Chapter 7 - Everybody's Surfing Now

Once they'd gotten home and put the groceries away, they began assembling the salade niçoise. Given that they had to boil the eggs and cook the potatoes, it would take a bit of time before they were ready to eat.

As Hermione tore the lettuce, she commented that it would be easier to nip out to a local chip shop for lunch. She'd expected her persnickety professor to rage against her bourgeois taste but, to her great surprise, he'd nodded.

"Still," he said after whisking the vinaigrette to a perfect suspension, "one cannot survive on fish and chips -- solely."

Hermione was speechless.

Severus Snape had just left a pun hanging in the air. It was waving at her, mocking her silence, beckoning to her as a siren called sailors to their doom.

"Professor!" She gasped, her expression horrified. "I never took you for that kind of man!"

The subtly bemused expression he'd worn was now replaced with barely concealed apprehension.

Hermione continued, letting her horror leach into her words: "You - you.. cod!"

It took 2.7 nanoseconds for her rejoinder to register in his mind and then he shocked her even further: he laughed. Not a snarky, cruel snicker but a genuine laugh, chocolate-mousse rich; it reverberated through the deepest parts of her and left a warm tingle.

His laughter relaxed into an easy grin - one that suited him quite well, she noted - as he replied: "I'm afraid I'm about to flounder here."

Hermione's smile was slightly less confident as she admitted, "I'm terribly addicted to puns - as in: I'm addicted but terrible at them. I guess I'm just a fish out of water."

For some inexplicable reason, it seemed that a substantial weight had suddenly lifted from Snape's shoulders and he looked almost at ease. Almost.

He shrugged as he peeled the shells from the now boiled eggs and said nonchalantly, "It's refreshing to know there's at least one area in which you don't excel."

Two bombshells in as many minutes; she was in danger of hyperventilating. He'd just paid her a compliment -- one with no obvious backhanded slap to it.

Who was this man and what had he done with the real Severus Snape?

As they sat down to eat, she used his comment to segue into an off-handed joke about her inability to sleep last night. His apparently genuine interest in the dream that had woken her led Hermione to take huge leap of faith in his trustworthiness; she outlined the recurrent theme of having forgotten to attend a crucial class for an entire school year.

The fact that he was not only sympathetic to the fear revealed by her dream but claimed that he had his own recurrent school-related nightmare truly warmed her heart. She had no doubt that given his history the kind of dreams that would keep Severus Snape awake at night made the word "nightmare" horribly inadequate. Still, she appreciated his effort to ease her embarrassment and she laughed outright at his claim that the one dream that caused him to bolt out of his bed in a blind panic revolved around being condemned to teach first year Gryffindor/Slytherin double potions classes every day for the rest of his life.

After lunch, they washed, dried and put away the dishes. To a casual observer, the silence between them may have seemed uncomfortable but to the two solitary individuals, it felt right, somehow; accepting and easy.

They moved into the living room to read. In addition to the two daily newspapers, Hermione subscribed to "The Economist," "New Scientist" and, interestingly, "The Tatler". They remained largely silent except for the occasional "Oh, you'll love this --" or "Have you heard --?" Both were pleasantly surprised at how natural it felt to simply sit in the same room and read.

By midway through the afternoon, Hermione's yawns had become so frequent that Severus finally slapped his magazine shut, grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her up the stairs. At the landing, he literally shoved her toward her room with an admonishment to get some sleep or he'd drug her with some primitive Muggle concoction that would have a particularly nasty and long- lived after-effect.

She turned in the doorway to her room to apologize for being a poor hostess, her smile vulnerable and sheepish. Something about her unguarded expression and sincere apology hit a previously undiscovered nerve in Severus' heart and it triggered an involuntary response in him: he leaned in and kissed her gently on her forehead.

The fact that she didn't slap his face was either testament to her profound fatigue or the first sign of something deeper. This realization hit Snape as he was halfway down the stairs; he chose to push any further thoughts regarding the situation to the furthest recesses of his mind and headed to the kitchen to wash the chicken in preparation for dinner.

Something was tickling her nose. It wasn't Crookshanks; bless him, he'd passed away during her seventh year at Hogwarts, almost one year to the day from when he'd sent Mrs. Norris to her eternal reward in a blaze of carnal glory. It wasn't her hair; she'd plaited it and it was still firmly held in its thick weave. It was the smell of sautéing onions.

Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, convinced that someone had broken into her house and was going to . what? Cook her to death? A moment later, she remembered that Professor Snape - Severus - was staying with her and was likely the reason for the savory odor.

A luxurious stretch and a glance at the bedside clock got her moving. She didn't want to miss any additional cooking tutorials so she twitched off the quilt that had covered her and headed downstairs.

It could only have been because she was in her stocking feet combined with the loud snapping staccato of onions in the pan. Given the Potions Master's history as a Death Eater and a spy, there was no way a not-quite 20 year old girl could sneak up on him. Still, he seemed completely unaware that Hermione was watching him from the doorway.

He was tall. That was hardly a surprise. Even during her first year, when everyone had towered over her, it had been obvious that he was taller than nearly anyone else at Hogwarts with the obvious exception of Hagrid. The surprising thing about him now, standing at her stove, was how lithe he was. Snape had always had a dangerously predatory bearing at school, but here - relaxed and not braced for catastrophe or torture - his movements were balletic; almost feline.

Hermione cleared her throat softly as she moved into the kitchen. She'd honestly been reluctant to give up her surveillance but she didn't want to forego the opportunity to learn to make her favorite dish. As it seemed she'd already missed several steps, she decided to make her presence known and moved to stand at his right elbow.

True to his promise (or threat, as she'd originally taken it), Severus turned the wooden spoon over to Hermione and led her through the steps of making roast chicken. By the time they sat down to eat, her face was flushed and several strands of hair had plastered themselves to her neck which had grown moist from the combined heat of the kitchen and her own nervousness.

Severus took the carving knife and fork. Piercing the crispy skin of the chicken, he arched an eyebrow at Hermione who was nervously chewing her lower lip as he began to slice. Clear juices ran down the side of the bird and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; at least the meat was cooked through.

She placed a few roasted potatoes and some steamed broccoli on each of their plates as he worked through the carving process with surgical precision. Several slices of chicken and a generous helping of bread stuffing and gravy in addition to the vegetables made their meal look like some photographic layout of a traditional English supper. As delectable as it looked, it was nothing compared to how it tasted.

"My compliments to the chef," Snape said after taking a bite of chicken. His eyes held the smile behind his words.

"I can't take the credit," she said softly. "I was lucky enough to be taught by one of the best." Her eyes held his steadily but the flush to her face deepened. A few moments of silence from the once overly talkative girl gave the compliment an eloquence he hadn't expected.

After they'd eaten the last morsel of food their bodies could contain, Severus broached the subject of computers. Hermione had been shocked that he'd known anything about the completely Muggle device. He'd obviously read a good deal about them and was even able to make a snarky comment about the Yank responsible for marketing the touchy and ubiquitous operating system most personal computers used.

So, after he guided her through the steps of setting the chicken's water- covered carcass to simmer in a pot to make stock, Hermione led her former professor out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Given her parents' careers, a home office had never been a priority. There just wasn't much work a dentist could do at home; even the back office activities like updating patients' charts, billing, and correspondence were done at the practice.

In fact, the Granger's hadn't even had a computer at home until the summer before Hermione's seventh year, and then they'd only purchased a low-end model to use for email. It wasn't too long before they upgraded though. Hermione's dad had discovered fantasy role-playing and quickly became addicted to Everquest. Higher quality sound and graphics were suddenly important, as was a faster processor. He'd even gone so far as to get broadband access for the house.

All this meant that a nook in the living room had been converted into a modest but top-of-the-line computer center. A small walnut library table fit into a niche in the parlor that was unnoticeable unless you stepped into the room and turned around. The four foot wide, three foot deep recess in the otherwise square room was tucked between the arched doorway and the wall that separated it from the kitchen. It had probably been originally designed to hold a built-in bookshelf or curio cabinet. An old- fashioned leather seated walnut office chair was pushed under the edge of the table.

The computer and printer fit neatly onto the table, leaving just enough room for a small amount of paperwork and one Muggle photo of Hermione and her parents. Hermione brought one of the ladder-backed chairs in from the kitchen and set it next to the office chair, which she pulled out and motioned for Severus to occupy.

"Shouldn't you lead the way?" Snape asked. For the first time, Hermione recognized a bit of honest apprehension in his voice and the revelation that this man could be intimidated was both exhilarating and humbling to her. In all the time she'd known him, she'd never seen him genuinely nervous about anything. Even earlier today at the store - he'd been uncomfortable, but he knew how a free market economy worked; this was something else entirely and the fact that he'd let her see his discomfort brought a rush of some emotion she couldn't quite name.

As he sat in the larger chair, Hermione reached across and pointed to the small button at the base of the desktop, identifying the power switch for him. Snape had been in enough Muggle buildings to know about on/off switches. Telling him to "turn it on" brought a slight flush to both their cheeks. Hermione assumed his flush was from nerves; Severus assumed hers was from the pinot noir they'd had with supper.

The first truly awkward silence of the day occurred while the computer ran through its start-up routine. They were suddenly uncomfortably aware of the other's proximity and the more they noticed the silence, the less either could think to say.

Finally, the computer piped up with an upbeat tune - something jazzy that made Hermione grin. "It's 'The Peanuts' Theme' by Vince Guaraldi," she explained. At Severus' blank expression, she rolled her eyes and muttered, "It's a Muggle thing, you wouldn't understand."

An hour later, Severus felt like he'd been handed the keys to an incredible kingdom. At first, it had seemed as though everything had been in some foreign language that was nearly English but just different enough as to be largely unintelligible; rather like listening to Americans.

His innate desire to excel combined with his fear that Hermione would use her superior knowledge and experience to belittle him, resulted in a rush of adrenaline the likes of which he hadn't felt since confronting Voldemort on the battlefield. He tried to remind himself that this was hardly a life- or-death issue, but his body's response to feeling overwhelmed was sending his heart into overdrive and he prayed she wouldn't notice the thin film of perspiration that had broken across his brow.

Of course she had noticed it. It would have been virtually impossible not to see that his hands trembled in almost exactly the same way hers had when he'd told her to baste the chicken just a few hours earlier. In fact, based on her recent experience, Hermione was willing to bet a substantial amount of money that there was a trail of sweat running down his back right now. Hers had only recently evaporated, leaving her feeling a little sticky but definitely smug.

Tempting as it was to give the man a taste of his own pedagogical medicine, she knew her heart wouldn't be in it and there was no way to be half- heartedly intimidating. Besides, she reasoned, this might be her chance to demonstrate some alternative instructional methods - alternative to his usual terror, sarcasm and scorn, anyway.

Hermione was pleased that Severus already had a fairly good grasp on the memory and storage system of the computer; his analogy to a library or a well-stocked set of file drawers was apt and reflected the reading he'd done. The internet, however, was a bit more of a challenge.

The idea that there was no regulatory authority, no one limiting what could be published - not even an economic barrier - came as a shock to him. No matter how many different ways he tried to pose the question, the answer came back the same: anyone could post just about anything for everyone to see.

"What if it isn't true?" Even though it was unintentional, Snape was doing his best impersonation of a dunderhead on this issue.

Hermione sighed and repeated - still patient but with a definite edge to her voice - "It doesn't matter, Severus. Think of it as graffiti; anyone can scribble something onto a wall. This wall just happens to be electronic and viewable by anyone with a computer." He shook his head and continued to look down the list of internet addresses that claimed to have the cure for lycanthropy.

For the next hour, she tried to demonstrate the answer to his question in every way she could imagine. Having already found the list of sites that fraudulently claimed to be able to deliver werewolves from their curse, she tried showing him websites the included suggestions on avoiding false internet claims or schemes.

She had thought to compare some of the unsolicited email to the junk post he'd seen earlier in the day but given the difficulty he had believing that companies would waste money sending unsolicited mail - much less sending mail that was unlikely to be read by anyone other than the refuse collector - she gave up on that idea.

She finally pinched the bridge of her nose in a frighteningly accurate depiction of an exhausted Potions professor at the end of a long day. He caught sight of her and chuckled. For a moment, Hermione was horrified; now he'd never believe there was a better way to teach.

His comment, then, came as quite a surprise: "Interesting. After nearly two hours of this frustrating endeavor, you appear to feel just as exhausted and exasperated as I do after teaching, but it took you about an hour and a half longer than it would have taken me. You were able to apply your mind to different ways of getting your point across to me. I would have spent all that mental effort concocting new and ever-more cutting insults and threats. Your methods may indeed have value I hadn't considered."

She hit him. Hard.

"Severus! You were playing at being thick-headed this whole time?"

"I wish I could claim that were entirely true. Unfortunately, I apparently am thick-headed when it comes to certain aspects of this contraption and the internet. I am, however, rather brilliant at observing and predicting the behavior of well-meaning Gryffindors." Snape's smile had none of its usual poisonous smirk to it though, leaving her with the impression that he'd managed to make fun of both of them equally.

All in all, it had been a successful venture.