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Hermione couldn't believe what she was reading.

At first, she thought the front page article on Brett Favre was a way of covering the fact that it was a magical paper. If a muggle picked it up, they may believe it was nothing more than another Favre story and leave it alone. Then, she turned to the second page.

Using Arithmancy to Determine if Favre Will Stay with the Packers

Under most circumstances, she would find an article on the properties of the number 4 fascinating, especially if the reason a person fell under 4 for a reason as arbitrary as a jersey number. Still she was trying to determine if someone was hunting her down, not the fate of the Green Bay Packers.

She shook her head. If she didn't know better she'd say Favre was on a one man crusade to unite the Wizarding and muggle worlds. If that was the case, she couldn't argue with the results. He was the closest thing to a unifying force she'd ever seen, and his popularity seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

Severus shifted on the bed. She leaned closer to him, angling for a better view of the paper. The more she sat on the bed, the more she found it comfortable. It was better than the old, worn orange couch in her living room. This hotel life was beginning to spoil her.

"I thought the blackjack dealer said there would be real news in this paper," Severus grumbled before turning the page.

Seer Predicts Aaron Rodgers Is a Bust, Gone in Two Years

"These wizards are just as obsessed with the Packers as the muggles are," Hermione muttered as she skimmed the paper. All the methods discussed were tried and true fortune telling methods. On a good day, divination annoyed her. Today was no exception.

"Perhaps we do not rate the front pages," he said as he turned the pages. "It may be Americans consider their news first."

If the paper was to believed, they didn't rate the third, fourth, tenth, or twelfth page either.

"I can't believe it," she let out a chuckle. "After being hounded by the press since I was fifteen, nobody cares if I've killed someone. It's all about a man who can throw a ball."

"These dunderheads only care about their country and their stupid football team. Why, I do not know. The Green Bay Packers don't even play real football."

"I know, they don't care about us," her voice grew softer. "They don't care about anything that happened in Britain, not the war, not the murder of an auror, not the love life of the Golden Trio, nothing."

He flipped the pages again, wondering if he'd missed something.

"Everyone kept saying I saved the Wizarding World, that I was such a great heroine," she continued. "I gave up my adolescence for a war against a Dark Lord. I almost died several times, and nobody here cares about it because it never affected them. I didn't save them at all."

"Of course you saved them. Voldemort would have attacked and killed everyone in Wisconsin if he had a chance. You were one of the main reasons he never made it to the United States. Never forget that."

"I prevented Voldemort from leaving Britain. Still, he would probably have fought in Europe first, giving the US time to build their defenses They have their own aurors, and their own muggle militias. It's clear both muggle and wizard would die to protect Lamb-a, Lamda, Lambu…"

"I think it's called," he looked at the paper, "Lambeau Field."

"Right, Lambeau Field. They would all fight to the death to keep that stadium from falling into a dark lord's hands. They could do it themselves," She continued. "I thought what I did was all-important and saved the entire planet. It turns out, I only saved a few people in Britain. Wisconsin cares about Brett Favre, not some witch who helped defeat a dark lord."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm not as important as people told me I am. I'm not even as important as I thought I was. All this time I thought the world was interested in everything I was doing. In reality, Aaron Rodgers is a bigger problem here than Voldemort ever was."

"Don't diminish yourself like this. You saved everyone here, even if they don't know it. Voldemort could have killed Brett Favre."

"Could he have? It would have taken decades to reach Wisconsin. By then, they could have assembled a team to take him out. Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers were never in any danger from him."

"You can't beat up on yourself like this."

"I'm not beating up on myself. We should be proud of what we've done, and we made a difference in Britain. Still, everything must be kept in perspective. Saving Britain doesn't make us saviors of the world, just of one country," she answered.

"Were our sacrifices pointless?" His voice was barely audible. "Did we almost die for nothing?"

"No, we almost died doing the right thing. Still, Britain is not the entire world. The conflict was huge to us because we lived in it. As far as Wisconsin is concerned, what happened with Voldemort was another civil war, one which barely registered as important."

"At least not in light of Mr. Favre's dilemma."

"Yes." She put a hand on his. "It doesn't mean we weren't brave or that we didn't make a difference, just our actions need to be put in perspective. All this time we thought everyone was after us because we were so important. In reality, we're just another British couple, no different than any other immigrant to Wisconsin."

"Indeed," he put his hand in hers. "For the record, I think you are brave and made an enormous difference in the world. Never let Mr. Favre or Mr. Rodgers take that from you."

"Don't let them take anything from you either. You saved Britain with your actions."

"But not Wisconsin."

"No," she whispered. "We didn't save Wisconsin."

"That certainly is humbling." He released her.

"Yes, but liberating." She relaxed. "It means common wizards aren't after us, and even when this is all done, we have a place to go where there won't be cameras shoved in our faces."

"From that perspective, it is no great shame to be incognito. Rather, it is a great advantage."

"Indeed." She took the paper. "Besides, this paper isn't completely useless."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She opened to page 15. "There are classified job ads. Getting a job would be the best way to infiltrate the Wizarding World, and might be the easiest. It wouldn't do for us to be wandering around town like we're homeless, asking if anyone's seen any magical happenings."

"Indeed." He looked over at the paper. "Are there any opportunities for squibs?"

"I don't know, but we can look," she put her finger down over the first listing. "Barbra Baldwin's All Girl's College is hiring a potions professor."

"Are they now?" He leaned in closer.

"Yes, but I'd imagine they must not be the kind of professor who makes all the students cry."

"Where does it say that?"

"Right here," she pointed. "Right below, 'must have a Potions degree from an accredited university.'"

He leaned in closer before frowning. "Must encourage students with compassion in accordance with Barbra Baldwin's Mission Statement."

"Yes, taking them cry probably goes against everything their mission statement stands for."

"What if the compassionate thing is to tell them they are at risk of destroying the school if they insist upon mixing gold dust and cobra venom? Certainly they wouldn't condone blowing the college to kingdom come."

"Then you have to do it nicely, like," she lowered her voice to match his, "'Pretty please don't mix those potions ingredients together. I rather like not having a charred face.'"

"I think, 'if you have one more instance of incompetence I will ensure that the entire state of Wisconsin knows of your ineptitude' works just as well.'"

"No," she shook her head as she grinned. "That doesn't fit in with the Barbra Baldwin guidelines."

"Then they are turning out dunderheads and ought to be ashamed of themselves."

"Or they are churning out potions students who do not see their professor as a boggart."

"I wouldn't have been a boggart if Neville had any common sense."

"You wouldn't have been a boggart if you weren't playing a part and needed to be cruel in order to pull it off."

"Indeed," he ran his hands further down the paper. "There's a job for an accountant at the Paradise Lounge."

"Why does that not sound savory?"

"Because one of the requirements is, 'must not touch the working witches.'"

"Yes, let's move onto," her eyes grew, "look at this!"

"What?" He asked.

"There's a job for a teller for the Bronze Fonz Bank."

"Why would that be significant?"

"Because if we can access a bank, we may be able to access bank records. If we can do that, we can show the transfer of funds between Ms. Sorelia and Proudfoot."

"How do you know she uses that bank?"

"She may not, but the banks are all connected. Someone must have a record somewhere."

"That sounds good in theory, but it still may not be feasible. That job is probably for goblins."

"No, it isn't," she pointed to the listing. "See, 'witches and squibs encouraged to apply.'"

Severus pulled the paper close and read it. "So it does."

"The Wizarding Banks must work differently in the US, or maybe the Bronze Fonz Bank doesn't use goblins."

"Regardless, they may have records which can lead us to Ms. Sorelia and her cohorts."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"You are a clever witch."

"Don't call me clever yet. I still need the job."

"I need a job as well."

"Oh?"

"Yes, if I get the right type of job I can do some reconnaissance, perhaps overhear something others are unaware of," he said.

"Now who's the clever one," she smiled.

"Not clever, practical, and I know how to be an adequate spy," he said. "We need the right kind of job though, preferably one close to the Bronx Fonz, wherever that may be."

"I can look up exactly where it is online."

"Great thinking."

"But," she paused. "Will the address show up online?"

"I don't know," he ran his finger down. "There's a position for a bartender in Beecher's Corners. The address says it's near the Bronze Fonz Bank."

"Really," she glanced at it. "It says you must be friendly and amicable with customers."

"I can be friendly with customers."

"I highly doubt that means scowling at them."

"If the customer is not a dunderhead I will not scowl at them."

"You can't even talk about customers without scowling."

He twisted his face until it was red and his lips were propped upwards. "I love dealing with idiotic customers day in and day out. Customer service is one of the great joys of my life."

Hermione burst out laughing.

"Is that not friendly enough for you?" His face was even more contorted than before. "Is this more to your liking?"

She shook her head before bursting into another laughing fit.

"I fear I may not be so great at being a bartender." He exhaled, as his face returned to its usual condition.

"No, we can work on it." She became serious. "Just be the person you are around me. That person would be a good bartender."

"I am only who I am around you because you've earned my trust and respect. No drunk could ever achieve that."

"I'd say pretend the drunks are me, but I fear if you did that you'd start envisioning me as a drunk. That would not be good."

"Never. I hold you in too high esteem to treat you anything other than the woman you are."

Her body went warm as she gazed into his eyes. She remembered how he'd held her against him that afternoon, how safe she'd felt in his arms. Part of her wanted to be in his arms again, to feel the comfort of his embrace. Never before had she felt as valued as she did at that moment.

Why didn't he allow more people to see this side of him? How had she gotten so lucky that he would show him this side? Most importantly, what had she done to allow him to view her this way, and how could she ensure she never behaved any differently towards her?

"Hermione?" He asked.

She hummed before blinking.

"Are you well?"

"Yes," she cleared her throat. "I was just thinking that we have nothing to lose by applying for these jobs. If we don't get them, we have money, and a bank to exchange our galleons."

He looked at the newspaper. "Both jobs require an in-person interview. They are walk-in though. No appointments for an interview necessary."

"Then I suppose we should fix up our hair, clothing, and get in the car. We have a bank to infiltrate and spying to do."

"I love the way you think, Mrs. Whittaker."

"I learned from the best, Mr. Whittaker." She stood. "Go ahead and use the restroom first. I'm going to look up where to go online. Hopefully the computer boots up quickly. If it doesn't there may not be enough time to look up directions and do my hair. The latter takes too long as it is."

"Your hair does take quite some time."

"You didn't have to agree with me," she gave him a playful snarl.

"Why would I not agree with someone who was telling the truth?"

With that, she stood and prepared for her day, trying to ignore the feeling of comfort which came from being near Severus and knowing he would always be by her side.