1. Once upon a time on a rainy afternoon in Manchester
When Harry Potter, famous war hero, Order of Merlin first class, Senior Captain of the Ministry's Unspeakables, and most powerful wizard in Britain wanted something, he usually got it.
In and of itself, this was not such a bad thing; Harry, who had been humbled by his humble upbringing, and softened rather than hardened by death, war and destruction, usually made reasonable demands. They more often than not contributed to goodness and decency, and she would never have considered working for him otherwise. However, that did not mean that they were easily accomplished. Which was why Hermione Granger, his first researcher and right hand woman found herself standing on the doorstep of a small antiques bookstore at the outskirt of Manchester on a rainy Saturday afternoon in the middle of October.
It was a dirty and grey street, and her hair was wet, but she had been looking forward to the bimonthly visit all week and was in good cheer. Juggling two paper cups in the crook of her arm, her entrance was marked by the merry jingling of the small doorbell. There were no customers and she grinned as she spotted the owner behind the battered counter.
"Here's your coffee, you old grouch."
The newly released convict, reformed Death Eater, and pariah to both the muggle and wizarding society, laid down 'The Times' and removed his wire-rimmed spectacles. He had ducked his dark head upon her arrival but she could still spy his half-hidden smile through the limp strands of his hair.
"Granger. You never give up, do you?"
It was his customary greeting. She smiled even wider as she made her way past disorderly stacks of unsorted books and wizarding journals, and plopped herself down on the other of the two chairs behind his dusty desk. She liked to think that he kept it there just for her. "I can't help myself, Severus; I've come to enjoy our little chats too much."
He accepted her offering; a double cappuccino with enough sugar to make her teeth hurt in sympathy, and she watched him remove the plastic lid and inhale deeply, briefly closing his eyes.
"I enjoy them as well," he murmured into his cup. "Though they're mostly monologues."
Hermione blew on her tea. PG Tips with milk, no sugar. She had spoken the truth. It had taken all of the eleven months since his release from Azkaban, but she had by stubborn persistence, tolerance, patience, and frequent bribery managed to build a rapport between them. Though it had been a deliberate effort, and hard work, she had come to enjoy her task. When not faced with megalomaniacs, cursed snakes, overly demanding employers, werewolves, Potters, Sirius Black, or teenagers, Severus Snape was decent company. His tongue could be sharp, yes, but more often than not, he was gentle and quiet. A slightly traumatised soul who knew to appreciate the little things in life. She would gladly call him her friend.
"How have you been, Severus? Any customers lately?"
He brushed off her question with a quirk of his shoulders. "What, Hermione? You're not going to try and persuade me this time?"
She looked at him, fondly noting the encroaching grey at his temples, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the slight paunch of his belly and the deep groove between his eyebrows. She regretted what she had to say.
"I'm sorry, Severus but I think this is your last opportunity to settle an agreement on your own terms. Harry is chomping at the bit, threatening to come and see you for himself. I suppose he will, unless you're willing to take the vow today."
She really was sorry. He had suffered enough at the hands of his two previous Masters, and she could not delude herself to believe that bringing him into the service of a third one would be good for him. Nevertheless, time was of the essence and Harry was getting desperate.
Severus rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes.
"I'm not whom I used to be, Hermione." He muttered, "You must tell him that. I've been away for ten years. I hardly do any magic these days, almost only household spells. I'm out of practice, and outdated. My nerves are… not so strong. I honestly don't think that I can help you."
He looked at her, worriedly, and she got up to squeeze his shoulder. He scowled at her and she rolled her eyes. He had almost completely stopped jumping when she touched him these days, but that was quite a recent development. Passing by his desk towards the closest bookcase and pausing only to discreetly vanish some dust (household spells indeed!), she withdrew a small paperback from the top shelf with familiar ease.
"Here, I'll read you a sonnet."
She never tried any harder to persuade him. He was a grown man and knew the terms, and, frankly, she was more interested in filling the glaring gap in his education that was Shakespeare. For someone so well versed in wizarding topics, he was surprisingly ignorant when it came to the classics of muggle literature. Along with atrocious dental hygiene, she considered it his most serious character flaw, and for a bookstore owner, even one specialised in potion recipes and herbology, it was very nearly unforgiveable. She eyed him sternly and waved the prized text in front of his face, which had taken on a far-away expression.
"Earth to grump. Now don't you get all miserable on me. I wanted to cover some poems about mortality and the afterlife today, but judging by your mope we'll have to make do with silly romance."
Severus sighed through his crooked nose but as she settled in her chair, he leaned back in his own comfortably and placed both of his feet atop the desk.
She began reverently to read 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day…', not noticing that his expression changed to one of wistful longing as he watched her face intently.