Within just a few months, the Minister had twisted his stance, and there were new standards being put into place in Azkaban. The public was positively outraged, not to mention incessantly passionate, after the press conference and there wasn't a single paper in the Wizarding World that hadn't referred to the Ministry as incompetent or lacking in compassion. The Minister released a thirty point list of new security and hiring expectations, as well as a bill of inmate rights, and the public finally seemed to be satiated. McLaggen was desperately rushing to wrap them up and keep his job, and there were now very few papers that didn't feature the Director of Magical Law Enforcement on the cover. He'd know, of course, because he'd began something of a collection of them.
While, in the years prior, he'd done everything he could possibly do to avoid the sight of her, Severus now found himself analyzing every photo of Hermione that he could get his hands on. After seeing her at the press conference, he renewed his years outdated subscription to the Daily Prophet. He wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to know that she was okay or needed to know that she wasn't, but he couldn't get the cold, dead look in her eyes to leave his mind. So far, it had been mostly political jargon he had no interest in, but one thing never changed: he didn't recognize the woman in the picture.
He had no criticisms for a political figure with a firm understanding of emotional control; in fact, he was certain that Britain would be better off if there had been more of them. However, the Director was no true politician. She was the woman that he, as much as he loathe to admit it, once believed to be his Twin Flame. She was beautiful, kind, and hopeless to a fault, but now she wasn't just controlled, she was cold and empty, and her willingness to abandon everything about who she once was to further her politics unnerved him. He just wanted to see one glimmer of the woman she used to be. He wanted to know that she was still in there somewhere. He wasn't sure for what purpose other than his own assurances one way or another, but he needed to see it.
It was while he was lost in these thoughts on a dreary Tuesday morning that two aurors walked into his shop, wands at the ready, for seemingly no reason at all, and he wondered if he really needed to know anything about that woman ever again. Severus clutched his wand tightly in his robe, prepared to remove them himself should they be causing undue trouble, and closely watched them wander up and down each aisle of the empty apothecary. One of the aurors, a younger boy who could have been a Weasley if his hair were just a bit more nauseating, nodded in his direction before walking out without a word and standing to the side of the entrance. He'd always hated aurors.
Seconds later, the Director herself strolled in, envelope in hand, in one of those god awful pant suits she was so incredibly fond of these days. She looked down at her surroundings, her chin tilted upward as though the very sight of a potions bottle offended her, and Severus couldn't help but roll his eyes. The way she walked bothered him these days, as if she were entitled to the space she was currently occupying, and he could have done without the security intimidation act before her grand entrance, but more disorienting than either of those terribly obnoxious things was the fact that her eyes were filled with exactly the same unidentifiable coldness that had been keeping him awake at night. It was like watching someone else wear her skin, and it was disorienting, at best.
Finally, after he managed to swallow the discomfort in his throat, he said, "In the future, leave your entourage at the door. They aren't welcome in my shop, and I'd have killed you six times between here and the door if I had the mind."
He was not at all pleased by the invasion of his sanctuary, and he was rather insulted that she'd have the audacity to invite herself into the only place he didn't have memories of her. One would think she'd gotten the hint when he refused orders from her department last year, but apparently she was as oblivious, or perhaps as selfishly inconsiderate of his feelings, as she had always been. Either way, she was here, and he wanted that issue resolved in the most timely manner possible.
After a moment of righting her ensemble, she spoke, "Mister Snape, I –"
"My name is Severus," He interrupted, "The formalities are hardly necessary."
She straightened herself out, very apparently disgruntled, and snapped, "I most certainly believe they are, Mister Snape."
"I seem to recall you expressing quite the opposite in my chambers," he jibed, leaning over the counter, "So, one must wonder if formalities became necessary after you found yourself a new wizard or after you were awarded your prestigious title."
For just a moment, he would have sworn he saw hurt flash through her eyes. Oddly enough, however, he wasn't sure that he was all that pleased about it. He wasn't sure about anything these days; he was rather perplexed by his emotions in her company.
"Mister Snape," she began again, her hands gripping her hips tightly, "As the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, on behalf of the Ministry of Magic and all of Wizarding Britain, I would like to personally and formally request your presence at the Conference of Unity, as an expert in Potions, as it relates to weaponization."
He paused for a moment, basking in the discomfort clearly written on her face. As her eyes drifted to the ceiling, Severus wondered how long she'd sat on this before she finally swallowed her pride and approached him. No doubt, it was expected that she deliver it to him in person, although he'd certainly have preferred it delivered by owl. He comforted himself in the knowledge that she was infinitely more uncomfortable than he was.
Finally, he spoke, "And if I intend to decline?"
She sighed, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling once more.
"You needn't do so on my account. Our only interaction will be your introduction." She told him.
"Perhaps, if your vanity can stomach the idea," he began, watching her face grow red while her hands clenched, "You can make it clear that I'm less than inclined to represent your Ministry."
"Then you'd be as thoughtlessly rash as I've always known you to be." She told him, throwing the envelope at him and turning to walk away.
He reached down to pick up the envelope and muttered, "If I were not the man I am, Hermione…"
She stopped at the door, her grip on the handle looking dangerously tight from his vantage point, and stared at him for just a moment. The look on her face held some dark amusement he'd never seen in her before.
"What? You'd hex me? You'd lash out like a child and tell me what a slag I am?" She laughed, "You don't scare me anymore, Severus Snape. I've seen you on your knees, so go ahead and give me your best shot."
It was at that moment that Severus decided he was precisely the man he was trying so hard not to be. Never in his life would he have believed that Hermione Granger, of all people, would be so cruel as to throw one of the most vulnerable, traumatic moments he'd experienced in his adult life at him as a barb. In that moment, any affection he might have had for her died, and he wanted her to hurt just as he did.
"I would prefer to beg on my knees than become a trollop for poll numbers." He told her between clenched teeth.
"What is that supposed to mean?" She indignantly demanded.
"I would never stoop so low as to turn my personal tragedy into a political sob story to garner favor," he seethed, "but I suppose even the mighty must fall."
He watched her eyes widen ever so slightly and her spine straighten, and he knew he had hit his mark.
"I should have let you die." She told him, and he supposed she did too.
