Severus Snape stayed for dinner.

He hadn’t intended to, he certainly didn’t think he wanted to. After sending Minerva an owl stating that Hermione Granger would visit her in the morning, he was about to take his leave when a strident ringing noise suddenly started.

He jumped, reaching for his wand and relaxed when he realised that it was the telephone ringing. The bell on telephones had changed beyond recognition since he had lived in the Muggle world, he mused.

Sam – Mrs Granger – answered the phone. Snape could hear her side of the conversation.

“Hello, Em, everything fine?”

“Oh no! The hospital? What happened?”

“He didn’t! Em, are you serious?!”

“No, no, I’m sorry, of course you wouldn’t make that up!”

“He’ll be OK, though?”

“Look, we’ll visit him tomorrow. Don’t worry about tonight, we’ll re-schedule. Give him our love, and tell him to be more careful next time!”

She put the receiver down and turned to Hermione, with a twinkle in her eye. “Emma and Ken aren’t going to be coming tonight, after all.”

“Is everything alright, Mum?” asked Hermione. “You said the hospital - ”

“Ah! Ken’s had a small – mishap. He’ll be fine in a few days. Now, dear, why don’t you and Severus rearrange the table for four, then if you don’t mind, Severus, would you like to do the honours and open the wine? The white is in the fridge and the red in the cupboard under the stairs.”

“Mum!” said Hermione, indignantly.

“I am sorry, Severus, there I go jumping to conclusions again! You will stay for dinner, won’t you? Sam and I would appreciate your company, and I’m sure Hermione would like you to stay too,” she said, ignoring the frantic gesticulation of her daughter, who was standing behind Snape. “I mean, unless you’ve got another engagement?” she finished, suddenly uncertain.

“I – would like to stay, then, Mrs – Sam, if you insist that I would be welcome,” said Snape. “I don’t have another engagement. And it does smell very good,” he added as an afterthought.

Sam smiled in relief and pointed Snape in the direction of the wine cupboard. She turned to her daughter, who had buried her face in her hands.

“What, Hermione?” she questioned.

“You are so embarrassing, sometimes, Mum! You can’t just bludgeon people into staying for dinner! And Snape! He’s miserable and anti-social! He was my teacher! And …”

“And he’s not any more. He’s probably just shy. Welcome to the world of grown-ups, Hermione! You’ll get used to it!” Sam patted her daughter lightly on the cheek and went back to the kitchen.

“Shy!” groaned Hermione, and banged her forehead against the wall in despair.

Snape came back into the room carrying a bottle of red wine. “The table?” he asked, making her jump. At her confused look, he continued, “I believe we are expected to rearrange it?”

“Oh. Right. The dining room,” muttered Hermione, and led the way through.

“Look,” she said uncomfortably, “I’m really sorry about Mum, she can be so pushy sometimes. I know you don’t want to stay for dinner, and if you want to go, I can make your excuses.”

“Do you want me to go, Miss Granger?” he asked, looking at her closely.

She flushed. What was she supposed to say to that? Of course she wanted him to go, didn’t she? She couldn’t imagine having a decent conversation with him, and he was probably not going to get on with her parents, or they with him, but she couldn’t exactly come out and say all that, could she?

“No, I mean, of course I’d like you to stay,” she lied. “I just didn’t think you really wanted to. I thought you were just being polite.”

“Miss Granger, politeness is a offence I am rarely accused of committing. If I were unwilling to stay, I would not be here now.”

“No, no, of course, you’re quite capable of making up your own mind,” she replied, wondering why on Earth he had stayed.

“I’m hungry,” he said, “and I feel like a change from being on my own. And it is nice to be asked, instead of having everyone assume that I’m a miserable, anti-social git. So why don’t I just open this wine, and then we can rearrange the table.”

She nodded, chastened.

Snape, on the other hand, was starting to enjoy his evening; watching her blush at the reprimand indicated that the opportunity for some innocent fun might well be opening up before him.

Going to the sideboard, Hermione pulled open a drawer. “Corkscrew, corkscrew,” she muttered, rattling through the contents. Snape cleared his throat behind her. She turned. The wine bottle was hovering in mid-air between them, and Snape was waving a long slender hand above it. His eyes were fixed on hers; she hastily transferred them to the bottle.

“Are you a witch or not, Miss Granger?” he asked softly, never taking his eyes from her face as the foil on the top of the bottle peeled itself back neatly and the cork slid slowly from the neck of the bottle, withdrawing with a gentle pop! and landing snugly in Snape’s raised hand.

Something primal stirred deep down inside her at this simple display of power; it was the most incredibly erotic thing she had ever witnessed. She could scarcely breathe; her mouth had gone dry and a strange tingling had set itself up in her lower abdomen. She looked back up at Snape to see him watching her with a half-smile, and a quizzical look in his eye.

“And now, Hermione, the table,” he whispered, leaning closer to her.

“Yes,” she whispered back, “the table.” And she made no move.

He raised his eyebrows and she suddenly remembered what she was supposed to be doing. “The table!” she squeaked, and made a mad dash for the fifth setting. She was pulling the chair away when that same long slender hand grasped her wrist.

“For the very first time, Hermione, you have not answered my question.” She froze, heart racing.

“Wh – what question, sir?” she stuttered.

“Are you,” he enunciated carefully, “a witch,” he drew her hand away from the chair, bringing it between them, “or not?”

She nodded shakily.

“Then,” he let her hand fall and took half a step back, “perhaps you would consider using your magic to do this?”

Oh God, she thought desperately, where do I start? I can’t do this with him watching me like that!

She fumbled for her wand, struggling to think of a charm, any charm, that would send the crockery and cutlery back to their cupboards. But she was intimately aware of Snape standing behind her ready to mock her failure, and she was going to fail this test, because she suddenly realised that she didn’t know a single domestic charm and even if she had ever known any, she could not have brought them to mind with those eyes on the back of her head.

She forced her concentration back to the place setting, but she was so unsettled that the Banishing Charm she attempted misfired; there was a loud bang! and the table was covered in shards of china and glass.

“Fix it, Hermione,” said the voice behind her as she struggled with tears of frustration. “Reparo should do the trick, if you’re careful,” he hinted, and for the first time, she heard an underlying amusement and warmth in the voice; and that was more disturbing than any amount of sarcasm.

“Re – Reparo!” she uttered; the shards flew back together again and the place setting was restored to its original state. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s not a good day for you and crockery, is it?” he asked rhetorically. She blushed.

“You seem terribly nervous, too, Hermione,” he continued, moving closer. “Not at all like a brave war-hero Gryffindor. I can’t believe that breaking up with Mr Weasley has so shattered your self-confidence?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to him. “I can suggest a suitable charm,” he murmured.

He was offering her a charm to get Ron back?

“Or, if you insist, you can hold my hand while I demonstrate?” She gaped at him. “Putting the place setting away? There’s a charm for it,” he explained smoothly.

God, she realised, This isn’t right! I’m more excited by the thought of holding his hand while he shows me some silly domestic charm than I ever was by anything Ron tried!

She was saved as her mother came into the room, white wine bottle in hand.

“Oh, Severus, you’ve opened the red!” She picked up the cork, sniffing it appreciatively. “No corkscrew? Did you use magic?”

Snape nodded. Hermione reddened further, if that were possible.

“Will you show me?” she asked eagerly, offering him the wine.

“Madam, I am at your command,” he replied, taking the bottle from her and causing it to float in mid-air.

Hermione fled.

ooOOoo

“It’s not an uncommon problem with Muggle-borns,” Snape was saying over a cup of coffee later. “A child’s most formative years occur long before they go to school, so they learn how things are done in the home from those who raise them. They are not taught such skills at any stage in their training, and so their housekeeping will reflect the way they are raised. Added to which are the restrictions that are placed on them; Muggle parents who do not know why their child is doing strange things and try to prevent them, the Ministry restrictions on underage magic, all give the subliminal message that magic does not belong in the home. Particularly in the parental home. Many find it easier when they leave home and marry or share a flat with other witches and wizards. Squibs, of course, have a similar problem but in reverse; they have to learn the Muggle ways of doing things, and are usually not supported by disappointed parents. Nor indeed by Wizarding society.”

It had been like this all evening, Hermione mused. Snape had been polite, erudite, communicative, genuinely interested in all that Sam and Sam had had to say; he had obviously won them over in the half hour she had spent upstairs. And he had politely believed her fiction about ‘having to get changed for dinner’, standing to pull her chair out for her as she arrived back downstairs.

If anyone had noticed that she had said little and eaten less, they were all too polite to mention that, as well.

“I will send you a book on domestic charms, Hermione,” continued Snape. “It’s a useful volume, and I’m sure Sam would love to see some of them.”

Hermione’s mother giggled. “Yes, I couldn’t believe what you did with that cork, Severus!” Hermione squirmed, remembering how it had affected her.

“Just to wave your hand, and see it disappear into nothing!” Sam continued. “And you’re very perceptive, Hermione really hasn’t shown us any magic since it’s been legal for her to do it at home. We haven’t expected to see it, and Hermione just fits straight back into our ways when she’s home. We’re so glad you were able to stay this evening, we’ve learnt a lot.”

We certainly have, thought Hermione. Desperate to change the subject before her mother asked Snape to dinner another day, she asked, “Mum, what happened to Mr Thompson? Why is he in hospital?”

To her relief, her mother settled back in her chair, suitably sidetracked. Her father had obviously already heard the story, for he chuckled and grinned at his wife.

“Well, you know that Ken and Emma have just moved house? Ken is a keen DIYer,” she explained to Snape, who nodded his understanding. “He’s also a keen gardener, and unhealthily obsessed with health and safety. There’s a rickety old shed at the bottom of the new garden, and Ken spotted a rusty nail sticking out at about eye level. So he thought he’d take it out this afternoon before he came round for dinner.” She took a sip of her coffee, and settled the cup back into the saucer before continuing.

“He collected his tool box, put it safely out of his way, and set to with the pliers. Unfortunately the nail was rather longer than he had thought, and firmly rusted in. So he braced his foot on the corner post of the shed and pulled.”

“And the shed fell down!” exclaimed Hermione, anticipating the punch line.

“No, Hermione, that is not what happened next,” said her mother, mock-sternly, “and don’t interrupt the story!”

Hermione fell back in her chair, feeling very small at being told off like a child in front of Snape. She missed the amused glance he sent her way as her mother continued.

“The shed did not fall down when he pulled the nail out. But he used so much force that when it did come out, he lost his balance and stumbled back. Unfortunately, before he could recover himself, he tripped over the tool box which he had put, as he thought, safely out of the way.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at Sam, sensing that more was coming. “But that’s not how he was hurt, is it?” Sam shook her head.

“Fortunately, he managed a soft landing. Sadly, they had had two tons of fresh horse manure delivered a week earlier, and …”

“He landed right in it!” said Hermione, unable to resist.

“Right this time, Hermione!” laughed her father. “But go on, Sam, love.”

“So there he was, climbing off this heap of muck, covered in it, when he felt a lump of it slipping down inside his welly. Now, Ken is somewhat – careful – about his appearance – ”

“Vain,” put in Hermione’s father.

“Positively Lockhartian,” muttered Hermione to Snape, who snorted in amusement.

“ – and so he brushed himself down as well as he could, in case the neighbours saw him, then tried to get his welly off. He couldn’t do that standing on one leg, though, so he decided to lean on …”

“… the shed!” chorused Hermione and Snape.

“The corner post of the shed, indeed. At which point, as you’ve guessed, it turned out that the big long rusty nail he removed was the only thing holding it together!”

“Oh my God!” cried Hermione, covering her mouth with her hand in mixed horror and laughter.

“So that’s how he got hurt?” added Snape.

“Well, no, it wasn’t,” said Sam. “Emma heard the crash and ran outside to see her husband rising from a great pile of rotten boards; a few scratches, rather shaken but otherwise miraculously unscathed.”

“Then how – ”

“Hush, my child. So there was our favourite health and safety freak, standing in the middle of his new garden, covered in God-knows-what, up to his knees in collapsed shed, but, as I say, unharmed. Emma got him indoors, and sent him up for a shower. And not five minutes later, she heard a great clatter from upstairs. She rushed upstairs and into the bathroom. What had happened was that he wasn’t used to having a shower over the bath – they had a separate shower unit in their last house – and he’d slipped in the wet tub getting in, grabbed the shower curtain and pulled the whole rail down on himself!”

Sam, Hermione’s father, was chortling quietly to himself, which gave Snape an inkling that this story had not yet ended.

“Anyway, she left him taking a bath, with strict instruction not to drown himself, and went downstairs again. He joined her about twenty minutes later, nice and clean, but terribly worried that his tetanus jab was out of date. So they got in the car and went to the hospital.”

“They didn’t crash, did they?” breathed Hermione.

“They did not crash. They did reach the hospital safely. They did spend two hours waiting in Accident and Emergency to be seen.”

“How long?” said Snape, horrified. At St Mungo’s, a patient would be seen within minutes of arrival.

“So what happened, if he was OK when he got there?” asked Hermione.

“Patience. Eventually, then, they were seen by the doctor, who agreed to give him an anti-tetanus jab. So the nurse went away to get the wherewithal, and came back a couple of minutes later. And – ”

“And?” breathed her spell-bound audience in unison.

“ – and he took one look at the needle and passed right out!”

Hermione and Severus roared with laughter. They laughed until their sides hurt, the two Sams joining in their mirth.

“But, Mum,” said Hermione, wiping the tears from her face once the laughter had eventually subsided, “they don’t keep you in just for fainting, surely?”

“Ah, but he didn’t just faint, Hermione. He actually hit his head on the wall on the way down. Six stitches, and they’re keeping him in for observation.”

A fresh burst of laughter greeted this. Hermione said, “I know it could be serious, and we shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it! You just couldn’t make it up!”

ooOOoo

Severus finally took his leave about half an hour later. He shook Mr Granger’s hand cordially, and lifted Mrs Granger’s to his lips.

“Thank you so much for a delightful evening, all the better for being unexpected,” he said.

“Well, thank you for your company,” Sam responded. “You’d be very welcome to come round any time you like! I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to meet one of Hermione’s friends.”

He turned to Hermione, taking her right hand in his, and removing her power of coherent thought at the same time. He saluted her hand as he had her mother’s, lingering perhaps a little longer this time. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

She jumped back, face scarlet. “Oh, no, I couldn’t!” she said.

“Hermione, I insist. It would be my pleasure,” he murmured, and let her hand drop.

“Well, if you insist, I accept your offer,” she stammered. “It’s very kind of you. Severus.”

“Not at all,” he replied, with the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. He stepped back from the group at the front door, bowed, and with a pop, Disapparated.

“Washing-up,” said her mother briskly, and propelled her daughter into the kitchen.

ooOOoo

“What did Severus whisper to you, love?” asked her mother as they were finishing drying the pans.

“Oh, er, he said – um – he said he’d send me that book,” she gabbled. “The one he mentioned, you know, on domestic charms,” she finished in a rush.

“I see,” said Sam, thinking that he had taken an awfully long time to deliver so short a message. “That’s very thoughtful of him.”

“Yes, yes,” said Hermione, distractedly. Her mother took pity on the saucepan Hermione was trying to dry a hole through, and removed it gently from her daughter’s hands.

“You’ve had a long and upsetting day, darling,” said her mother, testing the water. “Why don’t you have a nice long bath and an early night? The pans will dry on their own. Don’t forget you’re going up to Hogwarts tomorrow. You’ve probably got a lot to think about, and sort out some of your confusion.”

“Confusion?” echoed Hermione, blushing to think her mother could read her thoughts so easily.

“Yes, dear. It’s not every day that a girl breaks off her engagement, is it?”

“Engage – oh, right, yes. Ron. Yes, Mum, good idea. I’ll go upstairs and have a nice long think. I’ve got a lot of things to bath about. Night!” She kissed her mother, ran up the stairs and was seen no more that evening.

ooOOoo

Sam and Sam were curled up together on the sofa after everything had been put away.

Sam spoke first. “He’s an interesting man, Severus, isn’t he? Quite fascinating, really.”

“My darling, if I didn’t know for sure that you’re a one-man woman, I’d be jealous at the attention he got this evening!” replied Sam.

Sam chuckled. “I rather think that I could have walked into the room stark naked and he wouldn’t have noticed! Did you not see?”

“As her father, I’m not sure that I wanted to see!” he replied dryly. “Oh alright, yes, it was funny, wasn’t it!”

“Both of them, you think?”

“Mm hm.”

“We could have some very interesting grandchildren one day,” she murmured.

“Now, don’t go counting Hermione’s chickens,” said Sam, tapping his wife lightly on the nose. “She’s very young, let them sort themselves out in their own time. It may never happen, after all. We saw him for one single evening, and a man can hide a lot about his character in so short a time. And there’s no guarantee that they’ll ever choose to meet again.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” said Sam confidently.

“Let’s just see what happens, then, love,” replied her husband. “No interfering!”

“Did I interfere with that ridiculous engagement to Ron Weasley? No I didn’t. And why not?”

“Because you knew that our daughter would see sense in time?”

“Right in one! And she did. Although Severus coming along this evening was a bonus I didn’t look for. He’s certainly shaken her out of any self-pity she might have indulged in!”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while.

“Do you remember when we were courting?” he asked eventually.

“God, yes! It was exciting, wasn’t it? The tension, the uncertainty, the – the sheer magic of it all!”

“This evening has made me rather nostalgic, Sam,” he said, regarding her suggestively.

“You are impossible, Sam Granger! But, all things considered? If you insist!”

And she leaned upwards for his kiss.


A/N The sequel to this is 'Little Book of Charms'.