AN: Thank you for all the support! It is very deeply appreciated!
Hermione had never seen Severus turn so pale. When she asked what his problem was, he muttered something about how unnatural it was for any object to go 70 mph. She fought to keep from rolling her eyes. He should be happy that she was confident enough to drive the same speeds as the other drivers on the interstate. So what if she was still struggling to merge smoothly when she switched lanes? Nobody was perfect, as evidenced by the fact that she still struggled to stay in the lines when she parked.
"Okay, it should only be a couple of blocks to the bank, and Beecher's Corners." She unbuckled her seat belt after parking in the city parking lot.
"Yes," he muttered, his hand still clinging to the side of the door, as if that would somehow protect him from his faux wife's questionable driving.
"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked. "You didn't have too much Raisin Bran, did you?"
"No, but I think I've spent more than enough time in this death machine."
"Well I'm sorry I'm not the perfect driver." She frowned. "I think I'm making some great progress, even if I'm clearly not progressing quickly enough for you."
"I will give you credit, you did use your turn signal twice. That is already a significant improvement from not using it at all yesterday."
"That you for giving me some credit for improvement."
"You are improving, even if you switched lanes without a turn signal ten times."
"You counted?"
He nodded.
"Perhaps when we're done you can be a professional backseat driver. I'm sure people would love to hear your driving critiques, even if you haven't so much as touched a steering wheel."
"Now there's a profession I could enjoy." He opened the car door. "I won't be able to go back to brewing, so muggle driving instructor seems as good a profession as any."
"Why can't you go back to brewing?" She stepped out and closed her door
"Would you buy potions from an ex-Death Eater who was selling illegal potions?"
"First of all, you are more than your past. Second of all, if I knew I was buying potions from someone of your caliber," She pushed a button, locking the car doors. "Yes, I would buy your potions."
"You are a unique woman in that regard."
"No, just a practical one. I know good quality when I see it."
"Indeed you do," he said. "Unless it comes to car windows. Your taste is lacking in cars with questionable passenger side windows."
"What's wrong with the car having a window partly open?"
"I was cold all the way here."
"It wasn't that cold with the heater on."
"The air ruined my toupee."
"No it didn't, at least not enough where I can't fix it," she walked over to him and gestured for him to bend down. Once he did so, she began rearranging the strands of hair until they appear presentable. She didn't want to dwell on how soothing it was to touch him, or how she felt more at peace this morning than she'd felt in decades. Why was she finding more comfort in Severus than she had in any other man? Why was it easier to pretend they were espoused with each passing day?
"That should do it." She stepped away from him despite a yearning to continue touching him.
"Thank you," he stood. "Perhaps when we get our first paychecks we'll take this car to a mechanic and get the window fixed."
"But I like the feel of the wind on my arms as I drive." She began to stroll out of the parking lot.
"If you were experiencing the brunt of it you would not feel so content with it."
"You know, I think you quite like the car," She turned with him onto the street. "You just don't want to admit it."
"The car is adequate, even if its window leaves something to be desired."
"I love the car," She gave him a small smile. "Isn't that enough to make you like it?"
"It's enough to make the car tolerable," he said. "But nothing more."
"It's okay to admit when you like something."
"It is not okay to gush over something exuberantly, especially when it's only adequate."
"Is there anything you outright like instead of merely finding adequate?"
"I like you. Have I not admitted that already?" He asked.
"You may have on a few occasions." She said before they stopped at the stoplight on Wells Street. In silence they watched as the cars darted on the streets, only stopping to make the occasional turn.
Once the walk sign displayed the person icon, they continued to walk down the street.
"I'll focus on accessing the files to the national banks," she lowered her voice. "Assuming they exist. If not, I'll figure out some other way to get the bank records from Chicago."
"You may also want to examine the layout of the bank, in case you need a quick escape."
"I've already thought of that. This isn't the first time I've infiltrated a bank after all." She took his hand and squeezed it. "Good luck with the customers today. Remember, when in doubt, smile."
"Even if I look like a dunderhead when I smile?" He grumbled.
"You don't look like a dunderhead when you smile. In fact, you have quite a lovely smile."
She didn't know what to make of the slight blush in his cheeks, or the way his lips twitched upwards, as if his subconscious was debating on showing her a small grin. It was as if she was seeing the shy boy underneath the snarky man, which she couldn't help but find endearing.
"Remember not to put yourself at risk. If you find the information that is wonderful, If not, do not put yourself at risk," he said.
"I won't."
"If it takes too long, we can find another way. Don't overstay your welcome."
"I won't, but I'll need time to get these files. This operation will take some time, if only to sort through everything adequately."
"If anyone can do it though, it would be you."
"I would hope so." She took his hand. "Kiss for luck?"
"You never have to ask." He kissed her forehead.
"Same," she kissed his cheek. "Have fun with the bar patrons."
"I will enjoy them as much as I can."
She gave him a small wave before making her way to the BMO bank building. As she crossed the bridge, she wondered why she felt such a pressing need to give him a kiss for luck, and to receive one in return. Granted, they needed to put on a show of wedded bliss, but for who? The muggles on the street wouldn't care if they were a loving couple, nor would the people driving by care if their supposed marriage was amicable. Was she so obsessed with wizards spotting them she was willing to show affection towards him at any opportunity? Why did it feel right to kiss him, even if she knew he would never love her?
Did a small part of her want him to love her?
Before she could meditate on these questions, she opened the door. Then, she cleared her mind, focused on the task at hand.
The first thing she noted was the muggles mulling around the area. Some were at the tellers' desk, checkbooks and deposit slips in hand. The tellers had their noses buried in their computers, only looking up to ask their customer the occasional question. Others customers were seated at a table reviewing their loan applications. She strolled past them, a hand over her pocket. When she'd received the job, she was told to show that badge to the security guard. They would let her on the second floor if they knew she was working for them.
"Name?" A man in a muggle police uniform asked. His hands were folded, his eyes obscured by his large sunglasses.
"Lucinda Whittaker," she flashed her employee badge.
He examined it before nodding. "Enter."
"Thank you," she pressed the elevator button. If she needed to escape this place she would need to evade the muggles as well as the wizards. The wizards may be too nervous about violating the Statue of Secrecy to give her chase, but the muggles would have no such dilemma. Given how much muscle this man had, it would be difficult for Severus and her to overtake him without magic. She'd need a way to stun the muggles, should she need an easy escape.
The ding of the elevator interrupted her thoughts. She stepped in the elevator and pressed the 2 button. Was there a staircase here? If so, where? It would be nice to know this in case they cut the power.
Once again the elevator dinged, interrupting her thoughts.
She stepped through the doors, hoping she appeared confident. Like the downstairs muggle bank, the carpet was navy blue, and the walls a stark white. Two tellers stood behind their desks, notepad and quills in hand.
"Aw Ms. Whittaker," a woman in blue robes began. "I see you're early."
"Yes, well, my father used to always say if you're on time you're already late." She forced herself to grin, hoping she looked as friendly as the muggle tellers below.
"Agreed," she said. "Now, you mentioned you're a squib during the interview, and had connections to both the muggle and the Wizarding World."
"Yes," Hermione lied. "I went to college at the University of Kent, and have been on my own living amongst muggles for the last six years. As for the Wizarding World, I have very deep connections there, See, I am the descendent of Charity Wilkinson."
At once, the two tellers glanced up at their stations.
"You're a descendent of Charity Wilkinson, one of the original twelve?" One teller asked.
"Indeed I am," Hermione hoped this lie wasn't too outrageous and nobody would bother to look this up. "My grandparents moved to Britain sixty years ago, where they had my mum, who three decades later had me."
"Wow," the other clerk said. "I knew she had relatives who immigrated to Britain, but I never thought I'd meet one of her descendants."
"I'm really not that special. I'm just a woman who wants to start a life with her husband," Hermione said, thankful Charity had some type of British connection.
"Why Milwaukee though?"
"I need to get away from the prying eyes of my relatives. They are quite opposed to my relationship with Stephen, even though I couldn't have asked for a better spouse."
The shot her looks of sympathy.
"When Stephen and I decided to elope, we thought long and hard about where to go. I wanted to reconnect with my roots while being in a place my family wouldn't suspect. Milwaukee seemed like the perfect location."
"Milwaukee is perfect for two people just starting out." A teller said.
"Indeed it is," the woman in blue robes said. "Now, if you'll please flood me we can get you started.
The woman guided Hermione to a back room across from the doorway.
Hermione's stomach sank as she walked inside. The room was even barer than the bank itself. It only contained a desk and a pile of leather bound books. What had she signed up for?
"Since you're a squib, you'll be working for our more discreet clients," the lady said in a low voice, closing the door behind her. "Ones who play both sides of the field so to speak."
"Both sides of the field?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," the lady said. "There are people who need to transfer funds from Wizarding to muggle accounts. Usually, these are muggleborns who want to help their relatives, or people in mixed marriages who don't want either world raising eyebrows at the arrangement."
"But some may be involved in less than legal endeavors and are laundering money in the muggle world," Hermione said.
"Perhaps," the woman said. "We've learned to never ask questions. So long as they pay our service fee and don't default on their loans, we accept anyone's money and business."
"I can live with that," Hermione said. "How will I write down the transactions for these funds?"
"You'll use a muggle pen and paper. Then, every hour on the hour, unless you are with a client, you will put the book in a vault, one which I'll show you. We'll take everything from there."
"I see."
"Discretion is key though. We don't ask questions," she furrowed her eyebrows. "And neither should you."
"Don't worry, I know how to keep my mouth shut and not be too curious for my own good."
"Good, because people can easily get caught up in things they aren't supposed to in this line of work," the woman warned. "We wouldn't want that to happen to you."
"I promise to stay out of anything underhanded. As long as I get the money, I will ask no questions."
"Good," the woman smiled. "I knew there's a reason I liked you."
"I'll give you plenty of reasons to like me once this is all done," Hermione promised.
"I know you will." With that, the woman left.
Hermione glanced at the desk and the empty book upon it. Her lips curled upwards.
Her first day was already going quite well.