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Black and White	By : Elentari Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3: And I thought I couldn't sink any lower

The bus had other six stops, and took precisely 40 minutes to complete its path. When Snape finally stood up, they were in a very crowded square in what looked very much like downtown of – she learned from the recorded info playing over and over on the bus, along with touristic information about the places they stopped at –Curitiba. Hermione decided her very next move was to find an atlas and discover where exactly the city was.

She was stuck in a city she knew nothing about, on a whole different continent, with a less than pleased Potion Master. Wonderful.

Severus Snape walked away from the square with the same purposeful stride he had used at Hogwarts, making Hermione almost run behind him. Thank goodness she wasn't dressed in wizarding robes, or else it would have been a hell of a note. They walked past an electronic clock that gave her the time and temperature: 19:58 hrs and 16 degrees Celsius. All kinds of people raced through the streets with them, tucked in their cloaks and jackets. In a few minutes they reached what seemed to be the muggle version of Hogsmeade. A commercial street.

"Excuse me," Hermione tried. Snape paid her no attention. "Professor!"

That got him to look at her – in his trademark scowl, of course. "What?"

"Do you know where we’re going?" Hermione inquired defiantly. Snape didn't even deign that with an answer, turning his back once again and resuming his walk among the Muggles. And damn, he did have very long legs!

Hermione ran again, catching up with him. "What do I call you? I can't keep on calling you professor all the time."

"Ten points to the lions." Of course he wouldn't say 'Gryffindor' aloud, but she got the meaning anyway. "Call me Scevola. And ... you are?"

The disdainful tone in her voice was a bitter remainder – though he was unaware of that – of her own voice, asking Ron who he was in their first train ride to Hogwarts.

"Call me Galene. It would be Eileen Galene, but --"

"But what, Miss Galene?"

"If we are going to pose as relatives, I should use the same name as you, shouldn't I?"

"If we were, that would be a correct assumption, Miss Galene. However, we are not related in any way – for which I am very thankful."

Let me see if I got this straight.

Fact one: I'm isolated from pretty much everyone of the wizarding world, but my trainer – the one I wanted to be the farthest away possible – and his superior, who is the head of the Department of Mystery himself, for ten bloody months.

Fact two: we are stuck in a little – or not so little, check this later… I really do want to get a map – city in South America, which neither of us knows, for ten months.

Fact three: we will live in the same house, for ten months, and not under the excuse of being relatives. Not that it would work anyway, we have too different facial structures to pass as family, so I am not going to pose as his darling daughter or whatever… what choice does it leave? But that's not the point. The point is; I'm killing Dumbledore. And Arthur Weasley, regardless of what Ron might have to say about it.

Who knows, Ron might even help me.

The thing is: am I the only one aware of the bizarre irony of this situation? Considering Snape's foul mood – even fouler than when we did something against the rules and he couldn't get us into a bad-enough-for-him detention or expulsion – he was aware as well.

As Ron would say: Bloody hell.

The couple walked for a bit more, until they stopped before a house. It was a nice house, two stories, a nice garden, retreated enough for the casual passers-by not to see what happened inside. Sna ... Scevola took a key out of his pockets and opened the gates. Repeated the operation before the front doors.

Well, they were not kidding when they said it would be a Muggle cover. There was nothing magical in that room. The fireplace looked like it had been manipulated, but that was it. And Hermione strongly doubted they were in the Floo Network.

She couldn't identify the style of the furniture. Or the house's. It was cosy, no doubt there, and spacious as well. The sofas were warm and welcoming, and after she turned the heater on, it would be lovely.

"Nice place," she commented, not really caring if Sna ... Scevola would reply or not.

"If you like it," he answered, making her wish he hadn't.

Ten months.

"Where do I leave my things?" she tried again. Dammit, Snape, I'm as pissed about this as you are. Could you make this easy for both of us? Of course not.

Snape drew in a breath and started to climb the stairs. "This way, Galene."

I'm so stunned I can't even think of a proper curse.

We have fucking adjoining rooms, dammit!

Forget about convincing Ron to kill his father. I will kill both Dumbledore and Weasley alone, thank you very much, and I'll do it slowly.

No wonder Snape was looking at me as if he wanted to shred me in tiny bits; the only thing more uncomfortable than having your obnoxious former teacher living with you, in the same house, in the next room – in the next bloody adjoining room – was to have that insufferable know-it-all you had in your classes in the adjoining room. Not that I'm feeling any sympathy for him right now. I had some, in the very first months of our acquaintance – before I knew better – but right now I couldn't care less if I tried. Which I won't.

And with all the detachment he mastered oh so well, he gave me one of his infamous smirks – Draco would be ashamed if he saw this one – and opened the door that connected our rooms, passing to his own. His was decorated in black and white, I noticed, very masculine, very stern and very Snape. Although I thought, honestly, he would have a room in silver and green. Old habits die hard, I presume. Anyway, he stood there in his gothic anti-hero figure, and said: "I believe if you feel hungry you can find the kitchens on your own, Miss Galene. Training starts tomorrow."

Of course I wouldn't have a 'rest well, Miss Galene'. 'Good evening to you, Miss Galene.' No.

I don't give a damn about anything, that door is going to be locked. Now. There's a perfectly convenient door to this room from the corridor he can use to call me. No need for him to – ught! – open this early in the morning and find me in pyjamas.

Even the fact that my room is a suite can't improve my mood.

God, and I thought I couldn't sink any lower.

Hermione woke up at seven o'clock the next day with the sound of thunderous knocking. For a while she was confused, thinking maybe she was late for classes, then she remembered she was not at Hogwarts anymore. What was Snape doing, amplifying the sound? With the noise he was making, the neighbours would call the police or something. She lifted her head to bark a rude comment about his manners when she realized which door he was pounding at. The door that gave to the outside corridor. She let her head fall back down on her pillows and smiled lazily.

"Eileen, wake up. It's not my job to baby sit you, dammit!"

That definitely got her up. Severus Snape – cursing? At – she glanced the very muggle clock on her dresser – seven in the morning?

Fifteen minutes later she was downstairs, trying to make a decent breakfast for herself. "I should very much like if you were awake before noon during our training, Miss Galene."

Noon? It’s bloody seven-fifteen in the morning!

"Yes, Scevola. How long do I have to eat breakfast?" Hermione snapped, barely containing herself from lunging for his throat. Snape didn't flinch.

"Half an hour," he said and left, a tall glass of orange juice in his hand. I don't even remember him eating breakfast ever ...

"Thanks," she muttered, and resumed her task.

The fridge was well supplied, but clearly the local cuisine was entirely different than what she was used to. Hermione separated some fruits aside – it would be fun, and relaxing, to try them – made herself some eggs – no bacon, dammit – prepared a ham and cheese sandwich and let the coffee machine working. She wasn't even fond of coffee, but God knew she would need some.

Thirty minutes later, she walked towards the living room to find Snape reading the newspaper. The Muggle newspaper. Will wonders never cease.

"Ahem."

"Go change. We're exploring the city today."

'We're what?'

"I thought we would start our training immediately," Hermione dared. "You haven't awoken me at such ungodly hour to go tour, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," Snape said coolly. "You will find a little map of this city on your bureau. From what I gathered, it's winter here, and the average temperature is about 14 degrees Celsius. There are a few places that might be interesting to know before we start training. What?" he said the last word in a hiss, as he noticed Hermione staring at him open-mouthed.

"You have ... you have programmed a city tour?"

"Miss Galene, I must expose my doubts about your capacity to successfully survive through this program. I was quite clear when I asked Albus to hand me someone who actually had a brain I could polish. Unfortunately, he likes to torture me with ... " dramatic pause. Hermione closed her mouth quickly in outrage as he arched a patronizing eyebrow at her. A devilish smirk appeared on his lips. "Now, Galene, if you don't mind? You were aware of the conditions of the program."

Hermione stood still for a second, processing the information. Then she smiled at him. "Of course. Give me a moment to take a quick shower and get dressed. I'll be down here in no time."

She had had no time to unpack, or even to take in the decoration of her own room – which was a soft blue – last night. With a quick switch of her wand, she turned her trunks to their normal size and selected a suitable pair of jeans, shirt and jackets.

Albus' words echoed in her mind – avoid using magic. Don't call attention to yourselves.

Snape was ready and waiting not so patiently in the living room, on the same spot they had been talking before. Dressed in black, again. One would think there was no other colour in his closet – and one would probably be right.

"Did you bring your map?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Right here."

"Let's go then."

"You don't really know this city, do you? I mean, when did you arrive here?"

Snape took his time to answer that. But he did, after a couple of minutes. "I arrived here yesterday morning. I had to put the wards around the house."

He led her back to the commercial street they had seen the night before – it was called Rua XV de Novembro. Loads of tourists passed them, taking pictures of the streets and talking animatedly among themselves. They were not the only foreign faces around.

"Where are you from?" Hermione ventured again. If he was going to be the only link to her life, they might as well try to talk a little.

Snape looked at her expressionlessly, thought she knew she had crossed the line. But she didn't care.

"Scevola is an Italian who lived in England. Now he's trying to get a visa to live here. There's a large Italian community in this city. They are more commonly found in another neighbourhood, though. Not that it really matters. I'm just applying for a visa. We will have dinner there. Keep your eyes open."

The guy was supposed to depend on her to blend in the background. How come he was so damn secure about the surroundings?

He looked at her and smiled – a condescending smile, but a natural one. It didn't reassure her because he was smiling at her expense, he knew damn well what she was thinking about. And also ...

He hadn't answered where he was from, but given her the profile of his cover.

The conditions.

I'm teaching you Muggle life style, am I not? That leaves us quite even, does it not?

You are so screwed, Snape.

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