Author's Note: My first ever fanfic! This is EWE, and obviously Snape's alive, but other than that it should be fairly canon-compliant. I'd love it if you could read and review and let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I'm not making any money, and everything is JKR's. I just like to play in her world sometimes.
One month. For one month Severus Snape had managed to avoid making an appearance in wizarding society. For one month he had dealt almost entirely with muggles, and conducted all of his magical affairs via owl. According to Mr Jiggers Jr. however (this would never have been so difficult when his father ran the apothecary) any change to such a large standing order of potions ingredients would require a face-to-face consultation. And so it was that Severus Snape found himself stalking down Diagon Alley, scowl etched into his features, cursing the foolish, floppy-haired man under his breath.
Daylight was only just beginning to creep above the rooftops, and Severus had deliberately chosen the coldest, bitterest December day he could to make his trip. The street was all but deserted. In precisely three minutes, the shops would open. He would storm into the apothecary, get through the stupid meeting with the ridiculous man as quickly as humanly possible, and then disapparate right out of the shop. He didn't care how rude it was. All he wanted was to avoid anyone who might thank him for his 'heroism'; look at him like he was the epitome of tragic romance for having a teenage crush; actually dare to flirt with him (of course, the endless speculations about the wealth he had accumulated from his Order of Merlin and private brewing didn't help that problem in the slightest); or, worst of all, take a photograph of him and send it to that pathetic excuse for a newspaper.
He arrived at the door to Slug and Jiggers just as the 'closed' sign magically flipped to 'open'. Imagining himself about to step into a classroom full of new and nervous first years, he slammed the door open with such force it nearly came off its hinges. Perhaps he could persuade Jiggers Jr. that it really would be better all round to continue their business dealings remotely.
Hermione Granger appeared with a 'pop' into a side street just off Diagon Alley. Straightening her robes, she glanced up and down the main market street. To her left, a spotty-faced teenager was struggling to drag a series of display stands out to the front of Magical Menagerie. Looking right, she saw a woman sweeping the front step of Primpernelle's, wearing a glamour charm so strong she was practically glowing. They were the only two people braving the biting wind however, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She'd be able to make it to Flourish and Blotts without anyone noticing her, and would be back home with a new book without any trouble.
As she took her first step onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley itself, she spotted another character striding down the street. Dressed all in black, with robes billowing behind him, the figure he cut was unmistakable: Professor Snape. Smiling to herself at the thought of at least one constant in the world, Hermione began heading towards the book shop, when she felt something slightly softer than stone under her foot. She bent down to pick it up and examined it. It was a very fine black leather coin pouch, with an intricate pair of entwined 'S'es embossed onto the front. Jumping slightly as a loud bang sounded further up the street, she headed after her former professor.
As she entered the apothecary, she caught sight of him immediately. He was sat to the right of the door on a spindly wooden chair, and although his body was very calm and still, one look at his face would tell anyone who had been a Hogwarts student during his tenure that he was seething. The plump, rosy-cheeked man behind the counter didn't seem to have noticed his customer's displeasure however, as he had chosen to continue humming jovially while he bustled about. Hermione cleared her throat, but Snape ignored her – she could even have sworn he turned his head ever so slightly away from her. Reminding herself that she had lived through far scarier experiences than this, she tentatively tapped him on the shoulder and then took a hurried step back. "Professor Snape, si-"
"What is it you infernal woman!?" he snapped, whipping his head around to glare at her.
"Sorry to bother you, sir, but I think you dropped this." Hermione extended her arm as far out as she could, offering the pouch to him. Snape stood to examine it, and then took it and deposited it in his pocket.
He stared at her face for a few moments, evidently realising who she was for the first time, and took a breath. "I... thank you Miss Granger. I am not accustomed to women speaking to me in public without an ulterior mo-" He paused mid-word, his eyes drifting over Hermione's head towards the group of women huddling together as they made their way towards the door of the apothecary. Without warning, he grabbed Hermione forcibly by the arm, and dragged her into a dark and dusty aisle at the very back of the shop. The shelves looked as if they had been left undisturbed for an age, and Hermione briefly wondered whether the ingredients were still even in a usable condition.
Snape pressed one finger to his lips, urging Hermione to remain silent, and gestured with his head to the group who were currently causing the bell at the door to ring shrilly as they entered. Hermione stilled her movements and held her breath. Hiding motionless in dark corners was certainly not something she was unused to, although since the war she had never imagined she would have cause to do so with her former potions professor. Just as she began to contemplate whether it might be wise to disillusion themselves, a bright flashbulb went off inches from her face, leaving her temporarily blind. As her sight began to return, she was greeted by the face of the woman she had hated almost as much as Voldemort himself. Rita Skeeter.
"Well, well," the blonde woman grinned like a Cheshire cat as she surveyed the pair, "what do we have here? Have I stumbled upon a lovers' tryst? Is this how the so-called brightest witch of her age actually managed to achieve her impossibly high grades?" Snape dropped Hermione's arm as though burned, and tried unsuccessfully to put a reasonable amount of distance between them in the narrow alcove they stood in. "Oh, no need to be shy dears. My readers will be very interested to know how the ambitious Miss Granger finally managed to snag a powerful and sought-after wizard. And why the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world would choose such a witch."
The woman's vile quill was scribbling furiously on a notepad over her left shoulder. Snape opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it, "You're going to pay for this, cockroach. Do you not remember the little agreement we came to? It seems I have a trip to make to the Ministry."
Skeeter's smile faltered slightly at this, but she gathered herself and persevered. "Unfortunately for you Miss Granger, my beetle form has now been registered with the Ministry. So it seems our arrangement must come to an end. Now, let's hear the juicy details. How long has this affair been going on?"
Reeling from the announcement that she no longer held anything over the head of Rita Skeeter, Hermione was unable to form any kind of response. Resigning herself to the knowledge that it didn't matter what she said - the insect would print whatever would sell the most papers - she began to look for an escape route. Their exit was thoroughly blocked though: first by Skeeter and her bulky photographer, and then by the group of women milling about the shop who were beginning to notice the commotion. She looked up at Snape, who had still not said a word, hoping he had some kind of answer to their predicament. As if hearing her thoughts, at that moment he disapparated with a growl, taking Hermione with him.
Hermione opened her eyes to find herself in what appeared to be the living room of Severus Snape's home. Her first thought was that it was impeccably clean and tidy, but that was really the only good thing that could be said for it. Everything just looked tired. The furniture was faded and sagging, the carpet had been worn entirely bare in patches, and the portion of kitchen she could see through the open door on her left looked as if it hadn't been updated in fifty years at least. If the Prophet's reports of the size of his Gringott's account held even a sliver of truth, he could surely afford better than this.
She was interrupted from her assessment of her surroundings by Professor Snape throwing himself onto an uncomfortable-looking leather armchair. "In hindsight," he said dryly, "it might not have been wise of us to apparate away together."
"Well I'm grateful you didn't abandon me to deal with those maggots by myself."
Hermione began to rock back and forward on her heels as an awkward silence descended between them. Professor Snape's house was not somewhere she ever thought she would find herself. Nor was Professor Snape someone she had ever even considered the press would link her to romantically.
"You may use my fireplace to floo home Miss Granger. I wouldn't recommend returning to Diagon Alley any time soon. It has been over a month since anyone has managed to photograph me, and no one has ever caught me in... close proximity to a woman. I imagine the next few weeks will be unpleasant for you."
"You don't need to warn me, sir. I've been on the receiving end of the Prophet's... speculations almost constantly for the past five years. And now that Harry's married and Ron's engaged, the nation is apparently on tenterhooks to find out what poor lonely Hermione Granger is going to do with herself." She flashed him a small smile, as a look of understanding passed between them.
"I have my house elf remove the gossip pages from my paper before she brings it to me in a morning. Though I should have guessed you would also be a target."
Sensing that the conversation was over, Hermione stepped into the fireplace. "Well, I imagine I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow then." She suppressed a laugh at his shocked and confused expression, and decided that leaving without an explanation would probably not be appreciated, "in my morning paper, sir." With that, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and disappeared into the flames.