Isobel ━ SEVERUS SNAPE

2. Maladaptive tendencies

He could have apparated, of course - whisked himself away to his destination with a flick of his wand. But there was something about the slow, deliberate pace of the journey that appealed to him. It gave him time to breathe, to savour the simple pleasures of the world. The wind tugged at his hair, sending strands of black silk dancing around his face, and he closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation. For just a moment, he felt free - free of the burdens of the past, free of the weight of his responsibilities.

As they reached the outskirts of the village, the serene silence of their journey was shattered by the bustle of everyday life. Isobel felt a pang of regret as they parted ways, knowing that the peace of their shared solitude would soon be lost to the noise and clamour of the world. But she could not dwell on it for long. There were tasks to be done, people to see, and she had no time for sentimentality.

With a determined stride, she quickened her pace, her eyes fixed on the open doors of the Hog's Head Inn. The warm glow of the lanterns beckoned to her, promising a brief respite from the cold and chaos of the outside world. As she pushed through the door, the smell of wood smoke and roasted meat filled her nostrils, and she could not help but smile.

The inn was crowded, the low murmur of conversation blending into a soft hum that filled the air. But Isobel paid no mind to the other patrons. She made her way to a corner table, settling into a worn wooden chair with a sigh of relief.

"The usual?" the man asked, coming close to her, with a brief smile passing on his lips, looking down to the woman.

"Yes, please," she answered, gratefully, while gazing slowly at the man, seeing the twinkle in his eyes, before returning to the other side of the counter. She observed as he prepared the drink they both knew so well, as the comfort of the routine filled up her heart.

As he handed her the drink, she took a slow sip, savouring the warmth and richness of the liquid. For a moment, she simply stayed there, lost in thought, before standing up and turning to head back out into the cold. But as she reached the door, she paused, turning back to the man behind the counter.

"Thank you, Aberforth," she said, her voice soft and sincere.

The man smiled at her, his eyes warm and kind. "Anytime, little phoenix."

˚·꒷༶✧❁✧༶꒷·˚

Isobel spotted Minerva from afar and made her way towards her, weaving her way through the bustling crowd. As she drew closer, she noticed the Cornelius Fudge and Madam Rosmerta engaged in a lively conversation with her mother. Isobel hung back a few steps, listening to their voices as they entered the pub.

The crowd inside the pub was joyful and animated, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air. However, Isobel only followed her mother, her steps hesitant as she lagged behind. But even as she trailed behind them, she could still hear the conversation, the voices of the powerful figures in her community.

With trepidation in her steps, Isobel ascended the stairs, the worn steps groaning beneath her feet, like the old bones of an ancient creature. Her heart raced, a wild horse galloping in her chest, as she climbed higher and higher, each step bringing her closer to her destination. Finally, she reached the top, and as she crossed the threshold, she was enveloped in the comforting warmth of a room, by the flickering light of the crackling fire that danced around her, casting shadows on the walls, as if whispering secrets of times long past.

"I assume you are familiar with the topic of our meeting, Isobel?" asked Cornelius, noticing the woman.

"Indeed."

So then, words spilled like boiling water from their lips, their voices carrying the weight of past grievances and present fears. The conversation simmered, then boiled over, as they debated the events surrounding the boy-who-lived and the menacing presence of the dementors that seemed to haunt the very streets they walked.