3.

"Severus! Severus Snape, get your scrawny arse over here and help me!"

Standing up, Severus took his time leaving the back room he'd turned into an office some time ago. Entering his shop proper, he found Pomona Sprout glaring at him, her arms full of potted plants, bags hanging off her forearms no doubt filled with other ingredients she grew for him.

"Pomona, dear, I didn't hear you."

"Liar," she growled at him, dumping her load of pots in his arms the moment he got close enough. With a sigh, she brushed back her fly away grey hair, leaving a smudge of dirt across her sweaty forehead. He smiled.

"Why didn't you just use magic? You are a witch, are you not?" he asked, unloading the living plants carefully on to the long desk that held his register. Beneath the heavy, scarred wood was a glass case displaying various implements to make and store potions with, all of them particularly pretty but not all that useful.

He wasn't above making a bit more off of idiots who fancied themselves a Potions Master but hadn't a clue.

"I couldn't, and you know it, you terrible man!" she shook her finger at him with one hand, handing him the burlap sack that had been dangling off her arm with the other. "I'll not have you harping on and on about the specimens being tainted with magic."

"I do enjoy getting a rise out of you, Pomona," he confessed, smirking at her.

Her smile was rueful and a tad irritated. "I know you do. You're a troublesome boy."

"I thought I was a terrible man?"

"Yes, well, play childish games and I'll treat you like a child." She sniffed delicately, an action so opposite to her appearance that Severus nearly snorted. "Besides, I know I don't look it, but I'm quite a bit older than you."

"You don't look a day over twenty."

She glared at him. "Now you're being cheeky."

"I'll make it up to you with a cup of tea," he told her, turning back to the potted plants. "Just let me move these out of the way. You did a wonderful job with them, they look near perfect."

"They are perfect," she corrected from behind him. "I grew them myself."

"These aren't from Longbottom's Greenhouses?" he asked mildly, knowing full well they weren't.

She swatted him gently on the arm as he pulled out his wand to transfigure a piece of parchment into a long, wide plank of wood. Carefully he lined the pots up on the wood before flicking his wand at it and making the whole thing rise steadily into the air.

"What—but—" Pomona spluttered at his side and he turned to smirk at her.

"I cast the spell on the wood, not the pots. It won't leech into roots in the time it takes to move them," he told her.

She huffed and cast him a glare before turning away and marching around his register. "I'm going to make tea and I just might spit in yours."

Severus chuckled to himself as she disappeared into his office. It was too easy, goading her; much easier than Minerva. Gently he guided the plank of wood through his shop and to the other side where his lab could be found. The shop was small but it was his pride and...if not exactly joy, it was certainly a source of contentment. He had opened up shop after the furor had died down and he'd been awarded his Order of Merlin, First Class. Between the monies from the award and his generous savings, Hogwarts had provided for all of his needs after all, he had had plenty available to begin his enterprise as an independent Potioneer.

With only a handful of working Masters in Europe, his skills were highly sought out by both businesses and medical facilities, St. Mungo's being his biggest client. He made good money and was comfortable that way. Pomona, his main supplier for ingredients that could be grown in a greenhouse, made a pretty Knut herself and it helped her through her retirement and her boredom.

"Severus, where on earth is your sugar?" she called, her voice cutting clear across the shop.

He directed the plank of plants to one of his workbenches and left the room, warding it against nosey customers.

"It's on the tray you blind bat!" he replied, walking back towards the office. When he entered the room again it was to find Pomona standing by his desk, the tea service in front of her, and a glossy Muggle magazine in her hand. He nearly groaned aloud.

She looked up at him as he took a step forward, her expression completely gobsmacked. "Is this what Miss Granger does now?"

"As far as I can tell? Yes."

Pomona looked back down at the magazine, blinking several times as if trying to clear away the vision before her. It was a new one, and he had only found it earlier that morning. He had a habit of walking past Muggle news shops, the ones that held their wares in wracks either out front or close to the entrance, and he always bought the ones she featured in. She was on the cover again, draped elegantly over a leather ottoman, her head thrown back in laughter.

"She's gorgeous," Pomona murmured.

Severus said nothing, reaching around her to find the sugar and plonking it down loudly on the wooden desk. As intended, it made her look up at him.

"What are you doing with this anyway, Severus?" she asked, gesturing with the magazine.

"I spotted it while walking through Muggle London and bought a copy," he told her flatly. "What are you doing snooping through my things? Isn't that more Minerva's style?"

"I wasn't snooping, I was making room. You're a dreadful slob sometimes, Severus."

"Only where it doesn't matter," he said, sitting himself down at his desk and gesturing for her to take the chair closest to him at the side of it. He shoved the magazine away, covering it with order forms and inventory lists, pretending that it hardly mattered. "Now I know you're dying to tell me all of the latest gossip so you might as well get to it or we'll be here all day."

Pomona smiled at him and took a sip of her tea. "And what? You've a hot date to be getting to?"

He glowered at her but said nothing. She tutted and shook her head. "You need to get out more Severus. You're only forty-eight for Merlin's sake, man!"

"How is Longbottom?" he asked her pointedly, ignoring her comments completely.

Pursing her lips unhappily, she took the hint. "He is doing wonderfully at Hogwarts, he's really caught his stride as a teacher and word has it that he's courting Miss Hannah Abbot, the one who bought out the Leaky when Tom passed? I must say, I'm terribly glad he gave up that whole Auror business. I know he was instrumental in the Final Battle but he hasn't the heart for it, the dear..."

4.

Hermione was slightly startled when she ambled downstairs into her kitchen and found a barn owl sitting on her granite countertops.

"How the hell did you get in?" she demanded of it. A gentle, almost apologetic hoot, was his reply.

She recognised it as Harry's owl, of course, but that didn't stop her from being mystified. It was the only one that could always find his way in somehow. She wasn't convinced that he was wholly an owl and not...something else.

With a yawn, she took the Muggle style envelope from his clawed foot and smiled at the front. Harry, ever attentive to the details these days, always made sure that if Sam (the owl) had to leave her mail it wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

Hermione Granger

1283 Indigo Cres

Tonawanda, NY

14198

United States of America

She put the letter down and picked up her kettle, intent on having her tea before reading any mail. She looked at the owl sitting there, waiting next to her kitchen sink.

"You're waiting for a response, aren't you?"

The owl bobbed, almost as if executing a quick bow, and her suspicions about him being more than an owl increased. She sighed. "I suppose it is a long trip from London to New York. Why don't you go find Amelia's perch and take a rest, I'll find you when I'm done."

He took off, his claws scrabbling a bit on the smooth countertops, and Hermione put her kettle on the burner. She lived in a mostly Muggle home, with a few exceptions, because it reminded her of her childhood, and it was just easier that way. She had picked just outside of Buffalo to live in because it was far, far cheaper than living in New York City and with her ability to Apparate the distance it just didn't make sense to prostitute herself for a lovely flat in the Big Apple. Besides, despite what outsiders might say about Buffalo and its environs, she found that she enjoyed living there. She lived in a charming neighbourhood filled with families and a good sense of community. The only time she'd had any problems was when someone siphoned the gas out of her car while it sat in the driveway. She'd put charms on the gas cap after that.

Her kettle whistled and Hermione filled a pot with hot water and a few teabags. From the fridge she scrounged a little box of blackberries and a tub of yoghurt. With her wand, she bid it all, plus the necessary utensils and dishware, to follow her to her dining room.

Finally, when she had a bowl of food and a pot of steeping tea, she turned the letter over and cracked the plain wax seal on it.

Hermione,

I hope this letter finds you well. We have exciting news! Ginny delivered early! Our daughter was born June 28th 2007*. I've included a picture of her for you, taken the day after she was born. Ginny eventually took the camera away from me, said I was going to give them both a complex with all the picture taking. I can't help it though, Hermione. She's perfect.

Hermione upended the envelope and, sure enough, a wizarding photo fell out. She picked it up and felt tears gather in her eyes. It had been taken over Ginny's shoulder, looking down at the little bundle in her mother's arms. Hermione smiled, her heart melting a little, when the little pink faced infant yawned and turned her face towards her mother's chest. Her heart contracted painfully and she forced herself back to the letter.

We want to name her Lily Hermione Potter after her (we hope?) Godmother. Say yes, Hermione. Please? I would love nothing more than for my daughter to have your name as well as my mother's. You are two of the strongest, most loving women I know. I hope I've sufficiently pulled at your heartstrings to get you to agree and to convince you to come for her Naming Day at the end of July.

I know that you're busy and you rarely get time away, but I'm hoping that nearly a month is enough advance warning to have you here for our special day. Perhaps I can convince you to stay for my birthday as well? Two birds, one stone? It's been months since we've seen you, and James misses you (I'm clearly not above guilt tripping you, am I?), as do Ginny and I.

Let me know as soon as you can.

All my love,

Harry.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head as she re-read her friend's letter. It was true, he wasn't above using guilt as a method of coercion, but he wasn't particularly good at it. James was only two years old, and he only saw her about once every four to six months. If he missed her, it was because she brought him toys and goodies from America. She summoned a piece of parchment and a quill as she poured herself a cup of tea from the pot.

Harry,

CONGRATULATIONS!

You're right, she is perfect. I cannot stop watching the photo. I'm more honoured than I can tell you, Harry, I really am but I have to wonder at your sanity, saddling the poor girl with such an unusual name, but at least it's not her given name. Small mercies.

You needn't go to such extremes as guilting me into coming for her Name Day you prat. Of course I'll be there! If I have to cancel things, then I shall cancel things. It's not every day I get a Goddaughter, now is it? When shall I expect to invade your humble abode? Give me some dates so I can move things around as need be.

Also, you need to work on your 'guilt tripping' skills. Perhaps you ought to ask Malfoy for some pointers, I remember him being quite good at it. Or is he no longer dating Luna? Either way, seek assistance in that area because you failed. Terribly. We both know that James barely remembers me, if at all.

Send Ginny my love and owl me the dates as soon as you can!

All my love, always,

Hermione

* I changed the order in which the Potter children were born, making Lily the middle child. Also, I made up the date to fit with my story. Sue me.