Chapter Two

Thanks to miraba for the beta.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was. Never will be. Not making any money, etc.

Chapter Two

Severus Snape keeps dreaming of hounds.

Unsettling and exhilarating dreams, dreams of racing across wide open plains with the scent of earth and blood and prey in his nose, so fast, so fleet that his paws barely touch the ground. Dreams of running. Of hunting. Of killing.

For six months, he has been having these dreams. He always wakes up shaking, his heart racing, disturbed and frightened and energized. He does not go back to sleep afterwards, and sometimes he reads or works on his experimental potions until dawn, but most often he dresses and walks up to the Tor to contemplate the stars and watch the sunrise.

And sometimes the Tor glows.

*****

Severus is considering moving out.

He chose his flat five years ago for three simple reasons: it is cheap, owned by an elderly Squib who doesn't care who he is as long as he pays the rent, and Glastonbury is nearly empty of wizards.

And Hermione Granger has just ruined it for him.

She's more of a nuisance now than she ever was as his student. In less than 48 hours of discovering her presence in his building, he has already amassed a list of grievances against her: she stomps back and forth in her flat at all hours of the day and night, that monster of a dog keeps scratching and whining at his door every time it passes, and her offensive perfume lingers in the stairwell for hours after she has been there.

Of course, the most intolerable grievance of all is her friendship with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bleeding-Die, and the thought of having to face Potter after he'd washed his hands of him almost ten years ago is infuriating and almost too much to bear. He has a vision of Granger with a tea setting spread out in front of her, that disgusting mongrel curled obediently at her feet and Potter across from her, separated from Severus by only a mere meter or so of floor and ceiling; involuntarily, he grinds his teeth and clenches his hands into fists, incensed with the mere thought of Potter even daring to glance in the direction of Somerset, let alone stepping one foot inside this building.

The last tenant may have smelled strongly of eucalyptus and menthol, but at least he had been quiet and friendless and decidedly not Hermione Bloody Granger.

Severus stands at the door of his flat, listening to her weary tread on the stairwell. He decided earlier this morning as he listened to her clomp back and forth above him that it is time to make it clear that she is entirely unwanted in his building, especially if she insists upon keeping that long-legged monster. If Severus has to listen to him whimper and scratch at his door one more time...

Besides, he was here first. It's much easier for her to find a new flat as a war hero than for him as a convicted murderer, even if he is convicted only in the eyes of the public. But if she won't leave, he will move out because he wants nothing to do with Harry Potter and his sycophants ever again, and he certainly doesn't want one for a neighbor.

Out on the stairs, there is a sudden thunk. Granger's footfalls cease, and she mutters an oath he is amused to hear come out of that prim, pedantic mouth.

Never one to pass up an opportunity for drama, Severus throws open his front door. She is crouching on his landing, gathering up spilled papers and attempting to wrestle them into her briefcase. She is older and thinner, but her hair is just as unkempt and frizzy, even swept up into a knot at the base of her neck. The make-up she wears doesn't do as much to hide the dark bags under her eyes as she probably thinks it does. She is dressed in Muggle business attire – skirt, blouse, heels, and a long winter coat – and his eyes stray to the slim, curved line of her calf beneath the shimmer of her Muggle hose.

"What do you want?" she snaps at him, and he jerks his eyes away from her leg.

Well, she's asked. "I want you to move out."

She sighs irritably and shoves a handful of paperwork into her briefcase. "No."

"I was here first." It comes out more petulant than he would have entirely preferred.

She pivots towards him on the balls of her feet and stares at him in astonishment. Snape pointedly does not look at the line of her thigh disappearing underneath her skirt. "Oh, honestly. What are you? Five? I'm not going anywhere." She grabs a few errant papers, stuffs them into her briefcase, and stands. "So get used to it."

And then she starts down the stairs again, as if she isn't imposing an inconvenience on his life, as if she hasn't shattered the peace he's made for himself here. All he's ever wanted was some peace, and everything he's done up to this point has been worth it, or had been, until she showed up.

For once, just once, he'd like to have what he wants.

Snape clenches his hands again, grits his teeth. What can he do to drive her away? There must be something.... Ah, yes. Of course. The dead Weasley she married.

"I can see why you want to stay." He is pleased to hear how smooth his voice is, even if a tremor of anger can be heard in its undertones. "This tiny, decrepit flat must be an improvement over that huge, empty house." Granger slows to a stop and turns her head, watches him out of the corner of her eye. "Tell me, how long did his scent last on your sheets before it faded completely?"

She flinches as if he has struck her; Severus feels the warm glow of triumph in his chest.

He doesn't wait to see what she does next. Satisfied with his strike, he goes back into his flat and slams the door behind him.

The warm glow lasts the whole morning.

*****

Hermione is having a very bad morning.

Encountering Snape and his nasty temper tantrum first thing was not how she wanted to start the day, not after a restless night full of strange dreams that she is only able to recall in brief flashes: Ron speaking in whispers, dogs barking in the distance, getting lost in a maze that she couldn't escape.

She is nearly shaking from exhaustion as she hurries through Diagon Alley in her Muggle heels and uncomfortable Muggle clothes, rushing to the apothecary and hoping she won't be late for her nine o'clock meeting with Percy Weasley and a representative from the Prime Minister's office. Her eyes are dry and red from little sleep, her face puffy, her patience nil. She is in need of Pepper-Up to make it through the day – as caffeine isn't cutting it anymore – and her tolerance of Percy Weasley is sailing towards zero as it is.

And now she has to spend the day with Snape's vicious, petulant comment rattling around inside her head, as if every moment without Ron isn't miserable enough as is. Bloody Snape, twisting the knife of her grief deeper into her heart with his nasty comment. She should have hexed him, the bastard. Here she was willing to keep her distance from him, to live and let live, and then he has to go and make that comment.

She isn't going to let the bastard get away with it. He wants her to leave that flat? Like that would ever happen now. She'll stay just to spite him, right up to the day he dies, if she has to. Oh! Or better yet, she'll just tell Harry...

Her thoughts are cut short as she collides bodily with some kind of huge, fleshy wall. She finds herself sprawled on the cobblestones, looking up at Viktor Krum.

Her morning has just become worse.

"Herm-own-ninny!" Viktor says, hurrying to help her to her feet. "I am so sorry. I was not paying attention to where I was going." He brushes at her coat, trying to be helpful, but he only succeeds in annoying her.

Hermione steps away delicately and inspects her suit, mends a run in her stockings with a quick flick of her wand. "No, it's all right. No damage done."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Viktor flashes that open smile. His teeth are very white and even. Hermione very much wishes he would close his mouth.

"I am glad. Tell me, would you care to go to lunch later today?"

Hermione manages a weak apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I can't," she says, lying unabashedly through her teeth. "I'm busy all day long. In fact, I need to run. I'm a bit behind this morning."

His smile fades a little, as if he didn't expect to be brushed off so quickly. "Oh, of course. I won't keep you. Perhaps I will Owl you tonight?"

"That would be nice," she says, and hurries past him, glad to have escaped his eager attention.

Of course, halfway through her meeting with Percy at his most arrogant and the equally pompous Muggle official, she almost wishes she'd stayed with Viktor.

*****

Just to make her day that much better, on her way out to walk the dog that evening, she runs into Snape again.

The landlady, Mrs. Prenderghast, has waylaid her in the foyer to ask her about the dog.

"I agreed to let you keep a cat, Mrs. Granger," she scolds, reminding Hermione a bit of McGonagall at her most pinched. "But a huge dog like that– "

"I know, Mrs. Prenderghast. I'm sorry. I'm only keeping him until I find his owner."

Mrs. Prenderghast frowns severely. "Are you sure he even has an owner? What if he's just a stray?"

"And how do you know that thing isn't feral or infected with rabies?" adds someone behind her.

Hermione jumps at the voice, whirling in surprise and only barely restraining her instinct to draw her wand. Snape is standing at the foot of the stairs wearing a Slytherin green and silver striped scarf and a long black Muggle coat that hints at the teaching robes he once wore. He is scowling of course, and the dog, as ineffably drawn to him as ever, whines and strains towards him at the end of his leash.

Snape's lips curl in disgust as he steps back from the dog.

"Why do you ask?" Hermione replies pleasantly. He thinks he's going to get under her skin, but she isn't going to make that mistake again. She let his unpleasant remark affect her more than it should have this morning and she isn't going to let his sharp tongue cut her again. "Did you bite him?"

Snape bares his crooked, yellowed teeth in a snarl and stalks past them, out the front door, leaving Hermione the clear victor in the confrontation.

The dog, however, slumps dejectedly.

"Nasty piece of work, that man," Mrs. Prenderghast says as the door slams behind him. "If he weren't such a good tenant, I'd have thrown him out years ago." She sighs and peers over the rims of her glasses. "About the dog, Mrs. Granger..."

"Give me two weeks, and he'll be gone. I promise, whether I find his owner or not."

"I'll give you one week or I'll throw you out just like Mr. Snape asked," she says and disappears into her flat, leaving Hermione gaping indignantly at her words.

Oh, that unmitigated bastard! Not only is she going to tell Harry about Snape, she is going to invite the twins to tea as well.

And she's going to tell them to bring their experiments.

*****

Severus is getting thoroughly and unremittingly drunk.

He is sitting in a smoky, dreary pub he sometimes frequents, drinking shot after shot of whiskey, accosted by awful Muggle music and the inane conversations of the evening crowd, pondering the cruelty of fate. Just when he thought life was getting better for him, he now has to live only one floor away from Hermione Granger, has to endure her sarcastic little comments and tolerate that drooling canine nosing after him with his needy, watery eyes.

Severus pours another shot from the bottle the bartender left with him. The nerve of her. Did you bite him? Oh, so funny, the wretched woman. He should have hexed her just as he always wanted to years ago, whenever he saw her hand fly into the air in class. If Mrs. Prenderghast wasn't standing there, if she hadn't promised him just that morning that Granger would go if the dog didn't, he would have.

He really, really would have, their exploits in Voldemort's caverns be damned.

"Evening, Rex!" the bartender says from just down the bar, his booming voice ripping Severus out of his self-righteous brood. "You seem to be a dog or two short tonight!"

Severus jerks his head up irritably to see the bartender and a familiar old man with great wispy eyebrows and a shock of pure white hair standing just down the bar near the window, looking out at something in the street. The old man is wearing a tweed coat and an orange sweater vest, reminding him a great deal of what Dumbledore would wear when he took it into his head to dress like a Muggle. No matter the culture, it was always atrocious colors with the Headmaster.

"I've lost Rupert, the poor old soul," replies the old man. "He ran off after a cat the other night and I haven't seen him since. Mind if I put up one of these fliers?"

Severus's ears prick up. A lost dog?

Severus studies the old man with interest as he and the bartender chat, trying to force his inebriated brain to recall why he recognizes him. There is something here, something important, a connection between Granger's dog and the old man's and if he can just remember...

Oh, of course. It was all coming together nicely.

Severus feels the corners of his mouth curl into the sort of smile that used to terrify first year Hufflepuffs when he caught them in the corridors after curfew. He wants Granger out of his building. Granger can't stay if she doesn't get rid of the dog. As long as he can keep the old man and Granger from crossing paths...

It's probably a ridiculous plan, but he's fairly drunk and who bloody cares if it is, especially if it inconveniences Granger for even a day or two?

Severus slips out of the pub, skirting around the two hounds tied up outside as they strain to greet him, whimpering pathetically just like the monster Granger has in her flat. Then he spends the rest of the evening in better spirits, walking through Glastonbury and ripping down all the lost dog fliers he can find.

Revenge never stops being fun.