Latitudinarian

lat-i-tood-n-AIR-ee-uh n | adjective

1: allowing or characterized by latitude in opinion or conduct

Hermione Granger was no coward. She had done things in her life that many witches and wizards could never claim in their wildest dreams. She'd broken into the most secure structure in wizarding Britain and ridden out on dragon-back. She'd gone to war and survived to tell the tale. Tonight she was terrified. She'd made up her mind. She wanted him. As though he had known she was thinking of him, the bell of the door chimed softly, admitting him into the little book shop. She looked up from the counter, her eyes drawn to his immediately. A nervous smile lit her face and it was returned with a small upturn of his lips.

She was dragged back to the first time she had seen him there in her shop.

The tinkling of the door chime pulled her attention briefly from her task shelving books at the back of the store. She couldn't see the customer, but she called out a greeting nonetheless. She hoped they wouldn't need help finding anything and that they would browse for a few minutes at least so that she could make it through this stack before needing to ring up the purchase. Not that she would complain about the steady stream of business she'd had that night, but she had been trying to get through this shelving for hours. It seemed that luck was on her side as she finally, finally finished the last of the new acquisitions. Making her way to the register, she could just barely make out the form of a dark head of hair bowed over the back cover of a book. Satisfied that her customer was indeed browsing and not attempting to steal her stock, she pulled out her own book and began to read while she waited. One of the perks of owning a book store. No one found it odd that she read in her down time, even while on the job.

"Why, Miss Granger, what a shock it is to find you working in a book store," drawled his familiar voice dryly.

Her head whipped up as her book snapped shut. Despite her shock, she frowned down at it briefly. She'd probably just lost her place, dammit.

He looked good. The post-war life seemed to agree with him if the increased color of his skin and the cleanliness of his hair was anything to go by. He seemed a bit more filled out as well. Less pinched. "Actually, Professor, I own the book store," she corrected him calmly. She certainly sounded calmer than she felt. She hadn't seen Severus Snape since she'd helped Madam Pomfrey load him up on a stretcher six years ago. The sight of him sent her spinning into the past and she nearly thought she might snap out of a daydream to find herself in the dungeons, a cauldron bubbling in front of her.

A small smile – an actual smile! – crept onto his face. "It's a nice shop," he commented. He slid his book across the counter to her.

She read the title and smiled to herself. This year's Potions Almanac, of course. If she remembered correctly, he had made a contribution or four to this edition. "A good choice," she complimented.

"I do find something quite exhilarating about finding my own words in print," he confided.

She smiled conspiratorially. "There is something to it, isn't there?"

He raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, have you been up to, Miss Granger, besides running this little shop here?"

She bit her lip, typing the book's number into her computer – altered, of course, to withstand the magic it was occasionally subjected to – and added it into the transaction. "I may have done a bit of penning myself," she admitted.

He leaned casually against the counter. "Anything I might have heard of?"

Hermione grinned. Unless he'd been living under a rock for the past six years, she doubted he'd have been able to avoid hearing of her work. Her latest novel had been on The Quibbler's best seller list for three months running. Under a pen name, of course. No one knew that Rita Nurmberger was secretly a bushy-haired bibliophile living in the heart of London. Shrugging, she answered, "Probably not."

He tilted his head as though trying to puzzle her out, but respected her privacy. When prompted, he handed over the required amount of coin and accepted his change. The change rattled loudly when the coins hit the bottom of her tip jar – unconventional for a book shop, but he admired her gumption. She bagged his purchase and they exchanged generic farewells as he walked out the door.

She had been sure that the was last she would see of Severus Snape. And she had indeed lost her place in her book. Three days later he had returned.

"Miss Granger, I find myself in need of a few novels to see me through the week."

She smiled wryly and asked what genre he was looking to find.

He leaned again against the countertop and asked, "What would you recommend? I'm sure you can find something I'll enjoy." His eyes were soft as he gazed at her and she was momentarily taken aback. Surely he wasn't flirting with her?

She blushed and hurried to show him back to her fiction section. Her blush widened involuntarily as he gravitated to the section populated by Rita Nurmberger novels.

"I've heard good things about these books," he commented. "Thoughts?"

"Oh, er, well they certainly do sell well," she agreed.

He pulled one from the shelf, examining the jacket. "Have you ready any of them?"

She hesitated. "One or two."

"No good?"

She huffed defensively. "They're very good."

He smirked in her direction. "They say that Rita Nurmberger is a pen name. No one but the publisher really knows who she is and he's not telling."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, that's true."

"Hopefully Mrs. Nurmberger is in a position to see the popularity of her book. It would be such a shame if she didn't fully realize how well-liked they are."

He was teasing her! She didn't know how he had found out but she rolled her eyes. "I'm sure she knows."

"Mmm." He replaced her book on the shelf and asked again, "Suggestions?"

He had bought five novels from her that day. To get him through the week, he said.

His presence came to be expected in her shop. If a few days passed without seeing him she began to get anxious. Slowly she came to realize that she fancied him, Merlin help her. He had mellowed in the years since the war and he was teasing and gentle with her. If she wasn't mistaken – and she didn't think that she was – he was flirting nearly every night he came in. Every once in a while, if he knew he wouldn't be in for a few days an owl would show up at her shop with a scrap of parchment requesting that he send her latest recommendation. One such message read, "Hermione, I know your appetite for books is insatiable. Send me something that shows just how insatiable you are."

Screwing up her courage, she had sauntered into the room in the back of her shop warded with an age line and picked out one of her favorite guilty pleasures. The front cover displayed a half-naked woman swooning into the arms of a partially transformed werewolf. It was a very unrealistic portrayal, but really, when was erotica realistic?

The smirk on his face when he had returned a few days later paired nicely with the glint she had seen distinctly in his eyes. She'd seen that look on old boyfriends. Never had she expected to see it on old professors. Not that he was old. Being a wizard, he was still in the prime of his life.

"I very much enjoyed the book you recommended last week," he drawled.

She was sure that her blush spread from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes, but she managed a small smile anyway. "I enjoyed it too."

He handed over a galleon – almost double what the book was worth – and insisted she keep the change. "After all," he said, "you're the one doing the work picking out my books for me. What's next?"

Tonight she had already picked out the next novel. Pride and Prejudice was one of her favorites, and she felt that it suited the day. "Good evening, Severus," she greeted.

"Hermione," he answered. "What have you got for me today?"

She held up the book wordlessly and handed it over. She watched as his eyes scanned the back jacket.

"Excellent. You know, one day I would like to read the work of one Rita Nurmberger," he said teasingly.

Swallowing hard, she told him, "I've got a copy of her new manuscript if you'd like to read it."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "I'd love to read it, Hermione."

"But," she continued, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. "You'll have to come to my place to read it."

"Only as long as you're feeding me," he countered.

She licked her lips. "It's a date."

"Merlin, I hope so," he chuckled.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed in response, her shoulders sagging. "I wasn't sure if… if I was reading you right."

"When have you ever read anything incorrectly?" he joked. He touched her hand gently. "Hermione, I would like to date you if you are amenable."

She nodded. "Yes, please." Not that she would share with him, but she rather hoped their date would end similarly to the guilty pleasure she'd sent him weeks ago.