A/N: Thank you so much for all of the love in the comments - it means so much to me that you are enjoying this piece! We get to see Hermione's next assignment in this chapter and I've absolutely adored fleshing out these scenes.

Shoutout to my alpha readers Ruby, Juby, and Bryra, as well as my mom and my husband for all the encouragement along the way!

Massive amounts of thanks to SnakegirlSprocket for beta-ing and getting this ready for fan eyes!

And of course, if you're here, you probably know - I do not own Harry Potter, I just like to play here.

"Really, Mr. Borgin, are you telling me this is your full inventory?" Hermione asked. Her question was unintentionally directed at the bleached skull that was examining her with very alive looking eyes and she couldn't tear her gaze away from it. However, the slightly nervous looking man wearing crumpled clothes that vaguely reminded Hermione of a costume befitting Bob Cratchitt seemed to understand that the question was intended for him. As the skull's teeth chattered menacingly, she abruptly brought her attention back to her latest employer. "I can count more things from where I sit than I see on this list."

And what ghastly things they were. Since entering Borgin and Burkes a few hours earlier, Hermione wasn't at all convinced that the Knockturn Alley attraction had cleaned up its act nearly as much as she'd been led to believe. That's what I get for ever trusting the word of MLE. The beat patrols are hardly better than common criminals themselves. Many of the items boasted some aspect that had once been part of a living thing - skin, hands, bones from all manner of magical beings were commonplace on the shelves of the shop. There were jars of pickled things that reminded her greatly of the same such specimens that Snape had once displayed in his office. She wondered if he had purchased them here, or had bottled them himself as she and the other student's had always worried.

Thinking about him again, really Hermione, grow up!

Luckily the shop's owner finally deigned to answer her.

"Miss Granger, what you have to understand about our boutique is that we do not own much of what is for sale here. We simply run as a consignment."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. It certainly made sense, and less creepy antique stores functioned in quite the same way in the wizarding world as in muggle contexts. However, she couldn't help but feel it was quite a convenient way for the business to keep all of the deals they made as squeaky clean. She could understand, what with such a volatile area of expertise in the wake of Voldemort's fall. She'd have to examine things a bit more before coming to anything conclusive, but needless to say, this job would require a great deal more subtlety than her work at Flourish and Blotts.

"Well, I would assume you keep a record of all of the items in your possession, regardless of where they come from, or rather, in order to remember where they come from. I'll really need to have access to those lists as well."

"It's all up here, girly," Caractacus Burke said with a sneer, tapping one gnarled finger against his temple. "And besides, that's confidential information! Hardly something an accountant needs to see."

"Ract, that'll be enough, thank you!" Mr. Borgin hissed at his partner. "You know as well as I do we need to make some changes. Netta and Julius raved about what she'd been able to accomplish so far at the bookshop. We can't afford any further citations."

"I'll remind the both of you once again that I am not here from the Ministry, even if that's how you first heard about my services." Hermione said the words as professionally as she could manage while staring at the skeleton of a grindylow that had been made into a walking cane.

"Yeah, but I can smell the do-gooder-ness right on you. As if we don't know exactly who you are, Miss Granger. Can't imagine you'd understand the needs of a shop like ours."

It was hard to refute. Despite loving being a witch and living within the magical community, certain magical objects had always been a source of rare befuddlement for Hermione. In her opinion, many witches and wizards could stand to utilize less magic and work a little harder, rather than spelling every single object to complete the task for them, or even worse, accomplish something completely unrelated. She'd had a particularly hard time with enchanted mirrors during her school years before she'd learned how to cooperate with her curly hair. The experience had left her skeptical of anything that spoke when it ought not to have opinions at all. And the year she'd spent hunting Voldemort's horcruxes hadn't done anything to improve her opinion. Of course, she had an admiration for truly magical inventions, like Time Turners and Pensieves, but they were still items of great and sometimes terrible power.

Looking around the shop, she had to suppress a shudder at the number of obviously menacing items the shelves boasted. Instead, she levelled the curmudgeonly business man with an innocent look.

"Perhaps not," she admitted, shrugging as casually as she could manage. "But I know that the Aurory is usually more than happy to drop in unannounced to check up on things here. I doubt they find much, but it's enough to scare your customers off for days, even weeks. Imagine what might happen if you pass the year as you always have and come December, you haven't complied with the wand payment mandate?" She widened her eyes. "MLE'd have a field day in here."

"Is that a threat, girl?" Burke hissed, stepping forward to loom over the desk. Hermione rolled her eyes. Really, he had nothing on Snape's ability to intimidate.

"Ract!" Borgin whined as he tugged on his partner's arm. "Really!"

"Mr. Borgin, Mr. Burke," Hermione said sweetly. "May I remind you that you are the ones who requested my services? I am here to do my best, nothing more, nothing less. As I've told my other clients, I will not assist you in anything illegal, but I am no longer an Auror and do not work for the Ministry."

"Please do not worry, Miss Granger," Mr. Borgin said, glaring at his counterpart. "We do understand the necessity of these changes and appreciate your availability for the job."

Caractacus threw his hands up with a strangled laugh of frustration. "Have it your way, Cass! Bloody Auror-turned-accountant, but it's all fine!"

They both watched the man wander deeper into the shop, cursing and muttering all the way. When Hermione looked back at Cassius Borgin, the man gave her a well-meaning, if yellow, smile. "Ract won't cause you much trouble, he's just not very good with change. As I'm sure you're aware, we've already had to make certain adjustments since the last war, but…well, this is the first time it's had anything to do with the actual money part of it and it's got him on edge."

Hermione nodded. "I acknowledge how big of a shift this is, Mr. Borgin. It's actually one of the reasons I took this job. Now, let's talk about inventory."

It did not take long at all to see that Borgin and Burkes sparse paper trail was not only because of "confidentiality." They were not doing nearly as much business as one would expect of a marquee shop on a main thoroughfare. While the standard purchase was much higher in value than anything that Flourish and Blotts moved, it was clear that the shop was on the edge of falling into the red. It could all be made up through off-book sales, but something about the tired look in Cassius Borgin's eyes told her she was just seeing how slow business was for the shop.

"Ours has always been a…shall we say, particular, business," Borgin said, shakily taking a nip from a flask in his desk. "We are not like a Diagon shop. Certainly, our wares are a great attraction, but our customers also come here for a certain level of professionalism."

"You mean discretion?" she asked dubiously. It was honestly a miracle that the shop hadn't closed down directly after the war.

"I mean knowledge, Miss Granger," Borgin said, and she saw a flash of pride in his somewhat cloudy eyes. "I'm sure you, like everyone else, simply think of our potential customers and what they may want with such items. I assure you, we like thinking of them too, as they are the only reason we can stay open. But I encourage you to think of our sellers and consignors as well—that's the real story of this shop."

Hermione looked at the piles of papers and records in front of her as she considered. Bad actors. Dark witches and wizards who need money. That's what her Auror training and own experiences told her. But then her eyes flicked to a warning sign in front of a blindfolded shrunken head, foretelling what would befall someone if they unveiled it. Another glance around the room boasted several other such signs of caution. She also noticed there wasn't a visible price tag in sight. She'd just assumed it was because of the haggling nature of an antique dealer, but…

"Mr. Borgin," she said slowly. "Are there items that you refuse to sell?"

His gaze flicked to hers. "Don't be getting the wrong idea, Miss Granger. That actually isn't a new development. There have always been items that come into our possession that don't make it into the hands of customers, or even to the sales floor for that matter."

"So what…do people just come around and look at all this stuff with no intention to buy it?" she asked incredulously. "I mean, clearly you are selling to someone."

"Actually, yes. Lots of young witches and wizards who want to nose their way into something scary. Most of our actual sales are from direct requests for objects we help locate. And despite what you may think, those are typically not particularly dangerous or powerful. They are simply valuable in their own right as antiques."

Hermione attempted to absorb all of this information, only half-convinced he was uttering the truth. She really had little choice but to accept what Borgin was saying for the time being. Hopefully, the books would bear out the truth either way.

"Miss Granger…if you would," Borgin started, clearly unsure of his words. "Don't let Ract catch on that I told you this. He's quite…fond of playing the nasty dark wizard, and it's not too far off the mark anyhow. It rather suits our needs. People trust us to deal with objects no one else is willing to even look at."

Hermione laughed lightly. "Your secret is safe with me, I suppose. Now, if this is all of your ledgers, I'll be ready to settle in. Is there a corner of the shop that's…safer than not?" She cast another nervous glance at the skull that had continued to gnash its teeth at her through the entire conversation.

"Up by the register counter will certainly be best," he said. "It's got some nice wards on it, and there's a good chair around here somewhere that you can use. Don't look too comfortable, or Ract is sure to come and grouch at you."

Stacking all of the scrolls and papers she would need, Hermione levitated them beside her as she followed the oddly welcoming shopkeeper back out of the office. Borgin scrambled around, eventually procuring a very comfortable, if worn leather chair. As she settled in, he even brought her a bowl of aniseed balls and a bottle of some potent looking liquor, dark green with what looked like flakes of gold inside. She thanked him graciously, though she opted to stick to the candy as she began her work.

Luckily, the creepy shop appeared to take meticulous records. Despite Burke's aggressive denial, Borgin had provided her with extensive lists of every item that had passed into their possession for even the shortest amount of time. The vast majority of them noted when and how the item was destroyed or unmagicked and where it had been disposed of. She also found plenty of what she'd originally been expecting: the sale of cursed and maleficent objects. But it became clear that of all the antiques they came across, it was only those that made it through a highly selective culling that actually made it to the sales floor.

Her initial assumption of how little money the shop was actually making was only supported by the numbers. Granted, they had few expenses, and their building costs were manageable, but there was absolutely no wiggle room in the numbers she was seeing. Forget wand payments, if this keeps up, they'll be out of business before the regulation even gets enforced. She began to construct a matrix of different approaches at balancing the budget. As she watched the numbers and runes float in the air in front of her, shifting as the matrix was informed by her other note-taking, she realized that regardless of the result, the shop needed more customers.

As if on cue, she heard a tinny bell chime and then the slamming of the door as someone entered the shop.

"Hasn't anyone told you your face will freeze like that?" drawled a too familiar voice. Hermione just barely managed not to gasp, freezing in place as her charmed process whizzed around her. She was extremely grateful for the large cabinet that hid her from sight of the door. "Don't look so glum, Ract, I've got a job for you."

"Severus, what a pleasure!" Burke said, though his voice made it sound nothing of the sort. "And I don't think you're quite in a position to be making jabs about my looks, boy."

Casting a Muffliato on herself, Hermione stood from her chair gingerly before slowly peering over the cabinet. Severus Snape stood in his usual black frock coat, long winter cloak, and expression of bored disdain to match. As he loomed at the entrance of the shop, she was struck by just how different he seemed than when she'd last seen him: crouched low in the foyer, chatting with her cat. Hermione had been about to run down the stairs to retrieve Crookshanks upon realizing he wasn't in her apartment. She'd stopped short on her landing at the sound of Snape's voice, only to peer down to the oddly gentle sight of him grumbling as he pet the half-Kneazle. All remnants of that little moment dissipated like smoke in the wake of the intimidating figure of the Snape she'd known in her school days.

The men before her shook hands, and despite their matching grimaces, she got the feeling that for them, this was akin to an impassioned hug between long-time friends.

"Snape, welcome," Borgin called as he too made his way towards the door, a faint smile on his lips. "What can we do for you today?"

"I was hoping to glance at your consignment and sales records from the past month or so."

Burke grew red in the face with rage and began muttering once more. "You and everyone else, blasted day."

Snape's eyes darted between the two owners. "Someone else has asked to look into your books? MLE?"

"No, it's just that—" Borgin started, but was swiftly interrupted by Burke.

"Might as well be, the fool girl!" he whined. "The cheeky witch has all of our things, so if you want answers, Sev, you better go ask her. Can't even run my own damn shop! That's what this bloody world's coming to, do-gooder meddling…"

He continued his diatribe, but Snape was now looking around the shop, his eyebrows knitting together. She inadvertently squeaked as his black eyes caught hers, quickly sitting back down into her leather chair. The harm was done, however, and she heard his footsteps slowly round the counter. His languid pace was somehow more terrifying than had he come quickly, but it did give her a moment to pull a light level of occlusions up around her mind. She did her best to ignore the thundering of her heart in her ears when arrived at the counter.

A multitude of emotions whirled through him at the extremely unexpected sight of Hermione Granger, cozied up with a bottle of herbal tonic and anise drops in Borgin and Burkes. She met his gaze, her expression polite as if he hadn't just caught her brashly spying on his conversation, though he noted the slight pink of her cheeks. Unfortunately, that only reminded him of the last time he'd stood face to face with her on the steps of his…their building.

"Snape," she said with a slight smile. "So good to see you today."

"What the hell are you doing here, Granger?"

Hermione gestured at the quills and matrices around her. God, she really knows how to work…focus, idiot.

"Ah, you already know the pesky girl, then?" Burke said nastily as he stepped up to the counter. "This here is a good client of ours - don't forget that. Then…do forget it, because it's none of your business."

Something in his gut clench slightly at Burke's performative scorn. It was hardly a new quirk and very much a fixture of his personality to treat most people as if they were a walking migraine, and Severus was hardly much better. Despite the normalcy, Snape was suddenly uncomfortable with his maligning of her character. He glanced at her to gauge her reaction.

Despite her obvious attempts to be casual at the moment, she stuck out like a sore thumb here. Where the shop was old and dusted with a fine layer of murky grit, she was new like a candle burning in the dark, bright and defiant.

"I taught Miss Granger years ago," Snape explained. Not able to help himself, he continued. "While her sincerity can be positively insufferable at times, you unfortunately aren't going to find better for your books, Ract. Gryffindors, you know."

Much to his dismay, it appeared that Granger had heard the compliment he hadn't been able to stop from giving in his own twisted way. Burke huffed and began to squabble about the Ministry as he wandered to the back office grumpily.

Borgin sighed and started after him, turning as he went to catch Granger's eye.

"Give Severus whatever information he's looking for," the softer proprietor said. "I'm going to go make sure Burke eats his lunch instead of hexing it."

Suddenly, alone with the young woman once more, Severus was at a loss for what to do. He found that her surprise appearance had shaken away his stubborn pride slightly, and he was now feeling quite privately embarrassed over the stack of books he hadn't yet lent her. You lied to the Dark Lord's face for over a decade, and now look at you. Of course, the location of this reunion was hardly helping. The dreadful, demonic surroundings made her look like an angel by contrast. He didn't realize he was glaring at her until she spoke up again.

"Now I can't imagine what I've done to deserve a look like that," she said primly. "But I am happy to see you, finally."

He instantly cleared his expression with a mumbled apology. "Sorry. And I can't imagine why you would be, so I suppose that's a you-problem." What in Merlin's blazing britches is wrong with me?

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you might be right on that one." She worried her lower lip slightly as an emotion he couldn't read flitted across her face before she looked back up with a more neutral smile. "What is it you're looking for? It might take all this some time to turn up a result, so might as well start now."

He was suddenly desperate to be as far away as possible from this pretty witch who refused to be put off by his growling before he started to get the wrong idea again. For a single moment, Snape wondered if he should demand to speak with Borgin or Burke instead. But why? Won't that still be making some exception for her? It would solve nothing. If anything, it would just catalyze greater avoidance, making her more and more of a special, terrifying, element in his life. No, the only way forward was to treat her like any other person and do what he could to control himself.

Misinterpreting his pause, Granger held up her palm. "Scout's honor and all that."

Snape barked a laugh at the obviously muggle idiom, wondering briefly if she had actually been a scout before matriculating to Hogwarts. "I'm hardly concerned about your discretion in this matter." But the matter of where I live is an entirely different case.

If the Gryffindor noticed his emphasis, she gave no indication as she popped an anise drop into her mouth and offered the dish to Severus.

"Go on, then," she said. "What are you looking for?"

Snape refused the candy, instead moving to open the bottle of tonic and conjuring his own glass. He poured them each a healthy swig and then looked up to find Hermione's eyebrows knitting together.

"What is it?" she asked in a hushed tone. "Is it…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you doubting Cassius's hospitality? Yes, it's safe. And it's a nerve tonic."

"How can you tell?" she asked. He supposed the green and gold liquid did look a bit menacing in the context of the shop.

"I brewed it. That's my seal." He indicated the infinity symbol created by two intertwined snakes, curled in opposing "s" shapes, biting one another's tails. "Had it been tampered with, the potion would have turned solid. A precaution for my customers."

"Snakes? I'd have thought…" the witch began, but she shut her mouth so quickly her teeth clacked together. He didn't miss how her eyes darted to and then quickly away from the bright white scars on his neck. Oddly, he found he wasn't offended at her interest.

"'What doesn't kill you', and all that," he said, a small smile curling his lips. He'd spent too much of his life surrounded by snake imagery to let one near-death-experience with a freakish monster ruin it. Besides, every time he sealed a bottle with the symbol, it felt like a big 'fuck you' to the Dark Lord. After all, Snape was the one who had slithered away with his life. "Drink. It will help you sort through the mess I'm sure their books are in."

Granger did so and he copied her movements, hoping the glass hid his grimace. She shouldn't trust his word so easily, in Knockturn Alley of all places. He thought briefly about chastising her, but then remembered how she'd responded when he'd berated her for opening her mind to him. He certainly did not need to hear more gentle words from her any time soon.

"Oh, that's nice," Granger said, and then giggled. "Actually, it reminds me a bit of a drink I had once at a muggle bar. Jager and–"

"Goldschlager, yes," he said. "Where do you think I got the idea? Of course, this actually carries the benefits of the ingredients, but I'm rather proud of the mimicry. Most of my customers have no idea they're drinking the magical and non-alcoholic version of a party shooter."

Granger laughed again, and Severus couldn't help but smile at the sound. It's just too easy to be around her…what was I supposed to be doing again? He watched as she poured them each some more of the potion while she simultaneously scanned her matrices as they flickered and solved. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

"Well, I'm certainly glad for it, I can already feel it working," she said, leaning in closer to him over the counter. "Between you and me, yes, there's quite a lot of mess to work out at this shop. So…what you're looking for?"

"Right," he said, straightening to take a list out of his inner pocket. I need to double test the strength of that potion. He pressed the parchment down in front of her. "A client has discovered these items…misplaced. I need to know if anyone has come in here with them in the last month or so."

She quickly read through the list, nodding. "Alright, I'll run a quick search of what I've already gone through. If it's not there, the spell will keep searching the records as they are put in, so there might still be a chance. Just a moment."

Severus watched with a macabre and masochistic sort of fascination. It had been one thing to happen across her work process and talk to her about it, but actively seeing her add a layer of complexity was unimaginably more compelling. Severus knew himself well enough by this point to understand that he had a deep attraction to power. There had been many reasons he had followed the Dark Lord, and then even more behind his defection to Dumbledore, but the most unifying factor of those experiences had been proximity to real and deep magic. Watching Hermione Granger deftly key her system to each of the artifacts he was investigating was mesmerizing. She worked with speed and nonchalance as she constructed a completely new set of runes and symbols. I am well and truly fucked, aren't I?

After what had felt like an endless moment, but probably hadn't even eclipsed a minute, she placed her wand back down on the counter and looked back at him.

"Well, nothing's coming up yet, but that's no surprise if you're looking for the last month or so. I can estimate I might have something for you in a day, maybe two."

Severus nodded, not exactly trusting himself to speak just yet.

"Is there anything else I can help you with…" the younger witch appeared to pause on his name. "Snape?"

He nearly corrected her to use his given name. Yep, well and truly. The only thing that stopped him was the sound of the office door reopening.

"That should be all," he said, somehow finding his usual bored tone again as Borgin reemerged. "Thank you very much, Miss Granger."