Disclaimer: yet again I do not own any of these characters except Ailie,
but boy do I have naughty dreams about some of them.
Chapter Twenty-Two- Bucketing down
Hermione Granger stood in the centre of her rooms, her mind filled with only one thought: I will not cry. Her breath still came in gasps from the run she had had all the way up the stairs from outside; her ears still rung with the involuntary slamming of her door in haste. She breathed in, and thought: I will not cry. She bit her lip, and thought: I will NOT cry. I will not cry, I won't let him make me cry...
A sob rose from deep in her chest, and she thought: damn. I'm crying.
As she crumpled to the floor, the logical part of her mind thought, this is okay. Release in tears is a natural and healthy way to cope with emotional stress. This crying session has probably been building up for some time, and it will do us some good.
The rest of her thought, Oh, do shut up, you stupid prat.
It hadn't even been three months in to her first term at Hogwarts when she had made a pact with herself that Professor Snape wouldn't make her cry. He doesn't deserve it, Hermione, she had thought to herself. If you cry, he wins. Of course, over the years that pact had been broken, many times, but all in all she had felt good about her resistance. All the times he had been a complete bastard, she had stuck to her resolve, and bravely held the tears in. It had only been when he'd been unusually cruel that the tears had come out.
Now, with time for reflection, Hermione thought that perhaps it had been the conviction that he was a complete and irredeemable bastard that had enabled her to keep the tears in. During school, she had been surrounded by friends all eager to put the man down, ridicule him behind his back and make plans for revenge. It had been easier to cope with his nastiness then. She could just assume he was a monster.
Adulthood forced the realisation that he wasn't. He was a man- a particularly nasty man, yes, but just a man. Adulthood forced the realisation that the man was more affected by his past than would at first appear. Adulthood forced the realisation that he was human, in constant fear for his life, and under a lot of stress.
Adulthood sucked.
Because just when you'd accepted these things, he did something completely out of left field, something that made little sense and had connotations flying all over the place...
Hermione held her head in her hands as she leant, curled up, on the floor. It just wasn't fair. She had been coping well. Everything had seemed to settle down. Then, for some insane reason, she had decided to go for a walk before breakfast, and the Master of Malevolence had swept down in all his glory.
He hadn't made a comment at first, just looked at her until she had felt she had to say something. He had seemed impossibly angry- strangely so, as though there was something she had done to him that she was unaware of. The evening before had given her a handy weapon- she would never have guessed that Snape couldn't cope with being teased- and she had used it with the hope of disarming him. Not a good idea.
The worst thing was that there was something different, hiding beneath his usual biting remarks and cutting tones. He had rebuked her for her behaviour the evening before, not perhaps a wholly unexpected turn. He had then made some reference to the dangers of alcohol, and her behaviour when around it- something that truly puzzled her, prompting her question...
'Just what are you getting at, Snape?'
Hermione had learnt then that it is never, never a good idea to ask someone who actively dislikes you to reveal exactly what they think is wrong with you.
The next bit of the conversation was a bit of a blur, basically because she hadn't stayed long before running off in tears. Well, running off while trying to stop tears. She had an idea that Ailie had somehow transmitted what had happened at the club in London into Snape's brain. Snape had mentioned something about Sirius, if 'that damned Black' could be interpreted as such- she didn't think he was making a racist slur on someone. He had also, with his usual delicacy of word choice, called her what amounted to 'slut.'
Which was totally unfair. 'Mudblood' she could deal with- it was a bad way of describing what she essentially was. 'Geek,' 'nerd,' 'know-it- all;' these had similar justice. Hell, even 'frigid' would be a more just (though totally unfounded) term than- than-
She couldn't even bring herself to think about it.
Oh, he hadn't actually said the word. He'd more looked it. It had been in his eyes, oh-so-eloquent pools of nastiness that they were. He'd merely mentioned her 'behaviour'. He'd merely made her feel about as low as a parasite on a worm.
As though the situation wasn't bad enough, his total overreaction to behaviour that wasn't unbecoming a healthy young woman had left her abominably confused. He'd acted almost like a jealous lover- his every undertone had seemed to reprimand her for betraying a lover's faithfulness. Yet how could that be?
Worn out, Hermione rose from the floor, wiping her cheeks free of wetness. she made her way to her bathroom, avoiding the gaze of the mirror, and splashed some cold water over her face. A few deflating charms made the facade in the mirror easier to cope with- the worst part of crying, she had always thought, was that it made you look like you hadn't slept in three weeks and had the flu- and walked back out into the sitting room. Wasted adrenalin from the argument still flowed in her veins, and she moved to stand and stare out of the window.
Modesty might dictate that Snape was no more than an unfeeling bastard, but the logical part of Hermione's brain told her that such an argument as the one they had just had had nothing to do with disinterest. Snape was not one to get involved in personal matters; it just wasn't his style. If he made personal references, accusations, it had to mean something...
'Unless I disgust him so completely,' Hermione said aloud, sadly. It was entirely plausible. The poor man had been forced to dream about her, his subconscious throwing up the only young female it was acquainted with when the situation called for it. It was possible that he was disgusted by it, and her ensuing behaviour. He had never given her any reason to think he was even attracted to her.
But why the possessive tone, the hurt look in his eyes? Some part of Hermione steadfastly refused to believe that those actions had come from disgust. Those two things had been the marks of a lover, the logical part of her brain whispered. They came from jealousy.
Oh, do shut up, she thought. She clenched her hands on the stone of the windowsill. I am not pleased by the thought of Severus Snape being jealous because of me. I am *not*.
She looked at the clock. There was just enough time to get ready before breakfast. Quickly, Hermione retreated to her room, grabbing robes for the day and brushing her hair into some semblance of neatness. She didn't notice that she left it down, unusual for a teaching day. Nor did she notice, as she grabbed a handy book and strode out the door, that she was wearing the startlingly blue velvet robes she had bought in Hogsmeade, a few weeks before.
***
Hermione didn't take much notice of the thin reason for the new seating arrangements, but Ailie did. When she approached the breakfast table that morning, she noted that Professor Flitwick was, momentarily, she assumed, sitting in Hermione's usual place. When her friend strode in ten minutes late (looking, Ailie thought, absolutely gorgeous in those new blue robes of hers) , an explanation had been offered by a smiling Flitwick and Hooch; the two professors were investigating a new type of charm for broomsticks and would need to spend mealtimes discussing various aspects of their project. Ailie almost snorted; that two professors, whose classes finished at four in the afternoon, couldn't find any time to talk other than a noisy meal time, was ridiculous. Hermione merely suppressed a groan as she saw she would be seated between Snape and Sprout, and with admirable calm made her way to her new seat.
Ailie cautiously spent the rest of the meal ascertaining who had been behind this particular trick. She had her suspicions, and they were more than confirmed through the duration of the meal. For a start, Professor Sprout seemed inordinately interested in everything Professor Sinistra had to say; most suspicious. She also sent subtle glances in McGonagall's direction from time to time, and the deputy headmistress seemed rather interested in the painting behind Snape's ear; Ailie was rather disappointed in their obviousness. Hooch, she noted, also occasionally looked Snapewards, and Poppy, on the other side of Snape, shared a few smiles with Sprout.
Luckily, the two objects of their observance were too caught up in ignoring each other to notice. Ailie saw the disappointment in Madam Pomfrey's eyes as Hermione left the table and the two subjects had not yet said a word. She smiled to herself; they tried to set up such people as Snape and Hermione and expected immediate results?
When Minerva and Hooch rose to leave the table, Ailie also rose. She caught up with them in the hallway.
'You guys had better be a little less obvious,' she said, as she passed. The two teachers stared at her, and she shrugged. 'Snape's not an idiot, you know.' She chuckled as she headed for her rooms.
***
Regardless of Ailie's opinion, Snape had been feeling a bit of an idiot, or as much of an idiot as his pride would allow, at the breakfast table. This morning's... conversation with Granger had startled him. He hadn't noticed the strength of his ire when he was around her- a dangerous thing when he had the unfortunate habit of meeting the girl in odd and isolated places.
It had been unfortunate indeed. The argument had disturbed him. While quiet fury wasn't exactly out of character, the strength and swiftness of his anger was completely unusual, as was the reason for his anger. Who was he to mind if Granger made free with her affections? Such behaviour in a colleague did reflect badly on the school, yes, but really it wasn't his problem if some little Gryffindor slattern wanted to kiss all the men in London and that damned mongrel Black to her heart's content. Damn the girl anyway.
Maybe he should apologise...
Ill. He was definitely ill, he decided, making a mental note to have his regular check-up early this year.
His thoughts were disturbed by a movement to his left, and a glimpse of telltale curly brown hair in his peripheral vision. His frown deepened. He had vaguely noticed, in some part of his brain not occupied with his inner tirade, that Filibus Flitwick had not arrived at the breakfast table, but the last thing he expected was for Granger to take his place. A swift glance to her usual spot solved the problem- Filibus was deeply engaged in conversation with Hooch, thus rendering it impossible for Hermione to take her usual seat. Clenching his teeth, Snape supposed he couldn't justifiably blame the Gryffindor toddler at his side for the inconvenience of having to avoid looking to his left for the duration of the meal. With unusual magnanimity, he decided not to treat her to his usual death glare- much better than an apology.
Thinking thus, Snape settled in to his meal, almost forgiving her for preventing him, by her presence, from reaching for the eggs, butter or mustard that were placed to his left.
After a while, Snape decided that some reconnoitering might be in order. After all, he had sent her off in tears this morning (had he really made her cry? He'd made her cry. And he was almost regretting it, too. It was definitely time for that check-up). His superb peripheral vision soon informed an image of a Hermione Granger who was not only outwardly composed but apparently inwardly composed as well. Snape's forehead furrowed once again, this time in confusion. She seemed perfectly fine.
Snape's frown deepened. Well, she had no right to be fine! Here he was, sitting here, feeling almost- but not quite- slightly bad about making her cry, and she had the nerve to turn up to breakfast looking absolutely edible and completely serene!
Resisting the urge to clench his fist, Snape composedly cut a piece of bacon into very, very small pieces and proceeded to eat. He was resisting the message his brain was sending him, that he had described Hermione Granger as edible. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to stay angry at her, and wanted her to be upset and timid and definitely not sitting at his side calmly reading a book. With her lips slightly parted just *so* and a fork held in her delicate and graceful fingers. And her hair caressing her neck. Snape bit down unnecessarily hard on his mouthful of food, accidentally catching the inside of his cheek. A habit of a lifetime ensured that he showed no sign of pain, but somewhere inside him he wished he was the sort of person who could jump up and down and scream, or at least go 'ow.'
At that moment, Hermione put down her book. She appeared to be preparing to leave. Snape eased his tense hold on his fork. Now, perhaps, he could have a relaxing cup of luke-warm tea before classes began for the day. As Hermione stood up, however, and his hand was reaching for the tea- pot, Snape felt her lean close to his ear. He barely had time to frown at her before she began to speak.
'If you ever speak to me again as you did this morning, Snape,' she said, 'I will hex you until bits fall off.' With a cold and thoroughly un- Hermionelike smile, she turned and swept out the side door in a rustle of blue velvet. Snape stared at his hand, poised in mid-air over the tea-pot, for a moment, before gathering his senses and putting his hand back beside his plate.
Well, that had certainly been different.
Snape wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose, to prepare for his first class of the morning. Hermione's scent, as with all distinctive scents that came in close proximity of his well-trained senses, stayed with him.
***
Poppy Pomfrey shared a look with Professor Sprout as the dark potions master swept out of the dining hall. With unspoken agreement, they both rose and headed for the main hall.
'Well, that was a complete washout,' said Poppy. 'They didn't speak to each other the whole meal.'
'I suppose it's too much to hope that they were dashing off for a quick snog before classes,' said Sprout dismally.
'I know it's too much to hope for progress so soon,' added Poppy pensively, 'but I really did think there would be something. A 'good morning' at least.'
Sprout looked thoughtful. 'Well, there was something. Did you see Severus's face as he left the hall? I've never seen him with an expression like that before.'
'Yes, I see what you mean,' said Poppy. 'Sort of thoughtful, but surprised as well. Which is interesting, seeing as Hermione walked out of the hall with her nose up in the air- I would have though whatever she said to him was designed to set him off, rather than calm him down.'
'Did you notice the way Hermione was dressed this morning?' asked Sprout. 'Her hair all down and curly, and those robes as well. Almost like a young witch wanting to attract someone, hmm?'
Poppy smiled. 'Well, as Freya would say, I hope they get on with it. There's a danger the two of them will never do anything about it, at this rate.' Sprout nodded her head in sad agreement.
Little did the two witches know that soon, a small accident would further their cause far more than any of their plans.
Chapter Twenty-Two- Bucketing down
Hermione Granger stood in the centre of her rooms, her mind filled with only one thought: I will not cry. Her breath still came in gasps from the run she had had all the way up the stairs from outside; her ears still rung with the involuntary slamming of her door in haste. She breathed in, and thought: I will not cry. She bit her lip, and thought: I will NOT cry. I will not cry, I won't let him make me cry...
A sob rose from deep in her chest, and she thought: damn. I'm crying.
As she crumpled to the floor, the logical part of her mind thought, this is okay. Release in tears is a natural and healthy way to cope with emotional stress. This crying session has probably been building up for some time, and it will do us some good.
The rest of her thought, Oh, do shut up, you stupid prat.
It hadn't even been three months in to her first term at Hogwarts when she had made a pact with herself that Professor Snape wouldn't make her cry. He doesn't deserve it, Hermione, she had thought to herself. If you cry, he wins. Of course, over the years that pact had been broken, many times, but all in all she had felt good about her resistance. All the times he had been a complete bastard, she had stuck to her resolve, and bravely held the tears in. It had only been when he'd been unusually cruel that the tears had come out.
Now, with time for reflection, Hermione thought that perhaps it had been the conviction that he was a complete and irredeemable bastard that had enabled her to keep the tears in. During school, she had been surrounded by friends all eager to put the man down, ridicule him behind his back and make plans for revenge. It had been easier to cope with his nastiness then. She could just assume he was a monster.
Adulthood forced the realisation that he wasn't. He was a man- a particularly nasty man, yes, but just a man. Adulthood forced the realisation that the man was more affected by his past than would at first appear. Adulthood forced the realisation that he was human, in constant fear for his life, and under a lot of stress.
Adulthood sucked.
Because just when you'd accepted these things, he did something completely out of left field, something that made little sense and had connotations flying all over the place...
Hermione held her head in her hands as she leant, curled up, on the floor. It just wasn't fair. She had been coping well. Everything had seemed to settle down. Then, for some insane reason, she had decided to go for a walk before breakfast, and the Master of Malevolence had swept down in all his glory.
He hadn't made a comment at first, just looked at her until she had felt she had to say something. He had seemed impossibly angry- strangely so, as though there was something she had done to him that she was unaware of. The evening before had given her a handy weapon- she would never have guessed that Snape couldn't cope with being teased- and she had used it with the hope of disarming him. Not a good idea.
The worst thing was that there was something different, hiding beneath his usual biting remarks and cutting tones. He had rebuked her for her behaviour the evening before, not perhaps a wholly unexpected turn. He had then made some reference to the dangers of alcohol, and her behaviour when around it- something that truly puzzled her, prompting her question...
'Just what are you getting at, Snape?'
Hermione had learnt then that it is never, never a good idea to ask someone who actively dislikes you to reveal exactly what they think is wrong with you.
The next bit of the conversation was a bit of a blur, basically because she hadn't stayed long before running off in tears. Well, running off while trying to stop tears. She had an idea that Ailie had somehow transmitted what had happened at the club in London into Snape's brain. Snape had mentioned something about Sirius, if 'that damned Black' could be interpreted as such- she didn't think he was making a racist slur on someone. He had also, with his usual delicacy of word choice, called her what amounted to 'slut.'
Which was totally unfair. 'Mudblood' she could deal with- it was a bad way of describing what she essentially was. 'Geek,' 'nerd,' 'know-it- all;' these had similar justice. Hell, even 'frigid' would be a more just (though totally unfounded) term than- than-
She couldn't even bring herself to think about it.
Oh, he hadn't actually said the word. He'd more looked it. It had been in his eyes, oh-so-eloquent pools of nastiness that they were. He'd merely mentioned her 'behaviour'. He'd merely made her feel about as low as a parasite on a worm.
As though the situation wasn't bad enough, his total overreaction to behaviour that wasn't unbecoming a healthy young woman had left her abominably confused. He'd acted almost like a jealous lover- his every undertone had seemed to reprimand her for betraying a lover's faithfulness. Yet how could that be?
Worn out, Hermione rose from the floor, wiping her cheeks free of wetness. she made her way to her bathroom, avoiding the gaze of the mirror, and splashed some cold water over her face. A few deflating charms made the facade in the mirror easier to cope with- the worst part of crying, she had always thought, was that it made you look like you hadn't slept in three weeks and had the flu- and walked back out into the sitting room. Wasted adrenalin from the argument still flowed in her veins, and she moved to stand and stare out of the window.
Modesty might dictate that Snape was no more than an unfeeling bastard, but the logical part of Hermione's brain told her that such an argument as the one they had just had had nothing to do with disinterest. Snape was not one to get involved in personal matters; it just wasn't his style. If he made personal references, accusations, it had to mean something...
'Unless I disgust him so completely,' Hermione said aloud, sadly. It was entirely plausible. The poor man had been forced to dream about her, his subconscious throwing up the only young female it was acquainted with when the situation called for it. It was possible that he was disgusted by it, and her ensuing behaviour. He had never given her any reason to think he was even attracted to her.
But why the possessive tone, the hurt look in his eyes? Some part of Hermione steadfastly refused to believe that those actions had come from disgust. Those two things had been the marks of a lover, the logical part of her brain whispered. They came from jealousy.
Oh, do shut up, she thought. She clenched her hands on the stone of the windowsill. I am not pleased by the thought of Severus Snape being jealous because of me. I am *not*.
She looked at the clock. There was just enough time to get ready before breakfast. Quickly, Hermione retreated to her room, grabbing robes for the day and brushing her hair into some semblance of neatness. She didn't notice that she left it down, unusual for a teaching day. Nor did she notice, as she grabbed a handy book and strode out the door, that she was wearing the startlingly blue velvet robes she had bought in Hogsmeade, a few weeks before.
***
Hermione didn't take much notice of the thin reason for the new seating arrangements, but Ailie did. When she approached the breakfast table that morning, she noted that Professor Flitwick was, momentarily, she assumed, sitting in Hermione's usual place. When her friend strode in ten minutes late (looking, Ailie thought, absolutely gorgeous in those new blue robes of hers) , an explanation had been offered by a smiling Flitwick and Hooch; the two professors were investigating a new type of charm for broomsticks and would need to spend mealtimes discussing various aspects of their project. Ailie almost snorted; that two professors, whose classes finished at four in the afternoon, couldn't find any time to talk other than a noisy meal time, was ridiculous. Hermione merely suppressed a groan as she saw she would be seated between Snape and Sprout, and with admirable calm made her way to her new seat.
Ailie cautiously spent the rest of the meal ascertaining who had been behind this particular trick. She had her suspicions, and they were more than confirmed through the duration of the meal. For a start, Professor Sprout seemed inordinately interested in everything Professor Sinistra had to say; most suspicious. She also sent subtle glances in McGonagall's direction from time to time, and the deputy headmistress seemed rather interested in the painting behind Snape's ear; Ailie was rather disappointed in their obviousness. Hooch, she noted, also occasionally looked Snapewards, and Poppy, on the other side of Snape, shared a few smiles with Sprout.
Luckily, the two objects of their observance were too caught up in ignoring each other to notice. Ailie saw the disappointment in Madam Pomfrey's eyes as Hermione left the table and the two subjects had not yet said a word. She smiled to herself; they tried to set up such people as Snape and Hermione and expected immediate results?
When Minerva and Hooch rose to leave the table, Ailie also rose. She caught up with them in the hallway.
'You guys had better be a little less obvious,' she said, as she passed. The two teachers stared at her, and she shrugged. 'Snape's not an idiot, you know.' She chuckled as she headed for her rooms.
***
Regardless of Ailie's opinion, Snape had been feeling a bit of an idiot, or as much of an idiot as his pride would allow, at the breakfast table. This morning's... conversation with Granger had startled him. He hadn't noticed the strength of his ire when he was around her- a dangerous thing when he had the unfortunate habit of meeting the girl in odd and isolated places.
It had been unfortunate indeed. The argument had disturbed him. While quiet fury wasn't exactly out of character, the strength and swiftness of his anger was completely unusual, as was the reason for his anger. Who was he to mind if Granger made free with her affections? Such behaviour in a colleague did reflect badly on the school, yes, but really it wasn't his problem if some little Gryffindor slattern wanted to kiss all the men in London and that damned mongrel Black to her heart's content. Damn the girl anyway.
Maybe he should apologise...
Ill. He was definitely ill, he decided, making a mental note to have his regular check-up early this year.
His thoughts were disturbed by a movement to his left, and a glimpse of telltale curly brown hair in his peripheral vision. His frown deepened. He had vaguely noticed, in some part of his brain not occupied with his inner tirade, that Filibus Flitwick had not arrived at the breakfast table, but the last thing he expected was for Granger to take his place. A swift glance to her usual spot solved the problem- Filibus was deeply engaged in conversation with Hooch, thus rendering it impossible for Hermione to take her usual seat. Clenching his teeth, Snape supposed he couldn't justifiably blame the Gryffindor toddler at his side for the inconvenience of having to avoid looking to his left for the duration of the meal. With unusual magnanimity, he decided not to treat her to his usual death glare- much better than an apology.
Thinking thus, Snape settled in to his meal, almost forgiving her for preventing him, by her presence, from reaching for the eggs, butter or mustard that were placed to his left.
After a while, Snape decided that some reconnoitering might be in order. After all, he had sent her off in tears this morning (had he really made her cry? He'd made her cry. And he was almost regretting it, too. It was definitely time for that check-up). His superb peripheral vision soon informed an image of a Hermione Granger who was not only outwardly composed but apparently inwardly composed as well. Snape's forehead furrowed once again, this time in confusion. She seemed perfectly fine.
Snape's frown deepened. Well, she had no right to be fine! Here he was, sitting here, feeling almost- but not quite- slightly bad about making her cry, and she had the nerve to turn up to breakfast looking absolutely edible and completely serene!
Resisting the urge to clench his fist, Snape composedly cut a piece of bacon into very, very small pieces and proceeded to eat. He was resisting the message his brain was sending him, that he had described Hermione Granger as edible. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to stay angry at her, and wanted her to be upset and timid and definitely not sitting at his side calmly reading a book. With her lips slightly parted just *so* and a fork held in her delicate and graceful fingers. And her hair caressing her neck. Snape bit down unnecessarily hard on his mouthful of food, accidentally catching the inside of his cheek. A habit of a lifetime ensured that he showed no sign of pain, but somewhere inside him he wished he was the sort of person who could jump up and down and scream, or at least go 'ow.'
At that moment, Hermione put down her book. She appeared to be preparing to leave. Snape eased his tense hold on his fork. Now, perhaps, he could have a relaxing cup of luke-warm tea before classes began for the day. As Hermione stood up, however, and his hand was reaching for the tea- pot, Snape felt her lean close to his ear. He barely had time to frown at her before she began to speak.
'If you ever speak to me again as you did this morning, Snape,' she said, 'I will hex you until bits fall off.' With a cold and thoroughly un- Hermionelike smile, she turned and swept out the side door in a rustle of blue velvet. Snape stared at his hand, poised in mid-air over the tea-pot, for a moment, before gathering his senses and putting his hand back beside his plate.
Well, that had certainly been different.
Snape wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose, to prepare for his first class of the morning. Hermione's scent, as with all distinctive scents that came in close proximity of his well-trained senses, stayed with him.
***
Poppy Pomfrey shared a look with Professor Sprout as the dark potions master swept out of the dining hall. With unspoken agreement, they both rose and headed for the main hall.
'Well, that was a complete washout,' said Poppy. 'They didn't speak to each other the whole meal.'
'I suppose it's too much to hope that they were dashing off for a quick snog before classes,' said Sprout dismally.
'I know it's too much to hope for progress so soon,' added Poppy pensively, 'but I really did think there would be something. A 'good morning' at least.'
Sprout looked thoughtful. 'Well, there was something. Did you see Severus's face as he left the hall? I've never seen him with an expression like that before.'
'Yes, I see what you mean,' said Poppy. 'Sort of thoughtful, but surprised as well. Which is interesting, seeing as Hermione walked out of the hall with her nose up in the air- I would have though whatever she said to him was designed to set him off, rather than calm him down.'
'Did you notice the way Hermione was dressed this morning?' asked Sprout. 'Her hair all down and curly, and those robes as well. Almost like a young witch wanting to attract someone, hmm?'
Poppy smiled. 'Well, as Freya would say, I hope they get on with it. There's a danger the two of them will never do anything about it, at this rate.' Sprout nodded her head in sad agreement.
Little did the two witches know that soon, a small accident would further their cause far more than any of their plans.