He guessed he should have expected it. Even with some of the students such as Natalie Skelet gradually shifting to his side that was not enough to overcome the general affection that Professor Gondolin had won from his classes. Now he would have to go back to his classes, beaten, and them knowing he had been beaten.
Remembering why they had made the bet in the first place he had no idea what he was going to do. He knew he should probably give Longbottom a new book, as she had wanted. But that would be admitting defeat in its purest form. He couldn't.
But on the other hand …
"Professor Snape."
He had been pacing up and down the entrance hall, muttering slightly to himself when he heard her voice. She was standing in the doorway, letting in a draft of cold night air with her. She didn't seem to notice it however, as she slid inside and walked over to him. He noticed she looked tired. He wondered whether that was the stress of waiting for results or because of last night's excursions.
"Yes, Professor Gondolin."
If it were anyone else he would have had the feeling that she had come to gloat. But, as it was, her smile was slight and genuine and he had a feeling she wanted something else.
"I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink back at my house." Then, seeing the face he pulled, "Not proper wine. Just butterbeer. I trust that you, unlike Charity, do not have an alcoholic reaction to non-alcoholic drinks."
"Of course not," said Severus. He guessed he couldn't be too offended by the fact that she thought he couldn't hold his liquor. That line of thought was probably correct anyway.
"Is that an acceptance?" Eowyn asked, an eyebrow raised.
"One question," said Severus. The truth was he still hadn't figured out whether he was going or not.
"Hit me with it."
"Is this in an attempt to bribe me into giving Longbottom the textbook?"
She was silent for a moment, as though considering the validity of this statement. Then she said, "If I thought the offer of my company was so appealing I would have offered it earlier so as not to have to put up with Malfoy's sneering for a week." Her tone was light-hearted, clearly meant as a jest, even to Severus' ears.
Little do you know.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to know more about a woman. Actually he could. But Lily hadn't really counted as a woman back then, he thought, more a girl. He could feel his face falling at the thought. He wasn't even aware that he had been smiling, ever so slightly. It had been a long time since he smiled too. A very long time indeed.
He looked at her again. In some ways she reminded him of Lily. Bright, talented apparently (judging by the way he had heard her friends teasing her for her academic success) and kind.
But I can't forget Lily.
Who says you will forget her? Like you could? But surely that doesn't mean she has to colour your every move?
The truth was Severus had a feeling that she had coloured his every move. If it weren't for her it was likely he would not have changed sides. He became a double agent because of Lily. He saved her son last year because of Lily.
"If you don't want to, Severus, then you can –"
Maybe it was time to do something for himself. Eowyn was willing to offer friendship, even after having to deal with his snarky attitude, drunken ramblings and the undoubted head-rush that came with winning the competition. And people like her didn't happen to him every day.
"No. I'll come."
"Good," she said, moving towards the door and indicating for him to follow. "We just need to make sure that tonight we both leave at decent times."
"Believe me," he murmured, "I could leave in my nightclothes and that's the last thing they'd think of."
"I'm afraid the rest of us don't boast such a flawless reputation," said Eowyn with a smile.
Of course not. A bright, beautiful young thing like her had probably had innumerable numbers of suitors, if not so many boyfriends.
oo0oo
Her lounge was warm and homely, rather unlike his, with its black chairs and endless piles of books. Although he had to admit that she herself had quite an extensive collection. Three bookshelves were crammed full of books while a table creaked under a pile of the stuff, along with a few snowdrifts of student essays.
Reading the titles he was surprised to find a broad range of books. Most teachers just kept books that were relevant to their subjects. Professor Gondolin, on the other hand, not only possessed books on Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, but quite a few Muggle history books, atlases and animal dictionaries, as well as a sprinkling of historical novels by writers that he had never even heard of.
"I can let you borrow some if you like," she said, setting down a mug of warm butterbeer on the table and seeing him absorbed in scrutinising her bookshelf. "It could help you catch up on some of your Muggle history."
"I might," he said.
"My mother was always into history. I guess she passed that on to me," said Professor Gondolin.
He noticed her looking at a picture on the mantelpiece and craned his neck around to see it. The picture was of a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. It was instantly clear that it was Eowyn's mother.
Now I know where she gets the looks from.
The woman's hair was long (unlike Professor Gondolin's) and with the help of a colouring charm on the picture he could see that it was the same shade of gold-tinted brown as Eowyn's. Though it wasn't as thick. Her height and dark blue eyes were obvious traits that Eowyn exhibited. But her face wasn't as pointed as Eowyn's. It was a little rounder, not as lean as Eowyn's, which formed a slightly squarer shape. But everything about the woman: the eyes, the hair, the smile, were just like her.
"She was a Muggle," said Eowyn presently. "But I never wanted her to be a witch. Never. She was the best mother ever."
Severus did not respond, thinking back to his childhood. Eileen had been the only person apart from Lily who understood him. But she had not exactly been warm and caring either. She might not have beaten him with a cane the way his father had, but she was still spiteful and insulting. It was apparent that Eowyn, although living in similar conditions to him bloodwise, had experienced a rather different childhood.
For a while they sat in silence, sipping their drinks. Looking further around the room Severus caught sight of a framed picture sitting on the table. It portrayed four girls laughing as they held up diplomas. The one on the left was dressed in Slytherin robes, green and silver tie still done up tight while long, black hair was flowing down her back, loose from her braid as dark brown eyes glittered with happiness. He saw that the seal on her NEWT diploma was marked with an O. Yes, it had not been a surprise that Septima got an Outstanding in Arithmancy. She might have flunked Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions but she had taken Arithmancy by the throat and throttled it.
The second girl's black and yellow tie revealed her to be a Hufflepuff. Her somewhat ragged blonde hair was clinging to her ponytail and her eyes, brown and Hufflepuff and innocent spoke volumes of her delight as she waved an Outstanding in the air. Severus had never really known Charity since she was two years younger than him, a Hufflepuff and a 'blood traitor' but he assumed it was for Muggle Studies.
Auriga was smirking in a way that was far too Slytherin for her Ravenclaw robes as she waved her own diploma in the air, a wand grasped in the other as she sent a Patronus (in the form of a large bat) into the sky, long black hair carefully braided.
Finally Eowyn was on the far right in Ravenclaw robes as well. Her hair was cut about halfway down her neck and she had dyed a purple strip into it. Once again he was astounded by how little she had changed in fourteen years, between completing her OWLs and becoming a professor. But she was a great deal shorter in this picture than she was now, sitting in the chair opposite. Clearly she had experienced something of a growth spurt over the next two years or so. But there were two things that had definitely not changed, he thought. Her eyes were still that dark, ocean blue and her smile was still as bright and genuine as ever.
"I notice you had no Gryffindor friends," he said, raising an eyebrow as he settled back into his seat.
"Oh we had a few," said Eowyn. "Moris Weasley was the first to introduce me to 'The Art of Pranking Argus Filch & Professor Dinklage'."
Severus could not help but wrinkle his nose at the mention of his old professor. "A horrible old man. Gave Gryffindor too many points than were good for them. As if their egos needed swelling. And Merlin forbid you should cut that branch off just an inch or so too high up. Of course it's impossible to mix up two plants that look exactly alike."
He realised that she was giving him a strange look, her head cocked on one side. "I mean no offence, Professor Snape," she said presently, "but if the students were to hear that they would automatically assume that it was yourself you were talking about."
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as he considered her words. Him? Like Professor Dinklage, the worst, most tyrannical Herbology teacher known to mankind? The idea was enough to make him fell slightly nauseous. Before he could dream up a suitable retort that would probably have led to another argument, she spoke again. "I did not say that so that we would fight over something, Professor Snape. Now, you said you wanted to hear about my terrible day with Lockhart. Here it is …"
So for the next three quarters of an hour she hurled detailed description after torturously detailed description of her nightmare with Lockhart, with him every now and again chipping in to ask for more details. He had to admit that it sounded terrifying. And when she told him about Lockhart wearing perfume he could not restrain a chuckle.
"Of course he does," he exclaimed. "It would not do for the great Gilderoy Lockhart to be normal would it."
"Seriously," said Eowyn. "I have my sister to take me to expensive cafés, make me buy romance novels and gets me fitted for dresses I'll never wear. And at least she wears decent perfume and can keep up an intelligent conversation with me that does not constantly devolve back to her."
"What did Lockhart's smell like?" Severus asked. He couldn't help it. He had to know. Who knew, it might come in useful for blackmail.
Eowyn shrugged. "I am no expert at perfumes, Professor Snape but I would say it smelt like some sort of flower or something. Cherry blossom maybe?"
"Cherry blossom?" asked Severus, a thought forming in his head.
"Yes," said Eowyn. Then her eyes widened.
"Like his wand!" they said as one. Then they both burst out laughing. Yes, Severus laughed. It was a nice laugh, Eowyn thought. A deep, heartfelt, truly amused sound.
"Well," said Eowyn with a grin. "At least there's method to his madness."
"It's not called madness, Professor Gondolin. It's narcissism. Professor Trelawney is mad and I can barely look at her. He is narcissistic. Every time I see him I want to strangle him."
"Well I did contemplate doing just that when he tried to kiss me."
"Good for you."
oo0oo
"But Janis Doblehed's research clearly states –"
"That old fool!" Severus snorted. "He was extremely biased by his sister and his mother-in-law. And their views on the brewing of Potions were hardly to be recommended."
"No. Hear me out. Janis Doblhed's research, conducted before his marriage, alongside some of the budding Potions Masters of the Renaissance proves that the time in lunar cycle in which potions are brewed can affect how potent they are. Hang on, I've got the book here." She leaned over from her seat and pulled a thick, metal-bound volume from the shelf, flicking through it with a purpose.
For a Care of Magical Creatures teacher she certainly knew a lot about Potions, Severus thought. And, typical of many Ravenclaws, she was a wonderful arguer. That was one of the things he loved about Ravenclaws. Gryffindors (with a few exceptions – such as Minerva) would get frustrated in no time and lose the plot by either fighting, huffing and going away or yelling. Hufflepuffs didn't argue … unless it was a life or death situation. And as for Slytherins … my view is right … yours is inferior … I don't care what you have to say you filthy mudblood so back off!
Their argument about Potions had begun about an hour ago. He had gleefully won the first round. But she had not let him rest on his laurels, instantly plunging into another linked topic which he had touched upon in his previous arguments. And he had a feeling, based on the determined expression on her face, that he was going to struggle to win this.
He found that he didn't mind though. He had enjoyed the argument. Unlike those morons that would come in to inspect from the Ministry, she actually knew what she was doing and her theories and opinions (though sometimes wrong) at least showed a solid base of thought and understanding.
It occurred to him that she was very like Minerva in many ways. The way she sat, with her scarred feet tucked under her, was just like Minerva would do on cold winter evenings in the staffroom. The concentrated frown on her face as she leafed through the book, muttering away in a mixture of Gaelic and English.
"Here," she said, pushing aside a renegade strand of hair. One thing she had not picked up from Minerva was a hairstyle that could last twenty-four hours. Then, seeing that he wasn't moving, "I'm not getting out of his chair. I'm warm."
"Why should I move?" he asked. He was warm and comfortable too. No way was he getting up.
"Because you have shoes on."
She had logic. He still had his shoes on while hers had been lying out in the hallway ever since they arrived.
"You should have kept them on," he said simply.
"But I didn't."
"What's it a diagram of?"
"It's complicated. And it shows the way the experiment – fine I'll come over there and show you! But don't expect me to move next time. It'll be your turn then."
So she planned to do this in the future. He couldn't say he objected to that.
She moved to sit on the floor beside him, the way she had in the staffroom. The firelight shone on her face, illuminating the lines of her smile and the faint flush in her cheeks. If she had looked peaceful while sleeping in his chair she looked happy now. She's going to get wrinkles if she keeps smiling that much. But then he remembered an old woman in Spinners End saying, "Wrinkles are to show where smiles have been." Well that's one good thing about my life I guess. I'll have less wrinkles than everyone else. Wonderful. "Now sit back and listen as the voice of god flows from my lips," she said, somehow managing to sound deadly serious. "By the time we're done here you are going to be a convert of Janis Doblehed."
oo0oo
"Are y'goin' t'do sumthin' about i'?" Hagrid asked, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm them. "They're makin' qui' a racket."
"Albus?" asked Minerva, expertly stifling a smile as she looked away from the cabin to where the headmaster was standing, chuckling in the shadows.
"Well I don't know about you, Minerva," he said, his voice bubbling with humour, "but if I were I'd just leave them be."
"It's one o'clock in the mornin', sir," said Hagrid with a yawn. "An' they've been at i' tooth an' nail for four hours solid."
"I can imagine," said Minerva, smiling openly now.
"I'll engorgio a pair of earmuffs for you, Hagrid. Then you'll be able to sleep as soundly as a lamb," said Dumbledore.
"I never knew that lambs slept soundly, Albus," remarked Minerva.
"Trust me, my dear," said Dumbledore, his voice deadly serious, "they do now."
oo0oo
"It's simple science, Professor Snape. Simple," – she paused to yawn – "science. That children learn in Muggle schools. Your genetics are like a blueprint for who you are. They will define what different," – another yawn – "cells are like in your body and – Severus pay attention!"
He started out of the half doze he had fallen into. He couldn't help it. She had begun giving him a lecture on the functioning of genetics and the combination of tiredness and the sound of her voice, with the soft, Irish lilt, had gradually lulled him into a stupor. Now she was standing beside his chair, a small smile playing over her lips as she said, "I think it's time for somebody's little boy to go to bed."
He glared at her. But he didn't really mean it. It was a reflex action.
"You said the same thing last night," he remembered, struggling to his feet and nearly doing a double take when he realised that it was three o'clock in the morning.
"Well don't think this means I'm going to half carry you to bed like last night. Being your camel once was quite enough."
"Thank you. Now I have visions of a smart-talking camel with breath mints to haunt my nightmares," he muttered.
"Glad to be of help."
As they spoke she was walking him to the door. Her hair had fallen completely loose of its fastenings and hung in a curtain around her head, strands glinting slightly. Most women he knew (with the exception of Rolanda Hooch) had long hair. But she looked good with her hair cut at the shoulder. As she walked beside him he once more marvelled at how tall she was. Even without the slight height boost that her boots gave her she was almost his height exactly.
It seemed it was his night for noticing things for he saw the beginnings of a scar protruding from the edge of her collar. It was white and rather more raised than any of the others that he had seen. Maybe it was the mixture of the butterbeer and his own tiredness that made him do it but once more curiosity overcame him.
"Where did you get that scar?"
She glanced up, saw where his finger was pointing and used her finger to push the neckline to one side, just a little. Even then he could not see where it ended.
"Fenrir Greyback," she said presently. Her voice had taken on a softer, more sombre tone. "Our family was one of his first victims in the war. He killed my mother first. She was a lawyer in the Muggle world. All the Muggles saw was a horrible, dirty tramp running into the courtroom and ripping her neck clean off. Then he went in search of us. Our dog, Pippin, tried to stop him. But Greyback killed him. Greyback got a chance to attack us but didn't kill or bite us."
"But doesn't a werewolf scratch mean –"
"Oh no, Professor Snape." Some of the old twinkle had returned to her eyes now. "He wasn't so savage back then. And I think drinking a litre of mom's blood had somewhat sedated him. He had the decency to use a knife to attack us."
"How old were you?" he asked.
She seemed to think about for a while before saying. "I'd just begun my second year at Hogwarts. I was twelve. But I had a wand to defend myself with. Arwen's a Squib. She had nothing. She has one on her leg. It goes all the way from the inside of her knee to her ankle. I'm lucky. I've got more than her but none of them are as deep or as long. But what sort of topic is that to be discussing as I say goodbye?"
"Only for several hours," Severus remarked.
Professor Gondolin smiled. "A good point. And on that note, next time do you want it in your rooms or mine, Professor Snape?"
He thought about it for a second. It was not in his nature to let people into his rooms. But then, people rarely asked. And it hardly seemed fair that she should take the burden of entertaining all the time. So … "Very well. My rooms next time."
"Good," said Professor Gondolin. "Just do me the favour of dusting down the chair first, Professor Snape."
"I think, in view of recent events, you may call me Severus, Professor Gondolin."
Her eyebrow raised in surprise at that one. But quick as a flash she was back with a reply. "Very well. Then you must call me Eowyn."
"Very well. In that case, Eowyn, now might, in the spirit of the moment, be a good time to tell you that you have won."
"I know, Auriga's only been gloating about it for the whole of supper," said Eowyn, rolling her eyes at her friend's competitiveness.
"I mean I will get Longbottom the new book."
If her mouth opened any wider he was sure that she could swallow one of Hagrid's enormous, inedible cream pies whole. "You will?" she spluttered.
He could not help but smirk slightly. The look of surprise on her face was quite endearing. "Indeed."
She let out a small cry of joy and took a step towards him. Then froze. "You're not a hugging person are you, Prof-Severus?"
Not usually.
"No."
"Alright. In that case, this is what they did in the 1900s."
She leant over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, before turning and striding back into her cabin, smiling happily.
For a few minutes Severus stood outside her door, frozen. Then he began to slowly meander his way up to the castle. She had only kissed him on the cheek. And only for a second or so. But he had felt that her lips were soft. He had felt the warmth of her body near his. And he had smelt her. She didn't smell like he'd thought she would. The truth was he hadn't a clue what she'd smell like.
Like the forest. Grass. Rain. Damp earth. More rain.
He remembered her speaking about going out into the forest and feeling the rain. She really was the outdoorsy kind. Not like him at all – cooped up in his little dungeon. Seldom leaving the castle unless it was absolutely necessary. They were so unlike. Yet she could argue Potions with him till three o'clock in the morning. And no one had done that ever. Lucius Malfoy had done it until midnight. But he had drawn the line there. And that had only been once. And she had given him a kiss on the cheek when most would rather die than do so.
And that is how it all began! Couldn't help adding that bit about Hagrid. The poor guy. He's a half giant who says things he regrets afterwards and has to keep track of Harry Get-Into-Loads-Of-Trouble-At-The-Drop-Of-A-Hat Potter and now he has to endure Snape and his (future) girlfriend verbally disembowel each other. Sorry Hagrid. Just put a clamp on your tongue at the Yule Ball and you might just snag the girl of your dreams. :)
