I was tired of the bloody meat he kept at my nose. It seemed it was there every night, a subtle placement somewhere in the kitchen, meant to make my life miserable. After the first few nights of setting it right in front of me, he'd started hiding it. It was unnerving really when I'd found myself opening cabinets while his back was turned looking for the aroma that seemed to constantly plague my senses. He even put it in the trash one night, and as I had stared down at it, I found myself repulsed by the thoughts that ran through my head. It was a line I refused to cross consciously, but my mind and body kept begging for the sin of its' juicy taste. Raw meat was now my line, I refused to give in to it.

Tonight, he maneuvered around the kitchen as always. I didn't question his need to cook; for he seemed so comfortable I felt it not only gave him pleasure, but something to do to keep from interacting with me without a boundary. It had become routine for him to cook dinner while I fought the primal urges the meat offered, then for him to retire to do his own thing while I retired to the guest bedroom he had provided. I'd offered to cook, to buy groceries, to even clean up, but he had turned down all with the same cool demeanor he had with most things. He would speak harshly at times, but I found he never was harmful or callous with his treatments. He would answer my questions patiently as long as they weren't ill thought, he had fed me generously something new and different every night which confounded me since we never had leftovers from previous nights or something easy, and he didn't ask for anything for sharing his quarters with me.

I watched as he finally finished, amused with the whole scenario since apparently I was the only one to have the privilege to know things about this man. I knew he baked his own breads, that he took a certain pride in the meals he cooked and served, that he kept his house as meticulously clean as he did all aspects of his life, and that he seemed to truly enjoy teaching his pupils. I don't think he even realized I understood the last one, but he had let it slip.

I had been asking him of his teaching position one night to distract myself and he had started talking about some of his students. It wasn't blatant in his words, but in the way he knew each man and woman's weaknesses; it seemed for all his mistreatments he knew them and how to further their studies like no other. I, personally, had been just another student in all of my classes, but he knew them all from the wall to the social butterflies.

"Tonight, we do something different." He stated staring at me. I nodded, accepting whatever lesson he chose to impart, placing myself in his hands for molding. He moved by the fridge, and that was the first time I noticed the small boom box that had not been there previous nights. It looked so odd and out of place as if it didn't even belong in this house. I watched as he flicked it on, but no sound came out. I bit my lip trying to figure out exactly what it was for, but he moved away to the sink without another thought or explanation.

Some nights I found myself agitated that I was around someone and it was still as quiet as at my own lonely home, other nights I took pleasure in the peace. Tonight, the former happened to be true, and I was eager for something to break the monotony.

"Will it be hard on my body with the change?"

He turned with an annoyed look, "You do not have to yell Miss Granger I am right here."

I started to disagree that I hadn't yelled, but it seemed my ears were ringing. "What is that?"

He stepped closer, placing a finger upon his lips as if telling me quieter. I would have assumed he had nothing to do with my obliviousness to volume, but by the twinkling in his dark eyes I could tell he obviously did. I looked at the boom box, irked enough I debated on busting it on the floor.

"Concentrate on something else." His words were clear enough, but the noise that I couldn't make out clawed at my eardrums keeping me edgy and vexed. "Yes, it will be hard. The body wasn't meant to contort itself into other shapes, but take comfort the first time will be the worst. It will get easier from there." He turned, giving me his cold shoulder once again.

I started muttering under my breath, anger finally taking its' root in me. "He's just waiting for me to eat that meat." I sneered. "No, he's waiting for me to claw my ears out or smash his radio." I picked at my fingernails; my fury rising it seemed with each vibration through my head. "Not at all, Professor Snape is just waiting for m-"

He turned sharply, his quick movements capturing my attention. He didn't say a word and I felt myself reddening already. "Or maybe he's just waiting to hear why you think I can't hear you when you're shouting in my kitchen?"

I laid my head in my hands, bemoaning the fact that I apparently just shouted my ill spoken rant. It seemed like things just kept getting better; I snorted, but still refused to look up. Now I was not only fighting the smell, but the annoying sound I couldn't hear and the irritation at the man so graciously spending his time to assist me.