Chapter 11

Snape languidly stretched himself beneath the covers. It was so warm and peaceful. He opened one eye, and found the sun streaming in through the open window. Something was very odd, rather like a misplaced piece of furniture. What was going on? Why was he still in bed and not at class? Pushing up the sleeve on his left arm, he glanced at his wrist watch which let him know that it was almost noon. He sat upright with a bolt. It was completely unlike him to be so complacent, and then he remembered. Something about him feeling sick and an irritating mosquito buzzing around him. He scowled. And he had no idea why, but he was beginning to get very irritated that she was nowhere to be seen. Sure, he had been a jerk and had told her explicitly without mincing words to get out, but that did not mean she had to run away like a coward! What a sad excuse for a Gryffindor. Shoving the covers off, he stretched himself. Yawning he walked into the kitchen, he needed some black tea. Just as he set foot in, he stopped, appalled at the sight before him.

Hermione was at the stove preparing what suspiciously looked like lunch, and Scoot was lying next to her on his mat playing with his ball! Upon seeing him Scoot got up and lovingly placed his front paws on his legs, wagging his tail vigorously, ecstatic to see his master. Bending down, he tickled it. It seemed alright. Hermione paused what she was doing and turned around.

'Professor Snape, are you alright' and she hurriedly moved towards him. Standing on tiptoe she felt his forehead. 'You're not running a fever are you' she asked anxiously.

'No I'm not' he said curtly. 'Pray, what are you doing in my kitchen?'

'Well, you seem to be looking well. You were really sick yesterday morning.' Saying so, she bustled away towards the stove. 'I've taken the liberty of cooking lunch, and there's a hot pot of tea on the table.'

'How did you even get in?'

'Oh, you let me in yesterday morning.'

He did, did he. He must have been stark raving mad to have let this lunatic inside his quarters. All reassuring memories of her feeding him the right potion, comforting, pampering and generally taking care of him were quickly banished into the deepest recesses. He could feel the muscle above his eyebrow begin to twitch again. He was breathing deeply. As he surveyed the scene before him, he realized that he just couldn't take it anymore. It was just too domesticated complete with the loving wife making lunch, the adorable dog near the hearth. Argh. Before he could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth.

'Leave now!' His voice booked no arguments.

Hermione was startled. She turned around slowly and faced him. His hands were curled into tight fists. She walked slowly towards him.

'I'm just trying to help' she said in a tight voice.

'I didn't ask for, want or need your help' he yelled. He was being extremely unreasonable, even more than usual, but he couldn't help himself. This woman was invading every aspect of his life, permeating his pores like some reprehensible mist. Ever since she came to Hogwarts, his solitude, his privacy, his peace of mind, had all vanished.

'You should be grateful I took care of you when you were sick you dastardly man!'

'You need not have, a little fever would not have killed me! I've faced worse you stupid woman!'

'Well, then maybe I should have left you to suffer you ghastly beast!'

'Much as I would like to entertain you murderous intentions, get out!'

'You can roast in hell for all I care!' Throwing down her apron she almost ran out slamming the door shut behind her.

He exhaled deeply and released his curled fists. He knew he had sunk to an all time low, but he just couldn't help it. He had taken about all he could. He was a grown, self sufficient man. He did not need a chattering, cocooning, crooning woman drawing a web of comfort around him. More like a web of deceit. He sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of tea, inhaling its rich aroma deeply. It had a faint smell of lemon. He had always loved lemon tea. He groaned, sipping his tea gratefully. At the back of his mind he knew he had done something culpable, but then he didn't care to dwell on it. He had what he did not for the past 48 hours, solitude and he intended to fully enjoy it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Scoot giving him a reproachable look.

'Don't look at me like that. She was getting on my nerves!'

Without a reply, Scoot stalked off, and disappeared beneath the couch. So now, he was being unapproachable too! He sighed.

He spent the day enjoying his seclusion, catching up on some reading from the Journal of Mystical Potions. He checked with Professor McGonagall and found out that his Potions class had been taken by the Professor's of DADA (aka Hermione) and Herbology. He then planned his schedule for the rest of the week, which only included Thursday and Friday. Then he performed a detailed inventory of the ingredients from his private store in the dungeons. That accomplished, he brewed the next batch of potions as per Madame Pomfrey's requirement in the infirmary. He had pretty much managed to pass the day without feeling guilty over the day's activity. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was almost time for dinner. Slipping on his cloak, he made his way to the Great Hall. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He frowned. She hadn't turned up for lunch either. Well if that woman wanted to sulk, then sulk she could all she wanted. He wasn't going to get in her way! He calmly finished his dinner and retired to his quarters. As he called out to Scoot to come and have his dinner, the mutt ate it without even so much as a by glance and then crawled beneath the couch. It was giving him some serious attitude. And it wouldn't respond to any ear tickling or belly rubbing either. And to top it all, it had a doleful look which it had been wearing since the dramatic scene with that infuriating woman. He scowled. If Scoot was going to sulk, he was going to let him!

The next two days passed uneventfully. Hermione was missing at breakfast, lunch and dinner and Scoot was still sulking. 'Maybe she doesn't want to sit with you anymore' a tiny voice whispered inside his head. That was perfectly alright. He didn't care much for her company either. But by Friday evening, the rest of the staff at Hogwarts including Peeves were maintaining considerable distance from him. He had become an unbearably grumpy wild animal, lashing out at everything and everyone. He couldn't figure out why he was so irritable off late. And he refused to even consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he actually missed her. That night when she was once again missing at dinner, he dug his fork with vehemence in his food, causing Professor Flitwick who was on his other side, to think about moving himself and his plate away from him. Snarling, he attacked his dinner and retired to his quarters, in a possibly darker mood.