Chapter Two

Hermione had to hex two reporters before making it into her office that morning. The small orphanage contained one of two offices she currently occupied. It was this one that Hermione enjoyed the most because it offered her peace and quiet. That peace however had been shattered once Skeeter the leech had found out of her occupancy there. The woman was a nightmare; she had her photographers follow Hermione everywhere and Hermione had become increasingly frustrated until she could not take it anymore. Her life was now tabloid fodder. Not a day went by that the Skeeter woman was not questioning her motives, her personal life (or apparent lack thereof), her work and even her choice of clothes.

Hermione straightened her robes as she laid her briefcase on the long wooden desk. The reports she had requested from Mandy were already there and alphabetized. Small slips of colored paper indicated where Hermione needed to sign, others indicated immediate attention. She knew the orphanage was hemorrhaging money. There had been no donations in over six months and if it continued this way she feared the place would be closed and the children redistributed to institutions throughout the country. No other facility had the programs they offered; these were children of death eaters, victims of death eaters overall they were victims of the war that needed specialized care. This specialized care cost money they didn't have.

An owl at her window delivered the day's paper and her post. She hastily removed her paper and threw the owl post in a basket on her desk for later perusal. The cover of today's Daily Prophet featured stories on the thriving wizarding community, the upcoming ministry auction and there in the bottom corner the scowling face of her one time professor, Severus Snape. The man looked livid, his pale hand gripped his wand as he turned and charged at the reporter repeatedly. Hermione giggled lightly as the man's ability to terrify even grown men. Hermione had to admit that she continued her subscription of the dreaded paper only to keep up with the dark mysterious former potions master. She had not been surprised to hear he had survived the war, the man was always going on about stoppering death and so on, she figured someone with his training and skills as a spy would have an exit strategy. She fondly remembered seeing him nod in her direction one day while in Diagon Alley before apparating away. Her surprise must have shown as she saw a small smirk find its way to the corner of his thin lips before he disappeared from view. Hermione had stood flabbergasted for a few moments contemplating the uncharacteristically nice gesture from the normally taciturn man.

Hermione had heard from Harry that he had retired and was living somewhere between here and Mallorca. Their former professor had inherited some money from Dumbledore and chosen to live outside their world. She didn't blame the man. While Hermione loved her charitable work, she longed to escape the limelight that came with being a decorated war heroine. She wondered briefly if others felt the same. She knew that Ron had loved the fame (and witches) that came with being a hero. Harry however had thrown himself into Auror work. His relationship with Ginny ending before it even begun, much the same way Hermione and Ron's had. It was a byproduct of the war. They were children that had grown up too quickly. That was why she had sought to continue and complete her education while helping to rebuild their world. The idea of strong multicultural diversity in their world could not come at a better time. It was time to heal the rift between Pureblood and Muggleborn witches and wizards. It had taken a long five years but Hermione felt they were on the road to permanent change.

She read the article about her former professor and snickered at the audacity of the woman reporting. Regardless of the lack of evidence, she was convinced that the former double spy was in fact still a Death Eater, and was somehow planning a coup of their world. The ridiculousness was too much and Hermione clipped the article and casually stored it in her desk. It joined her growing stash of articles about Severus Snape.

Hermione hated to admit that reading about the former double agent was as close to a social life as she had. Her work consumed her day and night, leaving little time to do much anything else. It had been like that after the war at school. She hadn't dated anyone after Ron and the relationship with him had not gone well. An ill-timed kiss during the final battle was pretty much as far as it went. Hermione knew there was more, much more, warm bubble baths and cold showers could only do so much.

Hermione walked over to the looking glass in her office bathroom and stared at her disheveled appearance. While she had grown into her body, she wasn't the vain type to flutter about with her hair and makeup. She was average, nothing really special to look at. Her brows were uneven, her skin splotchy, even her once carefree curls were nowhere to be seen in the severe bun that had taken residence on her head for the better part of the last four years. She'd overheard people call her frigid and a prude. If they only knew the fantasies that set her off, the dark voice of a man in her ear, his hands on her body. She was anything but frigid; she just hadn't found the man to take her there.

A special ministry auction was coming up in a few weeks and Hermione thought it an opportune moment for her to meet and try to convince members of the wizengamot about her proposed bill. She wanted the profits from death eater property sold at auction to go to their children at the orphanage. She knew she had little chance of having them pass it but she was hard pressed not to at least try. Looking at her reflection again however she feared she would once again come off as the buck tooth child she had been at school; nervous and ugly, the laughing stock for all to mock. Shaking the thoughts from her mind she ignored the creeping sense of insecurity that threatened to have her drowning her ills in something fried and smothered in chocolate.

Halfway through the day's post she noticed an intricately designed letter. The paper was black and felt like the softest of fabrics. Intricate runes decorated the seal that held the letter closed. She ran her finger slowly over the runes and the parchment sprang open. From within the paper there materialized the dark form of her former professor.

"Miss Granger…"

With a very inarticulate yelp, Hermione jumped up off her arse and immediately fell onto it, this time instead of her comfy leather chair it was the cold floor that greeted her.

"Miss Granger, I do hope I have not come at a bad time," his deep voice filled her small office. Hermione hid behind the safety of her desk for a moment while she gathered her bearings. The parchments and reports she had scattered when she fell kept her company as she waited for a moment to stand back up or at least return to a somewhat dignified position. Once she did, she saw that what spoke to her looked very much like a muggle hologram, full sized and in all its dark robbed glory. The dark man stood with his arms crossed, his long fingers tapping lightly against his firm bicep as he waited to be addressed.

"P-p-professor Snape, how, I mean what…I mean sorry, I don't know what I mean." She couldn't form a thought let alone a response for such a simple question.

"Miss Granger, I gather by now you have overcome the shock of having me in your presence. This charm is a personal design of mine. You can see and hear me but I cannot actively interact with you. Which to some, myself included, it is a blessing as it means you cannot ask me incessant questions.

Miss Granger, I have a unique proposition for you. I wonder if you would perhaps be interested in helping me on a research project, a sort of social experiment. One that I'm sure will benefit us both. If you are amenable, we can discuss the terms over dinner this Friday night, let's say 7pm. The parchment included with my missive will serve as a portkey to my location. I await you this Friday."

With that, his likeness dissipated, the mist disappearing much like a patronus. She fingered the warm material of the letter and wondered briefly if it was made of the same material as his famed teaching robes. She lifted the material to her nose and smelled faint traces of the sea and some unknown spices. Hermione wondered about his proposition, a social experiment. As a student she would have given anything to have been considered for special project with the man. Now however, she was wary. To be honest, wary wasn't really the word. She was bloody well excited as she clutched the small scrap of parchment to her chest.

Hermione felt a small tug at her navel at the thought of being alone with the man.

"It's just business Hermione, get your mind out of the gutter," she murmured to herself as she went about her day.