He was prompt picking her up. He even opened her door for her, both to his car and the restaurant.
It was … nice. Hermione didn't need doors opened for her, but the gesture was not unwelcome. There was nothing wrong with manners. Being kind.
"So," she said over their salads. "Tell me about your family. It's just your parents?"
"It is. My mother had some complications while delivering me so was unable to have more. I never felt blamed or anything," he said quickly. It was said in such a way that made her think he maybe blamed himself once or twice over the years. Or others might have. She felt bad having asked the question, but he knew her parents died. In a way, she appreciated his honesty. "I'm actually waiting to hear from them about dinner sometime. I haven't seen them in a few months. I was busy preparing for the school year, and they were doing things when I had time. Certainly I'll see them at Christmas, but hopefully sooner than that."
"And that's unusual? That you haven't seen them for months, I mean?"
"It is mostly. You know, people are busy," he shrugged. "They're just a phone call away, as am I. I know that. I'd probably feel different if this happened when I was almost twenty-five instead of nearly forty-five."
"I'm not judging, just asking."
Certainly, it wasn't the type of relationship Severus Snape was rumored to have had with Eileen and Tobias Snape.
"Dad majored in Chemistry, specializing in Polymers and Coatings. He owned and ran a paint factory for years. He still owns it, isn't quite willing to give up the reins completely. He doesn't run the day-to-day any longer, though."
Well, if this man was Severus Snape and his parents had been chosen for him somehow. Well, his dad being a chemist explained how he'd been placed here. (Not that his father was the only chemist in the world.)
"Did he hope you'd take over?"
"I think at first, when I was younger, yes. Obviously, I followed in his footsteps to some degree. Eventually, he realized running a factory wasn't where my interests fell. I'm assuming he'll sell when he gets to the point of being ready. He hasn't mentioned it to me since I was in university. That was when I realized making paint wasn't what I aspired to do."
"That's good there's no resentment."
"None whatsoever."
"And your mum?"
"Homemaker once I came along. They met in university. She was a Biology major. She's never told me what she aspired to do, but she worked at the local primary school until I came into the picture. They do a lot of community things now. Volunteer at our church and such. They were gone for part of the summer doing some work in South America somewhere with their church. So it wasn't strictly my lesson preparations that caused us not to get together."
"That's nice."
"It is. They always have fascinating stories to tell of their experiences, which may be why we haven't gotten together yet. We know we'll talk for hours. And you? I know your parents are gone…"
"Not much to say. Mum and Dad were both dentists, which I had no interest in becoming. They were in a car accident."
"I'm very sorry to hear that. You were obviously very young."
"It's okay, thank you. It was quick, from my understanding. I don't think I could have stood it if either of them hung on, suffering."
"Logical way of looking at it."
"Well, sometimes I feel heartless. Sometimes I cry about it on an off day. Overall, though, it's how I think I have to deal with it, I guess."
"That makes sense, too. No siblings either?"
"No. Mum didn't talk about it much, but I get the impression they tried for a while before me."
"Ah," he said. "Well, I'm sure they'd be proud of you."
"Thank you."
"And your friend Harry?"
She smiled a bit. "You're going to think everyone around me has no parents, but I assure you that's not the case. His died when he was a baby."
"Also together?"
"Yeah," she said. She'd never really told a muggle about both her parents and Harry's before. She supposed that was … strange. "They were murdered."
"Terrible," he said after a moment of silence, as if he was processing what she'd said.
"It was. I mean, I wasn't there, but yes."
"And he is … all right?"
She smiled a bit, thinking of this man, resembling who he did, asking that question. Asking the question so sincerely. He truly wondered if Harry was okay.
Harry would get a kick out of that.
"Oh, you know, he has his moments, but yes."
"You have had an interesting life to this point, haven't you?"
"You haven't?"
He scoffed softly. "Not really. I'm a chemistry turned history teacher," he shrugged.
"Surely…"
"Not really. I suppose in the mid to late seventies I went through my rebellious phase. You know, got into some fights and got a tattoo," he said, lifting his left arm slightly. "I couldn't decide if I wanted to be more like Joe Strummer or Sid Vicious."
She laughed softly. Other than the longer hair, and the tattoo she supposed, he was pretty run of the mill seeming. She certainly hadn't pegged him as a punk fan. "Really?"
"I said it was a phase, but yes. That was about as interesting as I got. My parents allowed it, fortunately, seeming to realize it was just me figuring it out."
"So no punk singer aspirations?"
"No," he said with a shake of his head.
She couldn't help but wonder if Severus Snape liked The Clash and The Sex Pistols. She could kind of see it. Such an odd thought. He certainly would have been the right age, and probably would have had the personality to go with it.
Interesting thought.
*****
"Would you join me in a walk?" he asked once they'd left the restaurant.
It was a little awkward, but not intolerably so. He wasn't a huge expert on dates, first or otherwise, but she hadn't seemed as if she was having a terrible time. Or even a bad time. There were lulls in their conversation, but that was bound to happen with two people who didn't know one another well.
And neither seemed to want to talk about university or history.
That was a good sign, at least he thought so. If they talked about school and their major, that would mean they discovered they had nothing else to talk about.
"Sure," she said, taking his offered hand. He gave hers a gentle squeeze and she tilted her head a bit, offering him a smile.
"So, why history?" he asked.
"Because I really find it fascinating. How it applies to the world today. I don't know how else to explain it."
"And the witch trials?"
She shrugged, ducking her head a bit. Had others asked her the same question? He imagined they must have. It wasn't a strange interest, by any means, but it was a bit unusual.
"I don't know how to explain it. It's a fascinating piece of history. We know of the things that happened in World War II, but what they went through wasn't so different, really. Fear. Panic. Suspicion. Persecution. People who were different pointed out and persecuted for that difference. Killed for practicing a different belief than someone else."
"Yes," he said, agreeing wholeheartedly. "It's one of the reasons I have chosen the unit. It doesn't affect us here in Britain, barring someone having a distant ancestor who might have moved to America and were involved in the situation, but I think it's important for people who have been removed from it for more than just a few decades to realize how easily hate and fear can spread. That it hasn't just happened once or twice in history. And think how much further it would spread today with telephones, televisions, and the internet."
"You're right," she said.
She was thinking something. Something not pleasant. She didn't say anything, but he could see a … hardness … in her eyes that whatever thought his statement had evoked wasn't a good one.
Change of subject, Noah.
"May I ask a question?"
"I know you're capable," she said and he shook his head.
"Correct. This person I remind you of. He wasn't a boyfriend?"
"You've asked me that, and Harry, too. No. He was … hard to describe. He wasn't anything, really. A professor. To me, I mean. I hardly knew him, but he was someone I admired."
"And it is not my resemblance to him that has you here with me tonight?"
"No," she said. The shake of her head told him that perhaps he wasn't the first person to ask the question. Had her friend Harry? Interesting to think. "You are actually … nicer than he was. Partially his fault, and partially a result of his circumstances and environment. Expecting people not to be nice to him, I mean. I don't know him well enough to say for sure. I'd like to think, though, that maybe with the circumstances better for him, he would have been a nicer person."
"Mm," he said.
She stopped walking then, tugging lightly on his hand so that he stopped walking as well. She reached up on her toes, sliding a hand to his hair and running her fingers through it. And then she kissed him. It was the first time she'd kissed him. First anyway, not after he'd initiated a kiss.
He wasn't going to let that go unrewarded, so he slid his free arm around her, tugging her even closer to him than she was. She gave a soft gasp, apparently from surprise but did not draw away from his lips. In fact, she parted hers invitingly, and he dipped his tongue along her lower lip in response. She gave a soft laugh, drawing away.
"I know you're not him, Noah. And while I admired, still do admire, things about him that I find in you too, like your mind, that doesn't mean I'm transferring. I didn't know him well enough to transfer anything."
"Yet Harry knew him, too."
"Yes, he was a professor of ours for six years."
"I see," he said.
He didn't completely, but he accepted her answer. He had never been attracted to someone as he was Hermione, so he had to be sure that she wasn't seeing something in him that wasn't there. Or wasn't wanting him to be someone he wasn't.
And obviously couldn't be.
Ever.
Eventually, their walk got them back to his vehicle and he drove her home.
"Did you want to come in for a bit?" she asked when they'd gotten to her front door.
"If you're sure…"
He hadn't … expected such an invitation after one date. He hoped she didn't think he did.
"Yeah," she said, sliding her key into the lock to open the door.
He followed her inside. And up a narrow flight of stairs. From the door she'd brought them in through, there was nowhere to go but up. The first floor wasn't open or accessible from here.
It was smaller than his home, the second floor of a single family dwelling. She mentioned there was an apartment above hers, an attic converted. It was accessed by a different set of stairs outside the house apparently.
She said she'd been up there once and it was really small. He wasn't surprised: of the size or that the homeowners converted all space they could into rentable dwellings. Not at all unexpected near a university, he supposed. The first floor likely housed another university student, too. It was of a decent size. She mentioned Harry stayed with her on weekends a lot. So, certainly room enough for the two of them two days a week and more than enough for the days it was just her.
The furnishings were basic. Nothing fancy, but everything looked maintained. And neat.
A large cat trotted up to Hermione almost as soon as he closed the door behind them. Large compared to Flux at any rate, who was still on the small side of things. He often thought of him as petite, but knew that Flux would be insulted at being described that way. So, he kept that to himself.
He stooped, offering his hand to the orange cat while Hermione saw to turning the lights on.
"And what is your name?"
The cat's response was, not unexpectedly, "meow".
"Crookshanks," Hermione offered.
He nodded, remembering she'd told him that once or twice before. He hadn't met him before tonight, though.
"He certainly does look capable of defending you," he observed aloud when running his hand along the feline's back. The purr he gave was proof he liked it.
Evidently that sentence … was not a good thing to say, as indicated by the exasperated sounding huff she gave. "Yes, he is capable."
"Good."
He stood then, regarding her as her cat rubbed up against his calves, twining between his legs rather familiarly.
He tried to gauge the reason for the huff. Why had she taken offense to that statement? Was it wrong? He didn't think so. He didn't want to say anything wrong. Or have her think she couldn't tell him he had.
She didn't say anything else.
"Was that insulting? Truly? I didn't intend it that way."
"No, it's fine. I'm just not a defenseless…"
Ah. Yes, he supposed he could see that was what he'd said sounded as if he was implying.
"I was not suggesting any such thing. He does, in fact, look capable of defending you were he called upon to do so."
"He is."
"Unlike Fluxweed, who would most likely run and hide if danger appeared at our doorstep."
She nodded, her way of acknowledging there was a bit of a difference between her cat and his, he presumed.
He approached her then. "There is a bit of an age gap between us, Hermione. I know things are different today, with expectations of women and their self-sufficiency. I was raised…"
"I get it," she said.
"Thank you." He was relieved. He didn't mean to insult her. It was innate in him to want to protect her, though. That was what his father did for his mother. And how he had been raised to treat a potential partner.
"So," she said.
"This is rather odd, isn't it?" Odd didn't begin to cover it. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been invited into a woman's home. Too long, obviously.
"Kind of. I don't do this often."
"Nor do I. Why not, though?"
"Um," she shrugged. "My focus has been school, so no time."
"Understood."
"And you?"
He chuckled. "I don't know. I'd say no opportunities, but that's not necessarily true. I'm not the most social person, so I don't meet people often."
"Mm, maybe it's me who should be worried."
"That you're convenient?"
"Mm hmm."
"If I was going for convenience, Hermione, I wouldn't be almost forty-five with never even an engagement under my belt."
"I suppose. Really? Never even serious enough about someone to think about marriage?"
"No, I wouldn't be here with you if I was. I mean, if I got to know and like someone well enough to want to marry her. I'd be married."
"Well, I wasn't accusing you of being a philanderer. I'm just surprised."
"I also don't believe in divorce, so I truly wouldn't be here."
"I don't really either, but there are circumstances."
"There are, yes, of course."
And he really had no idea what to do with this woman who'd invited him into her home after a dinner date. This probably went a long way to explaining why he was still single at his age.
"A movie?" she asked, gesturing to her living room and the television there.
"Sure." Relieved she apparently didn't know what to do either. She at least suggested something. He couldn't really because he'd never been here before.
"Popcorn? Beer? Coke?"
"Are you drinking?"
"I might have a glass of wine. I don't particularly care for beer. What I have here is for Harry."
"Is there enough wine for two glasses?"
"There is."
He followed her into the kitchen then, watching as she went about making popcorn after pouring them each a glass of wine.
He regarded her refrigerator as she did her thing. She was making the popcorn on her stove, not in a microwave. That was pleasing. He didn't care much for microwave popcorn. He couldn't count how many times he'd had to smell burnt popcorn in the teacher's lounge when he taught at the secondary school level.
"I recognize Harry," he said, thinking pictures would be a good way to get to know her better. "Who is the other man?"
"Mm," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the picture he was looking at. There was one other of Harry with another gentleman, so she wouldn't know which he was looking at.
"His name is Dudley. He's Harry's cousin. Harry lived with them, Dudley and his parents, I mean. Dudley's mum is his mum's sister. They weren't close growing up, actually, despite the living arrangement and being the same age. Maybe the age thing was why they didn't. I never thought about it that way. Anyway, they've become friendly the past couple of years. That was dinner out for their birthdays last summer, they're a month apart. It was a nice picture. I think it was the first time I thought they were both really smiling."
He regarded the picture a little closer, having that additional information about it and the two men in the picture. He assumed Hermione had been the one taking the photograph. Both young men looked as if they were sincerely smiling. Little resemblance between the two, he noticed. Did they both take after their fathers rather than their mothers?
"It is a nice photograph," he said. "You make it seem as if he has a home. Why does he stay here on the weekends?"
She shrugged.
"You'd have to ask Harry that. He has a house. At first, he wasn't sure he wanted to live there. Now, I think mostly that he doesn't like being in a house alone seven days a week. I think coming here to check up on me gives him an excuse. I like having him here, honestly. He's truly like the brother I never had. It gets my nose out of a book once a week, too, which I know is necessary. So I don't complain."
He nodded. It made sense. He did wonder how someone twenty-five managed a home of his own already. None of his business, and perhaps it was like her arrangement here and only part of a home. It didn't sound that way, though.
"And this?" This was asked of another photograph.
She stepped next to him and proceeded to give him a rundown of the various characters on her refrigerator. Pictures included: her parents. Harry. A few people he vaguely recognized from campus that seemed to be school chums of hers. One, Toby, was a grad student with her. (The name always reminded him of a dog for some reason.) And others he didn't recognize.
"Is that a toad?" he asked. He pointed at what looked like exactly that.in a photograph, but it didn't look to be near water to where someone would catch a toad.
"It is. He works with plants and stuff. I don't know what else to tell you. He was fond of that particular toad. He died recently. The toad, I mean," she said. She ran a fingertip over the picture. "And it was the same one."
He chuckled lightly.
"I will take your word for it, that a difference between toads can be ascertained."
"Thank you."
"And there's something missing," he said, gesturing to the area of the refrigerator that looked oddly empty.
"Yes, I haven't bothered putting anything up there. Some friends that Harry, Neville, and I went to school with that we don't talk with anymore."
"Ah. It happens."
"I know," she said. "And thank you."
"For?"
"Not prodding me with questions about it, or saying that we'll mend our differences."
"Mm. You seem rather rational. And old enough to decide if a friendship is worth an attempt at reparations."
"I should find some new pictures to put up."
"You will when you're ready," he said, wondering if one of them might make it up here soon. "None of my look alike?"
"No," she said with a soft laugh, though she blushed a bit. "I'm still looking to see if I can find one."
"Mm," he said.
The popcorn made, he followed her to the sitting area where they ate popcorn, drank wine, and watched a DVD. She sat next to him and drew a blanket, clearly used frequently for such a purpose, around them while she settled her head against his shoulder.
It was, dare he think it, nice. He couldn't remember when he'd passed an evening like this one. A date. Someone who didn't seem to think he was odd for not being handsy this soon. Sure, he had needs the same as everyone, but he was somewhat old-fashioned, he supposed. He'd had a one-night stand or two while at university, and they just hadn't left him feeling great. About himself. About the way he treated the woman in question. These days, who was he kidding, he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex. Well, he preferred ensuring there was something of substance there before turning physical.
She must have drifted off toward the end of the movie. He only noticed because her cat gave a meow on the end table nearest to her and she didn't react. He moved his hand out from under the blanket and scratched the sofa beside him.
He chuckled as the cat came to investigate, as Noah expected he would. He ran his hand along his head and neck, smiling a bit as he started purring. He was rather attractive in an odd sort of way. Maybe he appreciated his smooshed face and fuzzy tail because of Fluxweed. Eventually, the feline made his way to his lap, the side closest to Hermione. She mumbled incoherently, and he let his head fall back against the sofa as he settled his hand over her cat's back.
He came awake when a light came on suddenly.
"Oh, hi, Noah. Um, sorry, I didn't know you'd be here," her friend Harry said. He turned the light back off.
"Nothing to be sorry for. I dozed off."
"It's a comfortable sofa so it's easy to do, especially with the blanket and Crooks there," he said, gesturing to the cat who jumped off the sofa and headed toward Harry.
"Yeah, I know, she's ignoring you, isn't she? I'll check on your dish for you. You two had dinner, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, well, I'll tend to him, and head to my room. So, don't mind me."
Noah chuckled a bit. "I should really get home anyway. Does she always sleep so soundly?"
"You know, no. I don't sleep here every night, but I know she has trouble sleeping sometimes. So I take that as a good sign about you."
"You have doubts?"
"She's my best friend, I don't know you. So yes."
Noah nodded. He could appreciate that. He wished he had a friend like that. Even today. Was he surprised the young man was so upfront about it? Perhaps a little, but it seemed as if they truly were very close.
"Understandable."
"Thanks."
He stood then, careful not to wake her.
"I can carry her if you show me the way," he offered when she didn't wake.
"Sure," Harry said. Noah stooped then, picking her up carefully. It wasn't super easy with her practically sitting up, but he managed.
"Sorry," she murmured.
"What time did you wake up anyway?"
Harry snorted softly. "Probably before six."
"In the morning?"
"Yeah." Harry didn't sound … surprised by the time.
"This is routine?"
"Usually."
Lord, and he thought he burned the candle at both ends.
He set her on the bed Harry directed him to, sliding her shoes off and setting them by her dresser. He returned to her bed.
"I hope the wine helps you sleep well, Hermione."
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Call me tomorrow?"
"M'kay."
He chuckled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. She turned her face toward the kiss so he got her lips instead.
"Sorry," she repeated. He felt bad that she felt she had to apologize. He also took it as proof she was raised … properly. Wanting to apologize for something she felt was rude.
"It was more than just pleasant," he said. It truly was.
"Good."
He left her room then, turning the hall light off, which Harry had obviously left on for him as he made his way back to the living room.
"Good night, Harry," he said. The man had turned the television off.
"Good night, Noah."
"Say," he said, as he took a moment to fold the blanket they'd used. Harry grabbed the bowl and their wine glasses.
"Yeah?" he asked.
Noah wished he could understand the look in this man's eyes. He saw it the first time he'd met him in Noah's office, too. Expectation? Fear? Uncertainty? He wasn't sure why those three feelings would be lumped together, but that was what he thought whenever he looked into this man's eyes.
"You think I resemble this person, too?"
"I do," Harry admitted.
"I was looking at the pictures she has on her refrigerator tonight. She said she doesn't have any of him…"
"I doubt that she would. He was our professor. Curious who your doppelganger is?"
"One person thinking I look like him is one thing, two is intriguing."
"Gotcha. Well, she's not wrong. Then she rarely is."
"And you two…"
"No," he said quickly, clearly understanding Noah's question. "She's like my sister. You know, constantly harping on me to do my homework and eat right. She can be downright bossy."
Noah smirked a bit at that.
He'd heard … rumors that there'd been Toby, Hermione, and a third graduate student last year that wasn't the third this year. This year it was, Brandon. Last year, Noah couldn't recall the name he'd heard spoken of. Rumor was, though, that he hadn't been able to handle Hermione's bossiness. As well as the fact that she was doing better than the other two. So, the professors could hardly punish her for leading by example.
And honestly, if he couldn't handle that, he probably didn't belong in academia. There was a brief write up of the incident in her file, because Toby had been interviewed to see if there was, in fact, a problem. The young man had indicated that he liked Hermione's competitive nature and her drive. It pushed him and, as far as he was concerned, she'd rarely, if ever, been wrong that he knew of. So, he would take advice and words of wisdom from someone like her.
From what Noah could determine, she hadn't even been given a talking to. The underlying tone of the comments in the file left Noah with the impression that her advisor believed if Hermione had been a man, the cross purposes would have been avoided. Unfortunate, but Noah believed the university retained the better student.
"You can see that, I take it?"
"I actually can. She mentioned your parents passed when you were very young and your homelife prior to schooling with her wasn't all that pleasant, so I'm glad that you had her."
"Me, too. Did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Have anyone like Hermione?"
"Mm, no," he said, thinking on that. "I had friends, but," he shrugged here. It was odd that Harry asked that question because he always felt as if there was something … missing in his childhood.
Like when he looked back on it, it was just there . He had the memories, but he couldn't feel them. Not like he could feel the memory of what it felt like to weed in his garden over the summer. Or of his trip to Greece two summers ago with his mum.
"Well, not a best friend. A couple neighborhood chums. I still talk to them today, but no. Not really, anyway. I preferred the company of books and beakers."
"Oh, well, I'm sure she'd boss you around if you asked her to."
Noah chuckled. "I think I'll pass for now."
"Yeah, I think I probably would, too. She can be kind of scary when she's bossy."
"I will take that under advisement. Well, good night then, Harry."
"Good night, Noah."
Noah grabbed his jacket and ensured he had everything he'd come here with.
"Hey, Noah," Harry asked once he'd just about gotten to the door.
"Yes?"
"Do you actually like her?"
"I am exploring that possibility, yes. Why?"
He shrugged. "She got pretty hurt by someone, and while she'd kill me for saying so, she's not overly experienced when it comes to dating."
"I'm not either, really. If you're asking me my … intentions, I'm afraid I can't speak to that at this point, beyond wanting to get to know her better."
"That's good enough for me."
He nodded then. "Good night then."
He got home to an inquisitive cat, obviously smelling Hermione's cat on him. Flux didn't seem to like that he'd been around another cat. How did Noah know that? He stalked off with a flick of his tail and a meow that sounded annoyed. Noah was certain he'd get over it. Eventually. He had no idea, as he'd never been around another cat before now.
Once the house was closed up for the night and he was ready for bed. He went over the evening in his head. It had gone well. He wasn't very good at socializing in general, let alone dating. He got the impression maybe she wasn't either. So, while there'd been silences, neither seemed … put off or upset by them.
He went over the pictures on her refrigerator.
Friends.
A toad.
He wasn't sure why the picture of the toad struck him as … familiar. He should have found it odd. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a toad being held as her friend was doing in the photograph. What was his name? Neville? Yes, that was it.
And the missing photographs.
From the pictures that were there, he got the impression these were people she was … close to. What had happened that led to such a falling out that their pictures were removed? Was one of them the man Harry implied hurt her?
And just how did someone like her, so intelligent who could likely do anything, become interested in history?
Of course, he was interested in history, but he sort of fell into it. It hadn't been his goal. Of course, he couldn't recall any longer what exactly his goal had been.
He made a fist with his left hand, clenching it slightly.
He missed chemistry. He hadn't allowed himself to realize how much until now. His life had taken a different path than expected.
He dreamt that night. He couldn't remember what the dreams were about when he woke, which wasn't unusual for him. For as long as he could remember he'd been plagued by dreams. His mum told him he had night terrors as a boy. From his research, night terrors didn't typically continue into adulthood, but could be triggered by stress or trauma.
He had no trauma, never had actually, but a new position at a new university was stressful.
He'd tried forcing himself awake fresh out of a dream in an attempt to remember, but he was never able to. All he knew was that these dreams were not … normal. As a result, and as usual when he had nights of dreams like these, his sleep hadn't been restful. It was Saturday, so he had the next day off with no plans other than to do some grading here at home. So taking a shower immediately wasn't always something he did. That morning, though, he had to wash off the … feeling of dread and foreboding the dreams left him with.
Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com