The Spy
AN: This is was a little idea which popped into my head while I was supposed to be working on something else more important.
As always, I make nothing from this endeavor and thank JKR for allowing us to play with her creations.
SS
Hermione slammed her wine glass down on to the well-worn surface of her dining-room table.
"Why don't you like this one, Gin? I don't understand what's wrong with him!"
"Well," Ginny Weasley began cautiously, "don't you think he's a bit immature?"
Frowning, Hermione shook her head. "How is he immature? He's thirty years old!"
For the past seven weeks Hermione Granger, heroine, celebrity, friend of Harry Potter and Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation (Australasian Division), had been seeing Kenneth Towler, much to the disapproval of her friend.
"He sat next to Ron and George the other night telling fart jokes and exchanging recipes for dung bombs. Don't tell me that Hermione Granger was thinking that dear Kenneth was an upgrade when she ended things with my brother."
"That's not fair, Gin!" exclaimed Hermione. "I broke up with Ron because we grew apart, not because of his sense of humour. Surely you can appreciate a flatulance joke from time to time..."
Ginny sighed, "I know, I do… I just think you'd better with someone a little more cerebral."
"Like Eddie Carmichael?" Hermione asked, sarcastically.
"Well, you can't say he isn't on your level," Ginny replied, fiddling with the stem of her own wine glass.
"I'm not going out with someone who is infamous for developing and selling under the counter potions, Ginny!" Hermione replied, "Can you imagine the headlines plastered across the front of The Daily Prophet?"
Ginny giggled.
"Yes, laugh away! Anyway, I had the misfortune of sitting next to him at Luna's birthday party last year and I can assure you, he is dreadfully boring."
"He's very handsome though, isn't he?" grinned Ginny, wickedly.
Hermione flashed her friend of look which spoke of her disapproval. "There's more to a man than his looks, Gin."
Ginny nodded and a thoughtful pause in the conversation saw both witches finish the small amount of elf-made wine in their respective glasses.
"All I am trying to say, Hermione, is that you can do better. If there is a spark between you then… fair enough, it's not really my business."
Hermione collected their empty glasses and walked the few steps from the table to her kitchen sink, depositing the glasses into the sink with the dirty dinner plates before turning back to her friend.
"You're right. Ginny, he's a moron," she admitted.
SS
Ten years after she had left school, Hermione Granger was blazing a trial as a very successful Ministry of Magic senior employee, who had been spoken of by the public and press as a potential Minister of Magic, if she continued her ascendance. Where her professional life was nothing but a bright light, the same could not be said about her private life.
Hermione's parents were still living in Australia as dentists and without any memory of their once treasured only child. Fortunately, Hermione's job at the Ministry afforded her the opportunity to travel to Sydney twice a year when she would also take the time to meet with Wendell and Monika Wilkens, a couple she had befriended at matinée of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, a little over eight years ago, at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon. Monika had explained they had always dreamed of travelling to see a play there and it had been a once in a life-time experience. Hermione had done her best to hold back the tears as her remembered several trips to Stratford with her parents during the summer holidays as a child.
Equally disappointing was the failure of her relationship with Ronald Weasley, the man the whole wizarding world had expected her to marry and subsequently give birth to twenty-seven of his children. It wasn't that they fell out, or argued, they just drifted apart and Hermione soon realised that her vision of their future was so out of sync with Ron's that she was certain they would eventually grow to resent each other, even with compromise.
For the last four years Hermione had been in and out of semi-serious relationships with men her friends more-or-less always found fault, and with whom she did not care enough for to disagree with their assessment. Just for once, she often thought, it would be nice to meet someone who was confident and comfortable with themselves, who respected her career and looked beyond her famous friends to get to know the real Hermione Granger.
SS
Two months after the conversation she's had with Ginny at her kitchen table, a newly single Hermione Granger was dressed in her finest pale blue gown, attending the Ministry's first charity gala and auction in support of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was not that the school was in any financial difficulty, rather it seemed to be an excuse for the school's governors to bring together its most famous alumni to a gala evening and to raise a few extra galleons in the process.
In attendance were many former pupils and professors from across wizarding Britain, including many former members of the Order of the Phoenix, celebrities and Quidditch stars. The event was a who's who of influential figures who were being asked to part with their money in exchange for all manner of prizes, even Harry had donated a signed Gryffindor quidditch jumper which he had worn at school.
"So, have you managed to look through the catalogue yet?" Ginny asked Hermione as she watched Harry talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt, now the Minister of Magic.
"Not yet," replied Hermione, glancing at the cover of the catalogue skeptically. "I'm only here because Harry gives me 'the look' if I try and get out of these things."
Ginny laughed. "Well, you were the one who made friends with him. Imagine if you had never been friends, you could be at home now, knitting or something."
Hermione glared at her friend and started flipping through the catalogue idly. "Oh look," she pointed at a glossy page in the book, "George has put a year's worth of practical jokes up for auction. If I see anyone I know bidding on that I will be avoiding them religiously."
"It's a silent auction, Hermione, if you want to bid on things, they give you a number and you go to the table and write down your bid."
Confused, Hermione craned her neck above the crowd. "I don't see any tables." Her enthusiasm for the evening was so low she hadn't really bothered to read the invitation much beyond the date, location and dress code.
"That's because they are in the other room." Ginny replied. "This is your chance to go and register for a number so you can bid when they open it all up."
"I wish I could just give a donation; instead, I feel a lot of pressure to be seen to be participating in this farce. Are you and Harry going to bid on anything?"
"As the wife of Harry Potter, I would say we don't have much of a choice either, but I am leaving all that stuff up to him."
"A year's supply of free portkeys is actually worthwhile," Hermione pointed to another page, "They are getting hellishly expensive."
"Hello, you two, can I get you both a drink?" asked a male voice from over Hermione's shoulder.
The two witches turned in unison. "Hello, Neville!" Hermione smiled.
"How're you?" Ginny asked her considerably taller friend.
"Oh, you know, I'm still enjoying the teaching and I can't get enough of plants," he joked. "Seen anything of interest?" Neville asked Hermione, pointing to the catalogue in her hand.
"Not particularly," she sighed, "but I suppose I should try and make an effort, for the school."
"Education is a worthy cause!" Neville chimed. "I've donated one of my best dittany specimens."
"As long as it goes towards the school and not one of Lucius Malfoy's vanity projects or the Slytherin Quidditch team."
"Such a cynic," Ginny laughed.
Hermione frowned, "Did you hear about that donation last year of over five thousand galleons that went on a redecoration of the Slytherin common room?"
"Come on now, Hermione, you know not to believe everything in the Daily Prophet." Ginny chastised. "Should she Neville?"
Neville did not have an opportunity to reply as the room suddenly went silent and all heads turned towards the enormous paneled oak doors at the ballroom's entrance.
Hermione craned her neck to look over the shoulder over an older grey-haired wizard who was blocking her view of the doorway and made an involuntary gasp. Standing in the doorway was none other than the black-clad figure of Severus Snape and on his arm was one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever seen.
No sooner had the silence begun then the chattering resumed, presumably remarking on the wizard and his companion.
"Hermione, stop it." Ginny whined, "stop staring."
"Have you even looked?" Hermione whispered, clutching her auction catalogue in her hands tightly. "What, in Merlin's name has happened to him and who is that women he's with?"
"Harry said he might turn up, not that I believed him."
"No wonder you're so blasé about it, you've had time to recover from the shock."
"Minerva said he was going to turn up, she jokingly thought I would appreciate the warning." Neville grinned. "Apparently they're pretty close."
"So, you all knew but didn't think to let me on to this little secret?"
Neville shrugged. "I didn't really think about it."
"Harry mentioned it a week or so ago, it didn't seem important." Ginny added.
"I'll get us each a glass of champagne." Neville said, departing to the bar.
Hermione turned back to steal another glance at Severus Snape who was now deep in conversation with Kingsley whilst the remaining occupants of the room spoke in hushd tones and stole glances in his direction.
"He looks likes he's been dressed by Lucius Malfoy's tailor; those robes are very fine, don't you think?"
Ginny nodded. "He probably has, the Spy isn't short of a galleon or two these days."
"If I knew professional dueling paid so well, I would have rethought my career at the Ministry." Hermione commented. "He looks well though, doesn't he?" she asked.
"Yes, I suppose he does, compared to his days at Hogwarts, running after our miserable hides, day and night."
"Who do you suppose that woman is?"
"Honestly, I have no idea," Ginny replied, taking the measure of the thin witch in a slinky burgundy dress with long blonde hair which seemed to glow. "Whoever she is I would put money on her being, at least, part veela."
"Yes,' replied Hermione thoughtfully, "she definitely has that aura."
"You've seen Snape then," Harry asked, cheerfully, taking his place next to his wife.
"How was Kingsley?" countered Hermione, ignoring the question. "When is this thing going to get started?"
Harry laughed. "Kingsley is well, and the auction room will open in five minutes."
"Oh, sorry, Harry, I only got three glasses." Neville apologized, returning from the bar with the drinks.
"Don't worry about it, Kingsley wants me to open up the auction room in few minutes anyway."
"Snape is looking well; don't you think Harry?" Ginny turned to her husband.
"You all could have told me he was going to be here!" Hermione chastised her friends. "Apparently I was the only one that wasn't on the secret."
"It wasn't a secret, Hermione," Harry shrugged. "To be honest I had forgotten until yesterday and I didn't think it warranted sending you an owl," he continued. "I think he's only here because his donation is expected to bring in some pretty large bids.
"Professor Snape donated?" Hermione asked incredulously, before handing Neville her glass and flicking through the catalogue once more. "Why didn't I see it mentioned in here, which page is it on?"
"It's not in there because it was a bit last minute," Harry pointed to the book. "He's donated a week of dueling training at his house in France."
Hermione stared back at Harry blankly. "You mean to tell me that he voluntarily offered to spend a whole week with some stranger taking them through the finer point of knocking someone on their arse, just so Hogwarts can have a few extra galleons?"
"Apparently, according to Kingsley."
Hermione turned back to observe her former professor. It had been a few years since she had last seen him person and there was no doubt that he still left an impression. His hair was slightly longer than she remembered, laying just below his shoulders. Most surprising was the neatly trimmed, jet black, goatee beard which distracted the eye from his romanesque nose. In stature he seemed to have filled out, but that was not surprising considering he was now the defending European Grand Champion duelist.
"I bet Lucius Malfoy put him up to it," Hermione hypothesised. "It wouldn't surprise me if he makes the highest bid and the two of them spend the week drinking firewhiskey together.
"Probably," Neville laughed.
"Shall we go and get our I.D. numbers in case we see something we'd like to bid on?" Harry suggested.
"Like a week at Château Snape," Hermione replied sarcastically. "A whole week of being told what a dunderhead you are and knowing that you paid for the privilege," she giggled. "The very definition of a dunderhead."
"It would probably be pretty interesting," replied Neville.
"We can count on you making a bid then?" smiled Harry.
"Are you out of your mind, I wouldn't be able to sleep for weeks before and would probably be in a constant state of anxiety." Neville laughed, "Nope, I meant it would be interesting for someone else… I'll stick to my greenhouses, thank you very much."
Once they had all registered for auction numbers, Harry gave a short welcome speech and the doors to the auction room were opened.
"I'm going to go around and see if anyone has placed a bid on those portkeys," said Hermione, waving her catalogue in the direction of the tables. "Shall we meet back at here in an hour?"
Once free from her friends Hermione was afforded the opportunity to browse each table in turn, which was much more satisfying then sifting through the catalogue. Barely five minutes into her perusal she saw Seamus Finnigan placing a bid on a signed team picture of the Ballycastle Bats. Neville also seemed to be lurking near the table offering his dittany plant, looking a little anxious as no one appeared to be taking any interest. Hermione made a mental note to check for bids before the end of the auction with an eye to making one herself if no one else was forthcoming. Flourish and Blotts were offering a subscription of one book a month for a year, which was sorely tempting. Harry's quidditch jumper was attracting considerable attention, which was hardly surprising, given his status as 'The Chosen One'.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," purred Lucius Malfoy from over her shoulder.
Hermione turned and smiled. "Hello, Mr Malfoy."
No one could say that Lucius was particularly popular, or even well liked, but most of the wizarding population tolerated him and appreciated that he had been the driving force behind the rebuilding of Hogwarts and continued to serve the school. Some considered him to be corrupt, but there was no doubt a considerable amount of money was often donated when he became involved in fund raising efforts.
"How are you this evening, I see you are considering a bid on this set of six cauldrons, offered by Potage's."
Hermione looked up into his grey eyes which seemed cold, particularly when paired with his long platinum blonde hair. "I don't think so, I don't have the need to brew many potions these days."
"Is there nothing that can tempt you? It is for a good cause and I know how passionate you are about education."
"For a good cause, I can be tempted, but I am still a discerning buyer," Hermione smiled.
Lucius inclined his head. "Of course, you are, Miss Granger."
"I thought I might place a bid on the portkeys, but I wanted to have a bit of browse first."
"Portkeys," Lucius seemed to consider her statement. "A very practical choice. Well I shall wish you good luck and perhaps I will be seeing you at the end of the night to present you with your prize."
Hermione briefly watched him walk away before turning her attention back to the tables. She had seen almost half of the prizes when she became aware of a throng of people forming a crowd in the nearest corner of the room. Curiosity got the better of her and she went to investigate.
"Will you sign my catalogue, Mr Snape?" asked a young wizard of around sixteen, trusting his catalogue forward.
An older witch with a tortoiseshell-rimmed spectecles suddenly spoke up. "Mine too please, if you will."
"Mr Snape, is it true that your next bout will be against Roman Radkov?" asked another man who Hermione was certain was a reporter of some sort.
"Get back and form and orderly queue or I will not be signing anything!" a deep voice snarled.
In the middle of the crowd it seemed that Severus Snape was a wizard in considerable demand as catalogue and scraps of parchment were trust in his face.
"Did you not hear me the first time? I will not say it again, form a queue or I will leave."
The small crowd began to jostle each other and formed what could loosely be considered a line. One by one they approached her former professor and watched with barely concealed excitement as he signed his name across the items thrust at him. Hermione could not help but continue to be fascinated by the change from the man she remembered. It was easy for her to recognise his cold manner and harsh tone, but this was so at odds with her memories of a man who she remembered as smartly dressed but who did not take any particular care with his appearance.
The Severus Snape before her now seemed to pay considerable attention to the way he presented himself. On closer inspection his black robes featured intricate emerald coloured embroidery and were paired perfectly with the green cravat of the same shade. As she watched him dip the quill in a pot of floating ink she noticed he was wearing a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand and on the ring finger of his right hand was a thin silver coloured ring embellished with what looked to be small emeralds.
Hermione briefly wondered where his female companion had gone but appreciated that being in the middle of the cut and thrust of celebrity was not always the most comfortable of situations. She found herself grateful that she did not receive as much attention as she did after the war when an outing to Diagon Alley for parchment could turn into a three-hour event.
It was as the crowd began to dissipate that they locked eyes with each other, and Hermione felt her feet move in his direction, almost involuntarily.
"Miss Hermione Granger, no less," he stated, singling her out from those that remained in his orbit as she approached. "Please tell me you're not expecting me to sign your catalogue." He gave her a long-suffering look.
"Goodness, no!"
"Thank Merlin for small favours, one would imagine you'd seen enough of my annotations on some of your publications to last a lifetime."
Hermione smiled at what she felt was his attempted humour but had no enthusiasm for discussing his time as her teacher. "You look well, if somewhat changed, Mr Snape."
"How so, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice caressing her name in a most disconcerting fashion. "Is it the beard?"
"Well, I am sure the beard is partly to blame, it's just that you look, different… more put together, I suppose." Hermione gripped the spine of her auction catalogue tightly.
"More put together?" A characteristic eyebrow rose in question. "I cannot say that my previous circumstances have always afforded me the freedom and pleasure of being put together."
His statement hung in the air for a few moments as she considered his meaning. Did he mean that he was free of Voldemort and Dumbledore? Free from teaching? Free from Azkaban?
"Sorry," she replied, feeling a little foolish. "I didn't mean anything by it, I know you took many risks and sacrificed a great deal."
"You need not apologise, it was a statement of fact; I was a spy and I played my part well."
"And look at you now."
"Indeed," he replied, his eye conveying mirth. "Good luck with your bids, Miss Granger, I must take my leave."
Before Hermione was able to reply he turned and walked away while she watched him being swallowed by the crowd.
In the end she placed three bids: one for the portkeys, one on a personally tailored robe from Madame Malkin's and an insurance bid on Neville's dittany plant, just in case. Practical choices for a practical witch.
"How long before we know who won, Harry?" asked Ginny. "I was hoping we would get home in time to see the children before they go to bed."
"I don't hold much hope of that, Ginny, by the time they've announced the winners and I've been appropriately social, I wouldn't expect to get home until after midnight.
Ginny frowned and then turned to Hermione. "I saw you chatting to Snape earlier, did he have anything interesting to say?"
"Not really, though I think I made a bit of a fool out of myself to be honest," Hermione grimaced. "Nothing terrible, just a bit cringy."
Harry cocked his head to one side, questioningly.
"I told him he was more 'put together' than I remembered," she laughed at her own absurdity, it sounded much more of a ridiculous thing to say to him when she said it aloud.
"What did he say to that?" asked Neville.
"Not a lot, actually, he sort of brushed it off and put it down to circumstances. Perhaps he was grateful that I wasn't another autograph hunter, he was getting a little mobbed."
"Urgh, I am so glad that's all calmed down," commented Neville. "It was fun at first, but I couldn't stand not being about to leave the school grounds without being followed or asked for my autograph when I was trying to get a butterbeer and a bit of quiet time."
"Do you think it's the whole spy thing, or the whole dueling champion thing that's made him so popular this evening?" asked Harry.
"Probably a bit of both I expect," replied Hermione, "and let's not forget he's a bit of an enigma, I can't remember the last time I've seen him in person, or even heard he's come back to Britain."
They were all nodding in agreement when they heard an announcement that the results were about to be called.
One by one the successful bidders were announced; Seamus Finnegan won Harry's quidditch jumper, which pleased Harry immensely. Hermione lost out on the tailored robe but felt very fortunate to have secured the portkeys and Neville's dittany was won by a healer from St Mungos, which caused Neville to punch the air in excitement.
"The final lot is a week of dueling training with our very own Severus Snape, European Grand Champion, at his training facility over in France at a time to be agreed," boomed Kingsley Shacklebolt. "We had many bids of on this wonderful prize, a rare opportunity, I think you will all agree, but I am pleased announce the winner is none other than... Hermione Granger!"
The whole room turned and stared in her direction and started clapping loudly, including her three friends.
Hermione shook her head. "What?!"
SS
A/N: I've broken my rule again and posted the first chaper without the whole story being completed. That being said, I have written half of chapter two and continue to write a little every day so there is no danger of it being abandoned – I always finish my stories.