The Unruly

"You can put your strength down. I'm sitting here with you at your kitchen table. You don't need to say anything."

- Eden Robinson

The house was unusually still as Arabella sat at the old wooden table, staring at the pile of peeled potatoes in front of her. The late afternoon sun slanted through the small kitchen window, casting long shadows across the worn countertops. Spinner’s End was quiet today, more so than usual. She could hear the distant call of a bird outside, the only sound in the otherwise silent house. Severus had been in his study all day, the door closed, as always. His presence, while never particularly loud, was still palpable. She could sense the weight of his thoughts, even from a room away.

Arabella exhaled and wiped her hands on the apron she wore, trying to focus on the mundane task of preparing dinner. It had been several months since she had arrived at Spinner’s End, and she was still trying to settle into the rhythms of life here. But no matter how hard she tried to find a sense of normalcy, the tension between her and Severus always lingered, unspoken but ever-present.

Her fingers worked mechanically as she sliced through the vegetables. It was strange, this domesticity. For years, she had been locked away in in her room. And now, here she was, preparing dinner in a quiet house, in the company of a man who barely spoke to her unless necessary. A man she couldn’t quite figure out.

The knife slipped, and she hissed as the blade nicked the side of her finger. Blood welled up instantly, bright red against the pale skin. Arabella cursed under her breath, pressing the wound with her thumb, trying to stop the bleeding. Of course, it had to happen now, just as she was nearly finished.

Before she could react, a shadow moved at the doorway, and she glanced up to see Severus standing there, watching her with a frown etched deep into his face.

“What happened?” His voice was cold, but there was something beneath it—concern, maybe, though she wasn’t sure.

“I—nothing,” she muttered, embarrassed by her clumsiness. “I just cut myself.”

His frown deepened, and without another word, he strode across the room toward her, his movements sharp and precise. She tried to pull her hand away, but he caught her wrist with surprising speed, holding her hand still as he brought his wand up in a smooth motion.

“Episkey,” he muttered, and a warm sensation spread through her finger as the cut closed itself, the pain fading almost immediately.

She stared at her now-healed finger, blinking in surprise. Before she could thank him, his voice cut through the quiet.

“Perhaps if you weren’t so distracted,” he remarked, his tone biting, though his grip on her wrist remained firm. His dark eyes bore into hers, and Arabella felt a rush of heat, a mixture of frustration and something else entirely. There was an unspoken challenge in his gaze, a flicker of something more than annoyance, and it sent a sudden wave of warmth through her.

She yanked her hand back, more forcefully than she intended, and took a step away from him. “I wasn’t distracted,” she snapped, though the lie was evident in her voice. She had been distracted—by him, by the house, by everything.

Severus’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing for a moment, simply watching her with that same intense gaze, as if he could see right through her. Then, without another word, he turned and walked back toward the doorway.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” she called after him, trying to sound calm, though her pulse was still racing.

He didn’t reply, simply nodding curtly before disappearing back into the hall.

Arabella let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping. She turned back to the stove, focusing on finishing the meal. The tension between them had been building for days, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. Severus was an enigma—one moment cold and distant, the next almost caring, in his own brusque way. It was infuriating, and it left her feeling off-balance.

By the time the food was ready, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a soft, dim light. She set the table mechanically, placing the plates down with a practiced precision, though her mind was far from the task at hand.

Severus returned as she placed the last dish on the table, his expression as unreadable as ever. He took his seat across from her, and they began to eat in silence, the only sounds the soft clinking of silverware against plates.

The silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable. Arabella could feel the weight of it pressing down on her, the unspoken words between them hanging in the air like a thick fog. She kept her eyes on her plate, focusing on the food in front of her, though she could feel Severus’s gaze on her from time to time.

It wasn’t until they were nearly finished that he finally spoke, breaking the silence that had become almost unbearable.

“You don’t have to cook every night,” he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence but carrying that familiar edge. “I can manage on my own.”

 “I know,” she replied simply. “But I don’t mind. It gives me something to do.”

“What did you do before... all of this?” His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but there was a guarded edge to it.

Arabella looked up, surprised by the question. He rarely asked her anything personal, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Before Regulus brought me here, you mean?” she asked, setting her fork down carefully. When he gave a small nod, she hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But there was something in his expression—something almost curious—that made her want to answer.

“I used to read,” she said slowly, her voice soft. “A lot. Muggle books that Sirius would sneak me. The classics. Romance novels, too.” She glanced at him, expecting a look of disapproval or disdain, but his expression remained impassive.

“I liked the idea of escape,” she continued, her fingers tracing the edge of her plate absentmindedly. “Getting lost in a different world, even for a little while. It made things... easier.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t interrupt. His silence, for once, felt almost encouraging, as though he was actually interested in what she had to say.

“I used to love the works of Jane Austen,” Arabella added, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she remembered. “Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility... they were my favorites. I always found the way the characters navigated love and society so... compelling. It felt like something I could understand, even if it was so far removed from my own life.”

Severus didn’t respond immediately, but she could see the flicker of thought in his eyes. He was considering her words, turning them over in his mind as though trying to understand why they mattered to her.

“You don’t strike me as the romantic type,” he remarked after a moment, his tone dry.

Arabella huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe not anymore,” she admitted, her smile fading slightly. “But there was a time when I was.”

Severus’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression inscrutable. Then he stood, collecting his plate and taking it to the sink without another word.

Arabella remained seated, watching him move with that same measured grace, his hands deft as he rinsed the dishes. The moment of connection they had just shared—however brief—felt fragile, like a glass that could shatter at any second.

But it hadn’t shattered. Not yet.

The next morning, Arabella woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the thin curtains of her small bedroom. The air was cool, and the house was quiet. She stretched, feeling the weight of sleep slowly lifting from her body.

As she sat up, something caught her eye—a small book on the nightstand beside her bed. Her heart skipped a beat as she leaned forward, her fingers brushing the cover gently, Jane Eyre.

A smile crept onto her face, small and tentative at first, but it grew as she ran her fingers over the worn spine. The gesture was thoughtful, and the irony of his book choice was not lost on her.