The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and it smelled stale, just as with every other time Severus had eaten there. He drew quite a few curious stares - one of the downsides of having been a professor at Hogwarts for nearly a full generation of witches and wizards and then being in the news daily for months. Not to mention how the speculation and trials surrounding the Death Eaters all seems to involve his name in some way. One or two faces were tentatively friendly; most were somewhere between sullen and outright hostile.

"I see why your mail-order business was having difficulties," Hermione said quietly as they slipped into a booth at the back of the room. "Nothing to do with your potion-crafting abilities and everything to do with your public image."

"That's . . . accurate," Severus admitted.

Ron waved the server over with a cheeky smile. "Three for lunch, Almenia. Whatever the special is."

Hermione elbowed him. "You could have let Professor Snape decide for himself, you know."

"No point - the rest of the menu is rubbish. Special's the only way to go." Ron linked his fingers behind his head and yawned without covering his mouth. "Lord, it's been a long day already so far. The Prophet has got to have the worst-managed advertising department in the history of ever. You ever try advertising, Professor? Might help with your special order whatsits."

Severus forced a tight smile. "I prefer Potions Quarterly, to reach the serious customers."

"Right, that old thing." Ron sat back up and slouched forward with his elbows on the table. "It's fine for what it is, I guess, but it's hardly got enough circulation to be worth advertising specialty potions. We barely justify the expense with just a general spread."

Severus didn't dignify him with an answer.

"You're settling in okay, though?" Ron asked. "'Mione's got you everything you need?"

"Everything is adequate."

Hermione snorted. "What he means is he's bowled over by how much you spent on supplies, Ron. I did tell you the four sets of cauldrons was a bit much."

Severus clenched his jaw - he hadn't thought he was that transparent, but sometime over the last two years Miss Hermione Granger had suddenly developed the ability to completely ignore the supercilious mask he habitually wore when around around other people. It was disconcerting, especially since she was so recently his pupil. Definitely not "girlish" in any way now, though - she had never really been one for childish behavior, even as a first-year. Finally her body and her age had caught up with her personality and her mind. He tried hard not to think on that topic any further, for fear it would go places better left alone.

The food came, and it wasn't bad. Certainly better than what Severus was used to at the Leaky Cauldron from days gone by - maybe Weasley was on to something when he said to only order the special. Severus couldn't countenance actually praising Weasley, though, so he ate in silence.

Hermione and Ron had no such limitations. They chatted at length about the minutiae of Ron's morning: floo calls with the Prophet, two howlers from witches who were upset about some comment he made on the Wizarding Wireless a week prior, and an extended chat from his mother. Which apparently revolved mostly around how he and Hermione really needed to be settling down and getting married and producing more tiny red-haired Weasleys already. Hermione was rather vocal in her explanation of why, exactly, she was not interested in Mrs. Weasley dictating her future in such a manner. Ron seemed blindsided and confused by the whole thing. Hadn't he ever heard of cutting the apron strings?

The conversation-turned-argument ended when Ron threw down his fork and stormed out in a huff, over what had sounded like a relatively innocent (if matter-of-fact) comment by Hermione.

"Sorry."

Severus glanced up at her. "No need to apologize - it's not your fault he deals with issues by storming off in a snit."

A smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. "Oh, it's not that, it's just . . . I hate airing our dirty laundry in public. Ron doesn't seem to mind, as you probably saw."

"And you want his mother to butt out."

She shrugged. "I suppose, a bit. It's more that I want Ron to actually stand up to his mother once in a while, but I know that's not going to happen and I should just accept it."

Severus took another bite of his lunch, which he guessed was probably chicken. "Why are you dating him, if he won't take your side?"

Hermione glanced sharply at him. "I did warn you I'm not answering any more questions about me and Ron."

Ah - she had, hadn't she. "Now it's my turn to apologize." Severus dabbed a stray bit of sauce off the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "A different topic, then - why the horrible organization in your ingredients cupboards?"

She blinked. "What do you mean? Everything is alphabetical, and I'm sure they're all organized properly."

"I did notice they were alphabetical, yes, but you truly couldn't come up with a better storage method? Alphabetical means having to hunt through every shelf to get even your most basic ingredients."

"Oh, and you would prefer I keep them like you did at Hogwarts?"

Severus recoiled. "That was for the benefit of twenty students all needing the same ingredients at the same time. No, a better way would be like I do for my own private stock: sort according to magical properties, so you don't have potentially explosive reagents next to each other. It has the additional benefit of allowing you to put your most-used reagents in the front, where they're easily accessible."

"But they're harder to find that way," Hermione said.

"Only if you don't know your potions ingredients well," he countered. "I assume - given that you now run a Potions shop - that you are beyond that point."

Hermione held his gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable, then dropped her attention to the tabletop. "There may be some validity to that," she admitted.

There was a noticeable note of bitterness in her voice, and Severus felt obliged to press. "You are upset I have more potions experience than you do? That is what you hired me for, is it not?"

He got an exasperated grumble in return. "It's not . . . You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Yes, I've been told that," he answered, falling back into his default sarcasm. "Rarely to my face by my students, however."

"Good thing I'm no longer your student, then."

"So why do you still call me 'Professor?'"

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. "Shall I call you Mr. Snape then?" she finally asked.

Severus shuddered. "Thank you, no. 'Mr. Snape' was my father, and I have little interest in emulating him."

"Then I'll call you Severus."

He thought about it a moment - his name should have sounded odd coming from her lips, but it didn't. "That's acceptable."

"And you call me Hermione."

He read the invitation in her face for what it was. And found he had no objection to it. "I will."