Chapter Two
Hermione shifted on her stool, twisting her ring back and forth on her finger. She extended her arm out, fingers flexed up. There. It did look a little better from far away. She thought back to the proposal scene. She had to admit, Ronald had tried to be romantic. He had made reservations at a restaurant far beyond his means and insisted on picking up the entire check, despite Hermione's inheritance trumpeting away as the elephant in the room.
Honestly, Hermione would have far preferred grabbing a nice stew from the Leaky Cauldron or heading to the muggle chip shop on the corner of their street. The food at Saturnalia was top notch, course after course of tiny, elegantly-presented morsels, from an expertly paired charcuterie and confit plate to refreshing gazpacho to lamb so tender it fell apart with the slightest poke of a fork. Oh, and the deserts... The chocolate souffle that tasted like a little puff of angels breath and the softest, most buttery madaleines that any wizard or muggle had ever concocted.
There was only one thing that could sully such a decadent meal, and that was her erstwhile dining companion shoveling food into his mouth like the carefully arranged plates were construction sites and he a bulldozer. Even the expert waiters stopped and stared in disbelief.
Hermione knew he was going to pop the question from the moment he awkwardly stammered where their dinner reservations were. After dessert, Ronald stood, took Hermione's hands, and dropped to his knee, shaking. Hermione would have loved to be able to fondly recall the actual proposal speech he made, but he mumbled so softly she could barely catch one word out of every three. She was touched by the amount of work and money he put into the proposal night, though, and when he brought out the little velvet box, she nodded and kissed him sweetly, the dutifully delightful new fiance. Ron was a sweetheart, and for all his fumbling, Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to find a kinder, more innocently good-hearted man anywhere.
The bell at the shop door tinkled, and Hermione nearly toppled off her perch with the shock of it. In walked someone she hadn't seen since graduation.
"Hermione, are you alright there?"
"Oh yes, thanks. My head was off in space somewhere... Slow day." Hermione gave a sheepish smile. "Anyway, it's so good to see you again, Dean! And who is this?"
Dean Thomas grinned and nudged the young girl beside him forward.
"This is my sister, Marigold. She's starting Hogwarts this year, and I knew just where to send her for her first set of parchment." Dean winked. "Mari, this is Hermione Granger."
"The Hermione Granger?" she squealed. "You're my favorite, miss! I hope I'm in Gryffindor just like you!"
Hermione blushed and chuckled, completely taken aback. Nearly two years after the war, the fuss had died down to the point where she barely heard about it anymore. Well, Harry was still hounded quite regularly, but for Ron and Hermione, things had calmed. As relieved as Hermione was that the saccharine press inquiries had stopped, she found this little girl's admiration heartening.
"That's very nice of you to say, but I'm sure you'll do wonderfully wherever you get sorted."
As Mari buried herself in her supply list gatherings, Dean leaned against the end of the counter.
"It's really good to see you again! I've been off traveling around Europe with my footie club, but I promised Mari I'd be here to see her off to school."
"I heard you got picked up by Manchester... Manchester something?"
"United."
"Ah, thanks, sorry. But congratulations! That sounds so exciting."
"You look like you have a nice place set up here yourself. I bet you're swamped with the new crop of Hogwarts sprogs."
"Actually, no. To be honest, things aren't looking so good for me. You're the first customer I've had all day. I'm not even breaking even lately, and I have no idea why! I've researched the market values for everything I sell, competitively priced it all to beat even what Flourish is charging, brought in a bunch of novelty items, and... I just don't know what else to do! Oh Dean, I am sorry. I shouldn't be whinging to you about all this. I've turned our reunion into some dismal crack therapy session."
"It's okay, Hermione." Dean patted her on the shoulder. "I agree that it's damned weird though. Your shop looks great, and the location isn't bad. I think something fishy is going on, if you ask me. If the brilliant Hermione Granger is setting her mind to something, there's no way it could fail on its own."
Hermione blinked rapidly, clearing her throat.
"Thanks very much, Dean."
After she rung up Mari's supplies and wished them both well, she shook her head. Dean had always been friendly enough in school, but they had never been more than acquaintances. She couldn't help but wonder what opportunities for other friendships she might have missed out on by sticking with Harry and Ron all the time. Oh well, no time to dwell on the past when there was plenty to fret about right in front of her, she told herself. She hardly felt worthy of Dean's praise or Mari's looking up to her at the moment, that was for sure.
But what if Dean had been right about some sort of sabotage? She shook her head. She'd seen no damages or evidence of libel, so as tempting as it was to lay the blame for her failure on some external source, she had to resist the temptation. She just had to work harder. That was all there was to it.
Hermione jumped at the sound of the door shutting and looked up from her book to see a battered and bedraggled Ron plopping himself down in the adjacent armchair.
"Oh Ronald, you look terrible! What happened to you? Let me get you a pain potion or something."
"Thanks babe, but I"m not banged up too badly. Just a rough day at training. If you think I look rough, you should see Harry! He got the worst of it. We had to go against those bloody dummy giants again. I could use a stiff drink and some dinner though."
"Oh! I didn't realize you wanted me to cook tonight. You should have let me know earlier..." Hermione swallowed a nag. "Oh well. Why don't you go have a nice hot bath and I'll rustle something up for when you're done."
"Thanks, 'Mione." Ron kissed her on the cheek and limped off down the hall, stripping as he went. "I can't wait until we're married properly and I can come home to your cooking every night!"
"Wait, what—" Hermione spluttered, but by the time she could react, the bathroom door had already snicked shut. Hermione could only stand and stare at the discarded, muddy robes and clothes that stretched down the hall like a breadcrumb trail, with the piece de resistance, a pair of crumpled and questionable boxer shorts, still swaying from its perch over the door handle.
Every night? He wanted her to cook dinner for him every night? Who did he think she was, the magical secret twin of Delia Smith? Granted, Ron wasn't much of a dab hand in the kitchen himself, but he could at least fry a few sausages or make some pasta without burning anything, and she had imagined he'd pitch in some of the evenings at least. She sighed and forced herself to relax. She knew getting into this engagement that he was more on the traditional side, and he had grown up with the formidable Molly Weasley as his model of housewifery. She didn't mind cooking, really. It would be fine.
She bent and began to scoop up the discarded garments. Cooking was one thing, but she would definitely have to arrange a forced meet and greet between Ronald and the laundry hamper!
"Oh, for the love of..." Severus slammed his office door and stomped toward his living room fireplace. Sinking to his knees, he threw a handful of floo powder into the grate so hard that a puff of it rose to his face. He sneezed with such force his head rocketed into the now-green flames, and before he could even sniffle, his vision spun until he was looking out of a fireplace into the gloom of some abandoned classroom. He yanked his head out with a snarl. "Every bloody thing I try to do today is biting me in the arse! Just when I decide to kowtow to Lucius bloody Malfoy, and I can't even find anything to write the bloody letter on!"
He flung the dust into the fire once more, a tad more gently this time, and bellowed "Albus Dumbledore!"
"Severus, my boy!" Dumbledore peered over his desk. "How wonderful to see you pop up in my hearth. I just wanted to thank you for your generosity. Those lovely parchments you so kindly let me use were perfect."
"Generosity my foot, Albus. I granted no such request!"
"You are in a fine mood this afternoon. Why, didn't you get my note?"
"Yes. It was very kind of you to leave it on the shelf in the place of every last sheet of parchment I had left! I'm still trying to scrounge up enough idiot-proof potions to finish up the lesson plans for this term, and now I have to pile an extra trip to Hogsmeade on top of everything."
"Don't you remember? The shops down in Hogsmeade don't carry the weight you use any longer."
"Bugger. Now I'll have to go all the way to Flourish and Blott's in London!"
"Oh, I doubt they'll have it in stock either. It's rather out of fashion these days, the heavier parchment. Nowadays people use flimsier stock, closer to that wood pulp business the muggles favor. Perhaps you might take this is a sign that you need to move with the times, dear boy."
Severus snorted.
"So I'm supposed to let my standards slip just because everyone else can't be arsed to buy something decent then? Not likely, old man."
"Well, I wouldn't give up hope yet. I just remembered that I've heard talk of a new stationery shop at the other end of Diagon Alley. I think it's callled... The Golden Quill— I think that was it. I've been meaning to scope it out for myself, but you're quite right about how busy it is around here with everyone scurrying around preparing for September. I've heard they stock quite a range of specialty parchments and the like there, if the advert in the Prophet is anything to believe. If you wouldn't mind, while you're there, could you see if they have any of those purple and gold note cards I like? You know, the ones with the shimmery edges? I'm fresh out of those as well. Safe travels!" With that, Dumbledore gave a jaunty wave.
Severus' head vanished from the fire with a final harumph. Dumbledore twinkled and addressed his phoenix.
"Well, that went well. Or well as could be expecting considering it was Severus... How's that new nest of yours getting on?"
Fawkes trilled softly to placate his master and thank him, but his avian mind was intent on using his beak to shred up the last of the wonderful, creamy, soft new sheets of the stuff his master normally tied to owls. Why his master had chosen to give it to him instead, he didn't know, but he decided to tuck his head under his wing and nap now and ask questions later... Or never.