elle me dit qu'elle m'aime – part 1
DANIEL
Cokeworth hadn't been the Grangers first choice, but it hadn't been their last, so Daniel refused to hear his wife and daughter complain about it.
"It looks like the sort of place people make up to frighten children," Hermione said, peering out of the window at the rows of identical yet dilapidated houses.
"It looks like the disturbing reality people tell children to teach them to be more frightened of the real world than their nightmares," commented Emma, deadpan.
This was not Emma's first cutting remark of the journey. She'd wanted to move out of their London flat even less than Hermione.
Like he had for the last forty-five minutes of the drive, Daniel tuned them out and tried to change the subject to something more upbeat. "No more loud noises at night," beamed Daniel. "No, miss – you two can go to bed, and stay asleep, and you won't be woken up in the middle of the night by the cacophony of drunken brawls. A nice, quiet neighborhood, indeed. Em, I think we ought to have moved somewhere like this long ago."
Emma peeled her eyes away from the window to fix Daniel with a piercing gaze. She batted her eyelashes innocently at him. "Oh, Daniel – you never mentioned before that you wanted to live in Chernobyl. If only you'd brought that up before you got fired, maybe we could have afforded to move there instead of this dump." And then she focused again on the window, while Daniel's knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
"I didn't get fired," Daniel said. It felt like he and Emma had gone over the same argument a hundred times already, but he refused to drop it. "It was a misunderstanding."
Emma looked at Daniel as though he had grown a second head, in true Chernobyl style. "A misunderstanding? You tried to stab a man in the eye with a pair of dental forceps," she said.
"He misunderstood the gesture," said Daniel with a finality that Emma didn't respect.
"You've always been such a... a..."
"A wet noodle?" supplied Hermione from the back seat.
Emma took it. "Yes, right. You're a flaccid noodle, Daniel," she said.
Daniel cringed. "We're here – and don't ever say the phrase flaccid noodle again, thanks."
Emma snorted. "What, sensitive?"
If Daniel had wanted to argue with his wife on that particular topic, he didn't get a chance. As soon as the car stopped in the driveway of the Granger's new residence on Spinner's End, Emma and Hermione were out of the car and unloading their suitcases and bags. "You can get the boxes, can't you?" was all Emma said before she followed Hermione into the house, not waiting for Daniel's response.
Daniel tried to stay upbeat, but looking into the car at the dozen-odd boxes of dishes, books, keepsakes, and whatever weighty knickknacks Emma had packed just to spite him, it was a challenge.
I'll just get those later, Daniel decided. He took his own suitcase and shut the boot, thinking of how long it was going to take to move everything inside if neither Emma nor Hermione would help.
However, Daniel didn't stay downtrodden long. His trek to the front door was cut short when he spied him – the next-door neighbor, emerging from his house.
Daniel dropped his suitcase and wasted no time going up to the man. He'd gotten along great with his neighbors at the London flat – granted, they were mostly old ladies, and this was a relatively young man by comparison. But a neighbor was a neighbor, and Daniel prided himself on being a fantastic neighbor.
"Hello, there!" said Daniel.
The man's hand froze over the door handle on his car. He peered at Daniel as though he'd sprouted an extra head. "Excuse me?" he said. If Daniel had to come up with an analogy for how he spoke, it would be that the mans words were bricks, and his mouth was a mail slot.
But this did nothing to deter Daniel. "I'm Daniel Granger – I just moved in next door with my wife and daughter," he said. "So, you live here? How's Cokeworth, then?"
"Dad, Mum wants to know if her hatbox is still in the –" Hermione jogged a few paces in Daniel's direction, but froze in her tracks. "– car."
"I thought I saw it on top of her box of bowling equipment," said Daniel. He regarded his daughter, then frowned. Her face had gone chalky white, almost as pale as the whites of her eyes, which had gone as large as dinner plates. Her mouth fell open, jaw twitching in a fruitless attempt to find words. She was staring at the neighbor as though he were a ghost.
And the neighbor stared at Hermione, likewise.
Daniel frowned, looking between them again. "Do... do you two know each other?" he asked.
HERMIONE
Snape.
In Cokeworth.
Six feet away from her.
In muggle clothes.
Gripping a pair of car keys.
To be fair, Snape looked as miffed about seeing Hermione as Hermione was to see Snape. That didn't change the fact that Snape was standing right in front of her, chatting with her father in muggle clothes, presumably about to go... drive... somewhere. Since when could Snape drive? Hermione knew most of the Weasleys could drive, and the Ministry had cars, but Snape was a proper wizard. He should have had the floo, and apparition, and flying and all that.
"Do... do you two know each other?"
Hemione made proper, prolonged eye contact with her Potions professor, and they shared a split-second of understanding.
"No," Hermione and Snape blurted in unison.
Hermione put on the fake smile she'd been taught to use with strangers. "So sorry for staring, sir – I'm just rattled from the – er – move, or whatever," Hermione said. She gripped Daniel's sleeve, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she'd meant, and went on, "We've just got so much unpacking to do, don't we, Dad? Lots of books and pots and pans and bowling pins to set up in the house. We should do that. It could take hours."
"She is absolutely right," Snape added quickly. "Moving is a lot of work. If you waste time socializing, it might take days."
Hermione nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, weeks even, if you want to do it properly."
"In fact, I would be neither surprised nor disappointed if this were to be the last time I saw any of you all summer," finished Snape.
"You're absolutely right. Come on, Dad," Hermione said.
Hermione tugged conspicuously on her father's arm, but Daniel was firmly planted in the driveway, and still beaming like an idiot at Snape. "This is my daughter, Hermione," he said, as though the entire exchange he'd just witnessed hadn't taken place. "My wife, Emma, is inside. We're all dentists – except Hermione, of course. She's thirteen." Daniel laughed like what he had said was very funny.
"Daniel!"
Hermione turned just in time to see her mother come storming out of the house. The absence of her hatbox had gotten to her, it seemed. "Daniel, I ask you to do one thing... Oh, hello," Emma said. Her tone took a one-eighty when she saw Snape, and her face broke into a pleasant smile. One day, Hermione hoped to have a fake smile as refined as her mother's. "Do you live nearby? We just moved. I see you've met my daughter and my husband. I'm Emma Granger – and you are...?"
"Perfectly busy, I'm sure," Hermione cut in.
"Aptly put. Now, if you will excuse me," Snape said, turning to go.
Emma stopped him before he could go any further. She grabbed him by the elbow, jerking him slightly to get him to stay present. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin – as did Snape, who looked like he'd been slapped. Hermione had set Snape on fire once, sure, but never in her wildest dreams did she actually realize it might be physically possible to make Snape do anything he didn't want to do himself.
Like socialize with a student's parents.
Outside of Hogwarts.
Specifically, outside of his own house.
Yikes.
"Don't be a stranger! We just moved in and don't know anyone yet. We should at least know your name," said Emma.
Hermione locked eyes with Snape again, and all she could think was, Lie! I don't want them to know your one of my professors any more than you do.
Snape seemed to understand. "My name?" he said. "It's, ah, Neville."
Hermione cringed.
"Neville Longbottom."
Hermione hid her face in her hands, wishing for a bolt of lightning to strike her dead where she stood.
Emma was quick to catch on to her daughter's discomfort, even if Daniel was already half-way through a story about a school teacher he'd had in grade four named Longbottom – whom he and his class affectionately called "Big Bottom", on account of the man's ginormous rump. This was not a story Snape was thrilled to hear.
"Wait a minute," said Emma suddenly. "Hermione, don't you have a classmate with a similar name?"
"No," Hermione said through her hands.
Emma didn't look convinced. "As a matter of fact, I'm rather sure you have a classmate with precisely the same name," she went on. "You know, the one who you assaulted that one time?"
"He was in the way," Hermione muttered.
"Neville is a particularly common name," Snape tried.
A car door slammed abruptly, making all of the Granger's and Snape jump a bit. Four heads swiveled in the direction of the sound in unison. Across the street, another neighbor - this one a dumpy, old woman – had just arrived home and was carrying groceries to her house. She stopped on her doorstep, waved, and called out across the street, "Afternoon, Severus! Meeting the new neighbors? How lovely, I..."
Emma turned on Snape. "Severus? You said your name was Neville," she said.
"Severus is my nickname."
"And what a coincidence this is as well," said Emma, gears turning behind her eyes. "You see, our daughter here has a teacher whose name is Severus. So, that's a teacher whose first name is your nickname, and a peer whose legal name is identical to yours."
The ruse is up, thought Hermione. "Alright, alright, we do know each other," Hermione admitted.
Daniel and Emma fixed her with a curious look, while Snape scowled in the background.
"This is Professor Snape. I – I guess he lives here."
EMMA
Emma, frankly, was shocked and appalled at her daughter. Why on god's green earth would Hermione try to cover up that their next-door neighbor was the man they had been told was responsible for saving her from petrification – and possibly death? She didn't waste much time being confused by Hermione's actions, though, for finally she had been presented with a much-needed silver lining. Sure, Emma was now the only breadwinner on account of her husbands eccentricities, and they were living in an unholy dump like Cokeworth, but standing before her was the man who had saved her daughter's life.
Emma snatched up Severus Snape's hands and locked down with practiced force.
"Why didn't you say so!" she exclaimed. "So, you're Professor Snape – do you mind if I call you Severus? It's such an interesting name. Besides, we're all adults here. So, you're the one who brewed the mandrake potion, huh? We owe you a massive debt."
Severus looked around wildly, suddenly looking much more pale.
"Don't ever bring that up again."
Emma's eyes stung. And so humble, too.
"We must have you over for dinner," she said eagerly. "Soon – very soon – tomorrow. Come over for dinner tomorrow night!"
"I'm sure Professor Snape is much too busy for that, Mum," Hermione piped up. She took Emma by the sleeve and pried her off of Severus.
Emma snorted. "He's a teacher, and it's summer. I'm sure he can make it." She fixed Severus with hopeful eyes. "Can't you?"
Daniel finally stepped in after what felt like several, merciful hours spent without having to hear his voice. "Now, Emma, teaching is a demanding profession. I'm sure he has... curriculum... things... to tend to. Or something," said Daniel.
Severus nodded. "Yes, yes. I'm so busy that this conversation alone has eaten up any and all free time I might have had for the next... How many days are left in the summer?"
"Eighty-five," supplied Hermione.
"Eighty-five days," finished Severus. "Good chat. Welcome to Cokeworth. Now, if you will excuse me..."
Before Severus could take two steps, Emma had made the impassioned decision to scoop him up into a hug. As soon as her arms locked around his torso, the man froze up like he'd been electrocuted. He smells nice, Emma thought, with her face burrowed in his shoulder. Like spices, and smoke, and underneath it all... flowers?
"Thank you so much for what you've done for this family," she said. "If it weren't for you, our daughter would be... be..."
Daniel put a hand on her shoulder and guided her away from Severus. "What we mean is, thank you – you're a good man," Daniel said. The cheery tone he'd had earlier was gone. "Er, see you around."
Severus just made a small grunting sound, and continued to his car – a bit too quickly to be natural.
"Let's go inside," Daniel said into Emma's ear.
Emma rolled her eyes, and shrugged Daniel off of her arm. "Fine. Get my hatbox out of the car, would you?" she said. Emma didn't have time to be distracted with Daniel's delicate emotions – she had a dinner to plan. "Come on, Hermione."
In the kitchen, Emma and Hermione sat at the dingy fold-out table that the previous owners had left in the cupboard. Emma had found a pad of paper and a pen, and was jotting down ideas. "Vegetable," started Emma. "Do you know how he likes them? Baked, boiled... How strongly seasoned? Do you think he likes squash, or should I go with something else?"
Hermione shook her head at all of these suggestions. "To be perfectly honest, Mum, I know next to nothing about him. Actually, the only thing I know for certain is that he hates everyone, and inviting him to any kind of gathering that is even vaguely social in nature is sure to make him hate each and every single one of us," said Hermione.
Emma's heart fluttered. "Ooh, so you're saying he's mysterious," she said.
"That is not even close to what I'm saying."
"What – the – hell – do you – keep – in here?" grunted Daniel as he came lumbering into the kitchen with Emma's hatbox. He dropped it on the fold-out table with a sigh, making the whole thing buckle under its weight.
"Just things," said Emma vaguely, trying to figure out if she wanted to serve fish or chicken the following night.
Daniel removed the lid of the hatbox, revealing that it was filled to the brim with steel weights. His face went red and his eyes grew damp. "Emma, you've got to stop being so - so nasty about everything," he said.
"I'll stop being nasty when you get it through your skull that it isn't okay to stab people with dental forceps," Emma said in retort. "If you were half the professional, say, Severus Snape is, then we wouldn't even be in this situation..."
Daniel huffed, looking more indignant than hurt now. "Severus Snape, bah," he spat. "I don't want that guy in this house, Emma."
Hermione and Emma both looked at Daniel with quirked brows. Emma hadn't heard Daniel make a demand of her in years – and Hermione scarcely saw her father angry. "And why is that?" asked Emma softly. Too softly.
Daniel didn't catch on to Emma's dangerous tone. "Well – he's a creep. I guess. Just in general, you know? Remember how Hermione said he tried to kill a kid once?" Daniel said.
"Correction: Snape did not try to kill anyone that year, but I do agree that he is kind of a creep anyway," said Hermione.
Emma ignored all of this. "I think he's a good man," she said with finality. "We owe him Hermione's life, so I think the least we can offer in return is a good meal and hospitality. Unless you don't think your own daughter's health and well-being is worth that much, eh, Daniel?" Emma quirked and eyebrow at her husband.
Daniel bit down on his lip to keep whatever emotionally-charged reply he had prepared in check. "Fine," Daniel said through gritted teeth. "But I don't want you hugging him anymore – or – or holding hands."
"Seconded," Hermione added.
At this, Emma had to let out a bark of bitter laughter. She put on her innocent-face, batted her eyelashes, and said, "Oh, dear – I didn't realize that it was all forms of physical affection, including ones that don't even involve you, that make you squeamish. I'll be sure to stop by the nunnery on my way to the shops tomorrow so I can pick up some appropriate standing-in-the-vicinity-of-men-I'm-not-married-to clothes."
Daniel blushed. "Can – can we not talk about physical affection in front of Hermione?" he asked.
"It wasn't gross until you said so, Dad," Hermione said.
"You are pretty gross, Daniel," added Emma.
Daniel threw his hands up in surrender and muttered something about unpacking before disappearing out of the kitchen. A moment of silence passed between mother and daughter, before Hermione finally broke it. "Sheesh, I've never seen him so worked up over anything," said Hermione. "What do you think his problem is?"
"Oh, I have a few thoughts," hummed Emma.
And she did. Thoughts like those of Severus Snape – his rough demeanor, his elegant profile, the musk of his jacket, and the way his body felt under her arms...
And most of all, the look of absolute befuddlement on Daniel's face when he saw Emma embrace another man.
Emma scribbled the word PORK on her pad of paper with the deftness of a woman with a plan.
