Rumpole and the Killing Curse, Part Ten
(Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine)
It was thought advisable that I forego the Tube that afternoon in favor of being taken directly home by Snape, Dumbledore having first hurried to Casa Rumpole to warn She Who Must of our unorthodox arrival.
"Now hold onto my arm," the ex-professor said, sullenly offering up said appendage, "and don't even think of letting go." I was going to say something about it being too soon in our relationship for that sort of thing, but the look in Snape's eyes stopped the words dead before they could leave my mouth. He then lifted his wand with his other hand, there was a crack and a flash, and away we went through what seemed like oceans of blackness.
While it was all very efficiently done on Professor Snape's part, on the whole I would have to say that I prefer the District Line to Side-Along Apparition; while it takes a bit longer -- especially if the train operators are on strike -- it usually doesn't induce nausea, unless someone neglected to clean up after the 'chav' from Aldgate who brought up his lunch in the rear carriage after too many pints of whatever unrecognizable beverage the chavs drink these days.
We arrived in the middle of the kitchen, and it was there that I got my second surprise of the day. Hermione Granger was sitting at the kitchen table, cup of tea in her hand, discussing something or other with Hilda. Her wand was in her hand, but she relaxed once she recognized us.
"What are you doing here, Hermione?" I said, once I felt I could open my mouth and not have anything extra come out of it.
"Looking after Hilda until Professor Snape collected you. Professor Dumbledore warned me, and I got here as soon as I could. He didn't think Cameron had any helpers -- he thought that it was something likely done on his own initiative -- but we didn't want to leave Hilda alone here, all the same."
This news did not please Professor Snape. "Dumbledore ordered you here? He should have known better."
"And what," said Hermione frostily, "do you mean by that?"
"I mean," replied Snape through clenched teeth, "that he should not be endangering schoolgirls by sending them up against Death Eaters."
Now Miss Granger's back was well and truly up. "You forget, Professor, that this schoolgirl has faced Death Eaters in the past."
If Snape had been sitting, he would have leapt to his feet. Since he was already on his feet, he settled for having his face go dead white as a vein throbbed at his left temple. "You all were incredibly lucky at the Ministry last year, you silly girl! Bellatrix Lestrange was distracted by Black, or else you would have died a slow death!"
"Well, who else is available, Professor? And we wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if a Certain Someone didn't stop giving Harry Occlumency lessons."
Snape's eyes went wide as his nostrils flared in rage, and what he was about to say next was probably not suitable for a schoolgirl's ears. But he didn't have the chance to say it, as Hilda had taken her biggest wooden spoon and was banging it repeatedly on the inside of her large roasting pan, creating a lovely loud noise that drowned out every other sound. All eyes were now fixed on She Who Must Be Obeyed.
"There will be no shouting in this house," she said, calmly yet forcefully, "unless it's being done by me. Is that clear?" She looked at the witch and wizard in front of her, who gave identical sullen nods. "There, now that we have that settled - would either of you fancy staying for supper? I was just about to grill a few chops."
For a helpless schoolgirl, Hermione had a nearly indecent amount of poise; she recovered her temper admirably and with lightning speed. "That would be lovely, Hilda, thank you."
"Excellent."
She Who Must then turned towards at Snape, and I fully expected him to say no. I think that he fully expected to say no, as well. But he looked over at Hermione -- quickly, and he made a point of looking around elsewhere immediately afterward, as if to imply that he really wasn't looking at Miss Granger -- and then, with somewhat less than his usual acerbity, accepted.
------------------------
Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. Efforts to draw Snape into conversation were met with little more than monosyllabic grunts. On the other hand, Miss Granger more than made up for it, talking fifteen to the dozen about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, and the non-wizarding world.
As for Snape and Hermione, they didn't exchange a single word; all of their verbal communication was done with either Hilda or myself. But that didn't stop them from stealing glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking.
Once their share of dinner was consumed, they left separately, Hermione by the front door and Snape via Apparition.
"Do you think he'll ever admit he's fallen for her?" I asked Hilda, once they were both safely off the premises.
She Who Must Be Obeyed made a light chuckle. "Not unless it's dragged out of him," she said. "And she won't ever admit that she loves him, either."
"They're both being noble, you think, then?"
"That, and they're both being obstinate, which comes to the same thing."
---------------
The rest of the week proved to be blessedly wizard-free, aside of course from the consultations with Dumbledore; though, being two-dimensional, he really didn't count. I appeared in Chambers, picked up a spot of dangerous driving and a run-of-the-mill breaking and entering brief, and once again the Timsons came through for me with a shoplifting charge on one of their younger members. It was all enough to pay the bills without being overly taxing to the constitution.
I finished the week in a state of reasonable content, and it was in that state, sitting in Pommeroy's Wine Bar, that I ran into Mrs Justice Phillida Erskine-Brown, now a mighty and puissant judge but once a pupil of mine named Phillida Trant, the former Portia of our Chambers. She offered to buy me a drink, and as she was decidedly more flush than myself, who was I to turn her down?
"So," I said to her, once the drinks were in our possession, "how goes the life of a learned judge these days, Portia?"
Mrs Justice gave a most unladylike snort. "What I Did Today: Today, thirteen years of schooling, five years of higher education, twenty-eight years of professional practice, thirteen years of judicial experience, and significant investment of public money came together in determining which of two people should have possession of a giant inflatable banana," said Mrs Justice Erskine-Brown with all the awful majesty such a statement deserved.
"I'm sure you were fair and honest in your judgment," I replied.
"I gently and persuasively suggested that it might be less stressful and more cost effective for them to sort it out between themselves. It worked a treat."
"Ah, depriving poor defence counsels of their livelihood by introducing the element of common sense." I sighed heavily. "How cruel of you, Portia."
She made another snort, then was silent for a while, sipping her wine (she'd got two glasses of Pommeroy's Not-Quite-So-Ordinary for us). "Rumpole," she said at last, "aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"
"I ask no questions of those who are kind enough to get me drunk."
"Oh, now you're being coy," she said. "I hate that."
"All right, since you insist: Why are you here, Portia?"
And then she said the dreaded words I'd heard so many times before: "It's about Claude..."
"No."
"I beg your pardon?!"
"No." I set my glass down and looked her straight in the eye. "No, I haven't recently seen him in the company of any young barristresses, at least not outside of the courtroom. No, he hasn't recently had a word to say about you that is in any way negative or embarrassing, unless you count his opinion of your singing. No, he hasn't been behaving or acting strangely -- that is, for him. I trust that answers your question?"
The color had risen to her cheeks in a most becoming way, as she tumbled this way and that between anger, surprise, indignation and acceptance. "Yes," she said, when she could finally get the word out from a choked throat.
"Good, because the two of you really do belong together, much as I failed to see it early on, and I'm not in the mood to play marriage counsellor."
"'Belong together'?" she repeated, hope in her voice. "You really think so, Rumpole?"
"I do."
"So... what did he have to say about my singing?"
It was thought advisable that I forego the Tube that afternoon in favor of being taken directly home by Snape, Dumbledore having first hurried to Casa Rumpole to warn She Who Must of our unorthodox arrival.
"Now hold onto my arm," the ex-professor said, sullenly offering up said appendage, "and don't even think of letting go." I was going to say something about it being too soon in our relationship for that sort of thing, but the look in Snape's eyes stopped the words dead before they could leave my mouth. He then lifted his wand with his other hand, there was a crack and a flash, and away we went through what seemed like oceans of blackness.
While it was all very efficiently done on Professor Snape's part, on the whole I would have to say that I prefer the District Line to Side-Along Apparition; while it takes a bit longer -- especially if the train operators are on strike -- it usually doesn't induce nausea, unless someone neglected to clean up after the 'chav' from Aldgate who brought up his lunch in the rear carriage after too many pints of whatever unrecognizable beverage the chavs drink these days.
We arrived in the middle of the kitchen, and it was there that I got my second surprise of the day. Hermione Granger was sitting at the kitchen table, cup of tea in her hand, discussing something or other with Hilda. Her wand was in her hand, but she relaxed once she recognized us.
"What are you doing here, Hermione?" I said, once I felt I could open my mouth and not have anything extra come out of it.
"Looking after Hilda until Professor Snape collected you. Professor Dumbledore warned me, and I got here as soon as I could. He didn't think Cameron had any helpers -- he thought that it was something likely done on his own initiative -- but we didn't want to leave Hilda alone here, all the same."
This news did not please Professor Snape. "Dumbledore ordered you here? He should have known better."
"And what," said Hermione frostily, "do you mean by that?"
"I mean," replied Snape through clenched teeth, "that he should not be endangering schoolgirls by sending them up against Death Eaters."
Now Miss Granger's back was well and truly up. "You forget, Professor, that this schoolgirl has faced Death Eaters in the past."
If Snape had been sitting, he would have leapt to his feet. Since he was already on his feet, he settled for having his face go dead white as a vein throbbed at his left temple. "You all were incredibly lucky at the Ministry last year, you silly girl! Bellatrix Lestrange was distracted by Black, or else you would have died a slow death!"
"Well, who else is available, Professor? And we wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if a Certain Someone didn't stop giving Harry Occlumency lessons."
Snape's eyes went wide as his nostrils flared in rage, and what he was about to say next was probably not suitable for a schoolgirl's ears. But he didn't have the chance to say it, as Hilda had taken her biggest wooden spoon and was banging it repeatedly on the inside of her large roasting pan, creating a lovely loud noise that drowned out every other sound. All eyes were now fixed on She Who Must Be Obeyed.
"There will be no shouting in this house," she said, calmly yet forcefully, "unless it's being done by me. Is that clear?" She looked at the witch and wizard in front of her, who gave identical sullen nods. "There, now that we have that settled - would either of you fancy staying for supper? I was just about to grill a few chops."
For a helpless schoolgirl, Hermione had a nearly indecent amount of poise; she recovered her temper admirably and with lightning speed. "That would be lovely, Hilda, thank you."
"Excellent."
She Who Must then turned towards at Snape, and I fully expected him to say no. I think that he fully expected to say no, as well. But he looked over at Hermione -- quickly, and he made a point of looking around elsewhere immediately afterward, as if to imply that he really wasn't looking at Miss Granger -- and then, with somewhat less than his usual acerbity, accepted.
------------------------
Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. Efforts to draw Snape into conversation were met with little more than monosyllabic grunts. On the other hand, Miss Granger more than made up for it, talking fifteen to the dozen about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, and the non-wizarding world.
As for Snape and Hermione, they didn't exchange a single word; all of their verbal communication was done with either Hilda or myself. But that didn't stop them from stealing glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking.
Once their share of dinner was consumed, they left separately, Hermione by the front door and Snape via Apparition.
"Do you think he'll ever admit he's fallen for her?" I asked Hilda, once they were both safely off the premises.
She Who Must Be Obeyed made a light chuckle. "Not unless it's dragged out of him," she said. "And she won't ever admit that she loves him, either."
"They're both being noble, you think, then?"
"That, and they're both being obstinate, which comes to the same thing."
---------------
The rest of the week proved to be blessedly wizard-free, aside of course from the consultations with Dumbledore; though, being two-dimensional, he really didn't count. I appeared in Chambers, picked up a spot of dangerous driving and a run-of-the-mill breaking and entering brief, and once again the Timsons came through for me with a shoplifting charge on one of their younger members. It was all enough to pay the bills without being overly taxing to the constitution.
I finished the week in a state of reasonable content, and it was in that state, sitting in Pommeroy's Wine Bar, that I ran into Mrs Justice Phillida Erskine-Brown, now a mighty and puissant judge but once a pupil of mine named Phillida Trant, the former Portia of our Chambers. She offered to buy me a drink, and as she was decidedly more flush than myself, who was I to turn her down?
"So," I said to her, once the drinks were in our possession, "how goes the life of a learned judge these days, Portia?"
Mrs Justice gave a most unladylike snort. "What I Did Today: Today, thirteen years of schooling, five years of higher education, twenty-eight years of professional practice, thirteen years of judicial experience, and significant investment of public money came together in determining which of two people should have possession of a giant inflatable banana," said Mrs Justice Erskine-Brown with all the awful majesty such a statement deserved.
"I'm sure you were fair and honest in your judgment," I replied.
"I gently and persuasively suggested that it might be less stressful and more cost effective for them to sort it out between themselves. It worked a treat."
"Ah, depriving poor defence counsels of their livelihood by introducing the element of common sense." I sighed heavily. "How cruel of you, Portia."
She made another snort, then was silent for a while, sipping her wine (she'd got two glasses of Pommeroy's Not-Quite-So-Ordinary for us). "Rumpole," she said at last, "aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"
"I ask no questions of those who are kind enough to get me drunk."
"Oh, now you're being coy," she said. "I hate that."
"All right, since you insist: Why are you here, Portia?"
And then she said the dreaded words I'd heard so many times before: "It's about Claude..."
"No."
"I beg your pardon?!"
"No." I set my glass down and looked her straight in the eye. "No, I haven't recently seen him in the company of any young barristresses, at least not outside of the courtroom. No, he hasn't recently had a word to say about you that is in any way negative or embarrassing, unless you count his opinion of your singing. No, he hasn't been behaving or acting strangely -- that is, for him. I trust that answers your question?"
The color had risen to her cheeks in a most becoming way, as she tumbled this way and that between anger, surprise, indignation and acceptance. "Yes," she said, when she could finally get the word out from a choked throat.
"Good, because the two of you really do belong together, much as I failed to see it early on, and I'm not in the mood to play marriage counsellor."
"'Belong together'?" she repeated, hope in her voice. "You really think so, Rumpole?"
"I do."
"So... what did he have to say about my singing?"