Even though that might not be a bad idea. Just to see how she reacted. Just to see if she truly was what he thought she would be. Just to see what her reactions would be. Just to see if she felt something at all. In the morning because Eleanor and reason had won, in the end.
.
She could feel them falling asleep in her bed, all three of them and somehow, that made her feel protected and safe. And loved. Honestly, if Snape couldn't or wouldn't or didn't love her, those three did. They had asked an almost crying girl what was wrong and she knew that this took a lot of courage for men. She knew and it made her smile to know that they had dared to still.
She could hear them snoring all through the night and knew that she would never sleep in one bed, or one room, with all three of them again. Ever. In her life.
And by around five, when miraculously, all three of them had stopped snoring for a moment, she had fallen asleep as well. More or less happy. More or less alright with the fact that she had made a mistake and that life, whatever it would be like, could go on.
Maybe, she had thought just before falling asleep, she would even one day tell Snape that she had once felt something for him. Not yet though, not yet. For now, it was alright to have three boys looking after her. Even if they did snore.
.
Like any good Slytherin, he had a plan. It was a good plan but unlike any good Slytherin, he wasn't sure it would work. He had, so far in his life, never tried a similar plan but by the time he had reached the outskirts of Manchester, he had the outline and by the time he reached the outskirts of London, he was done fine-tuning it. He had even practised a few sentences in his head — something he had never done before.
So, at least he was sure about what he would do initially as he stood in front of the door he never thought he would see again and, clearing, emptying his mind without employing Occlumency (he didn't know what it would do to him should he use it again), he used the knocker on 12 Grimmauld Place.
84. The Localisation View
The localisation view is one way of saying that our linguistic abilities have identifiable locations in the brain. However, it is invariably argued by other involved in the study of the brain that there is a lot of evidence which does not support the view. Any damage to one are of the brain appears to have repercussions in other areas. Consequently, we should be rather cautious about assigning highly specific connections between particular aspects of linguistic behaviour and sites on the wrinkled grey matter inside the head.
(Yule, 1996)
Who in the name of everything that was good and holy knocked at the door that early in the day, Ron mused grumpily. And why, he mused further, did he seem to be the only one hearing it? Hermione wasn't in her bed anymore and it was only Harry and Teddy, and both of them rivalling each other with their snoring.
He rubbed his eyes as he stumbled down the stairs. Probably Hermione had gone out to get some breakfast. But she had a key. And if she had forgot that, she could have always spelled the door open. The house knew her.
Or probably she had ordered something again from the infernal Inta-Ned. She did that often and she was never at home to get her own parcels. From what he knew from Ginny, girls when they were feeling down, often indulged in spending too much money. Instead of saving for a better broom, or a rainy day, they spent it on shoes and clothes and in Hermione's case, books.
He pulled the rumpled t-shirt as straight as he could (what had they been thinking to all sleep in Hermione's bed?) and tried to massage the knot in his neck (what had they been thinking?) and kept his wand low by his side, hidden by the door, as he opened it.
"Snape," he exclaimed in surprise — but his voice, he knew, still carried the deep, groany tone one usually had after sleep.
"Your powers of observation are quite astute, Mr Weasley," the man answered with an evil smirk. "Fallen out of bed that late in the day?"
Ron rubbed his eyes again. Snape. Almost not making fun of him. Almost not insulting him. Almost. Ron was getting more awake by the second and this, somehow, was his chance. He had no idea how to contact Snape without giving away that he wanted to talk to the man but the man had, obviously, quite out of his own free will, walked into their house and this, Ron knew, was his chance.
"Is there something in particular you want?" he asked, clearing his throat afterwards. His voice still sounded too scratchy.
"I'd like to see your flatmate, Mr Weasley," he replied immediately.
"Harry is still sleeping," Ron said with an arched eyebrow and knowing full well that he probably hadn't meant Harry.
"As always, Weasley, as always."
"As always what?"
"The other flatmate," he sounded almost bored.
"I don't know where she is but I assume she went to get breakfast. Would you like to wait in the meantime? I'm sure you remember where the kitchen is?"
Snape stared at him as if he had suddenly begun growing another head. Well, it couldn't hurt to be rather polite to him now. He had the talk coming in any case. With a nod of his head, and just as Ron had hoped, he strode towards the kitchen. Ron smirked. Yep, he was getting his talk and Snape had to listen. No matter what, Snape had to listen to him speak. For probably the first time in his life.
He followed him quickly and with a few waves of his wand, the kettle was on the stove and the rest of the tea-things on the table.
"So, any chance of you telling me why you want to see Hermione?" he asked conversationally and Snape glared. Bloody bastard just glared.
"None," he said smoothly.
"Good. Because there are a few things I have to tell you. You listen or you will never get to see her again."
Snape stood up and glared. Even in Muggle clothing and without a wand in his hand, he still managed to look very intimidating. Very.
"Hermione cried because of you and I don't like to see her cry," he blurted out.
"Excuse me?" Snape turned towards him with his glare.
"She cried because of you. And you and I both know that she might be saying it's only a crush but she's fully blown in love with you. I don't like it but I like it even less that you make her cry. We are not together and I have absolutely no claim on her and I don't even want it but she's my bloody best friend and I want to see her happy. If you make her cry, she's unhappy and I do. Not. Like. That."
"She cried?" Snape asked voicelessly and very softly.
"Yeah and whatever you did, you better apologise to her because she shouldn't cry," he said hotly and looked at the kettle. It was one thing to think about talking like this to Snape and quite another to actually do it. It seemed, he thought, that he had run out of steam now completely. Completely. Utterly. And Snape would surely kill him. He didn't need a wand for that.
"She cried?" Snape asked again. "When?"
"Last night and for all I know the night before and the night before. She eats right but only because we make her and I doubt she sleeps a lot. Whatever you have done..."
Snape arched an eyebrow and sat down. He looked rather surprised. Looked like he wanted to ask something but didn't dare. Strange, he thought.
"Good morning," Harry and Teddy on his arm entered the kitchen as he poured the boiling water in the pot of tea and he only heard Teddy's happy giggle. When he turned around again to look at Snape and Harry, Teddy had seemed to converted back into a strange Snape-look-alike form. Without the scowl or the arched eyebrow.
Snape just sat and looked at Harry and at Teddy but said nothing.
"If you hurt her, I will kill you. Or at least try," Ron said quickly before his courage left him completely.
"She is quite unhappy, sir," Harry said and bounced the Snape-look-alike Teddy on his knee. "And she was always the strongest of us. Sure, she cries from time to time but I figure that's what girls do but she was at it for more than an hour last night. And that was only what Kreacher could tell us. For all we know, she might have been crying even longer."
Snape said nothing. His face was the usual mask Ron remembered from school but suddenly, he cleared his throat and dragged his eyes away from Teddy and up to Harry's.
"What makes you both assume that it was me who made her cry?" he asked, his tone soft and silky.
"Because she's in bloody love with you," Ron cried out. "Nobody else, you..."
"I found letter of hers, for you in her room," said Harry. "And even if you didn't know before how she felt, now you do and if you don't feel the same way, just...leave her be. We can pick up the pieces but we cannot built ourselves an entirely new Hermione."
.
His entire beautifully concocted plan — he felt if being swept out of the window, no, thrown out of the window by Weasley and Potter.
What the hell were they saying? Granger in love with him? Having a crush on him? Crying because of him? How many women had he ever made cry in his entire life? And how many in just the span of a day or two? Granger was crying because of him?
Those two idiotic dunderheads were surely playing a trick on him. They were messing with his mind or he was overtired and shouldn't have left Manchester at around four thirty that morning. He had misunderstood them. Most likely. Or they were telling the truth, like any loyal Gryffindor with a protective streak and a Hufflepuffian way about them would do.
But if Granger had a crush on him, it changed the entire matter. This plan, his beautiful plan would not work on her. Or maybe it would, but quicker. Maybe he could speed things up a little if she felt...something for him.
What was it that Weasley had said? And you and I both know that she might be saying it's only a crush but she's fully blown in love with you. If that had been his friend, he most certainly wouldn't survive the next few minutes. Not for giving away such a secret. Or maybe it wasn't a secret if she had told them she had a crush. A crush. On him.
Utterly ridiculous. And at the same time, no. She had gushed, hadn't she? She had always helped him, had always emailed back immediately. She had always been there when he had, in any way, needed her. And she had gushed. She had helped him and...
It was the same thought process but now...Weasley had confirmed it, hadn't he? His head was spinning with all that had been said. Those two boys had actually delivered him the answer, the entire answer, on a silver platter.
But why exactly had he made her cry? The last time he had seen her, the last time he had any kind of contact with her, he had hugged her, hadn't he? He had hugged her. She hadn't called afterwards and he had been too deep in his Occlumency that he hadn't even considered doing it himself. Why had she cried? The day before as well? He had nothing to do with the day before. He had spent his day first being locked in in his brain and then being cried on by an old woman.
Ah, yes, he could definitely tell those idiotic boys that. The magical properties of non-Magic humans. There had been something magical about it, he knew and apart from the way he wanted to see how she reacted to — well, stress — this was one thing he wanted to research. If Eleanor's tears had helped him break down his walls, there was some kind of power behind them for sure. And Granger was the one who could look through books quickest and most thorough.
But back to the topic at hand. It hadn't been in him to make her cry. It couldn't be. Not the day before. He had done nothing the day before. Or any time in the last few weeks at all. He had tried to be nice to her.
"What makes you both assume that it was me who made her cry?" he asked dangerously.
"Because she's in bloody love with you," Weasley cried out. "Nobody else, you..."
"I found letter of hers, for you in her room," said Potter. "And even if you didn't know before how she felt, now you do and if you don't feel the same way, just...leave her be. We can pick up the pieces but we cannot built ourselves an entirely new Hermione."
He didn't want to hurt her. Why did those two idiots think he would hurt her on purpose? Ah, yes, his track record. He had revelled in the fact that he could even make NEWT students cry. And if all of the rest worked out — not his private but his professional life — he would be teaching again by the beginning of the coming year. And maybe, he thought, he could still make those Uni students cry. Actually, he didn't doubt that he could. But making someone who was in his head, who had been one of the first to re-emerge after his Occlumency-fit, wasn't on. He couldn't.
He had never made Lily cry. At least not that he knew off. Maybe his one remark had done it — but then again, she hadn't shown him one weakness ever. She hadn't been the same as Granger was and he liked that particular fact. More than he cared to admit.
He had made Eleanor cry (even though he hadn't been aware of it at the time and hadn't, at the time, understood why she had cried over him) and understanding that had hurt. Hurt a lot. Not that he cared more for Granger than he did for Eleanor, but...still.
He had to get to the bottom of this. And the only way to find out what it had really been was — her. She had to tell him. They wouldn't have to talk about that but he would have to observe her. And his entire plan was, while jumbled around, in his head again.
He couldn't reply to anything Potter said without any real confirmation before his eyes, so he only sipped his tea and looked at the two idiots sitting opposite him.
The child looked — odd though. Like a spitting copy of him. Well, he hadn't looked like that when he had been this young (he had been, as one or two photos could attest), he had been more chubby and with a head of curly hair. Not that he wanted to be reminded of that time. But the pup, the metamorphmagus pup looked like him and Severus couldn't take his eyes off him for a while.
When he scowled, the toddler tried to scowl. When he arched his eyebrows, the pup did. When he raised his finger on the table, the child did as well. This was rather — interesting. And entertaining.
He hadn't been around small children. True, he had seen the wolf's child a few times when Granger had seen Aideen and had brought him with her but other than that...no children. Did all children mimic what you did? Curious. When he smirked, the child smirked and it looked rather like his. He grimaced and the child grimaced.
Potter sniggered and that ended all games he had been playing with the pup. Had almost forgot, for a second, that those two idiots were sitting there with him. Observing him.
Well, he figured, if Granger truly felt something for him and if he could, somehow, convince himself, or could be persuaded (not that it possibly needed a lot to persuade him), those two were a major obstacle. They were her friends. And their opinion, as stupid as it was, probably mattered to her. A lot. But if he entertained the pup, and the pup was loved by both Weasley and Potter, he could just maybe sway their opinion on him. If it needed to be swayed.
