Snape?  No way!  I knew he would be here but I didn't expect- My god, he's gorgeous. And good lord, that voice.  That's the sexiest thing I've ever-"

   She tried desperately to remain composed, hoping her racing thoughts didn't show on her face.  "Please, call me Stella.  Thank you, it's lovely to meet you, too."  

   Severus took the hand she offered and shook it lightly.  Her voice was gentle, with a clear, smooth timbre and lower tone.  Her accent, whilst undeniably American, had none of the nasal monotone he expected from a New Yorker.  It was softer; he couldn't quite place it.

   He took in her appearance, his mind quickly filing away the minute details. Over the years his skill of keen observation had been key to his survival, and though the war had ended, the habit pesisisted. 

   Young, he thought. Pretty.  Not a judgment, just an observation.  Fair clear skin, golden blonde hair styled in neat waves about her shoulders. Dark blue eyes.  Nice figure. Merely an observation. Dressed in a calf-length, wine-coloured pencil skirt which flared slightly out at the knee, with matching blouse.  Form-fitting but impeccably tailored. Black pumps.  Nails manicured in a matching shade. Black handbag in her left hand.  Tasteful makeup. The style was a bit reminiscent of women in the classic Hollywood Muggle films his mother used to watch.  Not exactly the traditional-style wizarding robes many of the Hogwarts staff wore, but not entirely out of place.  Certainly more professional than his previous American colleague had ever presented.  

   "I hope your journey was not too taxing?"

   The slow, deep drawl of his voice was like warm honey, Stella thought, and she smiled, giving a slight chuckle.  "Portkey travel is always taxing for me, unfortunately."

   "I see.  Let me show you to your chambers then.  The castle is quite empty at the moment, so you'll have a quiet place to recover."

   Stella thanked him, and he turned to head down one of the long corridors.  She followed alongside him, taking in the glory of the castle with wonderment, feeling rather like a Muggle child on their first trip to Disneyworld. 

   "As you are the first new member of staff to arrive, I've taken the liberty of giving you the best of the available chambers.  They are located on the fifth floor.  There are a lot of stairs, but mercifully, the Headmistress has allowed us use of a staff transport system.  There are various points around the castle we may apparate to and from.  The previous Headmaster had not allowed apparition at Hogwarts, even by staff, but Minerva has wisely decided to relax that rule.  It has been a godsend, to be honest.  No more climbing hundreds of stairs every day."

   Stella noted how his voice (my god, that voice!) went a bit softer at his mention of the previous Headmaster.  He mentioned it casually, as if she didn't know about Albus Dumbledore, or his connection with Severus Snape.  She knew all about it of course - there wasn't a single witch or wizard who didn't - but still, she had a million questions she didn't dare ask.  

   "This place is incredible.  I really can't believe I'm here."

   "It is, truly, a beautiful place.  Here we are, we can apparate closer to your chambers from here."  He indicated a small alcove set into the wall, and they stepped inside.  He offered his arm, "As you aren't yet familiar with the location."  She linked her arm in his, and in a flash they were standing in a different alcove, in another part of the castle.  

   "Your chambers are just down the corridor." Stella followed him down the hall to an ornate wooden door; a beautiful carved design on it resembled a trellis of climbing roses.  Stella pushed open the door and stepped inside.

   "Welcome home, Miss Rosenbaum.  I hope it is to your liking."

   Stella gazed around the room, eagerly taking in the details of her beautiful new home.

"These chambers have an extra bedroom, a full kitchen, a balcony, and a view of the lake.  They were the most spacious of the available ones... which is lucky for you, considering the number of trunks that were delivered earlier." He cocked one eyebrow slightly as he delivered the final line.

   Stella laughed softly. "Sorry about that. I... have a lot of clothes. Kind of an addiction, really. But there are worse addictions to have, I guess."

   "I see. Well I'm sure you would appreciate some time to get settled. If you feel hungry, the house elves will be happy to oblige. The one assigned to you is called Pinky. Just speak her name into your wand and she will appear."

   "Wow, I really am back in the magical world."

   "Indeed. Perhaps tomorrow I can show you around properly. Shall I meet you here at noon?"

   "Sure, that would be great, thank you."

   "My pleasure. Do get some rest." He left, closing the door softly behind him. Stella listened to his footsteps growing fainter as he walked down the corridor.

   When she could be sure he was no longer near, Stella leaned back against the door and took a deep breath, finally able to drop the facade of composure she'd been so desperately trying to maintain. Oh. My. GOD.  Was it lingering queasiness from the trip, or did she actually have butterflies...?  Butterflies, for sure. Something her Granny used to say sprang to mind: You want a spoon full of that sugar, don'tcha? Ahh, Granny, never at a loss for words.  She took a deep breath in and out and shook off the dreaminess, willing herself to go back to reality.  

   She decided she should explore her new chambers. She eyed her trunks stacked up in the middle of the living room floor. She was going to see him again tomorrow; she'd better find something nice to wear.

 ********

   Severus returned to his office, planning to continue organising his personal stores. His new colleague wasn't quite what he had thought she might be, but had been a pleasant enough surprise. She seemed tolerable enough, not overly exuberant or irritating as expected. And, if he were frank, she was... quite easy on the eyes. Not that it mattered; he would remain professional of course, no matter what.

   He wondered what had brought her here to Scotland. Why she had been in the Muggle world for so long. Perhaps he would ask her tomorrow. But perhaps not. He did not wish to bother her with endless questions.

   Had he been personable enough? Minerva did ask him to make her feel at home. Perhaps he shouldn't have left her alone in her chambers so soon? Social niceties had never been his strong suit. He barely tolerated most people and found socialising tiresome. His dry wit was often mistaken for rudeness by those who did not know him well - which, in truth, was most people.

   He'd made the remark about her trunks; had she been offended? Tomorrow he should endeavour to keep his dry remarks in check.

   He resumed taking stock of his potions cupboard, wondering vaguely why he even cared what she might of him.

********

   Stella dug through her handbag, locating the enchanted cellphone that she'd sorted before her big move across the pond; a way for her to keep in contact with those she had left in the Muggle world. (Though she'd have to start calling it a mobile now, she supposed.) She flopped dramatically down on the massive four-poster bed which was now hers, calling the first person in her speed-dial list.

   Three rings, then an answer: "Moshi moshi!"

   "Moshi moshi, Mikey-chan!" She greeted her friend.

   "Stella Belle! How's the wizarding world, babydoll?"

   "Magical, babe!" She'd only left New York earlier that morning; still, it was good to hear Mikey's voice. Since meeting as first year Ilvermorny students, it was rare that she went more than a few days without speaking to her best friend. "I just got in a few hours ago. This place is unreal! And you'll never guess who met me at the castle door."

   "The man of your dreams?" Mikey teased.

   "You might actually be right... it was a certain Professor Snape."

   Mikey gasped. "Nooooo way!"

   "Yes, babe. And oh my god Mikey, he's gorgeous."

   "Really?"

   "Really. You know how you always say I only like older men, men with big noses, or goth guys? Mikeyyyy... He's the whole damn holy trinity."

   Mikey giggled excitedly. It was true. Stella really had a type. They'd spent many a night in New York nightclubs, and she'd inevitably end up dancing with the most goth-looking guy in the place. He always teased her about her love of pale goth boys and said she'd end up marrying Trent Reznor.

   "Giiiirl!"

   "But that's not even the best part. Mikey... when he spoke to me, I thought my soul had left my body. His voiiiiice. It's sooooo hot."

   Mikey laughed. "You're lying in bed kicking your feet right now aren't you?"

   "Maaaaaybe..."

   Mikey laughed again. "Well, is he single?"

   "Surely not. A man like that?"

   "You forget not everyone shares your unique taste, Stella Belle."

   "True. Well, I'm seeing him again tomorrow. He's going to show me around. I need your help; what the hell should I wear???"

 ********