Mrs. Neill’s suspicions

Ooh, he's a moody old man.

Song of summer, in his hand.

Ooh, he's a moody old man.

In his hand – 'Hmm'

To be sung of a summer,

Night on the water,

Ooh, on the water.

~ Kate Bush, Delius (Song of Summer)

---

Thursday, July 16th, 2009, 10:21 a.m.

Luckily, the library is close to where I live. You only have to walk through the library's gate, turn left, leave the large hawthorn tree behind you, cross the street, cross the bridge, turn left again, cross the street, continue on that road until the first junction, then turn left again, and my house is just on the other side of the street. 51, Haworth Road. Only thirteen minutes from the library. Ten, if I walk quickly. Well, ten minutes and forty-six seconds.

Thursday, July 16th, 2009, 2:42 p.m. (going to work)

If I'm really supposed to be escorted home by Snape, in no way am I going to let him talk about obsessions. Or Malfoy Manor. I have to plan a different series of subjects we could converse about without risks.

We could talk about:

– the weather;

– York. He seems to be quite well known here; he does know other wizards in town, the ones he mentioned in the note accompanying the potion. By the way, where does he live? I hadn't thought about that before.

And why should he be wandering around the Emily Brontë Library at ten p.m.? Oh, whatever. That must be Hogwarts' imprinting. You don't patrol corridors at night for twenty years without keeping that habit afterwards.

Seventeen years, not twenty.

Sixteen years and... seven months.

He could just be an insomniac.

I could talk about bookbinding. Books are always a safe subject. I could go as far as to ask him why he was consulting Engines of War. Yes, to ask a few harmless questions would count as a polite attempt to care about what he's presently doing.

What is he doing, by the way? Apart from visiting the library, of course.

Remember to avoid any questions about the loss of magic.

After all, talking about the weather is always the safest choice.

Thursday, July 16th, 2009, 4:07 p.m. (at work)

Oh, Brother Lucretius, you surely beat Ayrmidon 6-0, 6-0, 6-0. Hail, hail to the Twelve Patriarkes.

Thursday, July 16th, 2009, 10:04 p.m. (walking home)

Damn. He anticipated me.

"So, what do you think about our city of York, Miss Granger?" asked Snape.

"It's charming," Hermione said politely. "I like ancient towns."

"Have you been here before?"

"No, this is my first time in the shire, actually," she admitted. "I've been in Northumberland, but not in Yorkshire. I fear there's still a lot of England I have not yet seen." Excellent. Polite and generic conversation. And we've almost arrived to the bridge.

"What have you visited in town?"

"Well, York Minster, of course. And the Merchant Adventurers' Hall." She paused.

"That's it?" Snape raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Only two monuments?"

"Then I visited the libraries. And bookstores," she said, biting her lip.

The corner of Snape's mouth quirked. "Ah, still the little bookworm, addicted to roving through the shelves," he said with a sniff.

"You see what I do for a living," replied Hermione. "Libraries and bookshelves are my job now."

"I see," said Snape in a clear, slightly mocking voice.

They walked across the rest of the bridge in silence.

"You should visit more of York," Snape went on once they had crossed the street. "The Guildhall, the castle, Yorkshire museum... not to talk about magical places. There are a couple of sites from the age of Goodwin Kneen in the neighbourhood."

"I don't know if I'll have time for that," said Hermione curtly. Snape eyed her, but stayed silent until Hermione continued, "During the week I work, and on weekends I want to study."

"Don't overload yourself, Miss Granger, as you have always been prone to do."

"I have a selection in two months," she offered as an explanation. "I don't want to be found unprepared."

"As if that could even be assumed, knowing you," commented Snape with the same slightly mocking tone. "A selection for... what?"

"The National Wizarding Library at the Ministry of Magic," she said. "They are renewing their staff."

Snape arched his eyebrows, mimicking disbelief. "That's one place where I would not seek to be part of the staff, if I had the option, Miss Granger," he remarked with a serious inflection. "Do you really aspire to give yourself as prey to the wolves?"

"I am walking home with you."

Snape sniggered as if he was more pleased than offended. "Well said, Miss Granger."

They had almost reached the front door of Hermione's house. There was a light shining through the curtains of a window at the first floor – that was Mrs. Neill's room. Snape halted and declared softly, "The wolf carried you safely home, Miss Granger."

Hermione turned and said, "Thank you, sir," before slipping into the entrance hall. Sometimes, I wish I could borrow his sarcastic tone to full extent, she thought. I may be participating in this farce for my health, but I don't have to kiss the hand that gives the medicine.

---

Friday, July 17th, 2009, 10:08 p.m.

"Why are you still around at ten p.m., Professor? Surely you have better things to do than accompanying me home."

He always managed to irritate her, in the end. Even if she began walking at his side with the intention of making a polite, inconsequential conversation, she ended up nervous and irritated by the tone in his voice. Her bedtime plans of pitying him for being the unwilling cause of the resurgence of her obsessions – which luckily had lasted only for a weekend – evaporated during their nightly walks.

"Taking you home is but an interval in my usual stroll, Miss Granger. It gives me a... break from my thoughts."

"And what are you thinking of?" she asked before reflecting that it was a question that could lead to a more personal territory than she wanted to invade.

"Old stories," he answered, but those need not be sad stories, for his tone didn't lose its self-satisfied quality, neither the corner of his mouth stopped to be quirked in a smirk.

"You could take a break from those stories by going to sleep, Professor."

"They aren't unpleasant stories, Miss Granger," he said, confirming what his attitude had already made obvious. "I fear I am more of a night person. I don't usually go to bed before four in the morning, you see."

"So you spend your nights walking and thinking?"

"In the summertime it happens frequently, unless the road is so muddy it distracts me from my reflections to avoid the puddles."

"You could cast a Drought Charm before you." No, he cannot. Damn me. Damn my tongue. "I'm sorry," she panted, contrived. "Please, forgive what I said."

Something close to a warm expression danced before Snape's eyes, and he slightly shook his head. He had never replied to any of her untactful mentions to his loss of magic, Hermione realised. This was probably the most undecipherable aspect about his present self. First, Hermione had trouble imagining a Snape without even a scrap of his former, strong magic. And secondly, she would have sworn that losing his magic would drive him mad – not that he wasn't a bit crazy, of course, but he was nowhere as furious about it as she would have expected. She would be furious in the event that she lost her magic and someone pointed it out to her.

"If I had the possibility, I'd prefer to skip puddles by flying, Miss Granger," he said, the unconceivable veil of warmth shrouded over his voice as well as his look. "How did your mates use to call me? The grown-up bat?"

"The overgrown bat," she murmured, subdued. Now she felt totally ashamed. The only thing that prevented her from feeling humiliated was the fact that Snape's tone, for once, had sounded sincerely amused rather than sneering – in a circumstance in which a sneering tone would be perfectly justifiable.

"Ah, right," Snape seemed to recall.

"Professor, I'm sorry," Hermione reiterated. "That was thoughtless of me."

"There's no offence taken, Miss Granger," he reassured her.

"I should show more consideration for your present condition," she added, and that phrasing seemed lame to her as soon as she was pronouncing the words.

"My present condition?" Snape repeated. "I can safely tell you, Miss Granger, that for once in my life, I am enjoying myself." And with that said, Snape spun on his heels and left Hermione on her landing.

---

As if it wasn't enough to feel – in order – irritated, puzzled, ashamed, and mortified for what Snape had told her, Hermione was surprised to find Mrs. Neill waiting for her in the entrance hall, arms crossed over her breasts and a look on her face that went from condemning to worry. It was highly unusual to find Mrs. Neill – a woman in her early fifties, but looking much younger, divorced, one daughter now living on her own whose bedroom Hermione occupied – waiting for her at night. She worked as a nurse in a private clinic nearby, and according to her shifts, by ten p.m. she was either at work or deeply sleeping after a hard day's job. More striking – and worrying, in truth – to see her with a deep frown crossing her usually cheerful face. That frown could only mean that something happened. Something really serious. What could she have done to deserve such a welcome? Did she perhaps leave the bathtub tap open, and the water had leaked through the floor?

"Good evening, Mrs. Neill," said Hermione, attempting to smile.

"Good evening, Hermione," replied Mrs. Neill with an ominous voice. "I have to talk with you before you go to your room."

"Surely, Madam. What's wrong?" asked Hermione, clutching the strap of her bag through her fingers.

"I thought you were a judicious young lady, Hermione. You agreed to a certain set of rules when I let you into my house."

"Please, Madam, what have I done?" asked Hermione while her breath quickened. My room is nice! Please, don't throw me out!

"You agreed not to take men into this house."

"Eh? I haven't –"

"I saw you, Hermione. For three evenings in a row, you have arrived at my front door with the same man. I don't care what you do outside – you are a grown up, and you can do what you want – but you signed a contract, and it said, 'no male guests come into this house'. You aren't allowed to bring your boyfriend into my daughter's bedroom, is that clear?"

During Mrs. Neill's speech, Hermione's face had flushed scarlet red, then pea green, until it settled on pumpkin orange. "That – that man – he is not my boyfriend, Mrs. Neill, and if you have believed so, I have to say that you are totally misled. No, no, that's absurd. And in any case, I would never let him in your house – I remember very well what I've signed, and I have no intention whatsoever of breaking our contract," she bristled.

"Uhm. It better be so," grumbled Mrs. Neill, the tone of her voice clearly signalling that she didn't believe what Hermione told her to be true. "I would judge you rather poorly, otherwise. He's too old for you, from what I tell from a distance. I suppose he's closer to my age than to yours."

"He was my teacher," said Hermione defiantly. And Dumbledore's murderer. And a war hero. It's ridiculous discussing who Severus Snape is with Mrs. Neill. This whole conversation is ridiculous.

"A teacher," echoed Mrs. Neill, plunging her hands, until then still crossed on her breast, in the pockets of the pink, fluffy bathrobe she used as a nightgown. Also, her expression relaxed as she paced the entrance hall directed toward the kitchen. In the doorway, she paused and she swung from one foot to the other, opening and closing her mouth as if she had preferred to repress what she was going to say. Finally, she said, "If he's a teacher, we can hope he knows how to behave himself. As for you, don't forget your contract, Hermione."

"You don't need to worry about that, Mrs. Neill."

Mrs. Neill went into the kitchen, closing the door behind her, and before she could hear the metallic clink of the door closing Hermione zoomed upstairs to her bedroom. Time must be out of joint. Mrs. Neill believes Snape is my 'boyfriend'. Snape doesn't shout at me when he could. He uses the 'overgrown bat' as a joke. Either they or I must have finally gone crazy.

And to match me with Snape is as preposterous as matching him with Mrs. Neill, in any case.

---

Saturday, July 18th, 2009

Thank God it's Saturday.

Sunday, July 19th, 2009

Ah, but the day before yesterday it was Friday the 17th. It was only bad luck all together.

---

Monday, July 20th, 2009, 10:03 p.m.

"Thank you for not shouting at me on Friday, Professor."

"I don't need to shout, Miss Granger. You seem to perform all the shouting necessary in our conversations."

Hermione bit her lip at the memory of the night when she had ungracefully asked Snape to leave the library.

"That was a month ago," she said. After a pause, she continued, "Seriously, Professor, I've been terribly rude. I'm grateful for your understanding."

"You said nothing that could trouble me, Miss Granger."

The light rain that was falling from the Prussian blue sky intensified, and in a moment, the gentle shower turned into heavy and noisy drops. Snape lifted the black umbrella that he had used as a cane to punctuate his steps, opened it, and invited Hermione to shelter herself under it. Hermione hesitated, but when a drop splashed directly on her nose, scattering smaller drops onto her glasses and making her blink instinctively, she accepted the offer.

Side by side under the umbrella, Hermione said thoughtfully, "I don't know if it's a good idea."

"What?"

"To arrive home under your umbrella. On Friday, Mrs. Neill reproached me."

"Who is Mrs. Neill?"

"My landlady. She believes you are my suitor."

I told him. As Monday evening approached, Hermione had pondered a very difficult decision. Should she tell Snape about Mrs. Neill's suspicions, or was it better to stay silent? If she were to tell Snape about Mrs. Neill's conclusions, she would intend it as a means to make those night strolls of theirs come to an end – they were folly, indeed, and it was better to stop even good-intentioned follies. Everyone could see her walking home with Snape – from Mrs. Peewit to the supermarket cashier – and everyone could come to the same conclusion as Mrs. Neill, who wasn't, to tell the truth, the brightest mind around. And if Mrs. Neill could deduce that they were intimate, everyone could, really.

The bad side of informing Snape of Mrs. Neill's deductions was, of course, to get the opposite wanted effect. She would reinforce the idea that there was actually something to care about their walks. Worse, she could sound coquettish. Even worse – she could plant strange ideas in Snape's mind.

The safest choice would be to stay silent, as it had always been since she had met Snape at the Emily Brontë Library. As long as they had ignored each other, everything went well. But a part of her wished to tell someone of Mrs. Neill's ridiculousness – craved to comment about her absurd arguments – and the only person who would appreciate its absurdity, alas, was Snape himself.

"That's preposterous!" observed Snape, outraged.

"I know! That's what I told her," replied Hermione with a clear voice, and then she added, in a lower key, "also because I am aware of the real reasons why you asked to accompany me home."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I've figured it out. You wanted me to continue the endurance practice. Since you found yourself to be the cause of the resurgence of my fixed images, on the unfortunate night in which Małgorzata brought the grass snake inside the library, you felt obliged to provide me a cure for them. When your lessons proved... untimely, however, you decided to try another coaching technique, which consists of making me share your company ten minutes a day. So to speak, it's like taking one drop of a certain poison every day to get used to it, until its poisoning effects don't work anymore in your case. Not that you're poisonous, of course; it was a terrible example, in truth. But you understand what I mean. I'm sorry if I involved you in this. It's not your fault that the grass snake reminded me of Nagini, of course, and I acknowledge that actually you had every right to become irritated with me because I reminded you of that loathsome beast. I apologize because I've been selfish, and I should have thought twice before mentioning the name of that beast to you. I'm sorry if I shocked you with my half-faint and with the subjects of my fixed images. But I can assure you that what resulted from seeing the grass snake lasted only for one weekend. It happened one month ago, and for all this time, I haven't had any more occurrences. I can't honestly say if it's because that was an isolated episode anyway, as I didn't suffer any fixed images in recent years, or if it's an effect of your lessons. In any case, I thank you, Professor. I know that under your bark you always cared for your students, even long-time graduated students like me."

At the end of her tirade, they had almost reached Hermione's house. The rain was still falling, but in a more regular, less violent way, and its murmur was echoed by the streaming waters of the Foss, now behind them.

"I'm impressed," said Snape with his softest, most velvety voice. "I'm unwilling to admit that you guessed my intentions, Miss Granger. It was true what they said about your intelligence, after all."

Hermione sighed in relief. She had sensed that her intuition was correct, but she doubted their effect once expressed aloud. And being complimented by Snape was not something that happened every day. For a second, she felt as if she were back at Hogwarts, behind her cauldron in the Potions class, having just faultlessly brewed a most difficult elixir.

They turned the corner that opened onto Haworth Road. Hermione's house was just a few metres away.

"I don't want to upset your Mrs. Neill, Miss Granger," said Snape. "I would leave you here, if it wasn't for the rain."

"Oh, I can cover these few metres in the rain. It's not that my hair could get worse, in any case," replied Hermione with a smile, and she pulled her head out from the umbrella's protection.

"No, but rain could damage the books in your bag," pointed out Snape.

"My bag is completely waterproof, Professor. It's interwoven with Impervius Charms, you know," she said brightly.

"I see," said Snape, and his figure mingled with the rain as Hermione approached the doorway of her house.

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A/N: Deep thanks to valady, RobisonRocket and growley464 for betaing it.