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Intellectually Correct

Chapter 29

"There's a certain ambiance to New England, I think, ma cherie," observed Odin with an esctatic smile. They were driving north on the MA-107 into Salem, and Hermione was finally awake.

"There is the fog, of course (a fog not much comparable to that off the Thames, I must strongly insist!), but I think it is more or less caused by the appearance of these little wooden houses of blue and white."

"They are rather quaint," agreed Hermione dryly, though she didn't often give architecture much more importance.

"So distinctly American," Odin continued to chatter, "so beachy. So simple. So universal to this great western country."

"Perhaps," agreed Hermione again, closing her eyes.

"Then again...is it this remarkable view that you are entranced by, my dear, or is it that you are falling asleep with your nose pressed against the glass?"

The latter was precisely what Hermione was doing, out of disinclination to reveal to Odin how little she was listening to him prattle.

"Oh, I was admiring the green of everything," Hermione quickly covered, "it feels like it could be Ireland."

"Ah," Odin exclaimed in delight, "tharr eis'uh bee-yew-t'ful countrry for'yeh!"

"Oh, come off it!" Hermione giggled a little at his affected accent. She remembered with an instant how it felt to have a crush on the magnificent Odin.

But then again, after a moment, she didn't feel anything anymore.

They continued driving, Hermione's thoughts wandering to the point that she looked plaintively at every bicyclist and pedestrian, willing, wanting, waiting to see a certain dark-haired ex-professor of hers...

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

I've got to pull a Valjean, Snape thought as he paced around his bedroom. I can still be honorable if I go to the police and confess it all. I can still protect Becky and Thomas if I escape before they can put me in jail. But how to go about it? And would Becky and Thomas, who think they are in no real danger, be willing to put up with my company enough to let me protect them?

He felt queasiness in his stomach for which he scorned himself.

What am I nervous about, ex-spy that I am? I've been in danger of my life before; at the very worst, all they could do to me if they DO capture me is deport me back to England for incarceration...

He shivered. But if the wizarding system gets a hold of me in England...quite a different story, that.

At that point, he wasn't sure what he intended to decide. He was so forlorn, so lost, so unhappy.

He perceived a knock upon the door, and he opened it, and smiled faintly.

"Hello, my dear," he whispered, wary of any eavesdroppers that might be nearby.

"Hello, my dear," echoed 'Lily', sweeping into the room, tenseness in her 'voice'. "I realize I shouldn't be here. I don't want to be here. Severus..."

He was walking towards her, to embrace her, to let her suck his lips and tongue, to find warmth in the draft of air that he, with his mind, had crafted into his imaginary woman. She shied away like a spooked horse, careful and pained.

"Severus, I'm aware that you're conflicted once again. Just like you're conflicted about me and that Granger girl, you're conflicted about this decision."

"What?" All of a sudden, it had become clear to him, just by putting it into the context that she had, that he was not conflicted at all. His plan was justifiable, rational, and pretty much his only option. What other choice do I have, but to pull a Valjean? I should never have been in doubt. I was an idiot to doubt this plan.

"It's all right, because we're all conflicted about some things," Lily said, sighing and 'sitting' upon his bed. Snape felt himself fondly remembering their numerous trysts under its bedclothes and sighing in response.

"Are you conflicted?" Severus asked, not willing to extend the energy to put her right about the status of his previous conflict of decision-making concerning his future actions. I'll just let her talk. I want to look at her undisturbed.

"About some things, yes," Lily admitted, 'patting' the bed next to her, inviting him to sit with her. He refused with a shake of his head, and she shook her head in gentle reply, looking at the floor. "Perhaps I shall tell you, sometime, but not now. Not until you're more centered. Not until you're stable. Only then can I truly be capable of...telling you."

"Oh well," Snape replied, feeling strangely blissful. What does it matter what happens to the people around me? What does it matter what happens to me, either? Nothing really matters. Anyone could see that. Nothing...really...matters...Lily's...here...

"Here."

Lily 'took' his hand and led him out of the room, down the staircase. Rationally, Snape wondered whether or not Daisy or Becky would think him a bit loony, walking with his left hand outstretched as he grasped the hand of his invisible woman, but fortunately they didn't run into either of them while walking towards the study.

"Why are we coming down here?" Snape asked, not that he really cared about Becky or Daisy or whether or not Lily had a purpose in asking him downstairs.

"I'll have to compel you to do this, I think," Lily 'said' cryptically. Snape watched with some amusement as the imaginary woman 'shut' the doors and began to peruse the book-cases.

After a quarter-hour of searching, during which time Snape also started pulling out a stack of books, she 'placed' a worn paper pamphlet on the desk next to his pile.

"It's from 1988, and a bit faded, but I think this visitor's guide should give us the information that we need," Lily 'said', smiling sadly. "After all, how often do they move a police station?"

"Pweattteeeee!" came a voice, and 'Lily' 'disappeared' in a cloud of pink, red, and green mist.

"Hi, Thomas," Snape said when his heartbeat slowed. "Where's your mummy?"

"Gaga," the little boy explained wistfully, scampering away to the kitchen, from where Severus heard female voices resonate.

Shaking his head, which was starting to ache, Severus turned away. After ascertaining that Becky and Daisy were safely occupied at the back of the house, he would dispatch to the police station, to turn himself in...and make a daring escape.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

"Nothing's open this early, Odin," Hermione insisted with an aggrieved sigh.

"That is what you think, ma cherie, because you are not the soon-to-be-world-famous-traveling-detective!"

There was no arguing with him about his newest aspiration, Hermione had discovered long ago, but she could at least attempt to prove his incorrigible logic faulty.

"Since when do soon-to-be-world-famous-traveling-detectives have any authority to barge into unsuspecting visitor-centers and museums that won't open until ten o'clock, anyhow?"

"None whatsoever. Detectives who are established in their field don't either, didn't you know? But it makes a smashing film, to break into-"

"-I do hope we're not breaking into an-y-thing-" Hermione inputted.

"-an old abandoned warehouse by the sea (where they have no place to be) on a search for narcotics."

"On that note, let me amend what I said: We're neither hypothetically breaking into an old abandoned warehouse nor on the search for narcotics!" Hermione insisted. "All we want, by my recollection, is a bloody map!"

"Well, what do you suggest we do then, eh?" Odin said with a frown. "Just drive about until we come across something? A grocery, perhaps? A pie shop?"

"I don't think they'd sell pies at shops in the United States, Odin, save for perhaps as a novelty," commented Hermione, feeling as though she were scolding a three-year-old.

"Then what about a pharmacy? Pharmacies ought to be open at all hours, for when people have an emergency or whatnot," Odin continued.

"If we see one, we'll stop," Hermione conceded.

It was then that she got an idea.

"What about the police station? They've simply got to be open at all hours. And I'm sure they'll be able to point us to wherever it is you need to go, Odin."

"That's the thing," Odin said, wistful. "The police station is the where that we need to go."

"Oh bloody wonderful," Hermione said, feeling haggard. "So what do you want to do, Mr. Difficult?"

"Drive fast?" Odin asked. "Then they'll catch me and give me a notice?"

Hermione could not help but laugh. "Logical, intriguing, and it would work...except for the fact that even if you're a soon-to-be-world-famous-detective, you are not above the law, Odin. They won't exempt you the fine because you want to do their work for them."

"True, too true," he agreed.

And so, they continued to cruise around aimlessly, Hermione once more leaning against the window in an attempt to sleep and Odin driving steadily, until he thought Hermione was asleep and then he'd start to swerve a bit until Hermione shouted at him to stop trying to get them killed.

After all, she was so close to Snape. It'd be wretched if she died now!

"So why were you kicked off Mars?"

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Hey, if you want to, do check out my new page: Anachronistic Anglophile. There's lots of stuff there. I just update this story here due to its popularity.

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Do review. Despite what you very kind reviewers seem to think, I daresay this really is rubbish, of the comic kind.