Hilltop Cottage

Severus Snape was breathing deeply as he pressed his back firmly against his front door. His eyes were tightly closed, trying to block out the many images of Hermione Granger that had flashed through his mind since he saw her leaning over the weir.



‘Shit,’ he muttered. He had expected she would be in New Mills at some point, but he had always hoped their paths would never cross.



It was standard Hogwarts practice to keep the family trees of each pupil on file for reference, particularly in the case of Muggle-borns. Family traits and patterns were logged, including the Houses into which each family member had been Sorted. In the case of Muggle-born witches and wizards, the further back the family tree could be traced, the better. There may have been ancestors within the family with magical ability, unknown to more recent generations, and genetics was an area of research the Ministry was particularly interested in.



He had known Bertram Mellor and hadn’t liked him. A grandson of the original mill owner, he had inherited certain properties across New Mills, including the houses in Spinner’s End. For a time, Bert Mellor had been his mother Eileen’s landlord, until Severus had been able to purchase the property himself.



It had been a shock to Severus to realise that a relative of Bertram Mellor had been accepted into Hogwarts, but after her first year, he had realised that Hermione had very little to do with her great grandfather. He had been relieved. New Mills was his escape, a place he could hide his true identity. The house meant nothing, but the privacy it afforded him meant everything.



And now, she was here, and he was sure she had followed him and knew where he lived. He should have stopped and spoken to her before coming back to the house, but his first instinct had been to flee. He knew of Granger’s penchant for ‘projects,’ but more importantly, he liked his life just as it was.



Since the end of the war, routine was a balm for Severus; the humdrum was like music to his soul. Ordinary life was extraordinary for Severus Snape, and he wasn’t willing to give it up. He kept the wizarding world at arm’s length, maintained a steady income through freelance Potion’s projects and consultancy fees, and he even went on the occasional weekend break. Basically, he wanted peace and quiet. The thought that Hermione Granger could upset his very settled apple cart was giving him a headache.



Giving in to temptation, Severus opened his net curtain very slightly and peered out. He was just in time to see her turn and walk back down Spinnerbottom. Letting out a sigh of relief, he let the curtain fall and walked through his small lounge into the narrow kitchen at the back of the house. Years of having to live like a Muggle while at home had Severus set in his ways, and he quickly struck a Swan Vesta to light the gas hob, filled an old, battered silver whistling kettle with water, and set about brewing a pot of tea.



Like the street on which it sat, the house was run down and uncared for on the inside. The décor left much to be desired, the furniture old and worn. However, it was significantly cleaner than it had been for quite a while. Severus had more time now to attend to chores, and he found it quite therapeutic in an odd way. Beating the dust from the threadbare rugs was always particularly satisfying. The only thing he really pined for on occasion was a garden in which to grow things.



The two-up, two-down house had a small back yard enclosed on two sides by the house itself, the other two boundaries edged by a window-height brick wall. Any space that could have been set aside for planting had been swallowed up by the bathroom, which had been added onto the house at the same time as running water had been installed years ago. Nevertheless, Severus made the most of it by planting herbs in terracotta pots hanging from wires hammered into the pointing. But with more space, he could be more self-sufficient, and his potions would be more potent and subsequently more valuable, due to the freshness of the ingredients.



The kettle whistled loudly, and in minutes, Severus was walking into the lounge with his tea tray. Setting the tray on a small table, he folded himself into the green, moth-eaten armchair beside the fireplace, stretching his left leg out as he sat. It ached, especially so on damp days, but it was of no matter. He should be dead, so a war wound and a dodgy leg were the least of his concerns.



After pouring himself a cup of strong tea and adding a dash of milk, Severus turned back to the early edition of the Daily Prophet. He read the headline, which he had previously given only a cursory glance, and smirked to himself. According to the Prophet, the War Hero Hermione Granger had suddenly left her well-paid and respected post at the Ministry for Magic to travel the world, without even telling Harry Potter where she was headed.



Severus was sure it was driving the lackeys at the news desk totally mad not knowing where their meal ticket had vanished. Knowing that he had the information they so desperately wanted made him chuckle. He also felt a twinge of pride in his ex-student, for she had managed to evade them thus far. He was just about to take a slurp of tea when he paused.



If Granger had chosen New Mills as a place of refuge, then all well and good. He understood the need for an escape better than most. The Prophet probably had no knowledge of her family link to the town, so it was highly unlikely they would trace her here. However, Severus had no such anonymity, and his address was well known, having been publicised constantly during his trial. Even now, he knew that his house was watched when news was slow, and column inches would be devoted to ‘The Secret life of an ex-Death Eater.’ It was never very exciting and usually consisted of an account of his recent trip to the shops (Snape uses Muggle provisions supplier!) and speculation of how he spent his days within the walls of his small Muggle-built home. Severus rarely read it.



Snape knew that undoubtedly, Granger would not be able to leave well alone. Should she come calling on a slow news day, her cover would be blown and any hopes she had of taking a break from the realities of her life would be dashed.



‘Bugger it,’ he whispered.



Forgetting about his tea, he threw the paper down in exasperation, and without stopping to think about what he was about to do, he grabbed his black, Muggle jacket from the hook by the door. Wandlessly, he Summoned the paper to him and folded it neatly, placing it carefully into his inside pocket. With his mouth set in grim determination, Severus stepped out into the street for the second time in the space of an hour.