Being used to students generally avoiding all unnecessary contact with him, he was more than a little surprised when Miss Lovegood took him up on his offer, contacting him through notes no less than three times before the school year was out. What he found even more difficult to come to terms with, however, was that she always seemed genuinely happy to see him, greeting him with a wide smile as if she were meeting an old friend. So contagious was her smile that on one occasion he almost smiled back before catching himself at the last moment. What on earth was the matter with him? Was age making him grow soft? Him, Severus Snape, whose mimic muscles most people believed to be incapable of arranging themselves into anything other than his customary scowl? Or perhaps a sneer, provided he was in a particularly good mood?
Still, despite the unsettling effect Miss Lovegood's artlessness had on him, he had absolutely no intention of giving up on his quest. He was fast becoming obsessed with catching the elusive thief, and the longer his attempts to do so came to nothing, the more determined he became. He sometimes even went as far as prowling around Ravenclaw Tower alone at various times of the day, hoping for a stroke of luck to catch the culprit red-handed, but with no results. He wished he could just drag all the girls from Miss Lovegood's dormitory to his office for questioning, as he was almost certain it had to be one of them, having the easiest access to Miss Lovegood's clothes, but he was well aware how strange that would look, seeing as such steps were customarily taken by the corresponding Heads of Houses. Unfortunately, Flitwick seemed painfully oblivious to what was going on around him, and he, Snape, was not about to tell him, as that could lead to many awkward questions he would rather not answer. His personal vendetta against Miss Lovegood's tormentor was his own, after all, and therefore certainly not something he wished to become public knowledge. No, he would have to cope alone, as he always did.
With this resolution, he entered the next school year. Just to be on the safe side, after the very first class with the second-year Ravenclaws he did not fail to remind Miss Lovegood that his proposal from the previous year still held, the only small change being that, with the regained possibility of moving around the castle freely, she could now seek him out personally if the need arose. Without wishing her ill, he could not help but feel disappointed at the end of each day that passed without her turning up; so desperate was he for any clue that might lead him to his goal.
Finally, one evening in the second week of September, he was just returning from his, now almost daily, rounds of Ravenclaw Tower when, with a jolt of excitement, he saw none other than her walking up the stairs towards him.
"Professor!" she exclaimed happily, rushing towards him by taking the remaining steps two at a time. "I was just looking for you, but you weren't in your office."
"Miss Lovegood," he greeted her with a curt nod, making sure his face betrayed none of the eagerness he really felt. "Have any of your things gone missing again?"
"Yes, it was my bra this time," she said, without a hint of hesitation. Snape, meanwhile, could feel a blush creeping up his pale cheeks. He had not seen that one coming. When he was taking up this quest, he had never, not even in his wildest dreams, imagined it would entail having to deal with things such as – he shuddered at the mere thought – girls' underwear. He could only hope it would not come to anything worse.
With an immense effort he willed his mind to focus back on the practical side of the matter. "I see," he said, in a voice of forced calm. "Have you checked any of the usual hiding places yet?"
She shook her head. "No. I went straight to your office, just like you told me to. But on the way back I met a man, and he had found my bra for me." And before Snape realised what was happening, she produced it from behind her back and cheerfully held it up for him to see.
"Miss Lovegood!" he cried, aghast, quickly averting his gaze from the incriminating object, though not before being forced to notice it was yellow like most of the other articles of clothing he had helped her look for so far. "Put that away at once! Have you no sense of decency?"
"Oh," she glanced at the bra as if wondering why it unsettled him so, then shrugged. "All right." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the vivid yellow disappear behind her back again. Only then did he consider it safe to look back at her and, after taking a deep breath to compose himself, ask, "Who was the man who had returned your ... your undergarments? Do you know him?"
"I saw him on the front page of the Daily Prophet I found in our common room. He looked like the singer from The Hobgoblins."
All the rose colour still tinting Snape's cheeks left them as if by magic. "You met Sirius Black?" he breathed. "Inside the school?"
"Sirius, that's it," she confirmed, completely unperturbed. "He has a nice name. All my schoolmates say he killed thirteen people, but Dad thinks it's a conspiracy that-"
Snape, however, had more pressing matters on his mind than Mr. Lovegood's latest far-fetched theories. "Where did you meet him?" he cut in impatiently.
"On the third floor. He was crouching behind the one-eyed witch statue, one of the hiding places for my clothes. He was holding my bra in his hand; I suppose he must've found it there. So I asked him if he could give it to me, and he did. I thought it was very kind of him."
Snape knew there was no time to lose. He quickly glanced around, hoping to see another teacher or at least a Prefect who could accompany Miss Lovegood the rest of the way to her tower but, as fate would have it, the staircase was deserted. There was, however, no way he would let her continue on her own, not with Black on the loose; hence, she would have to come with him.
"Follow me, Miss Lovegood," he ordered, pleased to see her obey without question as he started sprinting down the stairs.
"Do you want to thank Mr. Black as well?" she panted, after eventually catching up with him. "For finding my bra?"
He threw her a quick look as if to check she had not been Confuded. "Are you insane, Miss Lovegood?" he spat at her. "Black is an escaped convict, for Merlin's sake! He has killed before; surely he will not hesitate to kill again. Do you know how lucky you are to even be here? I cannot imagine what had made him spare you this time, but do not count on it happening ever again. Therefore, if we do find him, we are certainly not going to thank him, but hand him straight over to the Dementors."
Unfortunately, his tirade seemed to fall on deaf ears. "I don't believe he killed anyone," she countered. "He gave me back my bra."
He had nothing to say to such reasoning. Luckily, it was not long after that they finally reached their destination, and as such there was no time to continue arguing with Miss Lovegood; instead, he commanded her to stay put while he turned his attention to the statue of the one-eyed witch, wand at the ready.
However, to his endless disappointment, it was soon clear that Black had already left his post. "Gone," growled Snape, venting all his frustration into that one word. Still, not everything was lost yet; perhaps Black had simply moved elsewhere. Wasting no time, Snape sent his Patronus to alert Dumbledore, then spun around in a swirl of black robes. "Come, Miss Lovegood," he beckoned. "I shall take you back to Ravenclaw Tower, where I expect you to remain until the school has been thoroughly searched."
Setting off back the way they had come, his mind was virtually buzzing with unanswered questions. How had Black got into the school? Why had he not harmed Miss Lovegood? Where was he now? Was it possible that-
He did not get any further in his musings, for at that moment his train of thought was uncompromisingly broken by a question whose randomness exceeded even Miss Lovegood's standards. "I heard today that someone's Boggart looked like you," she said conversationally. "They dressed it in their Granny's dress." She chuckled to herself, obviously picturing the image in vivid details.
Snape's eyes flashed dangerously; not only did he hate to have his thoughts interrupted just as he seemed to be getting somewhere, but to have them interrupted by something like this? He still could not believe that Lupin had dared to undermine his authority the way he had (he was, naturally, planning to give him a piece of his mind at the first opportunity that presented itself), as he could now feel students laughing behind his back wherever he turned, but to have even Miss Lovegood bring it up, of all people? He could not help but feel a little hurt. And more than a little angry.
All thoughts of Black momentarily forgotten, he stopped to glare at her. "And?" he drawled, his voice at its silkiest.
Sadly, however, Miss Lovegood seemed untouched by his acidity. Having known her long enough, he wondered why he still even bothered trying. "That someone must really be afraid of you," she merely said. "But ... how can they be? You're nice."
Snape was flabbergasted. How she had managed, within the space of less than twenty seconds, to twist something he had originally thought to be ridicule into a compliment was beyond him. "I assure you, Miss Lovegood, I am anything but nice," he muttered at last.
She shook her head decisively. "Oh, but you are. You offered to help me look for my clothes. You always came when I sent you a note. You are here with me now even though I know you really want to go looking for Mr. Black. How can you not be nice?"
Snape sighed; in Miss Lovegood's eyes everything seemed so simple. He had to admit he even envied her a little. Gazing into her trusting face, he simply could not bring himself to spoil her illusion, but he did not want to lie to her, either. Finally, he settled for the cryptic statement of, "You just have to take my word for it," before resuming his climb up to Ravenclaw Tower.
If, however, he was naïve enough to think he had argued Miss Lovegood into dropping the subject, he was gravely mistaken. Despite keeping silent for the rest of the way, she had obviously given the matter some serious thought, for just as they reached the door to the Ravenclaw common room and he was about to wish her good night, she said, with crypticity matching his own, "Maybe you just needed someone to tell you."
"Tell me ... what exactly?" he asked, somewhat uncomprehendingly, as his thoughts had, throughout the course of their climb, strayed to Black again.
"That you're nice. Maybe you just didn't know. But now you do." She fell silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, but then her eyes lit up as she remembered something. "I really liked your Patronus, by the way," she informed him. "It was such a cute doe. You couldn't have a cute Patronus if you weren't a nice person."
He tensed at her words; as she was only a second-year, he had not expected her to recognise the spell he had cast (though, with her mother being the exceptional witch he had known her to be, it would not have come as a surprise if she had been able to produce a Patronus of her own, something her daughter was bound to remember), let alone its shape, which he had tried to keep as incorporeal as possible without affecting the Patronus's ability to deliver a message. If she ever put two and two together... But no, that was impossible, only Dumbledore knew what the doe meant. Then again, if she happened to mention it in the wrong place at the wrong time, Merlin protect him from the possible consequences. Better play it safe, then. "I would appreciate it if you kept the shape of my Patronus to yourself, Miss Lovegood," he said stiffly, his eyes boring into hers to stress the seriousness of his request. "There are not many who know, and I would prefer to keep it that way."
Smiling, she nodded in understanding. "Of course, Professor. Then everybody would know you're nice and you don't want that."
He hesitated for only a moment, then decided it was probably easier to leave her to the interpretation she had created. "Precisely," he confirmed. "Good night, Miss Lovegood."
It was only much later that evening, as he was sitting in Dumbledore's office, morosely listening to all the teachers assigned to search for Black reporting to have found no sign of him inside the castle, that a memory came back to him in which Dumbledore had, many years before and in that very office, insinuated something very similar to what Miss Lovegood had, though perhaps in slightly more refined vocabulary. And thus he could not help but wonder what it was about him that made some people fall under the false impression that there might actually be some good in him, and what gave said people the idea that he would be much better off if he simply showed the world this alleged good side of himself instead of hiding it as if it were something to be ashamed of.
