"Miss Granger," an eerily familiar voice called out to her as she stepped out of Douglas' office. The tone wasn't overly familiar. She was trying to adjust to that voice saying her name as if he liked her. She glanced in his direction. "A moment, please."
"Of course," she said, finishing up her goodbyes with Douglas before walking to his office.
Had she done something wrong in between twelve hours at his house that ended in a good night kiss (two technically) and today that he was addressing her as Miss Granger? She hoped not.
"Um, good morning," she said. She sounded cautious, she knew it. She couldn't help it.
Had he changed his mind about letting her assist him? That would break her heart, she was pretty sure. She had no idea what she wanted to do when she was finished with her education, but teaching was a thought. She wanted to get some experience doing it before committing to that. She knew it was what Minerva was hoping for. So, Douglas' recommendation of her was exactly what she needed.
"Good morning," he said softly. "I apologize for taking you away from…"
"Oh we were done."
"All right. I wanted to be sure that we were all right."
She glanced up at him, tucking some hair behind her ear nervously. Did that mean he didn't think they were all right? Or he was truly making sure that she believed they were? She didn't know. She decided to approach it … safe.
"You're the one calling me Miss Granger."
"I was not sure…"
There was genuine concern in his eyes. At least that was what she thought she saw. They were so dark, it was difficult to read.
She shrugged, giving a shallow exhale. He wasn't any more certain than she was it seemed. That was good. (And maybe bad.) She'd debated on what to do this morning. Stop at his office and say hello? Do nothing? Not sure and not wanting to make him think she was insane enough to think a kiss good night meant more than it did, she'd stuck to her usual routine.
"I would have come to say good morning to you, but I wasn't sure you'd want me to do that. We're fine."
"That is a relief. I do not invite people to my home ordinarily."
"Oh, well, it's a lovely home, so I don't see why you wouldn't."
"I'm not a very social creature."
"I'm not really either," she said with a nod.
"I certainly don't make it a habit of kissing someone I've only just met."
"Do you regret doing it?" she asked, knowing she sounded a bit exposed with the question. She didn't make a habit of kissing people either.
"I do not."
"Neither do I, so we're good."
He nodded then, and seemed to … relax a bit. As if he was really concerned or worried.
Interesting.
She had his home phone number, but he'd given it to her with his address. As a reference, in case she got lost or something. The idea of calling him Sunday didn't occur to her, even if she spent a good portion of the day thinking about this man.
Was he Severus Snape?
How nice would it have been to be at school with someone as … precise and thorough in their research as this man was!
What would it be like to have Severus Snape tell her that her research was good?
"Good. Then. Would you like to have dinner this week?"
Her eyes widened.
"Maybe somewhere not my home."
"Oh," she said.
Was he asking her out on a date? She absolutely had no time for dating, but she really wanted him to be doing just that. Was that bad? She worked so hard to get to this point. She had to study to sit her NEWTs and then deal with her parents. Then she got Minerva and Filius' help in the university application process. She really didn't want to get distracted and disappoint them. Disappoint herself.
"I can see your mind working, Hermione," he said with a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. And a slight smile.
There was that hint of a dimple again.
He moved to sit at his desk, rolling up his shirt sleeve as he sat.
The sleeve on his left arm.
Where a very nicely done black panther tattoo was visible. It was stretching out on its side with what looked like a red black widow's spider marking on its chest. Its tail went up higher along his forearm and under the shirt sleeve to where she couldn't see the end of it. She presumed it ended at his bicep somewhere.
She looked from arm to arm, ensuring herself that she was seeing correctly.
It was his left arm.
Not his right.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes, sorry," she said, embarrassed this man had caught her staring at him.
Again.
"Your arm…"
What an idiotic thing to say.
"Don't like tattoos then? Or is it the scars?"
She hadn't even really noticed the scars. She had, but after the war. And having Harry as her best friend. Well, scars were not a foreign thing to her. Nor did they define a person in her mind.
"Oh, no, not at all. I didn't even notice them. The scars, I mean. I have no preference. I don't have any myself. Tattoos, I mean. I think it's more because I haven't thought of anything I want on my body permanently."
Well that was a rambling mess. His smile told her he was amused, and not thinking she was an idiot. That was a relief.
"You are sure?" He sounded truly … curious. Concerned.
"Yes."
"Not that there's anything I could do about either thing if that was a deal breaker, I suppose."
She laughed softly at that. She supposed there were people who would be shallow enough not to date someone because of a tattoo or a piercing.
Or scars.
"What inspired it?" she asked.
His lips pursed as he regarded the panther on his arm. He shook his head. His longer hair brushing along his shoulders as he did. Honestly, now that he mentioned the scars, she noticed them. The tattoo was very attention-grabbing, though, so she really hadn't paid them any mind.
"You know, I don't really recall anymore. You'd think I'd remember, but I've had it since," he shrugged. "I finished secondary school. So, 1978, I suppose. Something about what they symbolize: grace, protection, beauty, night, inner power, magic."
"And the hourglass?"
"I liked it," he said with a shrug.
"And you still like it?"
"I do," he said, running the tip of his index finger along the panther's back. "All this time later is what you're asking?"
"I didn't say that," she said, affronted he'd think she was implying that.
He chuckled then. "Were you born when I got it?"
"Mm, if you got it in 1978, no. Depending on when in 1978, I could have been an idea. My birthday's September nineteenth of ‘79, so presumably I was conceived shortly before Christmas."
"Presumably," he said, clearly amused.
"Well, I wasn't there," she said.
"Obviously. So, is that a yes to dinner?"
"You didn't actually specify what you were asking, but yes I could do dinner."
"Do you have a phone number? To call you when we are on our personal time to discuss a time and date?"
"Oh, sure," she said. "Um," she said, reaching into her backpack to look for something to write on and with.
"You could just ask me," he said, handing her a notepad and a pen.
"I know." She wrote her number on the notepad, handing it and the pen back to him.
"I will call you this evening, if that works."
"Oh, sure, yeah. I might be having dinner with a friend, but I have voicemail."
He handed her a piece of paper with, she presumed, his number on it.
"In case you didn't keep the one I gave you last week. I will leave a message if I get your voicemail. Anytime before eleven o'clock would be acceptable to return the call."
"Okay. That was really all that you wanted?"
"It was," he said.
"I thought…"
"That I'd changed my mind."
"Well, yes."
He stood then, closing the distance between them (not that there was that much distance between them in his office). He slid a hand to her jaw, tilting her head up a bit and she licked her lips instinctively. His eyes narrowed a bit at that as he lowered his mouth to hers. It was quick, but … nice.
Definitely a nice way to start the day.
"Thank you," she whispered, hoping that didn't sound ridiculous.
"Thank you. I will hopefully speak with you tonight then."
"Yes."
She shifted her backpack over her shoulder again and left his office then, sliding the paper with his number into the back pocket of her jeans. She'd put it in her phone once she got to her office.
Office was overselling it. It was her and two other graduate students sharing a windowless conference room. If they had a student they needed to meet with, they were out of luck for privacy, unless they were able to find an empty classroom to go to.
She set her backpack down in her designated area. They each had their own desk and a small conference table with a few chairs. It actually came in handy sometimes. Hermione knew one of the graduate students pretty well. The other one hadn't done their undergraduate work here, so she didn't really know him. She slid the piece of paper out of her back pocket and flipped open her phone to add his number to her contacts.
She took a moment after doing that to send Harry a text. He wouldn't get it until later, but he'd get it and call her. Or come over.
HE HAS A TATTOO ON HIS LEFT ARM.
He'd know who she was talking about. And why a tattoo on his left arm meant something.
"You okay, Hermione?" Toby asked. He was the one she did know fairly well.
"Yeah, why?" she asked.
"You look intense. More intense than usual anyway."
She smiled with a shake of her head. Other people saying that to her might be offensive, but he didn't mean it in a bad way. "Yeah, just thinking."
"When aren't you?"
"Mm," she said.
He'd kissed her again. That meant he was interested. Didn't it? He certainly hadn't kissed her today or the other night as if he was trying to get her out of her knickers immediately. He joked about their age difference, and it was … she guessed around twenty years if he was finishing school in 1978. So, evidently he didn't mind their age difference.
Did she?
She didn't think so, but she wasn't really thinking about him like that when she accepted his invitation to go to his house over the weekend. Despite Harry's teasing, she hadn't thought for a second he would be interested in her. That made her wonder why. They'd met twice. She could tell he had not been prepared for her to actually be as knowledgeable as she was. Was he so surprised that he was attracted to her?
That had never happened to her before! Usually it was the exact opposite.
One thing she did like.
Despite their age difference he didn't kiss her as if he'd kissed several dozens of women before her.
She liked that a lot.
Contrary to what most women seemed to like (according to what she heard anyway), she did not want a man who'd kicked dozens of tires. She didn't want someone completely clueless, but she didn't like the idea of being compared to dozens.
It was one of the reasons that it was never going to work with Viktor. They tried, more than once, after she'd started university. If he was in the area for quidditch, they'd go out on dates, but she was always left wondering who he was dating when he was in Russia or America or France, or wherever. She didn't want to get married tomorrow, but she wasn't a date around kind of girl either.
Time to get your mind off a man and get to work.
Though she did wonder where he'd take her for dinner. His house, what she saw of it anyway, was nice. Not Malfoy Manor nice, but impressive in its own right. The bowls and plates he'd served the salad, stew, and bread on weren't pristine china, but they were quality. The same with the flatware and glasses.
Not what she'd expect of someone who had never been married (that had come up when they were discussing what the family members of those being persecuted must have felt).
Really, Hermione, stop daydreaming and get to work.
*****
Harry was in her living room when she got home for the day. She suspected he would be. Technically, it was their living room. His name was on the lease. At first it was because he wasn't sure he wanted to live at Grimmauld Place. Now, when he clearly decided he did want to call Grimmauld Place home? Well, she just hadn't removed his name from the lease.
He followed her to her bedroom while she shed the sweater she'd worn in favor of a t-shirt for the evening since they were staying in. She eyed him as she adjusted her hair once the t-shirt was in place. He was resting his shoulder against the door jam, appearing casual. She knew that he wasn't, though.
"You really think it's him?"
He didn't sound as if he thought she was crazy. Anyone else would likely think she was crazy. Hell, she thought she was a little crazy for entertaining the notion.
Except her mind kept going back to the fact he had no portrait and that his body was never found.
"I don't know," she said. She met his eyes and sighed. "Think of what I did to my parents with no training and, really, little preparation."
Her parents were something she tried not to mention to Harry. He felt guilty because they'd died anyway. They were in a bad car accident. At least it had been fairly quick, from what she'd been told, and not been because they'd been tortured by death eaters. Or used as bait to get to her.
"You're right," he said with a nod.
"You can't tell anyone, Harry. I'm telling you this as Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend. I'm not telling you this as a female in distress reporting something to Auror Harry Potter."
"I know. I can keep my mouth shut until you tell me otherwise."
"Thank you," she said, glancing at her backpack. She pulled the slips of paper he'd written his address and phone number on. The one from today only had his phone number on it. "Does that look familiar to you?"
"It looks like an address and phone number," he said. "The same phone number." This was said about the second slip of paper.
"Thank you, Harry, whatever would I do without you?!"
"Okay, I don't know what you're asking me if that wasn't your question. Is there something I'm supposed to see?"
"He wrote it. I was hoping if he gave it to me he'd write something else. His name or something, but just numbers. His street name. I can't really … compare it to what I remember his handwriting to be."
"Oh. What about your notes on Saturday."
"He writes in a kind of shorthand, printing not cursive. So again hard to tell."
"Right."
"He asked me out, Harry. Like a date out. He's going to call me tonight to make plans because he didn't want to do it on campus."
He scratched his head, rubbing his forehead in the process. She recognized that look. He was about to say something he didn't think she'd like.
"Do you actually like him? Noah Davies, I mean? Or is it just a mystery to solve?"
"I don't know him well enough to know. I find him … interesting. He's smart, which I like. I don't get the impression he's dated a hundred graduate students. He's not Laurence Olivier attractive, but he is nice looking. And there's something about him," she shrugged.
"Yeah, but you thought Snape was attractive, too."
"I did, for the same reason. I'm not agreeing to see him just to find out whether he's Severus."
"Just making sure."
"I wouldn't do that."
"I didn't really think you would, but I had to ask. I'm a guy, he's a guy."
She rolled her eyes, leading him to the kitchen so she could see to their dinner as well as Crookshanks'.
"So," he said, as he popped a small cube of cheese into his mouth.
"Yes?"
"What would you do if it turns out he is Snape?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "I guess it depends on what I find out."
"What?" He looked a little confused. She supposed she couldn't blame him.
"Well, if this was something he did himself, then I suspect I'd leave him to it."
"Oh." He evidently hadn't thought of that.
If he did this to himself, she'd leave it. Yes.
Would she date him, though? Knowing the truth about him? Assuming she found out he and Snape are the same man anyway. That was a huge assumption.
If she wasn't a witch.
Well, she'd think it was an impossible and completely ridiculous assumption.
"And if someone did it to him," she shrugged. "I'd have to think about that. He seems … content, Harry. Happy even. I've heard the other grad students and a few professors talk about him as I pass them, and not one of them insults or makes fun of him. My advisor seems to respect him, his opinions and knowledge. That doesn't always happen with first year professors."
"That's good."
"You know the mark on the black widow spider is also the symbol for the Marvel character Black Widow?"
"Uh, no," he said with a slight frown.
"She was a spy," she said. "And had to do some morally questionable things in the name of good. And she wasn't always good."
"How do you know this?"
"My dad liked Marvel comics. Black Widow was a girl, so I paid attention to her."
"Gotcha."
"I don't know, Harry. It's just so strange."
"Well, if you need anything, let me know, but be careful. If he thinks you're hanging around him just to get information…"
"I know," she said. "I'm not. I will say the first time he touched me. In his office. I felt a spark."
"A spark," Harry asked. "You didn't tell me about any sparks."
"Because he hadn't kissed me yet, silly."
"I see. So sparks and kisses. He must be magical if he has you talking about these things."
She swatted his shoulder. "Very funny."
"I'm not sure I was trying to be funny. It's kind of good to hear you talk about a man affecting you."
"Thanks, Harry," she said, knowing she was blushing. She had to admit, it was kind of nice for a change. For the longest time, she thought there was something wrong with her that she didn't feel any of these things she heard other girls talk about.
*****
"Professor Davies asked me to tell you to come see him before you leave," Toby said.
"Oh?" Hermione said. They were supposed to have dinner tonight. She was, in fact, about to leave for home so she could get ready.
"He doesn't look very happy," Toby added.
"Mm," she said.
"No, really, if looks could kill a few of the guys in his Ancient Greece would likely be on their deathbed."
She gave a soft laugh.
"You're not going to go see what he wants?" Toby asked.
"You said before I leave. I'm almost …"
"Go cheer him up."
"Toby!"
He rolled his eyes. "Only because I know you as well as I do."
She huffed. Damn Gryffindor trait of wearing her emotions on her sleeve.
"Give me a minute."
She finished up, putting everything in her backpack she needed.
"Night then, Toby," she said.
"Night, Hermione."
She saw Noah's office door was open and he did seem to be in a foul mood from the muttering he was doing.
She rapped lightly on the door with her knuckles so he'd know she was there.
"Oh," he said. And his eyes went from being hard and almost mean to not mean in a blink or two. "I was hoping you hadn't gone home yet."
"Nope. I had about ten minutes left."
"I told Toby before you left."
She stepped further into his office. Closer to him, setting her backpack on the floor. She slid some hair behind her ear as she reached for his forearm.
"He said you seemed unhappy."
"To put it politely. Eighteen year olds and Oedpius," he said.
"Ah. Say no more."
"Unfortunately my irritation with their immaturity resulted in my giving a pop quiz." He leaned in, closing the distance between them, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I'd rather skip dinner tonight and grade then not grade tonight and have to over the weekend."
"Okay."
"So that means you'll be free Saturday evening?"
"Um, yes, I can be."
He leaned in, kissing her. "I am not breaking our date. Merely postponing it. I don't want to take you out when I'm irritated anyway."
She smiled a bit. "Saturday will be fine."
"Excellent."
She looked up at him. "I could get you some take away if you want? If it was a pop quiz, you weren't planning on being here late grading."
"I was not. Let me get you some money."
""No, really. It was my offer."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Now what should I get?"
*****
She shouldn't have been surprised when Harry showed up at school the following day. He'd been in bed when she got home. Who knew grading papers could take as long as they'd taken? (Eating was a good portion of the delay.) He'd only been there once before in the entire time she'd taken classes here.
"Harry," she said when he found her "office". "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I'd take you to lunch."
"Um, sure," she said.
She shook her head slightly, knowing exactly why he was here. She grabbed her ID card, money (just in case Harry didn't treat as he usually did), and jacket before joining him in the hallway.
"So, I missed being able to watch Quantum Leap with you last night," he said as they walked the hallway.
"Did you?"
"I did. I waited."
"It wasn't that late."
She'd been here with Noah until close to ten o'clock because he gave an impromptu quiz to his class due to their misbehavior. Her bringing him dinner turned into her keeping him company while he graded. She could admit, Saturday night with him sounded better than tonight.
He'd said that was his preference.
She'd been flattered. He offered to pay her for the take-out again when she got back with it which she staunchly refused. He ended up slipping her a few pounds anyway. "For gas to get home with since you drove more than you usually do to get the food."
She accepted it. He wasn't being a jerk. He was being nice. He'd kissed her good night again.
She steered Harry in the direction of Noah's office since that was why he was here after all. She knocked on the door.
"Enter."
She opened the door and smiled a bit when she saw him, long hair hanging a bit over his face as he was bent over his desk, grading or writing something. He hadn't shaved, which she noticed he didn't do every day. And she, oddly, found she liked it. Odd because it just wasn't something she'd been attracted to before.
"Hermione," he said when he finally looked up to see who'd interrupted him. He sounded not at all upset at the interruption.
"Hi. I've mentioned my best friend Harry," she said, gesturing to him. "He surprised me by coming to take me to lunch. I thought I'd see if you want to join us."
"Oh, I appreciate the offer, truly," he said, regarding Harry. "I'm afraid I cannot get away right now. I have class." He scowled, glancing at the clock on the wall. "In about twenty minutes, in fact."
"Oh, okay."
He stood, though, crossing the small distance between them.
"Noah Davies," he said, offering his hand to Harry.
"Harry Potter," Harry said, returning the handshake.
"You evidently know the same man I resemble then?"
"I do," he said. "I mean, I believed her when she said you look like him. She's never lied to me yet, but wow. It's really uncanny."
"Not a boyfriend of hers, though?" he asked and Hermione sighed.
"He already asked me that, Harry."
"Did I?" Noah asked, the tone suggesting he very clearly knew he had already asked her that question and Hermione huffed.
"No, not a boyfriend," Harry answered.
"Now that I think about it, I may have already asked her that."
Harry chuckled then.
"Better be careful, she's quite clever. She'll catch on to you quickly."
"I will remember that, thank you for the warning. You're not a student here?"
"No, really just visiting her for lunch. We went to secondary school together."
"Oh," Noah said, glancing from Harry to Hermione. He was clearly interested in this information. "Really?"
"Yes. I wouldn't have finished without her."
"With the grades she achieved here, I can see how that would be the case. Well, another time when I don't have class, it would be enjoyable I think to hear what she was like earlier."
"No, it really wouldn't," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Harry, I swear to you…"
"Oh, Hermione, don't worry, I wouldn't tell him all of your secrets."
"Thanks. I think."
"What do you do, Harry?"
"I'm an investigator."
"Oh, law enforcement then. Interesting."
"It can be."
"Well, enjoy lunch, and please don't take my declining today as a reflection that I wouldn't accept another day, Hermione."
"I will remember that."
"Thank you."
She shut the door behind them as they left.
"Whatever you need to research, Hermione. Do it."
"Right?"
"I mean, I don't know what we'd do with the information we find. God, that's the first time I've ever seen those eyes look at me like that. Kindness. Amusement even. He likes you, though."
"You can tell that?"
"Oh absolutely, the way he was shaking my hand, but leaning toward you. He wanted to touch you, not me. He wanted to see how I'd react to him obviously wanting to touch you."
These were things she just wasn't knowledgeable about.
"Huh," she said. "Well, we're having dinner over the weekend since he was grading last night. Maybe I can speak to Minerva about hitting up the library next week in the evenings. Maybe talk to Filius, too."
"I think you should. Discreetly."
"I know. They'll probably think I'm still trying to figure out something I did with my parents."
"I hate to say use that, but yeah, use it."
"I know, Harry. Did you really think I was exaggerating?"
"The thought occurred to me, yes."
"Well, I'm not."
"Obviously."
Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com