What Might Be Done

Chapter 13: Other Roads

Part 2, Severus

Wednesday came much too soon for Snape. No amount of preparation was enough for him to easily stomach the thought of meeting Hermione’s parents, let alone attempting to court her. His stomach felt queasy. He stood in front of his mirror, feeling like a complete idiot and hoping that Minerva wasn’t pulling some kind of prank. Regardless, it was too late to worry about it now. Promptness was important to him, no matter how onerous the task at hand, and he would need some time to get his bearings in a strange place.

With the sound of a soft crack Snape apparated into a dim alley, sending a glaring of cats scurrying in all directions. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant smell. Bins overflowing with putrid garbage crowded the alleyway behind the restaurant, no doubt the explanation for all the cats. He didn’t like animals, as once embarrassingly evidenced by garnering a T for Troll on his Care of Magical Creatures OWL, the only such mark he’d ever received. He was therefore not pleased when a large scruffy tom rubbed itself purring against his leg. He kicked at it viciously and it hunkered down against a wall giving Snape a look of pathetic betrayal. Snape wasn’t in the least chagrined. “Serves you right, you four-legged spawn of the devil.” As he was looking smugly at the beleaguered tom, he wasn’t watching where he walked and his foot came down into a tangle of squealing feline. He fell against one of the bulging bins, spilling restaurant leavings all over himself. Minerva would pay for giving him this refuse dump as an apparition point.

With a snarl, Snape cast Scourgify, cleaning himself of the wilted remains of lettuce and rancid bits of meat. More carefully this time, he kicked another dozen cats out of his path as he exited the alley into the blinding sunshine of the High street. A passing woman gave him a worried look and scurried away quickly. Snape dismissed her as merely timid until the next few people he passed also gave him strange looks and quickly crossed to the other side of the street. Snape looked down at himself and then at the passing Muggles. Kilt, brogues, shirt, jacket. True, no one else was wearing a kilt, and between Minerva’s sense of humour and Albus’s eccentric taste in fashion it was hard to be sure, but he knew this was Mugglewear, he’d even seen a picture of the heir to the throne of Muggle England in a similar outfit. Well, Granger would tell him if there was anything amiss.

He scowled. In spite of the cleansing spell a faint odour of garbage seemed to cling to him. He cast another Scourgify and added a bit of scent to it. It would have to do. Tugging on the short, restrictive jacket, and smoothing down the tartan of his kilt, he garnered another odd look from a passing woman. He bared his crooked teeth at her and she scurried off as the other Muggles had done. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket he extracted a piece of paper and walked with it into the nearest shop.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?”

A portly man in a stained white apron turned to look at him, raised his eyebrows in surprise and then smiled. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Snape thrust the piece of paper at him. “I need to find this address and I’m not familiar with your town.” He tried a smile of his own but as he was not feeling particularly pleasant he wasn’t sure it was entirely successful.

The portly man smiled at him again. “Oh yes. Granger, the dentist couple. They’re very good, both of them. They’ll be able to fix those problems right up.”

Snape opened his mouth to ask, “What problems?” but the grocer kept talking without even pausing for breath. “You’d hardly know they were offcomers these days, fit right in, although we did think they were a bit odd when they first moved here. Hippies. We’re a quiet town, weren’t used to their sort. It all turned out all right. They only looked strange. They really know what they’re about when it comes to teeth.” He grabbed Snape’s arm in a friendly fashion and dragged him back to the doorway. “You go just past the pub, worth stopping in if you have the time, best beer in the county and tolerable grub. No? Well, perhaps some other time. As I were saying, turn the corner at the pub, just a few blocks, big house, can’t miss it. Tell the Missus Bert the Butcher says hello and I have some lovely chops if she’s interested.”

Snape stumbled as the grocer gave him a friendly shove in the right direction. He had the feeling the man, friendly as he had been, was only too happy to see the back of him.

The house, late Victorian and made for a Victorian family, was absurdly large for three people. The small front yard was neat and yet somehow eccentric, as if vigorously tended by someone with no aesthetic sensibilities whatever. Snape was hardly surprised. Judging by its size, Teethists made good money, judging by the erratic shrubbery, their money was not spent on gardeners.

He took a deep breath, and rolled his eyes several times to get it out of his system. He sneered when he saw the ornate brass knocker. A lion’s head. How utterly, utterly predictable. Raising his hand he rapped sharply. In less than an instant the door was opened by a smiling man with teeth to make Gilderoy Lockhart jealous, of middling height and with a large quantity of fuzzy hair circling a bald patch. He grabbed Snape’s hand and pumped it heartily.

“You’ll be Professor Snape. Welcome! Welcome! Mother and I have been looking forward to meeting you since Princess got your post.” He looked Snape up and down. “Didn’t know you were a Scotsman. Come in, come in. No point in lurking about the doorstep like a salesman.”

The man did not let go of Snape’s hand but used it to leverage him through the doorway and into a entrance hall that boasted several pieces of primitive art. “Mother! Princess! Professor Snape has arrived. Do you mind if I call you Severus? You must call me Gerald. No point in standing on formality.”

“This is the residence of Hermione Granger?” With the talk of mothers and princesses, Snape was not entirely sure that he had not got the wrong house, in spite of the fact his name was known. If the man with the forceful grip was Granger’s father, he was rather older than Snape expected. It might explain some of Granger’s behaviours. Only children were often spoiled (although he himself had certainly not been) and when the parents were an already middle-aged couple . . .

“Yes, of course. Come into the lounge. Tea? Or something stronger? I’ve a lovely malt whisky I’ve been saving, but perhaps that’s a bit coals to Newcastle, eh? We have a full complement of just about anything, well, only excluding your fancy wizarding libations.”

Snape, unable to get a word in edgewise, merely nodded baring his teeth slightly.

“Can’t think of what’s keeping Mother and Princess. They’re in the kitchen. I think Princess is explaining how some magical cooking is done. Can’t think I’d really like to eat something that poured out of the end of a wand, like to have some idea of where my food comes from, don’t you? You know, either Mother or myself could help you with those, at a discount of course.”

“Help me with what?” Snape finally got a word in.

“Your teeth.”

“What about my teeth?”

“Oh! Professor Snape, you’re here! I didn’t hear the bell. Hermione was showing me something in the kitchen. Has Gerald offered you a drink?” A tall woman, well-dressed and with extremely large white teeth, advanced on Snape, right hand extended.

“Professor Snape!” Hermione Granger joined her parents. She goggled slightly at her professor. “What are you wearing?”

“Is there something wrong with my clothes? Minerva assured me they were actual Mugglewear.”

“Well, perhaps,” Hermione said, eyeing his kilt doubtfully, “but I don’t know I’ve ever seen anyone in full Highland regalia, excepting the Prince when he’s at Balmoral, and only then in photographs, of course. Because I’ve never been to Balmoral, or met the Prince for that matter.”

“Professor McGonagall claimed they belonged to a Muggleborn student.”

“Oh, that would be Dean Thomas. They were part of a costume. It was a joke.”

“Albus will shortly find himself in need of a new Transfigurations teacher. I wonder if he’ll find that amusing?”

Hermione stretched out a hand as if to touch the hairy sporran hanging from his belt and then jerked it back, her cheeks flushed. “Well, it’s all lovely but the ruffles... I don’t know.”

“You’re trying to be polite, Miss Granger. It doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s just . . . Well, full Highland regalia.”

Mr and Mrs Granger were attending to this conversation as if they were watching a tennis match; their heads turning from Snape to Hermione and back again.

“Darling,” Mrs Granger said, “you’re making the professor uncomfortable. It’s not nice.”

“Sorry, Professor. Are you good at this sort of thing, or would you like me to do it for you?”

“Good at what, Miss Granger?”

“Transfiguring your clothes. Trousers perhaps and– oh, let me do it!”

Hermione flicked her wand and Snape found himself still in a kilt, but with boots instead of brogues, a short leather jacket instead of cloth, ruffled shirt exchanged for a black tee-shirt, and no sporran. “There, that’s a bit better. You look very fashionable. Makes you look younger, too, as if you were ready to go clubbing.”

Snape thought he might club her if she didn’t shut up.

“Very handsome,” said Mrs Granger, smiling and showing very many blinding white teeth.

“Here’s your libation,” Mr Granger said. “I didn’t know your pleasure, so I took the liberty of pouring you a measure of Islay malt, my particular favourite, Lagavulin, but I do have a Speyside if you prefer.”

Snape had no idea what he was talking about but he took the large glass handed him with desperate pleasure. He took a deep draught and smiled at his host. “Ah, excellent. Thank you.”

“You know,” Hermione’s mother chimed in, “I could whiten those. Gratis, of course. I know those in the teaching profession are often shockingly under-compensated.”

“Professor,” Hermione quickly interrupted, obviously fearing a an imminent explosion, “perhaps we should go. I don’t know how late the pub serves, and I’d like to get there before they run out of their rather excellent vegetarian shepherd’s pie.”

“Yes, of course,” Snape said, hurriedly downing the rest of the much needed fortifying whisky. “Mrs Granger, Mr Granger, it was lovely meeting you. I don’t expect we’ll be very late. I’ve a meeting this evening and I mustn’t be late. A very good night to you both. Come Miss Granger.” He strode hastily to the front door, not even checking to see Hermione was following.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said breathlessly, once she had caught him up, “my parents are a bit obsessive about their profession. They’re not usually so rude. I hope you won’t hold it against them.”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about. Now, where’s this pub?”

“Very near. I expect you passed it on your way to the house, unless you apparated at our front door. It will take us about five minutes to walk, or two,” she panted, “the way you’re walking.”

Snape slowed his pace. If he was serious about courting her, politeness would matter, damn it. “My apologies, Miss Granger. I’m little used to company, and you’re even shorter than Potter, astounding as that seems. I didn’t mean to rush you.”

Thankfully, Hermione ignored the insult, which had slipped out unintentionally. “I’m very excited we’re going to talk about the apprenticeship. I’ve thought of almost nothing else since your first owl. I know it’s unusual to take someone on before they’ve finished school and I’m a bit worried how I’ll manage with NEWTs this year and everything, but I–“

“Please,” Snape held up his hand, palm out, “let’s postpone this discussion until we’re at table. I feel in need of additional fortification.”

The pub, when they arrived, met with Snape’s approval. It was not so very different from wizarding establishments, other than the noticeable lack of robes. Hermione led the way to the lounge. “It will be a bit rowdy in the public bar, we’d not be able to hear ourselves think, let alone each other talk.”

They found themselves a table and sat. A large man Snape assumed to be the pub owner came over to take their order. “Lovely to see you Miss Granger. It’s been awhile. How’re your mum and dad keeping? Everything all right then? What can I get you? You’re in luck if you’re wanting the vegie pie, we’ve one slab left. You and your friend can arm wrestle over it.”

“No, that’s fine, no wrestling,” Snape said in a rush, unclear on what Muggle custom might be being referred to but not liking the sound of it. “Steak and kidney pudding and a half of bitter.” He turned to Hermione. “Whatever you like, Miss Granger. Surprisingly, Hogwarts has an expense budget.”

“I’ll have the pie, and a half of cider, if you please. Busy tonight, John? Or will we have the lounge to ourselves.”

“Been quiet so far. I shouldn’t worry. Don’t want your folks to know you’re stepping out with an older fella, eh?”

Hermione blushed. “Don’t be silly. This is one of my professors from school. We’re going to discuss um, an assistant position in chemistry. And,” she added with a smile, “my parents know exactly where I am and with whom, so you needn’t worry about keeping secrets.”

“Interesting school if your professors wear kilts. Well, right then,” he hurried on seeing Hermione’s look of disapproval, “I’ll send a waitress with your drinks and your grub’ll be ready in a flash. Love the modern era, just stick it in the nuke and Bob’s your uncle.”

When the barman left an uneasy silence descended over Snape and Hermione’s table. They both hurried to break it.

“So,” said Snape, “what do you hear from Potter and Weasley?”

“Is it okay to talk about my apprenticeship yet?” was Hermione’s contribution.

“Well,” Snape began carefully, reminding himself irritably this was supposed to be a romance, not a job interview, “perhaps we could just chat a bit first, get to know each other. See if we’re compatible.”

“I didn’t know compatibility was a requirement. I thought you’d just tell me what to do and I’d do it. I’ll not cause you any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. I do realise that Ron, Harry and I haven’t always, well, trusted you, I suppose. But that changed ages ago. Really, I’ll behave. I do know how. Perhaps you’ve noticed the last year was different than the previous ones. Of course, that might have something to do with you, you’ve been rather . . . friendlier. Especially to Harry, but we’ve all noticed. I think it made quite a difference in everyone’s attitude – “

Snape was no longer listening. He mused instead on the unbearableness of what he was attempting. One: the girl obviously could natter on as long as she had air in her lungs. Two: she talked too much and Snape, a taciturn man by nature, would no doubt leave too many silences she would be compelled to fill. Three: would she never shut up?

“Professor?”

“What? My apologies again, Miss Granger. I must have been woolgathering. Most unlike me. You were saying about Potter?”

Hermione looked confused and Snape cursed himself. Obviously she had not been talking about Potter.

“I asked if the apprenticeship would start with the beginning of term, or if there was still some kind of approval or something that still has to be gained.”

“I thought we had agreed to just chat for a bit. We can get to the apprenticeship in a moment. So,” Snape said, casting around for a topic suitable for “getting-to-know-you chat”, “tell me, how did you and Potter become friends?”

***

“Professor, I’m sorry, but are we here to talk about Harry? Because if we are that’s fine but I’d like to know.”

“Of course not!” Snape was livid. “Of all the ridiculous ideas.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, infuriating Snape further. “It’s just you’ve mentioned him at least a half-dozen times and we’ve been here,” she glanced at her Muggle wristwatch, “fifteen minutes.” She looked at Snape. “Fine. Certainly. By all means, let’s talk about Harry. What would you like to know?”

“I’m not interested in Potter in the least! I mean–“

“I know what you mean, Professor.” The little bitch had the audacity to laugh.

“He’s the only thing I know we have in common. Don’t look so smug, that’s not what I meant and you know it!” Snape gave Hermione a truly menacing glare.

“Whatever you say, Professor.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Do not tempt me to rescind my offer,” he said, grinding his teeth.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Professor. We figured out ages ago that you were interested in Harry. Harry didn’t want to believe it at first, and Ron still refuses to believe it but deep down they both know it’s true. We’ve talked about it.” Hermione’s eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth.

Snape smirked. “Yes, you finally realised you’ve been going a bit far, to say the least. We are here, Miss Granger, to discuss your apprenticeship.” He smiled, feeling sick. “It is not Potter in whom I’m interested, it’s you. And you may take that any way you like.”

In Snape’s opinion the evening went downhill from there. Things got slightly better when they began to actually speak of the apprenticeship, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling of impending doom.

TBC