Chapter 5 – Hold the Mayo
He loved the early shift. Get to work just after lunch, open at 3:00 p.m. Out in enough time to enjoy his evening. Sure, there weren't that many people in the pub that early, but he wasn't much for Muggle small talk anyways.
It allowed him to think about where he was and what he was doing with his life. Which, obviously, wasn't much of anything these days. But still, he was happy. He didn't have the worries of his childhood—how to act in public, how to sneer properly at those who were "below" him. Hell, he was below just about everyone here. They may be the poor of Manchester, but ihe/i was the one serving them and cleaning their glasses.
Granger had contacted him that morning via owl post, waking him up yet again. He had only skimmed her note—blustering apologies laced with shame. Everything he expected. Obviously, it wouldn't do for the Golden Third Wheel to get in trouble with her first case. He didn't buy her sincerity one bit, but he did understand why she attempted to continue working with him.
She was coming to his home tonight. On a Sunday. Didn't she ever take a day off? No different than Hogwarts, he supposed, where she would spend days on end in the library until a project was complete. And guess what—he was her newest project.
Yes, he would make dinner, proving to her he knew how to use the stove and the blender. And he would make it all while she was there, without the use of his wand.
So, when his manager demanded he take over a coworker's closing shift, he had been less than pleased. He had asked for a moment to phone home, but his manager denied him even that.
Somehow he didn't think a Patronus rushing through the bar would go over well.
Besides, Severus knew his plan, namely to make Granger dinner and to play nice. Hopefully, he would know to start dinner for him.
He grabbed another glass and began viciously wiping off the water spots. The glass exploded in his hands. He wasn't sure if he'd done it with magic or brawn, but it really didn't matter; it would still come out of his pay.
Snape was fuming. Granger was due to show up at half eight, and Draco was cutting it very close. Knowing Draco would probably want to shower after work and that there was no way the boy could do that and start dinner before Granger showed up, he began chopping vegetables for a salad.
The lettuce he ripped with his hands. Even the Potions master knew it was a bit ridiculous to cut lettuce into perfectly matched squares. If she didn't like it, well, that's what her knife was for.
The other vegetables he took more care with. Presentation was important, after all. He started pulling vegetables out of the fridge, tossing a few that were about twelve hours past edible.
He cut the tip off one of the cucumbers and brought the end to his nose, inhaling deeply. His mother had always told him never to use a cucumber that didn't smell like a cucumber; it passed the test. He laid the cucumber down and quartered it lengthwise before cutting it into pie-shaped wedges and throwing the pieces on top of the lettuce. He cut the tomatoes into large cubes before adding them as well. Mushrooms were sliced paper thin, kalamata olives halved and pitted. Sensing the salad needed something else, he rummaged in the refrigerator for some shredded cheese but came up empty. Oh, well, not the best salad, but he didn't have a lot to work with.
8:25… she would be here any minute. Where was Draco! Grumbling, he threw open the refrigerator door. Of course, no bloody salad dressing. Why hadn't he checked that first? He started looking for ingredients—anything he could use to make a dressing. Great, balsamic vinaigrette, but no olive oil… Digging through the door for anything remotely resembling dressing, he started throwing condiments behind him onto the counter. Ketchup, mayonnaise, relish, lemon juice… Russian it is, then.
He added mayonnaise and ketchup to a bowl before adding relish and lemon juice. He had helped his mother cook for years before he made his first potion. Instead of measuring perfect amounts as he would with his potions, he cooked in very much a "it looks done" style. As long as it was palatable by the end of the day, who cared if it tasted the same each time?
He removed a whisk from the drawer and mixed the ingredients, adding bits of each ingredient until "it looked done." Dipping his index finger into the sauce, he tasted it—perfect.
There was a knock at the door. He swore loudly, threatening to kill the boy upon entry before he realized that the boy had a key.
It was she. And all he'd made was a bloody salad.
He walked towards the front door, pausing to take in his appearance in the hallway mirror. Hair mussed from the nap he'd taken earlier, his grey t-shirt was damp on the front from the dishes he had done before he made the salad. Lounge pants and bare feet completed the wholly unimpressive ensemble. Sliding his glasses off, he deposited them on an end table before opening the door.
He took in her appearance as always. Gone was the smart business attire. Her hair was drawn up at the back of her hair in a messy knot. In trainers, a scoop-neck jumper and denim pants, she looked like a seventh-year ready for a Hogsmeade weekend.
She wasn't wearing his perfume today. The lack of its presence disturbed him, and he didn't know why.
"Hello, Mr. Snape. I'm here to speak with Draco if that would be possible."
Her manner was far more subdued than normal, yet her eyes were wide and darting about, as if she was terrified of saying the wrong thing.
"I am sorry, Miss Granger, but he's still at work. Would you care to wait for him?"
She sighed. "Is this a normal thing? That he works late?"
Only when it puts me in an awful situation. "Sometimes. Draco never loses a chance to bring in some extra mortgage money. My making potions and perfumes on the side doesn't always cover everything."
"Perfumes? I had no idea you made perfumes! Is perfumery similar to potion making? Is that something you would have learned in your masters classes?"
It was just like the old days—her with a hundred questions, him wanting to sneer at her and bite out an answer.
Except he really didn't want to be vicious. He wanted to talk to someone actually interested in his work. Draco didn't care about the how of his projects, as long as they put food in the pantry. Other than Draco, his main friends were Muggles with whom he could not discuss magical perfumery. After half a lifetime in academia, not being able to discuss his work was stifling.
She was still standing on his stoop. His stupid hair was in his face again, and he brushed it back, sighing loudly.
"You better come in, Miss Granger. I do hope you like salad…"
They walked into the kitchen, and she observed his half-made dinner. With all the focus of the Weasley matriarch, she began scouring his cupboards, looking for dinner fixings. He stood aside, mesmerized by her graceful movements between cupboards, pantry, and stove. He attempted to fill a pot with water for some pasta, but she swatted at his hands. Giving up, he sat at the breakfast bar and simply watched her.
Now, they were seated at his mother's dining room table, eating a feast of spaghetti topped with canned marinara, a side of early peas, and of course, his salad.
Definitely not the best meal he could have made. Certainly not his favorite meal. But she seemed to be pleased with herself. Hell, she even mixed her peas into her spaghetti like his mum used to.
They talked about his potions projects. Though in a non-academic job at the Ministry, she had kept up with some of the biggest trends in potions, and where her knowledge was lacking, her intelligence filled in the gaps. In recent memory, he had not had such an engaging conversation.
"And your perfumes, Mr. Snape. Tell me about those!" Loading up her fork with pasta, she shoved a forkful in her mouth with gusto as she watched him inquisitively.
"Oh, they're nothing much. I needed a hobby during the first war. They came in handy sometimes; I was able to create perfumes for some of the higher Death Eater's wives and use them as bargaining tools for privileges—namely not having to attend certain parties... If nothing else, perfumery was a welcome diversion. After the end of the war, I continued studying the art. I even went to France over one of the summer holidays to learn from the masters of the craft."
"So, would you consider yourself a master at this point?"
He snorted. "Hardly. Before going to France, I had only worked on instinct, not even realizing there were thousands of years of research behind me. Did you know, for instance, that perfumes contain three chords—the head, the heart, and the base—all of which work together to keep the perfume active throughout an entire day?"
She shook her head.
"I didn't either. I'd just been haphazardly throwing things together hoping at the end of the day they didn't smell like a back alley."
She smirked. He looked at her enquiringly.
"It's just… for someone as meticulous as you are over a cauldron, it's hard to think of you just throwing oils together pell mell."
In spite of himself, he felt his mouth trying to twitch itself into a grin. Quickly stifling himself, he leaned towards her infinitesimally and pulled a very serious face. Her eyes widened—clearly he'd gotten himself very close to his old "ten points from Gryffindor" glare.
"Ironic, Miss Granger, given that's exactly how I made this salad dressing."
The look of confusion on her face was quickly replaced by a short burst of giggles. Snape sat back, slouching slightly in his chair and crossing his arms, hoping not to lose control of himself and smile.
Composing herself, she finally responded. "Why, Mr. Snape, I do believe that was a joke!"
Knowing it was a bad idea, he smiled.
The warm sensation that spread through his body in response to the look of unadulterated surprise and joy on her face let him know that he was in grave trouble indeed.
It got worse; after a few glasses of wine, Snape knew he was a goner. She had stopped looking towards the door every ten minutes for Draco and truly didn't seem to mind being with him. The wine relaxed them both, and their conversation came easily.
"I'm surprised I haven't seen your perfumes at any of the shops! Have you been selling them strictly to Muggles?"
Snape raised an eyebrow—she didn't know. She had no idea that she walked around with a bit of him nearly every day. The fact that she had chosen something of his, albeit unknowingly, pushed him over the edge. What had merely started as drunken musings had become an out-and-out crush. Damn the girl!
"Actually, you may find all of my products in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. I believe you've been wearing my "Desert Flower" off and on the last few days…"
She blinked. "Ambergris is your company? I had no idea! Well, I should have. With all those vile jars in your office, only you would name something so sweet after something so foul!"
Snape nodded. "Indeed."
She began to giggle yet again, swaying slightly in her seat from too much wine.
Snape's eyebrows tightened. "And just what do you find so amusing, Miss Granger?"
She attempted to compose herself. 'I just find it funny that someone who once mocked my looks is now a critical part of my beauty regimen." She flashed him another smile, front teeth decidedly not expanding. In fact, her teeth were perfect. She smiled openly, her top teeth digging oh so slightly into her bottom lip. He resisted the urge to take over nibbling it himself… He had to change the subject.
"Hermione, I must ask you… do you enjoy ice cream?" He cringed, knowing how absolutely ridiculous he sounded.
Her smile managed to become that much more beatific. "Absolutely… Severus. And if it's not a flavor I like, I'm sure I can conjure up something." Giggling at her own bad pun, she stood and followed him back into the kitchen.
Draco began yelling out apologies before he even finished unlatching the door. Four hours late for his meeting, he was sure that Severus and Granger had killed each other and that he would probably end up in Azkaban when he was caught attempting to bury the pieces of their bodies in a magical swamp. It couldn't hurt to announce his presence.
Instead, he walked into his kitchen to find Severus Snape and Hermione Granger sharing a bottle of red wine and eating chocolate chip ice cream directly from the pint, and daydreams of Azkaban turned to nightmares of the Janus Thickey Ward.
AN: Sorry this took so damned long! Life got in the way. This is what happens when you post a WIP as it actually progresses! Chapter six is actually written though!
Thanks so much to clairvoyant for beating me up and making me a better writer!