I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K.
OH, by the way, you should ALL check out my new profile, which already has much better stories on it than this one. There's a link on my main profile, or you can search for me. Username: Anachronistic Anglophile. User number: 1996191.
As you can see, I'm plowing through this!
You can add me on LJ or something, if you want. I'm getting active there again. sweetplumeria22
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Chapter 25
That evening was actually rather entertaining, in Snape's book, though he grumbled about it the entire time.
Dinner was not fancy, just those little bow-tie pastas called farfalle with a butter sauce, and chicken and salad. Surprisingly, Daisy Lawrence was not a big eater; apparently she had thyroid problems, but unlike most people with health issues, she kept relatively quiet once the explanation had been given.
It was good of her to come, really. To look at them, no one would guess that they had been estranged for two years. Becky had given Severus their background, and apparently the girls had been friends since High School, which was the American equivalent of Secondary had been as close as sisters then, and now they had resumed their easy conversation as though nothing had happened.
Somehow they got onto the topic of age, and it was revealed that Becky was only twenty and six, while Daisy was twenty and seven, separated by a few months. Both seemed surprised at Snape's confession that he was thirty and eight. They could do nothing more than stare; it took him a moment to register that there was a mix of pity and surprise. They had both put him at fifty.
The giant elephant in the room was, of course, the issue of Grover to consider. Snape knew that Grover worked at an insurance agency, and it was possible that he could use that to his advantage in the court case, somehow. He wanted to talk about it, but the ladies seemed too intent on catching up, and there was Thomas to entertain, and Snape ended up making dinner, and playing with the kid and feeding him during dinner. The women, at least, decided it was their place to clean up.
"That was a fantastic supper," Daisy said, sitting down next to Snape on the sofa, as the former absent-mindedly bounced Thomas on his leg.
"Thanks," Snape drawled, looking for Becky and continuing to bounce Tommy, even though his ankle was getting numb.
"Now, excuse me for this, but I have to ask," Daisy said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him.
Snape swallowed. Oh no.
"Are you...and Becky...involved romantically?" Daisy asked in a whisper. Snape made sure his reaction was definite, but not disgusted.
"Absolutely not."
She nodded. "Good. Because, otherwise, that could make the divorce proceedings tricky." She bit her lip and added, "By the way, what exactly...happened? Why did she finally decide to end it? It seems rather sudden."
Snape shrugged. "She came to work in the garden this morning--she does that of a Saturday--and I noticed she was significantly bruised. You saw it, I presume?"
She nodded.
"I realized it was probably the result of domestic trouble and, I suppose that in telling me about her problems with her husband, she finally came to terms with the fact that he was treating her in ways that a husband should not. I admit that I encouraged her to get herself and the child out of the situation, but beyond that, I played no part besides adviser and friend." Friend. I just called Becky a friend. He had acknowledged it earlier that day, when they went on first-name basis, but the idea still had not settled in yet.
Daisy's immense face looked immensely happy. "I'm so glad. So it's really your fault. I have to thank you, then, because otherwise I wouldn't be here, I guess."
He supposed, though, that she had missed Becky, and been very missed, which led him to wondering what if someone had decided to help patch things up between me and Lily? Though, for the life of him, he could not think of anyone who might have done that.
In any case, he had somehow done so for Daisy and Becky, and the two ladies seemed to have gotten over their differences immediately. He doubted it would be the case with Lily, if he had gotten the chance.
Becky came into the room, at that point, with coffee and tea for Severus and little dishes of ice cream on a tray, and she served everyone with her usual cheerful manner, in a way that made everyone reluctant to talk about the impending divorce. So, no one did.
Over the course of the evening, though, Severus did ask about the Missing Huckleberry Bushes, and Becky cast her eyes down, apologizing for not having asked him, but she had taken the trimmings and a few plants away to put in her own garden. She just had wanted some part of the house to be near her own home.
He told her that it was okay, he could understand sentimentality, and he said nothing more because he realized that Minerva would be looking at him wide-eyed if she heard him say such rubbish.
Strangely, he felt that if Minerva were there, wide-eyed, he would not give a damn what she thought.
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Back in London, Odin came knocking that afternoon, interrupting Hermione's research. Since his evident exoneration from being at the scene of the crime, he was jubilant, and expressed himself in the carefree manner that had been lost since the arrival of the letter from The Solicitors weeks ago.
"Ma cherie, you are a dream today!" he said, whisking her off her feet in a crushing embrace.
She laughed. "I don't feel it in the least," she complained, "I've not had a real wink of sleep, save a few hours last night."
"Ah, les reves mal, they plague you?"
She decided not to try and explain the situation with Severus' letter. "That, and research."
He nodded in understanding. "Ah, if I had the annals of Alexandria, then I would put them at your disposal, my darling. As it is, I believe any of those old scrolls we would find would be a trifle mouldy and out-of-date."
The idea of searching for scrolls out of the lost libraries of Alexandria so enchanted Hermione that she decided to let him in to the topic of the research, if not the reason for it.
"Well, I do have a modest library at my disposal."
He smirked, and Hermione caught a faint spark of the reverence Snape had displayed when she had shown him the Granger library, but it was only faint. Odin had already experienced his first encounter with it, though he was not as astonished or jealous as Snape was.
"Then lead the way, fair Hermione," he insisted with a genteel bow. "Oh, and I did mean to mention," he added, "The particular piece of news I came over to divulge is that they've got The Count in some sort of custody for questioning."
"Oh, well, we knew it was a matter of time," Hermione replied practically.
Then, something struck her. Odin's glee was a little too disconcerting. Why was he so happy to have The Count blamed for the murder? It was not simply a matter of being grateful for being cleared; there was something else wrong.
She started to go over the facts in her head, shoving a pile of papers at Odin absentmindedly, to occupy his interest while she thought.
-Fact: It had been proven that Augusta Longbottom had been killed by an overdose of Potassium Chloride or a similar substance, administered through a syringe.
-Fact: The syringe had been found in the room, wiped empty of fingerprints.
-Fact: It could have really been anyone.
It seemed to her that the how was not the problem at all, but whom?
She went over the suspects.
It was not Odin. If it was Odin, he would not be so eager to put blame on the Count after being exonerated. Also, he signed the waiver forfeiting all the money he would have inherited. While it is possible that he had forged the new will and killed Augusta and then backed out on the money, being merely satisfied with revenge, then she came back to the problem of Why would he put blame on the Count after being exonerated?
Was it really the Count? Hermione thought it unlikely. She did not know why he had showed up in England, but she suspected that he was not the murderer. Otherwise, he would not have stuck around for the funeral. Probably. Though, it is said that the murderer always revisits the scene of his crime. But that's bollocks.
So, if it was not Odin, and not The Count, and if Odin was so eager to blame the Count, then only one thing made sense: Odin knew who the killer was, and did not want them to be found out.
Was it Neville, then? She did not think that feasible. Odin was willing to stick his neck out for this person by making a ruckus about The Count. It was not just anyone.
Did he think that she did it? But that was absurd. Although she knew Augusta Longbottom before her death, she had nothing against her, save she saw how the woman treated her grandson, from the level of an outsider. She did not see enough to warrant killing Augusta Longbottom.
Was it Augusta herself? But then why would Odin be hiding it? He hated Augusta Longbottom.
And then the answer struck her in the face, and she looked at Odin.
He was looking at her. "I asked you, what is this?"
It was Professor Snape's letter, which was shuffled amid her research papers.
Shit, shit, double dragon's shit.
"It's the reason I've been looking all this stuff up," she said irritably, trying not to flush. "I might have chanced to have mentioned my old potions professor who moved to America?"
Odin looked sad.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't look like a forsaken puppy, Odin. This is the first piece of news I've gotten from him in months. I'm surprised he even wrote me at all. He's not a threat."
"I know he's not. But I had hoped..." A small smile escaped his lips. "...oh, that's the fatality of Hope, isn't it? One can hope, but unless one verifies one's information, it can lead to all sorts of unpleasant assumptions."
She shook her head. "I can't say that I have any clue as to what you're talking about."
Why am I being so bloody contrary? she asked herself. If I didn't know he was hiding something from me...something as significant as the murderer we've been after for weeks...I guess it would be different. But no matter. I'm being contrary, and that's that.
He made an effort to smile larger. "Never mind. Pray forgive me, but I must attend the loo."
So saying, he got up, and left her, not breaking composure.
She bit her lip. No, I won't bloody forgive you.
And she decided that, as soon as she finished her reply to Professor Snape, she had to make a telephone call. She hoped Forbes was the one in the office today.
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It was early morning when Snape heard the hounding pecking of the weary bird sent to him from across the Atlantic, and he went to open the window.
He was amazed by the heaviness of the package. The girl really knew how to pack books.
He read her letter.
Snape:
Glad to know you are busy, because I imagine that's the equivalent for doing well. However, 'stuck between a rock and a tight place' concerns me.
I sent you loads of information. No need to summarize it in this letter. I only sent the list of Massachusetts libraries; strangely, there are no indications of any libraries at all in the states of Montana--too many mountains, California--too many Mexicans, or Colorado--again, too many mountains. So sorry.
(He scowled. If he had thought more about his letter, instead of just jotting things down that he needed from her, he would have realized that it was only too obvious. Asking for information about Massachusetts' history and then asking for a list of random state libraries that included Massachusetts...even Potter could figure out where he was, with that piece of evidence.)
Anyhow, in the light that I have mistaken your offering--it works very well, I must say--as an apology, I forgive you for your transgression of abandoning your hostess without so much as a 'thank-you', 'good-bye', or 'good-riddance!'. In the case that it was not meant that way, if the lovely Gardenia shampoo you sent was purely from the good-will of your heart, then I beg to ask forgiveness of you for probably being the sole reason you had to go through the inconvenience of leaving England. I enclose, along with what you asked for, a little gift of my own.
There are no traces on this bird. Do you want to be pen-pals? Because I rather think your owl might not survive another back-and-forth trip like this one.
H.G.
It took him a decent amount of restraint to keep from giving the paper a quick incendio. That infuriating girl, he complained. What gift did she think to send him?
To his shock, it was a jar of shampoo, obviously made by herself. He opened it, wary for the tell-tale peppery scent of itching powder, and instead was captivated by the musky scent of dark pine.
Not a bad scent, he decided, And rather suitable to my tastes.
He decided to try it immediately in his morning shower.
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Hermione and Odin were back at Moriaty's Bread and Butter Kitchen, helping to prepare lunch for their clientele, when there was an official-sounding knock at the front door.
Marty was in his usual corner, and Ms. Warner was busy cleaning the bathroom. Hermione had gloves on, as she was chopping beef, so she motioned to Odin--the official dish-washer at the moment--to go and get the door.
He was greeted by five Aurors.
"Odin Longbottom?" asked the man in front, Auror Jamua (from chapter 14).
"Yes?"
Hermione watched the exchange, putting down her knife and peeling off her gloves.
"We have information that Martin Longbottom is in this establishment. He is wanted for questioning by the law."
Odin cast a glance to Hermione. She tried to look innocent, but her steely eyes betrayed her betrayal.
He's going to be so bloody mad at me...
"No, no, gentlemen," Odin said, attempting to make a last stand against them, "He's not here. He's skipped town."
"Excuse me," Hermione heard from the other side of the room, and she saw Marty standing, his face ashen, his arms crossed.
And, all of a sudden, Hermione realized that fighting for the rights of house-elves was stupid. Such pain flooded through the eyes of this broken, brittle Squib that, even in his defensive posture, he looked an utter wreck.
What kinds of rights do Squibs have, she wondered. This one didn't have many.
She wanted run away and do research right then and there, to avoid seeing the Aurors come in and take the poor man away.
Do I blame him for wanting to have revenge, to get the money for the legitimate son that he knew would be overlooked? She took refuge in her thoughts as she watched the door close, and Mrs. Warner came out of the bathroom with a scrub-brush in her hand demanding 'What's going on? Where's Marty?', and Odin sat at Marty's place at the back table, his back to the world and his head between his legs.
She realized that Odin was crying.
Would she stand petrified, as she had while witnessing Snape's death, or would she go over to him?
Thinking about it that way, the choice was easy. Gently, she approached him, and put her arm over his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she said, quiet, truly penitent. "I couldn't do anything else. I talked to Forbes yesterday, and he said that The Count had a letter that had been sent to him back in July saying that if he came here this week, he'd be sure to benefit. Being a helpless romantic, he thought it was some sort of secret admirer thing from Augusta, wooing him even though she was nearly seventy and he was nearly eighty. He was immensely flattered, until he realized that she was dead, and then he started investigating himself, trying to figure out who had sent him the letter and for what purpose. So the crime was obviously pre-meditated."
She paused. "Did you know what he was up to before he did it?"
Odin shook his head, a simple 'no.' "He told me I didn't need to worry about money in a few weeks, that's...that's all he ever said. He said he had a plan, and he and I were going to strike it rich. I dismissed it as senile dreaming. When I got the letter from the Solicitors, that's when I first knew he had done something. I didn't really know what he had done, but I was fairly certain that he was responsible for her death. I didn't know what to do. I love him; he's really all the family I have."
"I really do feel terrible," Hermione said, "I can't imagine what it must be like for you right now."
He had no reply.
"Then why were you saying you were framed?"
He shook his head. "It seemed like I was being framed. I suspected Jamison. And besides, I wanted to divert suspicion away from him, and myself. The Count was supposed to be the real scapegoat, not me. Just, Marty's plan didn't work out. He was apologizing to me about it this morning, before you got here."
Feeling like she had swallowed lead, Hermione began to rub Odin's shoulder. She was not sure if he still was romantically interested in her anymore, after this. Much less anything else.
"I'm sorry, but I saw through it all. And I couldn't let an innocent man go to prison for something I knew he didn't do."
"It's all right. I should have had the moral strength to do that."
He sighed, and sniffed up stray tears.
"Odin, do you want me to stay? Even though...even though..."
She could not even say something to the accord of 'even though it was me?', because she knew he knew what she meant, and it hurt to think that she had hurt someone so badly.
Without a verbal reply, Odin's hand slithered up his shoulder and grasped hers.
She kissed his cheek and embraced him. Somehow, she felt that he needed her strength.
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After Snape finished his shower, he was downstairs in a jiffy, and began to spread out all the research that Hermione had sent. A great big pile of it. Oh bloody joy.
Daisy, Becky, and Thomas still were abed, he supposed.
However, as he was reading Hermione's research, he heard a car pull up on the gravel driveway. Who's arriving? He suspected that the girls had left early...or late?...and come back.
No such luck. Both the squat green car and the silver car were parked stationary outside. Instead, a red sportscar gleamed obnoxiously in the morning sunlight. Snape dropped the curtain as a loud knock erupted on the door.
"Open up! Open up! Where's Becky? Where's Tommy? I want to see Becky NOW!"
The voice was Grover's, and clearly addled by drink. Snape drew his wand, and cast a spell to strengthen the door's locks.
"What's the racket?"
Daisy was leaning over the banister, in a billowing pink nightgown.
"Grover!" Snape hissed in explanation to her. "Go wake Becky!"
With a curt nod, Daisy did as she was told.
Ugh, how to deal with this man...Snape wondered.
He rather wished he could have a go at the man's brakes, or spark plugs or something.
Becky rushed down the stairs, in a pair of old-fashioned pyjama pants and shirt. "It's Grover, isn't it?" she whispered as she padded down the carpeted staircase.
Snape only nodded.
"Let me speak to him," she pleaded, whispering despite the fact that her husband was still yelling and pounding on the front door so loudly that he could not hear her anyway.
Snape growled. "I don't suggest doing so."
"Well, what are we going to do, barricade ourselves in the house?"
At that, something flew through the window, shattering it.
Damn, I just mended that window after Becky broke it with her shears! Snape thought, petulant. He needed at least his morning coffee before dealing with abusive husbands.
"Please, I really don't want him to do something rash," Becky insisted.
Snape barely agreed. "Don't ask him in, don't go outside, stand right there and I'll keep you covered."
"With what?" she asked, and he flashed his wand. "You keep that thing with you, always?"
He just nodded. With that, he stepped into the shadows. "I'm unlocking the door," he warned, and threw a wordless Alohomora.
Calm as the sea on a good day, Becky opened the door to meet her red-faced husband.
"Grover!" she said, hesitating. She seemed inclined to embrace him, but she heeded Snape's advice and stood still instead.
"What are you doing here?" her visitor growled. "This isn't your house."
"Technically, Samuel Snopes is just renting. So yes, it is my house." It was a white lie, and Grover did not buy it.
"Nuh-uh. You're seeing that creepy guy. You, married, with a kid?" He hiccuped on this last note, which indicated where he had been all night.
"Daisy's here, too." Becky's tone was flat.
"Nuh-uh."
"Uh-huh."
"Well, if you're not seeing him, come back with me."
"Did you read my note or what?"
He gave her a half-hearted grin. "I threw it away."
"Well, I can remedy that. You can call Amanda Bright; she happens to have a copy. She's my attorney, after all."
Grover's eyes widened. "So you are serious. You're...leaving me?"
"Don't act like a bloody ignoramus," Snape said, intervening. He was sick of watching this pathetic sycophant. "You're being charged for assault and battery, along with endangering the health and development of your child, philandering, and other crimes." He leaned down to meet the hung-over man's eyes. "How dare you treat your wife in such a despicable and disgusting manner. You're no better than a beast--a pig, a boar."
Grover Hawthorne seemed less than impressed. "So, Becky, what kind of kinky stuff have you been doing to this creepy old fuddy-duddy?"
At this, Snape stood straight and folded his arms. "You have insulted your wife, as well as me. Now," he added, his temper rising, "get the fuck off of this property or we'll get you for trespassing too, you fucking bastard!"
That seemed to scare Grover better. The tough-man act dropping like autumn leaves, Grover sidestepped backwards and off the porch.
"You'll regret this!" he cried, as he got into his car, "All of you will. Especially you, Becky! You li'l Whore! You li'l Cunt!"
Becky was irate. "I HATE YOU!" she screamed as he started up his car, like the coward he was. He would not listen to her. "I'VE BEEN MARRIED TO YOU FOR ALMOST THREE FUCKING YEARS AND I CAN'T BELIEVE I EVER LOVED YOU!"
Snape patted her shoulder without thinking what he was doing, he was so focused on his anger with Grover.
I hope he gets into a car accident and DIES.
By the most uncanny of coincidences, the car, as it was lumbering down the gravel driveway, gave an enormous kick. Snape and Becky looked at each other, but Grover was not stopping, and soon he was off the property.
"I had more I wanted to say," Becky said, almost apologetic. "I just didn't have much time."
Snape nodded. "I understand. Do you feel a bit better?"
She nodded, taking a deep breath. "I think I can take on the world today."
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Review. It's ALWAYS what you do. At least, ALWAYS review my work. *glare* Or I shall turn you all...into homo snapians!
Okay, okay, bad pun. Readers, if there are any Loose Ends you want cleared up, start telling me, please. I can't remember them all.