December 28th, 1999

When she walked into his shop, he felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He didn't look up, but he could see her figure sillouhetted against the bright sunlight out of the corner of his eye.

There were a number of tourists in his small shop. When the locals swore by you, it was child's play to get the foreign trade. He wasn't breaking the statue of secrecy, exactly. Ninety-nine percent of each bottle he sold was complete and utter crap. It was that other one percent that caused his "natural remedies" to do what they were advertised to do, however weakly. In his three years on the island, he'd built quite a following. With the proceeds, he had recently bought a house a stone's throw from Antigua Guatamala and close enough to the Volcan de Fuego to feel dangerous.

The woman was browsing, but not quite in the unhurried way that the other tourists had, as if killing time before their next activity. She was on a mission, and this piqued his interest. He glanced up for a better view and saw a pair of shapely, as yet untanned legs stretching from well-worn white trainers and ending in khaki shorts encasing a gently rounded bum with a small dog-eared book in the pocket, and white collared shirt that was just sheer enough that he could make out the outline of her waist. Her hair was bundled underneath a cotton hat, but wisps of honey-colored curls found their way out. He found himself eyeing her back appreciatively.

He saw her beginning to turn around, and he looked down at his book. In the periphery of his vision, he could see her khaki-clad hips swinging closer.

"Excuse me, but do you have anything for sunburns?" she asked.

Snape froze. It couldn't be. His silence stretched on too long.

"Do you speak English?"

He slowly looked up, meeting those fathomless brown eyes, wondering if she'd see right through his disguise. The potion disguised his most recognizable features—he was now as tan as a native with a blunt nose as opposed to his protuberant one—but it was nowhere near as comprehensive as Polyjuice. Instead of answering, he shook his head slowly, knowing how recognizable his voice was.

Miss Granger pursed her lips, as if annoyed with herself. "Tiene usted algo para el sol?" she asked, tentatively. "Para… um… fuego—quemar del piel?" She grimaced. "Pardoname. No hablo Espanol." She reached into her back pocket to take out the book, no doubt a dictionary of some kind.

Snape waved his hand to let her know that he had understood and rose from his chair behind the register to lead her to the wall on the left. He reached out and grabbed a vial from the second shelf and handed it to her. His fingers touched hers briefly as he passed her the vial and he only just stopped himself from jerking his hand back. Something electric had passed between their fingers.

"Muchas gracias," the chit said, smiling up at him. Her face was only slightly sunkissed and her eyes were warm. She smelled of lemons and of sunscreen.

Snape cocked an eyebrow, looking meaningfully back and forth from her to the vial.

"Oh, it's not for me!" she said laughing. "I mean, no es para mi. Es por mi esposo. El no uso ninguna guarda y ahora—" She shook her head. "He's a ginger, poor bloke. Let's just say that he regrets not listening to my nagging."

She followed him back to the register and studied the vial as he slipped behind the counter.

"Quanto para eso?" she asked.

Snape held up five fingers.

"Bueno," she said, and reached into her front pocket, pulling out a twenty ECD bill. "Cheaper than aloe, and the hotel manager swears by you," she murmured.

Snape made change. He looked up to find her watching his hands intently.

She met his eyes suddenly and grinned, and he thought he saw relief in her expression. "I should have known." She leaned in close to his ear, and he felt her breath on his cheek. "It's okay, you can get me the good stuff." He caught the movement of the wand in her sleeve and felt the familiar tingle of a translation spell. "Conozco bastante bien con la magia."

Of course she was quite familiar with magic. He wondered, though, how she'd figured out that he was.

He nodded, and held up his finger to indicate that he would be back in a minute, and turned to go into the storeroom. Miss Granger leaned on the counter and commenced humming tunelessly to herself.

In the back, he found some full-strength burn salve, as yet undiluted, and for himself he uncorked a vial of the Volubilis Potion that was quite popular among adolescent males. He tipped his head back and swallowed it in one gulp, grimacing as the slimy stuff hit the back of his throat. He felt a touch queasy as his vocal cords curved and stretched. Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features into a mask of bland interest, and returned to the counter, locking the storeroom behind him. He found Miss Granger perusing the shelves with a renewed interest, but she returned to the counter as soon as she noticed him.

"What gave me away?" To his relief, his voice was still baritone, but of an entirely different quality. One never knew quite what one was going to get with the Volubilis Potion.

She gestured to the fingers on his right hand.

"Indentations, here and here," she said softly. "From stirring a cauldron all day—and with the correct handgrip, no less."

He nodded, slowly, resisting the urge to examine his hands. ""Anything else?" He'd been passing as a Muggle since he'd arrived, and no one had so much as batted an eyelash.

"I've, um, never known a Muggle to smell quite so strongly of Sal Ammoniac."

Snape grimaced. Sal Ammoniac comprised the base of his daily potion. He discreetly sniffed his collar.

"It's not unpleasant," she hastened to add. "It's just…noticeable."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, but he merely held out the vial. "It's twenty ECD for the burn salve—it's two parts Dittany."

She reached into her pocket and handed him back the change she'd collected.

"A warning," he said, as he placed the bills in the register. "This is strong enough to put the user to sleep for twelve to sixteen hours."

"Sounds perfect," she said, her lips quirking as he handed her the vial. "He might be almost human after he gets some rest." She twisted the vial between her fingers. "Thank you so much. You've just saved my holiday."

"You're quite welcome, senora."

She turned to go, holding the vial to the light and watching the viscous liquid cling to the corners of the container. Suddenly, she turned back, fixing him with an inquisitive look.

He resisted the urge to shrink back against his chair, wondering if this was the moment that she identified him. However, she merely smiled at him absently and continued on her way.

Snape sat back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. His identity was safe. But why did he suddenly feel bereft?

June 27th, 2019

"I need your help."

Snape's grip on his pen tightened. "Pardón?"

"Don't," she said, shortly. "There's no time for that."

He raised his head, seeing the outline of her form in the doorway, black against the setting sun. "You must have me mistaken-"

She stepped fully into the room and he saw her face. Miss Granger's jaw was set and her eyes, red-rimmed and framed by dark circles, burned with determination. He hadn't seen an expression like that since the War.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"A gas bomb," she said, walking further into the shack that housed his shop and stopping just short of his desk. "A potion that vaporizes when detonated. There were two previous attacks-one eighteen months ago and one nine months ago-that killed a total of eight wizards. The third bomb went off six days ago in Hogsmeade at midday. Twenty-four witches and wizards were exposed to the toxin and are dying in spite of St. Mungo's best efforts. Six of them are children."

"You're here for an antidote." Two decades of peace slipped off his form like a dustcloth. He found himself on his feet, his back taut.

"Yes, but you're going to have to come with me." She grimaced apologetically, her eyes beseeching. "I don't have any of the potion—I couldn't risk-"

"When's the next Portkey?"

"Twenty minutes." She smiled at him gratefully, sagging back against his desk. "I guess that doesn't give you much time to pack."

Snape looked around the shop at the bottles holding the brightly tinted drafts and drams he sold to tourists, suddenly of no more concern than colored glass. He grabbed a cloak off the rack behind him.

"I travel light," he said.