Chapter 19


Inevitably Molly prepares tea for all of them before the meeting starts. The decision to arrive early, he regrets now. Had he been late, arriving just when the meeting was on the verge of starting, he would have been spared of this. He will have to do better the from now onwards, if not arrive well past the starting time, as he at times does with the Dark Lord.

Next time, being late will surely spare him seeing Nymphadora staring at Lupin.

He would not be forced to endure it. Neither would he have to witness Lupin pretending that he is specifically blind to Nymphadora giving him long looks every so often from her seat at the table. He could care nothing more than pigs swimming in dirt about what is going on between the two, apparently enough for this blatant display to be going on, but for the sake of being forthright with himself, he would have preferred to be late rather than be made aware of such a thing as emotions between Nymphadora and Lupin. That is not even to start with the small –sufficiently useless- talk.

Oh, the tedious niceties of life. If he could have reminded himself that avoiding that hideous art by arriving late, he would not be a forced bystander in all of this greeting and exchanging of pleasantries, when he does not feel like it.

'Here you go, Severus,' Molly says as she approached him. 'Here's your cup. Drink up.'

She hands him a cup of tea, not disappointing him her timing. At least with the relief of a cup of tea to concentrate on, he will be spared the many chores that his eyes and ears would otherwise be subjected to, all thanks to his fellow Order members.

'Thank you,' he takes the cup, only failing to give her the smile that she deserves.

He really does appreciate that she doesn't try to exclude him from anything. Molly and her husband are quite a pair, and silently, he appreciates that they have that sense of love and inclusion, even being pure of blood.

'And how are the students these days?' she wonders, obviously starting a conversation.

'The same,' he replies in exactly the tone that he feels when talking about the students. 'Not trainable. Too ambitious. Much too liberal.'

'Oh, Severus,' she laughs. 'Will you ever have a good thing to say about your students?'

'Perhaps one day,' he hears himself saying.

His students have done and do no small wonders to touch him, with Miss Granger being the only unexpected rising exception.

'How I'd love to witness that day!' Molly jovially comments.

Why?

Looking at her, he wonders why that should matter to her. It would not really affect her if he praised a student or nor, but it rather suggests that she is looking forward to that day of growth. To him, yes, it would matter, because it would indeed mean a difference from what he is used to, but to her, what?

'Would you?' he asks, solely to sate his baser curiosity.

'Oh, yes. Yes, I would. I'd love to see it more, if it was a student from a house different than yours,' she says again.

Fortunately for himself, at around the same time that Molly's sentence comes to an end, he catches sight of Albus moving into the room. Thank magic for his timing; it provides him with the perfect excuse to dodge Molly's statements, and steer his mind away from thoughts about Hogwarts students.

'Excuse me, Molly,' he smoothly lets out. 'I need to have a word with Albus.'

He leaves then, taking away her chance to accept or reject his excuse, and heading straight for the head of the Order before anyone else can get to him.

'Albus,' he calls as he draws near to the man.

It's simple insurance, what he did. It is a way of claiming time with Albus before any other person, in the event that the other person does get to him first. Albus turns his way, meeting the call as effectively as he can even at a distance.

'Severus.'

As he completes the rest of the way to Albus, he comes up with an excuse as to why he needs to have an audience with the man, only for Albus to speak first when they come face to face.

'You'll have to forgive me these days, Severus. I'm afraid that I am rather slow in taking up with what is happening in the school, which results in me finding things out a little too late.'

'Such as?' he questions, not following what Albus is talking about.

'Your lessons with Harry.'

Ah, that. His portrait spies told him at last, then. He wondered when he would be called in to discuss the premature ending of those fruitless lessons. In any case, Albus had to have known that those lessons would end in an untimely fashion as they did. They'd even had a conversation about it, the two of them.

'You cannot tell me that you feel surprise, Albus,' he challenges with a bit of amusement in his tone.

'No,' Albus agrees by shaking his head, 'I do not feel surprise. I rather feel… No matter now, Severus. You have enough to shoulder as it is. I had only hoped that it would work out.'

Now what possibly him think that? Those lessons were a failure even before they began. He went into them unwillingly, and he suspects as did Potter. What about that equation, could've given Albus the false solution that it would work out?

'Because of Miss Granger, you thought that?'

'No,' Albus shakes his head again. 'It was that I rather thought that Harry would commit himself to something as important as that. Miss Granger was simply me indulging in the mental comfort of laughter. There was no purpose to her, really, Severus. It only gave me a little relief to think of you stuck in a room with two students not of your choice.'

One part disbelieving and the other feeling bested, he carefully looks at Albus Dumbledore. Unbelievable this old man is! And yet, it's completely believable that he would do such a thing. Truly, there had been no real purpose to the girl being there, after all, and he is only finding out about this now. How… Useless, he should say, to know now, when he's already had a big show with the girl at the very end of Potter's lessons. Although on the other hand, it was through to those lessons that their interactions became what they are now. Just three days ago he was deliberately teasing her, because she inspired it in him.

'Have I reminded you that you detest me lately, Headmaster?'

Seeing as it was all for the Headmaster's amusement, he cannot think otherwise. Despite the change that happened because the Headmaster felt the need to amuse himself in private, he is properly inclined to believe that the Headmaster detests him in some manner.

'Have I assured you that such is not the case, Severus?'

'Hmpf,' he quietly lets out, carefully shielding a snort from coming out of him.

'I speak the truth,' Albus insists. 'Also, if you consider it, why did you allow her to be there?'

'You forced her upon me,' he responds, seeing no other reason to it.

'I forced Harry upon you, Severus. Miss Granger had been a suggestion that I thought you would refuse. I would have let it go, otherwise.'

'You could never convince me of that, Albus.'

'But it is the truth, Severus,' Albus insists. 'We can discuss that later, however. For now, let us get started with the meeting, shall we?'


26Chapters


On a separate night, long after his previous meeting with the Order, he meets with Lucius inside of his office. They do not meet of his own choice, or planning for that matter, but even so, he allows the man to be in his presence for an amount of time. It would have cost him more to argue with the man on why he would not like to have any company on this particular night, than to simply allow him room to be here.

But, oh, the tedium in that.

And the risk, of course. Any student, specifically a one Miss Granger could casually avail herself to his office, and he would not like to be bothered to chase her away in an unappealing manner for the benefit of Lucius.

Lucius is much too… What's the word? Much too disagreeable for his tolerance, he believes. Wholly, he does not believe Lucius to be a bad man, no. Rather, he thinks of Lucius as a man who values his wife and son very much and for that reason, leans more towards what guarantees their entire preservation. Undoubtedly, though, the man is a coward.

He is a coward who only has courage enough to use the power of his wealth, and nothing more. Not that any of that is any of his dire concern, he only thinks it, because Lucius has the potential to be a great wizard and if not for his image, he'd be one. On the other hand, however, believing that Lucius is not a bad man at heart, does not excuse that he would prefer it much, if his interactions with the man were reduced to something significantly less; to say, perhaps, never. For always, most wishfully.

It's that Lucius Malfoy always leaves him in such a state of distaste for the company of others. Granted, he usually has no need (or want) for the company of others, but even he has moments of weakness, when company is not an unpleasant thing to imagine. The problem comes in that his meetings with Lucius, always, one way or another, lead to them discussing baseless, unimportant filth, which he has no faint interest for, and thus, his aversion for company overall.

Tonight, for instance, watching Dolores Umbridge painting her toenails that horrid pink colour, would've proved to be more pleasant than this meeting with Lucius.


26Chapters


The days fast go by, that distracted on another day, two weeks following his meeting with Lucius, he loses focus on a concoction, and the damage caused by his lack of focus, goes to his chest. Upon contact, the warm liquid begins to eat through the fabric of his cloak, but gets no further, due his quick response. Although not something dangerous to the skin when cooled, the potion that he is busy with, can be quite a catastrophe creator when heated. Thus, his quick fix is not only to protect himself before any damage happens, but also to get himself right, lest Miss Granger catches him harmed and tries to heal him again. He can take refuge in the fact that they do not have a joint free period today, except that with that girl, he can never be certain anymore

Of all the things that he fears now, she is probably one of the more pressing.

How times have changed.

He used to dislike her showing off behaviour the most, in the beginning. That she chose to display herself that way, made it easy dislike and so find her weakness to use against her. However, through their unplanned fighting and ultimately, specifically that night after Potter's failed lesson, she changed something within him.

If he may, he will say that she emotionally touched him.

It was the beginning of where they are now.

There had been a part of her that night, a caring side that she bared to him by how she kept shoving it in his face. He will not deny that it irked him so, how she prioritised Potter that night, but that sort of loyalty and dedication, so genuine in its rawness touched him. Later, when he eventually allowed her to leave, she, for whatever reason, chose to stay and that too, added onto him being moved by her. As much as he saw it happening, it was unbelievable to him.

Honestly, her motives for doing so, weren't so much the concern for him, as just the matter of her staying. Despite arguing with him, despite being 'abused' by him as she called it, she made sure to stay with him, when on other occasions, she would've left him in a hurry. He's certain that she did not set out to actively change his perspective of her, rather than being provoked there, but even so, she touched him, and now he is prone to, here and there, featuring her in some way or other in his thoughts.


26Chapters


One Saturday morning, he goes about his morning, looking forward to having a danish in the kitchen as is his way of passing Saturday mornings. The Saturday mornings are still very important to him, because he gets to relax away from everything else that he knows to be his duty. With Umbridge on the loose and a quite literally silent Dark Lord, he finds even more reason to cherish the rich danishes that are made in the Hogwarts kitchen. It's been a while since he indulged in one.

Successfully making it to the kitchen, with no distractions along the way, at the door, he notices that there's already a person inside the kitchen. Requiring no effort on his part, he recognises her instantly. This instant recognition only stems from shared free periods in each other's silent company. At present, he would easily be able to tell her apart in a crowd, how much more when she is all alone, like she is now. Although he has not made it his responsibility to study her features, who else would have that cat at their feet with them, if not her? Her cat, is what gives her away.

He will say, though, that for a moment, he's surprised to find her in here. Oddly, however, he is not all that inclined to leave, or even observe her, like he did the last time that he accidentally found her in the corridors of the school. Apparently, where he stands, he finds that he has enough nerves, completely tamed and patient, to share space with her. The thought makes him want to smile a little bit, primarily for the change that he never noticed to have accommodated concerning her. He does not smile, as he feels that better than that, would be to take advantage of the now.

Careful not to make any sudden noise, he begins walking towards her, and as he gets closer to her, he notices that she's doing magic. How unsurprising, he thinks, for whenever is she not doing magic? Wasn't she doing magic the last time that he accidentally saw her from afar as well? Truly, with her wand pointed upwards as it is and that inaudible muttering, he is half expecting small dragons to begin fluttering about her head. That's no matter to him in any case; he came in here for a danish, and a danish he will have, small dragons present or not. If she wishes to leave, however, she is most welcome to do so. As for him, he does not mind her keeping her seat. He could always dismiss her if she proves to be too intrusive for his treat time.

'Miss Granger,' he announces his presence.

He verbally presents himself to her, only to get her to open her closed eyes, otherwise, she would have carried on as she was. It does the intended work, as she quickly pulls from whatever spell she had been doing, concentrated in that way and fixes her open eyes on him. Visibly, she jumps at seeing him, her mouth opening a little in the process.

'Professor,' she gasps.

He simply watches her, waiting for what she will do next. It is up to her really, he thinks. He has no intention of chasing her out of here. Had it been another student, he wouldn't even be watching them to begin with, his stare would have been communication enough that he did not need them in the kitchen while he was there.

'The elves always fear that whenever I come here,' she begins, 'I'll offer them things to wear, so they always spoil me.'

She just explained her reason for being here, then. It fits, seeing as it doesn't look as though she has made any decision to get up and abandon everything on the table. Well, who is he to expect her to do what any other student would do in this case, when she has clearly shown him that she can do whatever it is that's on her mind whenever they interact?

'You use that to your favour,' he observes, indulging her.

'They make the most delicious tarts,' she replies.

Shrugging to that, he conjures a chair for himself, directing it to the table, to then take a seat opposite of her. Exactly then, as is the signature to their magic, an elf appears at his side, serving him a fresh danish, three moderately sized biscuits and sugarless tea, without getting the command to.

'Thank you,' he softly says to the elf, who then promptly disappears.

'You come here often,' she's the one to make an observation this time. 'Lefa wouldn't know what to get you, if you didn't.'

By magic, this girl really is set on knowing everything that exists in the world. If they ever get to a point in conversation where he can freely tell her what to do, he'll have to tell her that some battles are simply a waste of time, that some information is not in the least profitable. In short, he'll tell her that not everything is to be known. For now, though, he first lifts the teacup to take a sip, just to make sure that the tea is indeed sugarless. Satisfied with the result, after placing his cup down, for the pure effect of what he wants to ask, he raises his eyebrows.

'You know his name?'

'He's wonderful,' she nods. 'He even likes Crookshanks.'

Considering that she's showing no smile, he wonders to himself what really does he think he's doing by asking her that? Was it not her, who invested quite a lot into her S.P.E.W activity? At the risk, and knowing very well that no one was taking her seriously, did she still not go on with her quest? Knowing elf names, would be nothing to her, he concludes. And apparently, Lefa seems to like her cat, which must be a winner in her books.

Said cat of hers, begins to make a long sound, just as he takes a second and a third sip from his cup. He ignores the sound, obviously, because he is more interested in taking a bite of his biscuit, following it with another sip. The cat makes another sound, which he thinks to ignore as well, except, he feels something move against his leg. Too soft is the brushing up on his leg, that he has to look down and see what it is. Doing that, he sees the cat moving away from his leg, and then stand on its hind legs, looking at his face.

Is there a reason for that?

'What are you doing?' he wants to know.

'Practicing some spells,' she provides.

Oh, wow, how wonderful, only, he hadn't been talking to her. She may amuse herself and continue, though, he thinks to himself, tearing his eyes away from the cat. And another thing, had he been talking to her, he wouldn't have wanted to know that precisely. He has eyes, he saw her practicing magic as he came in; even a blind ant would have seen her use of magic. But all right, he'll allow her to believe that he has an interest in her Saturday activities. He only came here for his danish, and the minute that it is finished, he will get up and leave.

'I don't just want to be better, Professor,' she continues to explain, even though he didn't ask. 'I want to know better. I come from a family with no history of magic-'

Really? She's Muggleborn? He had no idea.

'-So I always feel like I have to be twice as good as I naturally am. But I also just love magic,' she lets out a small laugh. 'It's so wonderful. I mean, the world of magic is far behind in technology than the Muggle world, but I love both worlds. I love the ease of electricity, the science in radio waves, but I also love being a source of something that is able to create a million other things, through spells.'

He had been listening to her, peacefully eating his biscuits and sipping his tea, until she stopped talking. It's not the sudden silence that alarms him, it's strangely why she did, that causes him to lift his attention away from his premature breakfast and look at her. His eyes meet her free hand breaking a small piece of tart from the remaining in her plate and if not for him vaguely seeing her bend to the side, he would have assumed her to be directing the piece into her mouth, and thus would have gone back to his own eating. His curiosity getting the better of him, his eyes follow her hand, which moves right into the mouth of her cat.

His height being what it is, he's quite certain that she does not get her fingers into the cat's mouth, however, it's still an unsavoury sight to see. He feels an itch to let her know just how disturbing that is, but then she straightens up, making him believe that she will not repeat such a thing. Only, to his utter shock, she does something much worse than feed her cat with her naked hand. In disbelief, he watches as she breaks off another piece of her tart, and no!

No! Absolutely not! This girl better not be about to do what he suspects that she is about to do. She does it, despite his hope for the contrary, shamelessly bringing the piece of tart to her mouth. Acting quickly, he drops his last biscuit, reaches out his hand to take hold her wrist and halt her movement before it's too late. She's lost her sense of reasoning if she believes that she can do something so vile in his presence.

'Professor!' she cries, startled.

Going by her confused expression, she truly has lost her reasoning. Why else would she not understand that she's wrong for attempting to commit a disturbing act?

'You are not eating that,' he sternly tells her, refusing to release her hand.

It bothers him so, beyond words. He may not look the part of someone who would be strongly anal about such a thing, however, he is the sort

'Why not?' she asks through a frown.

Why not, she asks? And with that entitled frown, even? He will tell her why not.

'Did you not just use that hand to feed your cat?'

Her frown deepens, letting out a tight, 'Fine,' which he uses to suppose that she hears him.

Feeling satisfied with the result, he releases her wrist, believing that she won't continue to eat with that hand. He waits for her to drop the piece onto her plate, only for her to betray his confidence by transferring the piece of tart to her other hand (she apparently abandoned her wand just for this) and then quickly throws it into her mouth before he can stop her again.

Why, this defiant deviant girl!

'Really, Miss Granger, the difference is what?' he questions with vast irritation, feeling the emotion change the arrangement of his face.

'He's my cat,' she argues with a shrug. 'I don't find it disgusting.'

Oh, the gross distaste! Of which she has no sense of, obviously, but still, the distaste.

'He, as you call him,' he criticises while turning his lip, 'is also the same he, who likes to have lizards inside his mouth. So, unless you have a taste for reptiles, you ought to find it sufficiently disgusting to share food with him.'

'Well, I don't,' is the firm answer that leaves her mouth.

As though it's something praiseworthy! The raw distaste! Magic save him from this insane girl.

'I don't find it disgusting,' she repeats. 'And I don't have a taste for lizards.'

So she says, and yet she's been sharing food with her cat all of this time.

'Can you not summon a fork?' he wonders, keeping his eyes on her hands just in case she attempts her vile custom again.

'No,' she refuses.

A spoon, then, he decides. It's that he really just cannot bear to watch her eat that way.

'Lefa,' he calls, because he will get her a utensil to eat with.

That is a certainty.

She will not be the reason that he has a disgusted heart during his danish consumption. He will enjoy his danish. And she will remain opposite of him, continuing as she was, the only difference being the addition of an eating utensil.