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Severus Snape did not want a pet. What he wanted was to collapse onto his bed for the first time in nearly thirty hours, possibly with his soft grey blanket wrapped around him to ward off the autumn chill.
He scowled down at the tiny creature that had taken up residence on his knee, blinking up at him with large, luminous eyes. It perked up at the attention and made delighted little chirping noises.
Severus sighed. “I don’t assume you’d be willing to bugger off and let me sleep.”
The sound he got back could have meant anything.
Some long-neglected part of his conscience scolded him for using such language around a child, and he shoved it back into the dark corner of his mind where it belonged. He was no longer a teacher, and the ‘child’ had no way of understanding him.
…Probably.
From the size and shape of the ears and the fluffy tuft on its tail, his little menace was certainly at least part kneazle. That rather explained how it had snuck inside his warded home to occupy his knee; surely, no ordinary kitten would have been capable of such a thing.
The pleasure of its accomplishments wore off quicker than Severus could finish his rather delayed breakfast, and it was attempting to butter him up with plaintive meows and obvious sniffs in the direction of his plate. Grumbling a little, Severus pinched a bit of smoked haddock off his kedgeree - certain the spices would deter the little thing - and held it out.
Alas, the kneazle had never been told that curry was not for kittens; it licked its lips and went searching for more.
“Blasted creature,” he grumbled, summoning a tin of tuna with a wave of his hand and offering a bit of that instead. Whether it was properly nutritious for the creature, he couldn’t say, but at least he was able to finish his breakfast in peace.
Proper food, he figured as he stumbled his way upstairs, could wait until he’d slept at least six hours.
Severus woke to the unusual sensation of something sitting on his thigh. He slept curled up - as he had since he was a boy, a habit he’d adopted due to the chill of the Hogwarts dungeons - which apparently created an appropriate surface for a small kneazle kitten to lounge on.
“What are you still doing here?”
The kitten yawned and settled back into his grey blanket, purring.
He rolled his eyes at it but it continued to ignore him, apparently supremely content and unwilling to indulge his grumpiness.
“Let me up,” he said, “if you want me to pick you up some kibble at the shops.”
The kitten blinked its eyes open and considered this. It gave a slow, luxurious stretch - first front legs, then back - and sat for a moment, licking its paws, before finally hopping off him and onto the bed.
Sitting up, Severus saw the little thing nuzzling the blanket. It appeared to be trying to nurse from it, he realised uncomfortably. It must have been younger than he suspected.
It had eaten the haddock and tuna the night before, though. Hopefully it was old enough to eat solid food.
It watched him bundle up - wrapping a threadbare green scarf around his neck and shrugging into a hand-me-down Muggle coat - but didn’t follow him as he left for the shops. Part of him hoped it would be gone when he returned.
…He ignored the other part.
Severus muttered idle threats at his door as he forced it open. It always stuck in the damp and cold, and it was damp and cold ten months out of the year in Cokeworth. Blasted thing.
A loud noise made him jump; he’d almost forgotten his visitor.
“Oh,” he said, eyeing it. “You’re still here.”
It blinked up at him.
“Very well. I hope your diet is similar to a cat’s.”
It padded silently after him towards the kitchen, tail swishing. Severus found an old takeaway lid to serve as a cat dish and the kneazle waited impatiently as he set out an arbitrary measure of cheap cat food for it.
“You’d best be grateful,” he grumbled.
The kneazle sniffed his offering, visibly unimpressed, but did deign to nibble on the food while Severus began putting his own groceries away.
Keeping a kneazle was out of the question, long-term. After his release from the hospital and his trial he’d thought he would go back to teaching, but it was not to be; his reputation wouldn’t allow it. Minerva was reportedly doing a much better job as Headmistress, anyways.
To support himself he ran a small owl-order potions business, specialising in rare and difficult brews not usually found in the local apothecary. He had made something of a name for himself (helped largely by the fact that the name he brewed under was not his own) and had finally broken even the month before, allowing him to stop relying on his dwindling savings.
A kneazle would threaten that. They were magical creatures with fur potent enough to be used as wand cores; a single hair in the wrong place could destroy hours, days of hard work. He was not so well-off that he could afford to waste expensive ingredients or alienate customers by fulfilling their requests late.
No, unfortunately the creature would have to go.
As if it heard him the kneazle looked up, narrowing its eyes at him and flicking its tail.
Hmph.
Hermione was having her worst week since the Battle of Hogwarts.
Her whirlwind relationship with Ron had spun itself out a month before their wedding, leaving her and her parents with broken hearts and a hefty collection of bills. They had simply grown too far apart; far enough apart that she wasn’t what Ron needed in his life anymore, and he’d been sure to tell her. In detail.
She’d been forced out of the little flat the pair of them were going to share and moved back in with her parents. Worst of all, Crookshanks - her beloved half-kneazle who had been with her through so much - passed away in his sleep two days after her move.
Her father helped her bury her friend in the garden, next to a bed of foxglove. Crooks had loved to sit on a garden stone nearby, soaking up the sun and watching the bees and butterflies flitting among the blooms.
It was hard to believe he was gone. He had been her most constant friend since she was about fourteen, staying by her side even when the boys were angry with her. She’d known he was feeling poorly, too, but between one thing and another…the fact that he’d been sleeping more and eating less hadn’t seemed like an emergency. By the time she’d found a magical veterinarian and set up an appointment, it had already been too late.
“He loved you,” her father murmured. It didn’t help.
Crooks had loved her, yes, but she felt like she’d failed him. He’d needed her, and she’d ignored him. It made her feel like the worst sort of pet owner.
Her father wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I think he was happy to spend his last days with you.”
“I have to go,” Hermione said, ducking away. “I have to go cancel the appointment.”
“Sweetheart-”
“There’s got to be some other pet who can take the time slot.”
She Apparated away before her father could reply.
The veterinarian she’d found was just off Diagon Alley, in a little unnamed alleyway almost too narrow to navigate with a carrier in hand. That, at least, was not an issue.
As she rounded the bend, Hermione stopped up short. Severus Snape, former Headmaster of Hogwarts, former Death Eater, known curmudgeonly recluse who had ignored three letters she’d sent him in the past year, stopped as well.
“Meow,” said the fold of his cloak he’d draped over his arm.
Hermione caught herself gaping. “Um. Hello, sir-”
“I’m not your professor anymore, Miss Granger.”
“Ah, right. I’m not sure-”
“‘Master Snape’ is fine. I still have my mastery, at least.”
“Fair enough, Master Snape. What brings you here?”
He narrowed his eyes, but surprisingly, he answered. “I have a…small problem I cannot keep.”
The cloak peeled back to reveal an absolutely gorgeous little tabby kitten with enormous tufted ears. A long tail worked itself free, showing off a series of dark stripes and a black tip of fluff on the end.
“How adorable!” She reached out to let the kitten sniff her hand. “Why can’t you keep him?”
Master Snape sniffed. “I work in potions, Miss Granger.”
“Ah.” Of course. It was a problem she’d faced herself: it had been hard enough keeping Crooks’ fur out of her brewing, and he hadn’t been in the classroom with her. “It’s a shame you have to give him up. He clearly likes you.”
Master Snape was looking at her with a very odd expression, and Hermione abruptly realised that they were closer than they really should have been. She muttered an apology and stepped back…after giving the kitten one final scratch behind the ears.
“How can you tell?”
She grinned. “He’s letting you carry him around, and he’s purring.”
“Hmm.”
“Crookshanks is - was - the same way. He’d let me carry him around all day, but as soon as one of the boys tried to even pet him he would growl and hiss.”
Master Snape’s lips twitched a little, but to his credit he didn’t comment. It was, quite possibly, the most bizarre part of an already very strange conversation. “Was, Miss Granger?”
Her lip wobbled a little. “He…ah, passed away yesterday. I need to, you know, cancel his appointment.” She gestured at the veterinarian’s door.
He narrowed his eyes at the little kitten, then at her. With a jerky motion, he held out his hands. “Here.”
Hermione blinked at him, but took both the kitten and the shrunken bag of food. “What…?”
“You have a big heart,” Master Snape growled, as if the words had been pulled out of him by force. “If there is anyone who can care for a small, fluffy creature, it would be you.”
And without any further explanation, he whirled away.
“Well,” Hermione said to the small, fluffy creature who had been so unceremoniously thrust into her care, “I suppose I may need that appointment after all.”
Miss Granger,
Come collect your beast.
S. Snape
Last house on Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.
Hermione cast three detection spells and prodded the small scrap of parchment with her wand for good measure.
The little kneazle kitten Master Snape had graciously bestowed upon her had been quite a handful, both more agile than the elderly Crooks and too young to understand that “don’t get up on the cupboards” meant “don’t get up on the cupboards, even when the humans aren’t looking.”
He climbed on everything, from the cupboards to the curtains to her dresser. Her father had once found him asleep in his home office, paws in the air, hidden behind an antique globe, which was how the kitten acquired the name Atlas.
Despite his predilection for climbing (and napping) where he wasn’t allowed, Atlas was a wonderful distraction from the gaping wound in Hermione’s chest left by her recent losses. It was difficult to be depressed when a tiny kitten was running around, making chirping noises and demanding pets, getting into mischief and crashing, warm and sleepy, against her leg.
He’d occasionally disappear from view for a few hours, but Hermione had stopped worrying about that after the first few days. Crooks had let himself out into the garden through some mysterious means regularly, despite not having any sort of cat flap, and he’d always come back. She’d assumed Atlas was doing the same.
She would have never expected him to head to Cokeworth.
Once again, she felt like she'd failed as a pet owner. In her defense, how could she have possibly guessed?
She’d been to Cokeworth a couple times with Harry. It was the closest town to where he’d grown up, and he’d loved exploring the area now that he was free to do so. Though there were a few magical folk who lived nearby, it was largely Muggle.
It was also rather shabby, compared to London, but Hermione had refrained from pointing this out. She was not going to be the one to pop the little bubble of nostalgia that surrounded the town for him.
Master Snape must have grown up there too, she realised abruptly. So much about his life had come out after the war: he was a half-blood, he’d been friends with Lily Potter (née Evans) as a boy, he’d loved her so much that he’d dedicated his life to saving her son.
It was bizarre to think that Harry and Master Snape had lived so close to each other. Granted, Master Snape had been away at Hogwarts for most of the year and Harry had rarely been allowed out of the house, but they’d still lived just across town from each other.
Come to think of it, when Master Snape was angry - really angry, not just working himself into a snit - he slipped into an accent strangely reminiscent of Harry’s. Perhaps it wasn’t so bizarre after all.
Hermione turned to her mother, who had been hovering worriedly nearby ever since the owl had delivered its message. “It’s from Master Snape,” she explained. “You know, my former teacher who gave us Atlas? Apparently Atlas showed up at his house.”
“Oh.” Her mother perked up. “I didn’t realise he lived so nearby! Invite him over for tea, would you?”
“He, ah, lives in Cokeworth, near where Harry grew up.”
“Oh. I see. That’s…a rather long way for Atlas to walk, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m not quite sure how he managed it either.”
Her mother hummed. “Well, still, invite your professor over for tea. He can…Apparate? Apparate. He can Apparate into the garden like Harry does when he comes over.”
And like Ron had, when he’d come by her parents’ place, but Ron was rather persona non grata at the moment.
“I’ll ask him, Mum,” Hermione lied, turning in place.
She appeared in a dingy back alleyway that smelled positively ripe, and she gagged. Surely, she’d missed her destination.
But no, a sign nearby proved that the street was Spinner’s End, and the last house in the row had lights on.
It was not the sort of place she’d ever expected a wizard to live. It looked even worse than the area around Grimmauld Place: it wasn’t just neglected, it was actively filthy. Though the morning had been sunny back in London, a smog haze had blurred the sky in this corner of the country.
Feeling deeply uncomfortable and out of place, Hermione shuddered and hurried along.
She knocked on the door of 13 Spinner’s End, and was unsurprised when she was quickly ushered inside. Never in a million years would she have expected to be invited into Professor Snape’s house, but Spinner’s End didn’t seem like the sort of place where people lingered on doorsteps.
“He’s in the kitchen,” Master Snape said, waving at a door mostly hidden by a bookcase, only visible because it was propped open. “I am in the middle of brewing.”
“Oh, of course; sorry that we intruded.”
Atlas was, indeed, sitting in the tiny, worn kitchen, staring mournfully at what appeared to be the same kind of food Master Snape had given her. The kitten looked up when she entered, meowing pitifully.
“If you don’t like what Master Snape is offering you, why did you sneak back in? You have other food at home.”
Her only answer was a small chirp and a concerted effort to cover the legs of her jeans in kneazle fur.
“Come along, then.”
She packed him into Crookshanks’ old carrier, which she’d shrunken and brought along, before taking a moment to look around.
The room didn’t look like it had been updated since at least the 60s. Grey-black and dull yellow chequered linoleum tile covered the floor, clashing with the peeling blue wallpaper. There was a hob that looked like it had been used recently and an oven that decidedly had not, slightly ajar in its place next to a positively ancient-looking laundry machine.
It appeared that, in the two years since the Battle of Hogwarts, little had changed in her former professor’s life.
She’d initially intended to ignore her mother’s invitation - it was hard to imagine Master Snape sitting in her parents’ home sipping tea - but the small look into his private life made him seem so much more human. She’d never seen the memories he’d given Harry during the Battle, but she understood rather clearly why her friend had been so much more sympathetic to the man afterwards.
The man himself reappeared in the doorway. He had the most…unusual expression on his face, like he was embarrassed and trying not to show it. “Miss Granger. Found the little beast?”
She raised the carrier in her arms. “Just got him settled. Sorry again to impose.”
He waved her off.
“My mum invited you to tea, by the way.”
He stared at her like her hair had turned sentient. “Your…mum invited me to tea?”
“She’s rather fond of Atlas, you see.”
“Atlas being…?”
She waved the carrier at him again.
“A fan of cartography?”
“He fell asleep on his back under my dad’s globe one day, and it looked like he was holding up the world. The name stuck.”
“I…see.” He shook his head. “I believe I shall decline the…generous offer, Miss Granger.”
“Alright.” She adjusted the carrier and held out a hand, which he took. His fingers were long and cool, even against the chill of his sad little row house. “If you change your mind, we’re at 8 Heathgate in Hampton Garden Suburb, London. Have a good rest of your morning, Master Snape.”
She evacuated the premises before he could react, not quite believing her daring.
“Hermione? I think it’s for you?”
Hermione looked up from the hefty Arithmancy tome she was reading for her apprenticeship at the Ministry. Master Snape stood like a tall, dark gargoyle in her parents’ kitchen, clutching Atlas to his chest like a shield. “Ah,” she said, cursing the fact that her head was apparently so full of Arithmantic calculations that it had driven all the words out.
Atlas meowed gleefully and wiggled to get down.
“Please come in,” she said, smiling a little at the absurdity. “Would you like some tea?”
Master Snape did take some tea, without sugar or honey or lemon.
“Thank you for bringing Atlas back,” Hermione said, pouring his cuppa. “I’m sorry he keeps bothering you.”
He shrugged. “At least I wasn’t busy this time around.”
She turned to her mother, who was nearly vibrating with curiosity. “Mum, this is Master Snape. He taught Potions at Hogwarts - you remember. He’s the one Atlas keeps visiting.”
Her mum relaxed. “Ah - you're Master Snape! We’ve heard so much about you! Welcome!”
If anything, this appeared to confuse him more. Probably, she figured, he wasn’t used to Muggles knowing who he was and what he’d done and actually being happy about it. “…Pleasure.”
“I can’t tell you how much it meant to us that you gave us Atlas. Goodness - your timing couldn’t have been more perfect! Biscuit? He’s a handful, sure, but he does brighten our lives. My husband is at the practice - we’re open a few hours on Saturday for emergencies - but I’m sure he would want to thank you as well. Oh, Hermione, your book-”
Hermione shrunk her book and slipped it up her sleeve, away from any danger of tea spills.
“I must admit, I’m afraid, that I don’t know much about potions, except that Hermione said it was quite a bit like Muggle chemistry combined with a touch of alchemy. Is that true, Master Snape?”
“It is, for the most part.”
“How fascinating! It’s remarkable, truly, that Wizarding folk can simply brew up any medications you need. Why, just last week we ran out of one of our own medications because our supplier is being rather tight-fisted; imagine if we could simply make our own!”
Her mother rambled on like this. When she discovered, in one of Master Snape’s rare responses, that he was more familiar with the Muggle world than any wizard they’d met besides Harry, she expanded her repertoire. No subject was off-limits: from complaining about the NHS’s dental programme to their stay in Australia to some rather awkward questions about the Wizarding Wars.
Master Snape withstood the assault with aplomb, though the rather pointed looks he gave Hermione and her mother made it clear he was drawing the obvious comparison between the two.
It wasn’t until her father threw open the door with a call of “Grangers, ho!” that Hermione realised they’d been chatting (albeit a bit one-sidedly) with Master Snape for over two hours.
“We have a guest, Hugo!” Her mother called, barely breaking the stride of her conversation.
“Who is it?” He called, still from the front room.
Hermione rolled her eyes at her parents’ antics.
“Come through and see! It’s Master Snape!”
Her father finally poked his head around the corner, coat half-unbuttoned. “Ah, Master Snape! It’s good to meet you! We’ve heard so much about you!”
“So I’ve been told,” Master Snape murmured. Hermione hadn’t realised how relaxed he’d become until he tensed up with the addition of another person to the conversation.
“Sorry you’ve been stuck with the girls,” he said, the very picture of sincerity, ignoring his wife’s scandalised gasp. “I’m afraid, as a dentist, my wife's a bit out of practice with two-sided conversations.”
“You’re a dentist too, dear,” his wife reminded him.
“Ah - must be why we get along so well, love. We can each carry an entire conversation on our own.”
Master Snape’s lips twitched.
Hermione’s father invited him to stay for supper, but he declined; he had some brewing to do that evening, or so he said. He did thank Hermione and her mother for the tea, and offered her father a firm handshake.
“A nice bloke,” was her father’s review of the interaction. “A bit quiet.”
“He’s lonely,” her mother said.
Hermione looked between her parents. “Lonely? You think so?”
“Dear, he showed up in the middle of the day to return our kitten and wound up staying for several hours while we talked his ears off. He’s lonely.”
He probably was, she reflected. He’d always seemed so aloof at Hogwarts, but he lived alone now. Doubtless his life was much quieter…and yes, as her mother said, more lonely.
“He’ll be back,” her mother prophesied.
Severus looked at the little kitten who was certainly not supposed to be on his table…for several reasons. First, the kitten lived multiple counties away. Second, he’d been told - several times - to stay off the table; the only excuse was pure contrariness.
“Atlas,” he told the kitten, “I don’t have time to take you home today. I have three brews to start.”
Nor did he want to invite Miss Granger over again, even if she wasn't - in all likelihood - busy with her apprenticeship. He’d done that only once, when he’d been working on something too sensitive to risk, but the very thought of her in his home - after he’d spent several rather overwhelming afternoons being talked at by her mother in their extremely middle-class dining room - made his skin crawl.
It was, perhaps, not the healthiest thing for him, to be living in a home that held so many awful memories. It had been a comfort, at first; a reminder that even after a year spent in St. Mungo’s and a Ministry holding cell, he still had something to go home to.
“I am considering moving, you know.”
Atlas was unmoved by this threat.
“It would serve you right, showing up back here when I’m halfway across the country in some bright little cliffside cottage.”
This received a - dare he say, interested - blink.
“A proper cottage,” he explained. “A thatched roof, stone fireplace, exposed beams and dark woods. A window seat overlooking the garden…and enough space to grow a proper bloody potions garden. Do you know how much overhead I could save with enough space to grow my own ingredients? A library, of course…”
Thoughts of a library brought, inevitably, thoughts of Miss Granger. Instead of pretending not to notice the state of his kitchen, he imagined her in a bright room with a stone fireplace, bookshelves of rich wood lining the walls; half-empty, not because there were no books to fill them, but because the books were elsewhere, being read and appreciated-
“I’m losing my bloody mind,” he told the kneazle, tucking the little beast under his arm and ignoring the smugness it radiated.
“Thank you for bringing Atlas back,” Miss Granger told him, several hours later. Her parents were distracted by sniping at each other, which was probably why there was a rather fetching flush of pink to her cheeks.
The Grangers’ interactions were a revelation to Severus. He’d been worried, at first, that they were like his own parents: bitter and angry at the world and each other. Instead, clear love and affection shone through their words, no matter how adversarial those words could be.
He’d never known a relationship could be like that. He’d always assumed his constant snark would be a firm deterrent to any romantic attachment he might wish to form. He'd never realised it could be so…playful.
“It’s little trouble.” That was the truth; the more he visited the Grangers, the harder it was to return to his cold, empty house.
Granger’s mother brightened. “Well, if you’re ever busy, do let us know. We’re not too far, really; we can drive by and pick him up.”
Severus was fairly sure his heart skipped a beat. Miss Granger had been bad enough; for her comfortable Muggle parents to see where he lived…
No.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said, slowly.
Mr. Granger’s brow pinched. “Oh? Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes - it’s just that I’m in the process of moving. Long overdue - I’ve outgrown my current home.”
“Ah - your home business, right. Well, do let us know when you’re settled; after all you’ve done for us, we’d love to stop by for a housewarming.”
Severus accepted this with about as much grace as he could muster, which he suspected wasn’t much. Firmly, he ignored Granger’s bright eyes lingering on him.
He was certainly losing his bloody mind.
Moving, Severus found, was not the grand adventure the estate agency made it out to be. Even with magic it was a drawn-out, messy business, full of bureaucracy and paperwork and touring more homes than he’d ever hoped to see in a lifetime.
He’d been about ready to give it up as a bad job when he’d found it.
It was very nearly exactly what he was looking for. It had a thatched roof and a fieldstone exterior, exposed beams in the ceiling, and a stone fireplace. It had a garden large enough to plant nearly anything he could want, and a window seat looking out over it.
Originally Muggle, the little cottage still held a few amenities rarely found in Wizarding homes, like a proper hob and oven. After some inquiries, his bewildered estate agent confirmed that it was still wired for electricity, though it was likely quite out of date.
It was farther south than he’d ever wanted to live, and it wasn’t quite on the water, but nothing in life was perfect. He grimly filled out his papers, handed over his money, and got to work.
His house on Spinner’s End wasn’t worth much, but getting the old place off his hands was a relief in its own right. The pittance he’d gotten from it allowed him to update the wiring (a messy and drawn-out process he never in his life wanted to repeat) and install new appliances.
Timing his move around his business was a little tricky - he ended up brewing more than one evening by candlelight in a room without proper walls - but in the end, it was worth it.
“I am moved in,” he told the Grangers proudly one afternoon. “And Atlas is as well, it appears.”
The kitten - now nearly twice the size he’d been when he’d first wandered into Severus’ kitchen - had moved with him, of course. Severus had been worried in the early days of his move, when he went three whole days without having to haul the furball back to the Granger residence, but as soon as the contractors and appliance installers were gone his little menace had found him.
He bore the Grangers’ congratulations with dignity, and something in his chest eased when he offered them the chance to visit his cottage down near Watchet.
Their opinion had become…important to him, he supposed. They had been just as welcoming as the Evans family had, back in his youth; perhaps moreso, given what he’d gotten up to in the intervening years.
And Miss Granger…
She had seen his old home. She had seen him bleeding out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. She had seen him persecuting her friends because he’d just been angry, so very angry, and trapped in a life he’d been sure would kill him one day.
Yet, she never failed to smile, to thank him. On a few occasions she’d offered him a book or an academic insight, often sparking a conversation that left her parents hopelessly lost and endlessly amused.
It was foolishness, of course. Pure foolishness. He was an old man - her former teacher - and if her parents had any sense they would forbid him from ever seeing her again if he made his desires known.
He cleaned up for their visit with a ferocity that would have done any Hogwarts house-elf proud.
Hugo Granger was impressed by the cottage.
Master Snape - no, Severus; he’d recently asked them to use his given name - had made a lovely home. It was bright and warm and charming, things he would not have associated with the enigmatic wizard at the beginning of their interactions, and quintessentially British.
He nodded along dutifully at the surprisingly Muggle kitchen, the lovely sitting room with its stone fireplace, the large and well-stocked library. The best part was, of course, the brewing lab; it looked like the lab of some mad alchemist in a fantasy novel, except that all of it was real and had clearly seen some use.
Severus had demonstrated his skills by whipping up a quick brew in a cauldron - a real cauldron! - and even allowed them to test it. It was a silly thing - it turned their voices squeaky for about ten minutes - but it made Hermione’s world seem so much more real, all of a sudden. It was one thing to step through a strange pub into a street full of people in robes and pointy hats, to buy her books of magical spells and wands and ingredients; it was quite another to watch a fully-grown man pinch and measure and stir ingredients into something that looked like sludge at first but turned a beautiful bottle blue, and tasted like mouthwash.
Astonishing! Truly astonishing!
It almost made him forget the way the man had been eyeing his daughter recently.
Hearing from Hermione and Harry what had happened while he and Jean had been ignorantly off in Australia had nearly given them both a heart attack. Severus had played a large role in those events; one that had seemed fantastical in the telling, and even more so upon meeting the man himself. Why, Hugo wondered, would a wizard who had been a spy through two wars, who had fought and killed and bled for his duty, bother showing up regularly on their doorstep to return their odd magical kitten?
Perhaps, as Jean had suggested, he’d been lonely at first. (She was, after all, usually right about such things.) It had certainly become more than that.
Jean insisted that Severus would never act on it without their approval. He’d certainly been no less a gentleman after they’d noticed him making doe eyes at Hermione than before. He treated them with almost painful courtesy, never overstaying his welcome, which was…a touch odd but certainly easier to bear than Arthur Weasley’s enthusiastic ignorance or that one Malfoy chap’s cold disdain.
As they finished their tour of the cottage, Hugo saw Jean repeatedly trying to catch his eye. He wasn’t sure what she wanted, but when Severus was distracted by one of Hermione’s questions about the library his dear wife leaned in.
“He has a table,” she hissed in his ear.
That…wasn’t unusual. Most people had tables.
“He has a table set for four. He lives alone.”
It was true. Four place settings sat on the table in front of four dark wooden chairs. There was nothing cooking that Hugo could smell, but that probably didn’t mean much to a wizard. The small gesture said more, he imagined, then Severus ever had in the entire time they’d known him.
Hugo wasn’t entirely sure how he wound up taking a look around the garden with Severus while the women definitely didn’t eavesdrop from inside, but he suspected it was his wife’s fault.
Well, there was nothing for it. The worst the wizard could do was turn him into a toad. Probably. “So,” he said, glancing at Severus from the corner of his eye, “what are your intentions for my daughter?”
Severus paused, looking back at him with a piercing look. Hugo suddenly believed every word Hermione and Harry had ever said about the man. He gritted his teeth and looked back; he was a father with a daughter, and he was not going to be cowed!
Severus’ mouth did the funny little twitching thing that meant he was trying not to smile. “Is that what you and your wife were conspiring about?”
Hugo held his peace.
“I…cannot deny that she is an extraordinary young woman, and I am honoured to have come to know her. I have no intentions of anything untoward.”
“Well that’s disappointing.”
Severus’ eyes went wide.
“Do you know, I think Hermione’s smiled more in the past six months than in the entire last year? And she talks about you almost nonstop when you’re not at our place. That one friend of hers - the one with glasses, Harry - actually had to tell her to shut up about you.”
Hugo was willing to bet that not many people could have made this particular wizard speechless.
“She’s not quite ready to jump into some great romance just yet, Jean thinks - that Ron fellow did a number on her - but even if all you’re interested in is friendship, well, we’re all honoured to have you in our lives.”
Severus glanced away and cleared his throat. “Mr. Granger-”
“Hugo.”
“-there are some things you need to know about me. During the war, I…” He trailed off, fingers clenching and unclenching behind his back.
“You were a Death Eater? You killed Albus Dumbledore? You served as Headmaster of Hogwarts under that Riddle fellow?”
Severus whirled back around, his face as white as any ghost. (Probably. Ghosts were apparently a real thing; he wouldn't know.)
“Severus…we know all that. We knew before you ever showed up on our doorstep. I’m sorry to say, your history has gotten a bit of public press since the war.”
“You never said.”
“Well, of course we didn’t! I’m sure Harry and Hermione don’t even know the full story, though they’re far more trustworthy than those folks at the Daily Prophet. Nasty buggers, they are. You hardly acted anything like what we expected from what we knew of you and what Hermione told us about her time in school, and we decided to give you a fair shake.”
“I…see.” Severus breathed out deeply. “And…what is your assessment?”
“That you are a man of character, and I would still like to know your intentions for my daughter.”
For once, the man’s mouth formed into an actual smile. It made him look years younger, which certainly made Hugo feel a bit better. “I should very much like, some day, to court her. When she’s ready.”
“She’s ready now!” Jean called.
The two men turned to see Jean leaning out the open window that looked out over the garden. The top of Hermione’s bushy hair was barely visible; Hugo imagined she was curled up in utter mortification.
“Perhaps,” Hugo observed, “Jean and I should head home.”
“…Perhaps that might be wise.”
“Please have Hermione home before sundown.”
“I’m not-”
Hugo waved off the wizard’s protests. Hermione could more than hold her own; there was no chance the wizard was going to do anything to his little girl she didn’t want him to do.
Wait.
No.
They were going to have a nice long talk over whatever supper Severus had secretly prepared somewhere, and they were going to be very polite. Severus was a gentleman.
And he would continue to be a gentleman until there was a ring on that finger, blast it all!
Hugo looked down at the little kitten - not so little, anymore - that was trotting alongside him through the garden. “Keep an eye on them,” he asked grimly. “They’d better just be talking.”
Atlas’ tail swished importantly.
Hermione, it seemed, had launched herself out through the open window and was giving her mildly horrified wizard an enthusiastic hug, regardless of the fact that her parents were right there.
Hugo had a sinking feeling that that ring couldn’t come soon enough.
