The days passed pretty quickly from that point on, surprisingly enough. Dumbledore left me in Molly Weasley's capable hands as far as getting what few belongings I had moved into the cottage and I didn't see him again for some time.
In the meantime, I made a daytrip into London to see my therapist and let her know of my change of address. Just before leaving, I was poking around in an old junk shop and came upon a ancient treadle sewing machine. It was filthy, but when I turned the mechanism, the needlebar moved easily. An impulse I couldn't explain took over and 30 minutes later I was dragging The Beast behind me on a luggage cart back to the train station. The shop owner was going to bring up the treadle cabinet and irons on his next visit to the district.
Molly met me at the station, having just dropped off her numerous children for the train to Hogwarts. "What on earth…?"
"It's a sewing machine. My grandmother used to have one like it and she let me play with it. I thought it might be fun to see if I can get it working again."
"Don't you dare let Arthur at it!"
I laughed, remembering his discovery of my Rubik's cube. I'd used it as part of my therapy after the accident and after a week of it occupying his every free moment, Molly had threatened me bodily if I gave him any more gadgets.
I had it in pieces, while I cleaned decades of old oil and gunk from the machine when there came a knock at the cottage door a day or two later. I wasn't sure who or what I expected to greet me on the other side, but it wasn't the man who appeared. Up to now, my experience with magical people was positive. The people I'd met were friendly and helpful.
"I am Severus Snape. Professor Dumbledore told me that I will have the large bedroom in the front."
Severus Snape was not friendly. He could have been a reasonably decent looking guy without the scowl on his face. Or, you know, if he'd wash his hair occasionally.
"I'll be wanting tea in my room at 5."
It was the wrong thing to say. And then he compounded it.
"Preferably after you've washed."
I pointed to the right. "The kitchen is in there. Feel free to use my groceries this evening until you can buy your own. When you have your tea is entirely up to you, but you might want to buy a tea kettle when you're out buying your groceries, because I don't have one. I usually eat dinner around 6 or so. If you have a preference, however, I'm flexible and will arrange my meals around yours, leaving the kitchen free. For you. To cook your dinner."
His eyes widened as I spoke, and I seriously thought his head would explode by the time I was done.
"I'm not your maid or your cook. And I don't expect you to be mine. Nor my best friend, as far as that goes. But if you can't manage basic civility, then keep your conversation to a minimum, as my temper is on a really short fuse these days."
With that, I spun on my heel and stalked back to the table where the sewing machine waited, sat down and resumed cleaning the presser foot. He muttered something and I heard the front bedroom door slam.
Well. That went well. I sighed and looked at the clock. It was 4:30, so I gathered up the sewing machine and its parts and cleared them off the table and then cleaned the top. I had no intention of serving that asshole tea, but I figured he at least deserved space to serve himself, and resolved to get a small worktable for the sitting room.
Glancing at my hands, I winced; yeah, it wouldn't kill me to renew my friendship with soap. The mirror in the bathroom drove that point home even more forcefully. Lord, love a puppy. The man was a dick, no question, but I couldn't really blame him for his 'washing up' comment. My face was streaked with grease and my hair? Just a mess. I'd pulled it back when I started working on the machine, but the cut of it wasn't quite long enough for a ponytail, so tendrils escaped everywhere and my attempts to sweep them off my face accomplished nothing more than transferring sewing machine oil. I sighed and set about making repairs to my face and hair.
Fifteen minutes later, I emerged, my face de-greased and my hair wrapped in a hand towel after a quick but vigorous washing in the bathroom sink. And just about knocked Snape down, as he was standing just outside the bathroom, waiting silently if not patiently.
"Sorry," I muttered.
I didn't catch what he said, voiced as it was under his breath, but the tone was pure contempt, so it wasn't really hard to guess the gist. It occurred to me that if he'd been traveling he might have been looking forward to washing up himself and I'd not even offered him the bathroom first. Sharing living quarters was obviously going to take some getting used to.
I decided to cut the man some slack and headed to my own bedroom. I had some exercises my physical therapist wanted me to do every day and it would give Snape a chance to settle in without me hounding his every move in the meantime. Besides, I was increasingly convinced I owed him an apology for hogging the bathroom and it wasn't sitting well.
An hour later, I headed back downstairs, dressed for my evening walk, to find Snape in the sitting room. A fire had been built in the fireplace and I fleetingly hoped the chimney was clean enough not to ignite. I didn't dwell on that bit though because there was a tripod of sorts I'd never seen before set up IN the fireplace upon which a kettle was announcing that the water was ready. And I don't mean it was whistling, either.
"Your water is ready, Professor." is what it said. The teapot.
I could have made a sound; it might be why Snape turned to notice me in the doorway. He arched an eyebrow with the clear message of triumph. Or smirking. Or something. I don't really know because I was still processing the whole Talking Teapot bit. I know I felt like an idiot and he looked happy, or at least as happy as I'd seen him to that point.
"I'm gonna go for a walk." I muttered inanely and left the house, my Walkman clutched in my hands uselessly for at least the first mile before I realized it. I finally sighed, put the earphones on and continued my usual evening route.