Author's Note: 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.

Severus Snape

"Will you be needing anything else, sir?"

Severus Snape grimaced at the intricate napkin fold that Tom had proffered along with his bowl of stew, a valiant attempt at hospitality. Despite the proprietor's intentions to turn the Leaky Cauldron into a finer dining establishment, Severus would rather the pub face its true purpose: a utilitarian watering hole for basic drink, nosh, and company, if it couldn't be helped.

"No, thank you, Tom," he said, handing the man several coins that more than covered his meal and small bottle of firewhiskey. He frequented the bar enough that he knew this should ensure some amount of peace and quiet for the remainder of his time there. Tom bowed with flourish worthy of a Michelin Star and set off to offer hot towels to his other patrons.

Severus was thankful that despite his ridiculous meeting with Hemlocke, he'd been able to make it to the Leaky Cauldron long before the afterwork rush would have made his presence there untenable. As it stood now at half-two, there were hardly more than five other customers, and none of them appeared to be the social type.

Granted, if you tend to find yourself deep into your cups before the dinner bell has even rung, it's not company you're after.

Severus scowled at his own damning thoughts as he knocked back his glass and tucked into the stew.

He typically stayed away from drink, not trusting his demons to stay at bay with any amount of cognitive inhibition. That was one thing that hadn't changed much since the war - back then, he hadn't ever approached drunkenness as a matter of basic self preservation. There had been plenty of dangers in having two opposing masters and lying every time he spoke without complicating things further. Besides, his own father's predisposition to alcoholic rages and his mother's responding abuse of tranquilizers had really taken the shine off of substance use years before he'd ever tried anything of the sort.

But today, he wanted to drink. Birthdays are for celebrating, after all. His thoughts rang as sardonically in his own mind as if he'd said them out loud. Not for the first time he felt a wry chagrin over the fact that he himself was not immune to the same scathing contemptuous scorn he served to everyone else. Perhaps, in fact, he was his own most chronic victim, as he could hardly just brush the words away with a general dismissal.

With a sigh, he looked down at the few names Hemlocke had finally offered up, not as potential candidates, but rather contacts within Magical Law Enforcement and the Aurory– places where Snape's services might find a home. He wasn't sure if the sweaty man had intended it as the offense it was, but refused to rise to it either way. Little did Hemlocke know, Severus had already contacted the branches of MLE extensively, both with tips on specific cases and a general offer to consult on the nature of the Dark arts. Each attempt had resulted in little more than a pat on the head, an awkward and generic "thank you for your service," and then silence. By this point, he was quite convinced most of his correspondence was used to line the owl cages at the Ministry. Otherwise, he couldn't understand why several ongoing investigations hadn't been solved yet, given the content of what he had sent.

Actually, of course I can understand. That's the whole bloody point of what I'm trying to do in the first place.

But today, his hopes and good intentions hadn't meant anything in the face of crippling bureaucracy and entrenched political laziness. Today, he'd finally let himself admit that what he was after might simply not exist. Today, he was finally celebrating that he could give up on trying to find someone to help him with his burdensome project, and revert to the isolated and peerless status that had so far served his greater purposes well. Happy Birthday to me.

Even as he drank another shot of firewhiskey, his mind switched sides again. It was his own fault; surviving the second war of Lord Voldemort had instilled a frustrating positivity in him. Despite his best pursuits of hopelessness, the fact that he was still living and breathing and not in some blood-purity driven hellscape had made him believe that there might be some good in the world. All he wanted to do now was help preserve what they hadn't lost. And he knew the only way to keep the light was to fully acknowledge the darkness.

Severus mopped up the last dregs of his stew with a crusty roll and scoffed audibly as he considered his foolishness in trying to hire someone to his cause. Now that he thought of it, of course he wouldn't find anyone who would even come close to understanding why a private investigation firm might be an important and worthwhile pursuit. Anyone with the skills and interest would already be in MLE, and once they were in the clutches of the Ministry, it was likely too late. Their minds would be closed and boxed-in, just like every officer before them, so convinced they were on the right side they wouldn't stop to think critically. It actually made him miss Aurors like Mad-Eye…paranoid as he was, the current crop could use a bit more "constant vigilance."

Unfortunately, outside of MLE, the group most likely to find worth in his cause was made up of the people he least wanted to see. He'd considered talking to the other remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, but his memories of the single event after the war he'd been present for had stopped him so far. It had all been done in the style of self-righteous Gryffindor pride, very much taking after the sort of thing Dumbledore himself would have arranged. He'd taken one look around at the gaudy banners and tearful, indulgent reunion and turned right back on his heel to disapparate. Even they of all people did not understand how lucky they had been, on what small threads of fortune Dumbledore had gambled everything on. The experience had left Severus feeling anything but peaceful.

Peace is relative.

Severus paused, the burning liquor poised at his lips as he recalled the chance meeting with Hermione Granger that morning. He gently sipped the firewhiskey, letting himself enjoy the complex smoky flavors for the first time since he'd sat down. Despite himself, he'd been intrigued by the girl's appearance in the employment office. Of all the students he'd had the misfortune of teaching, Granger had possessed a particular talent for irksome curiosity. His opinion of her wasn't helped by the fact that she'd been the mastermind behind the majority of Potter's dangerous and foolhardy schemes. He'd assumed she was still playing that same game: in a state of arrested development with the other war children, but now with the added authority of the Aurory. Severus hadn't considered the possibility that Gryffindor's golden girl (as the Prophet had once referred to her) would be struggling to find a place in the wizarding world. Maybe…

No. Absolutely not. He was not yet so desperate or masochistic to subject himself to the performative intellectual whinging of Hermione Granger. Severus, looked accusingly at his glass and the remaining whiskey in the short bottle and pushed both away. He'd certainly had enough if any part of him was considering Granger as a candidate for employment. Sighing, he stood, gathering his winter cloak and sliding the rest of his bottle to the elderly wizard a few stools away. He'd wallowed enough and it wasn't helping anything.

It was just as well, as the pub was beginning to fill a bit more. As Severus stepped outside of the Leaky Cauldron and turned his collar up against the winter air, he was glad he only had a short distance to walk. Even with the slight warmth and buzz in his skin from the firewhiskey, he'd forgotten his gloves that morning. Anything farther than the few blocks in the cold would make his old pains and spasms from his repeated exposure to the Cruciatus curse act up. He had work to do this evening, and potion brewing was significantly more difficult with gnarled claws for hands.

Severus stuffed his fists inside his cloak and didn't take them out until he was inside the foyer of his apartment building. He rubbed them together to stave off any of the cold that had made it through as he inspected the bulletin board used by the other residents of the building.

There wasn't much new, just a few handwritten notes reminding residents (somewhat passive aggressively) of good neighborly practices. One described how to banish bags of waste directly to the bins in the back alleyway rather than waiting for building management to do it weekly. Another pointed out that the charms needed to clean up after oneself if they tracked in mud were much simpler than those to cut through the built-up grime of many.

Severus huffed a disgruntled laugh at the cheerful, looping handwriting that proselytized from the colorful note paper, clearly written by muggle-style pens instead of quills. It's not that he disagreed with the unknown busybody. In fact, he rather appreciated the reminders, given that they actually had seemed to make a difference when they started showing up on the board. It was the principle of the thing that made him shake his head. As a consummate recluse, his misanthropy was plenty satisfied by letting others live in their filth and idiocy. It seemed a fool's errand to expend time trying to correct such things in others when he could use that energy on keeping his own space sacred. He was about to slip down into the basement apartment when warm fur curled around his ankles, nearly tripping him.

"Meow."

Severus looked down into the smushed face of an orange cat and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, excusez-moi Monsieur, I suppose it's my fault for standing in your foyer," he said, bending down to pet the cat. "I see your plan now: cause me to break my neck so I no longer contest your dominion over this stairwell. It won't work, old boy."

The feline purred fiercely and shot him a look as if to say "ah yes, you've foiled me again, peasant. I shall let you live in exchange for head scratches." The sarcastic look would have seemed unthinkable on a regular animal, but Severus had realized the half-Kneazle was certainly magical within a week of the creature's appearance. He'd had half a mind to seek out the owner and demand they keep better track of their pet, but it had simply been easier to enjoy the familiar's company than work up the energy to confront another human. Giving the cat a final ruffle, Severus straightened and traipsed down the half flight of stairs to his apartment, the wards around his room recognizing his magical signature and opening the door for him.

Relief washed over him as he stepped into the dark, warm haven of his little sanctuary. It wasn't much. The flat was hardly larger than the cramped hovel in Spinner's End where he'd grown up, and it was certainly smaller than his chambers at Hogwarts. But the space was his, and his alone. He'd purchased the unit outright from the building's owner in coin several years ago when he'd gotten tired of being so far from Wizarding London. Somewhat predictably, apparition points seemed to be a hotspot for running into people he knew. Sometimes he longed for a greater separation between himself and such a large magical population. But in reality, he attracted much less attention just by slipping in and out of his building than when he had to arrange for long-distance travel to and from the city.

In part, he'd been able to purchase the unit because the owner had had significant trouble finding long-term tenants for the basement space. No stranger to dungeons, however, Severus had spent the first month living there repairing and patching the majority of issues, charming the space slightly larger where he could. The only issue that he hadn't seemed to get a handle on was the small rodent infestations that occurred from time to time. That is, until his cat-friend arrived about two years ago— another reason he had no complaints about the feline's patrol of the common space.

He wandlessly and wordlessly conjured a fire in the grate, tossing his cloak onto the dark brown leather couch that sat facing it. He'd been in such a rush to catch Hemlocke before the business day actually commenced that he'd left his research materials out on his dining room table. Gathering them now, he returned the heavy books to their rightful places on the wall-to-wall shelves he'd built. He only kept one out and handy for this evening's work, a muggle medical manual, and his own notebook.

Severus settled into his desk, rereading over the last several entries in his notes. As soon as he'd collected his thoughts, he began scrawling again.

'While human DNA evidence collection and analysis is based on the inexact application of an exact science, a magical equivalent should have the potential to bridge these gaps. We already have the ability to trace and track magical signatures, and there are many potions and spells which utilize the use of genetic materials to great effect. One need only to track the patterns in reverse to effectively utilize DNA evidence at the scene of a crime. Even without the creation of new enchantments, something like the Polyjuice potion could be used to reveal the visage and identity of a perpetrator'.

Placing his pen down (much cheaper than quills for his own personal notes) he pinched the bridge of his nose as his thoughts swam together. He wished it was just the liquor, but truly, his thoughts swam every time he stumbled across another instance of the wizarding world being wholly uncreative in its application of magic and technology.

He wondered darkly if the muggle-born witches who'd been slaughtered over the course of last summer had even been fully examined for signs of assault. Even skin cells under the fingernails could have been scanned for a magical signature if anyone had thought about it in time. Severus could imagine how easily the Aurory might have dismissed the string of serial murders as only motivated by blood-prejudice and completely miss how often arguments of blood purity had an innately sexually aggressive undercurrent to them. He supposed only an ex-Death Eater might know how many of the most finely pedigreed and outspoken of the Dark Lord's supporters violently lusted after those muggle-born, whether they were magic users or not. The oversight infuriated him and was the perfect example of how the Ministry had failed to learn much at all from the wars he'd sacrificed everything in.

Perhaps Granger knows what measures were taken in that particular case, though I don't recall her name in any of the press-releases. He shook himself. Maybe it really was the liquor clouding his thoughts. Severus summoned a glass of water from the tap, as well as a phial of sober-up from his kitchen cabinet. Both seemed to settle him a little, and he realized that he had in fact been a bit drunk. With a sigh, he realized it was just about time to start brewing if he wanted the test potion to simmer at the correct temperature through the night. His last attempt had yielded promising results towards the goal of separating out genetic specimens of differing origins from each other, but there were still a few tweaks to the preparation methods to perfect.

He bustled around the apartment, gathering the necessary ingredients and setting a small fire burning beneath the small, counter-top cauldron he used for his experiments. Severus was pre-measuring each individual ingredient into its own small bowl when there was a knock at the door. There was really only one person it could be, since no solicitors could get into the building and his wards softly encouraged any of his neighbors to suddenly remember some other task when they approached. It was also the one person he couldn't easily refuse an audience with, at least if he didn't want an extra layer of guilt to weigh him down as he tried to grasp what little sleep he could. Sighing heavily, he magically unlocked the door, not taking his focus off of the task in front of him.

"Come in," he called. Though his tone would make most people question if they actually wanted to enter the flat, it was no deterrent to the handsome blonde man who confidently strode in.

"I suppose even this place feels cozy on a day like this," Draco sneered as he shook snow off of his fur-lined cloak. "I'll never understand why you insisted on this rather than taking up a wing at the manor."

Severus finally looked up from his work to cast a scathing glance at his godson.

"Draco, I don't take kindly to my space being spoiled by even more spoiled brats," he drawled, raising his eyebrows at the slush Draco had tracked in. "Even if you think it's beneath you."

To the boy's credit, he had the decency to step back and hiss at the puddle he was making before cleaning it away with the wave of his wand and a murmured apology. He even looked particularly contrite as he hung up his cloak and removed his boots. Severus's focus retrained on the powdered octopus on the scale in front of him.

"What's got you in a mood, then?" Draco sighed, walking over to the small icebox in the corner and taking out a bottle of pumpkin juice Severus only kept handy for intrusions just like this. "Can't just be the weather, it's been like this for days."

Severus clenched his jaw before deflecting. "Because I'm typically so much more cheerful?"

"Actually, yeah," Draco scoffed, pouring himself a glass then flipping one of the dining room chairs around so he could straddle it backwards while he watched the potions master at work. "Let's take a look at the evidence, shall we? You just chastised me like you were my Head of House again. It's not even 5 PM and you've already sunk your nose into the cauldron. And if I'm not mistaken, isn't that a Sober-Up phial on your desk? All signs point to a shit day." At Severus's glare, he held up his palm in a show of innocence. "Or not! Maybe I'm just a dab hand at divination and can see your aura's off."

"Foolish boy," Severus muttered under his breath. If I had known he'd use those skills of perception against me, maybe I wouldn't have taught him to think for himself after all. It was all a lie, however. Although Lucius and Narcissa had turned away from the dark near the end of the war, they hadn't made it out alive. Despite Draco having already reached his majority, Severus had stepped in to help the boy grieve the loss of his parents, as well as deconstruct their twisted views that had caused the world to crumble. In part, it was what any godfather was meant to do. But Severus felt particularly responsible for not stepping in for Draco earlier. That the boy had shared an identical curse scar with him of their old master was a source of deep and enduring shame. Draco himself had countless times absolved him of any real responsibility, pointing out how generationally entrenched racism was in his family, but Snape couldn't help but lament how ineffectual he'd been.

"See! Acting like I'm a student again," Draco said, chuckling. "I'll have you know, I'm a man now! With…big man responsibilities and everything!"

Draco sneered the words in just the same way he would have as a child while invoking his father's name, causing Snape to smirk. That at least was true. Despite having to submit to many rounds of questioning after the Dark Lord fell, once Draco was cleared of the heftier charges against him, he'd wasted no time in reclaiming his birthright as a Malfoy. Severus had to admit, he had something of his father's flair for the dramatic, happily interviewing with any periodical that would print a story and opening the Manor to large society parties that had disappeared with the second rise of the Dark Lord. He'd also made a point to donate quite a lot of the Malfoy coffers to charities that encouraged anti-racist philosophies, while vocally supporting more protections for muggle-born magic users on the Wizengamot floor. All in all, Draco had taken the exact opposite approach to societal reentry from Snape's own, but it suited him. He loved his godson and knew he had truly changed for the better. But it was exactly how quickly Draco's sins had not only been forgiven, but forgotten, that made him confident the Ministry had learned nothing at all from the war.

Setting down the last bowl full of just the right amount of powdered bicorn horn, he glanced at the not-yet-boiling water before slouching into the closest chair.

"Yes. I had a shit day."

"You've never been much of a day drinker, much to my disappointment," Draco observed gently. "What happened?"

"Just more of the same, really," Severus sighed. "I went to the Department of E & A to try and get some answers about why the candidates they sent me are so dreadful."

"Well, you've got to admit, you are asking for a lot," Draco said. "I'm not saying you're wrong for it, but you have particularly high standards, and I imagine there aren't many looking for jobs from their scary old potions teacher."

Snape glowered at his godson's apparent knack for reading him like a book that particular evening, but Draco simply laughed good naturedly.

"Want me to stir up some hell over it? I could probably get the gears moving." Draco arched a pale eyebrow. "Consider it a birthday present."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"No," Severus said resolutely. "I think it's a bit deeper than Employment and Assignments, and someone like you influencing MLE is exactly what I'm trying to prevent. No offense."

"None taken." Draco smirked, flicking his wand to direct more pumpkin juice into his glass. With a lazy wave of his hand, a sleek black box adorned with a grey silk ribbon hovered towards Snape. "In that case, just take this."

Severus narrowed his eyes, and begrudgingly snatched the package out of the air. He delicately removed the lid to reveal an ornate magnifying glass, the lens suspended in the twist of intertwined silver serpents. Tiny emeralds glinted in their eyes and as Severus peered through, he realized glass had been charmed to impart thermal vision on the user. It was perfect.

"How unnecessary, Draco."

The young man shrugged, grinning slyly. "It was nothing. I'm glad you like it."

"Very much." Snape gently placed the gift on his desk. Caught off guard by the thoughtful gesture while he was still so miserable about the day, he decided to reward Draco with information.

"I saw one of your old schoolmates at the Ministry," Severus said, hoping that the topic change would be well received. "Hermione Granger."

"Oh! So, the Aurory is involved, then?"

"Strangely enough, she wasn't there on the job," Severus said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "She was looking for a job, through that blasted department."

When his words were met by silence, Severus turned his gaze on his godson to find him gaping.

"Granger? Unemployed?" Expressions of childish superiority and flattering incredulity warred for dominance of Draco's features before settling on gossipy intrigue. "Was she sacked?"

"It didn't seem that way from what she shared."

"Oh, I'll have to find out!" Draco sat up straighter, as an idea occurred to him. "Well, that's not so bad then, for what you're looking for. Though, I imagine, she's just as obnoxious as ever."

Snape narrowed his gaze, not understanding Draco's meaning. With the quirk of one eyebrow, the younger wizard explained.

"You're hiring Granger, aren't you?"

The potions master actually laughed out loud in disbelief. Despite having wondered about what insight Granger might be able to provide on the inner workings of MLE, hiring her as his assistant was ridiculous. He dismissed the idea immediately.

"I think not!" he said, chuckling. "Of all the students I terrorized, I treated her the most unfairly perhaps…not that she ever learned what I was getting at anyway! Just kept reciting the damn books at me and letting Potter and Weasley look at her notes."

"Why not, though?" Draco challenged. "Isn't that the kind of knowledge we need?"

Severus scowled at him. "I didn't realize she came with your high regard and recommendation, Draco."

"Hardly!" his godson scoffed. "But there's no doubt she was top of my class. She has frontline war experience and years as an Auror. Kind of hard to beat, even if you have to put up with the rest."

Snape neglected to comment. He'd been quite enjoying the snow-covered ennui of his solitary mission to fix his broken world. His godson's words were unfortunately stirring his mind to its former machinations as the ugly beast called hope deigned to raise its head again. He'd think about it later, without the jovial influence of a Malfoy on his mood.

"Well, like I said, I don't know if she was sacked or not," he said indifferently. "I have no need for the Aurory's cast-offs."

"Granger on the job hunt…I actually can't believe I didn't already know about it," the blond wizard said, looking giddy. "Of course, I'm not surprised it hasn't been reported publicly, given the fit she threw about the press when she and Weasley finally busted up. But I would have thought I'd hear something of it around the office."

"Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley?" Snape asked, positively flabbergasted. He'd made something of a joke earlier about him and Potter, but he hadn't realized she'd actually been an item publicly with either of them. He wasn't in the habit of considering the romantic lives of others, particularly his past students. Hardly surprising it didn't work out for him, the dunderheaded idiot.

Draco's head tilted back as he erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter. When he finally regained his ability to speak, he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and levelled his godfather with a playfully contemptuous look.

"Really, Snape, you've got to get out more."