A/N: 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.

Hermione was suddenly embarrassed beneath the black probing gaze of Severus Snape, the pleasure of her earlier bravado quickly fading along with any buzz she had worked up through the evening.

"Honestly, that's not necessary, Prof–"

"Really, Miss Granger," he said, leading her with a gentle but insistent palm on the small of her back. His rich baritone sent a shiver down her spine. "I insist."

Before she knew it, she was sitting in the corner booth of the Leaky Cauldron, watching Severus Snape prepare her a slice of toast. She nearly interrupted him with her preference, but with a wave of his hand, he'd roasted it to a dark brown and slathered it in butter, forgoing any of the preserves Tom had delivered them. He slid the plate across while Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He grimaced back

"I saw how you prepared yours at the shop," he said, waving his words away. "You ate nearly half a loaf in the short time that I was in that room, so imagine my surprise to find you belligerently drunk only hours later."

"I am not belligerent," she hissed at him, crossing her arms and leaning back against the leather of the booth. "He deserved exactly what he got for what he said to me. It's not my first time rejecting him."

To her surprise, Snape chuckled. "Of that, I have no doubt, Granger."

They sat in silence, Hermione eyeing the older wizard as he finished the firewhiskey in his tumbler and looked around the pub. She took a bite of the toast. His expression was one of bored detachment, but Hermione could tell he was alert. It reminded her somewhat of Crookshanks when he would go from lounging to pouncing in less than a second. When his eyes flicked back to her, she held his gaze, surprised when she felt the gentlest of legilimency against her mind. The brush was so light, she wasn't certain he was fully conscious of it–she had no doubt that he could probably break through her barriers if he really wanted to. As it was, the sensation felt more like a polite question than anything else. She looked down at the toast again.

"You didn't need to intervene, you know," she said quietly. "I had everything more than handled."

"Perhaps I wasn't intervening on your behalf," he said pointedly, one of his eyebrows reaching up towards the curtains of hair that framed his face. She chuckled. He really did look so much healthier than back in the day. Surly as ever, and probably still doesn't sleep very much, but it seems the candle is only burning at one end now.

"Well, regardless of who truly benefitted, I thank you for sending him packing faster than I could have. It appears I owe you a drink."

He opened his mouth to refuse, but Hermione was already walking towards the bar. Something told her that despite everything, if he hadn't left already, he would stay put now. She glanced back to find him tense in the booth, seemingly trying to decide just that. When she finally walked back with two glasses and a new bottle of firewhiskey, he was still there, looking a little put out. She idly wondered if he'd stayed out of some sense of propriety (he certainly seemed the old-fashioned type, despite his general lack of manners) or just because there was some information he was trying to get from her. Not caring either way, she poured him a dram.

He accepted hesitantly, and Hermione rolled her eyes, lifting her own glass.

"To putting putrid prats in their place," she said.

"To barging betwixt braggarts and…" he paused, an unfamiliar mischievous glint lighting in his eye. "Witches.

Hermione guffawed and knocked back her glass, wincing and then grinning at the burn of the liquor. As its warmth spread through her chest, she poured another glass to nurse and sat back to survey the pub.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, she glanced back to find him once again watching her.

"What?"

"It's not advisable to drink when you're upset," he said. He seemed as surprised as she was at his words, looking down immediately into his cup."

Hermione suddenly realized that she hadn't clocked Snape when she'd entered the bar despite giving the pub a once-over to see if anyone she knew was present. Given how often they'd been running into each other, she certainly would have noticed the dark wizard, even back in the shadowy booth. She closed her eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. The gesture was in part to alleviate the ache in her head that had developed since her crying jag, but also to hide the flush of embarrassment that warmed her face.

"How long did you follow me?" she asked, hoping he'd just seen her walk into the pub.

"I saw you apparate in front of Gringotts," he confessed, and she could hear a note of guilt in his voice.

"Gods," she moaned, burying her face in both hands. He'd seen all of her little meltdown then. Any hope that he might perceive her as a fully functioning adult and not a petulant child evaporated. She scrubbed her face and took a sip of her drink, trying to rally herself. "No, no, it's fine. That's what I get for crying in the middle of town. Sorry you had to see that."

Snape frowned at her and then down at his whiskey, his eyebrows drawing together. "What a ridiculous thing to apologize for."

Despite his harsh phrasing, the words sounded almost contrite. Once again, she was baffled. Is he…concerned for me? That seemed like an odd conclusion to come to, though she was having trouble thinking of other possible explanations for how they had come to sit at a booth in a dark corner of the Leaky Cauldron. A few more moments passed Hermione in silence as she searched for some explanation that would lessen her mortification.

Snape was the one to break the tension. "Earlier this evening, you seemed to be in high spirits. Such a swift change…" he murmured, once again making eye contact. She felt the sweep of his mind again, and on a whim, she dropped the walls of her occlusion. He entered her mind with a jolt of surprise, like he'd just stepped through a rotten step on a staircase, confirming to her that he hadn't consciously been reaching out with his power. Even once it stabilized, his presence in her mind was characterized by shock and reticence.

"You don't have to–"

"It's easier than talking about it," she shrugged, pulling forth the memory of her blow-up at the Burrow for him to watch. It was less complicated to just show what had happened anyway. Given how hard she'd been crying in front of Gringotts, she was uncomfortable with the idea of him coming to his own conclusions about the cause.

When they had both watched her apparate and collapse in an emotional heap on the steps of the bank, he gingerly withdrew from her mind. Hermione wiped a single tear that had escaped onto her cheek and breathed out shakily. Snape was scowling fiercely.

"Weasley," he muttered. "That boy has even less sense than I gave him credit for."

Hermione chuckled mirthlessly. "You don't…" her throat tightened on the question, suddenly terrified of the answer. "You don't agree with him?"

She fiddled with a frayed thread on her blouse as she waited for his response, dreading yet another condemnation. Being verbally flayed by Snape would hardly be a novel experience, but she was feeling particularly vulnerable at the moment.

"Hermione," Snape said, his tone incredulous. She jumped at his use of her first name, her eyes shooting up to meet his. His mouth was curled into a wicked grin as he raised his glass to her. "Bugger the Ministry."

She laughed, first a sudden bark of nervousness that then broke into a full chested fit. When she'd mastered herself once again, she raised her glass.

"Hear, Hear."

Severus was trying his level best to not overthink the turn his evening had taken, and soundly failing. Although they'd fallen into a companionable and comfortable silence in their booth, he desperately wanted to ask Granger more about her departure from the Aurory. For research reasons, of course.

Maybe she had some insight that would help his pursuits. However, despite the fact she'd just willingly opened her memory to him, the question felt entirely too personal. It had obviously been a point of some contention between her and her closest friends. He took another sip of his whiskey, working up his nerve to ask, but she beat him to it.

"So tell me more about your detective agency, Mr. Holmes," she asked slyly from over the top of her glass. He scowled at how her eyes glittered cheekily in the low light of the pub.

"I think not, Miss Granger," he said. "If you dare compare me to such fictitious and fanciful characters, I can only concur that you are much too drunk to carry on an intelligent conversation."

She nodded, studiously dead-pan. "I suppose, you're right. It's all just a matter of keen observation. Would you say it's…elementary."

His glare only seemed to encourage her and she lost her ability to keep a straight face, giggling at her own stupid joke. She only calmed when he grunted and began to step out of the booth.

"No, no! I do really want to know!" She grabbed a hold of the coat slung over his arm and he froze. Her grip was gentle and she wasn't even touching him directly, but the casualness of the gesture made him pause. People didn't touch him. "Please, Professor. I already told you I think it sounds brilliant. I'd just really like to hear more."

He noted some of the raw emotion from earlier had made a reappearance in her face and posture. Despite his inclination to yank the coat from her grasp and leave immediately, he found the idea of her once again on the edge of tears while alone in public to be very off-putting. With a much beleaguered sigh, he settled back down against the leather.

Granger smiled in relief and politely poured him another glass of firewhiskey, clearly waiting for him to start talking. After a drawn out silence, he rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Miss Granger, you might ask me some direct questions," he drawled. "With your…voracious appetite for knowledge, one really never knows where to start." He said it like an admonishment, as part of him was hoping to put her off so she would let him go back into the night. The other, much larger part was stalling due to the sudden nervousness he felt in presenting his ideas and plans to her. How foolish. Why would I care more about telling her than all the fools at the Ministry I've tried to convince?

The younger witch smiled primly, his tone of aspersion apparently bouncing off of her in light of being invited to ask questions.

"Why, professor?" she asked. "Why a private investigation firm? Why now?"

Snape had been much more prepared to answer 'What' questions, though he supposed he should have known she'd already have worked out the general gist from their other run-ins. Against his better judgement, he told her the truth.

"As you may have noticed, I don't particularly trust the Ministry to uphold this peace we live in, however relative you may understand it to be," he said, narrowing his eyes at her before returning his gaze to his whiskey. "In the years since the war…I'm not sure if they've learned the right lessons. Even if some of the people within their ranks have, it doesn't appear to have made a systemic impact on the structures that are meant to protect the everyday witch or wizard. The Ministry finds defense training past the OWL level to be optional; it should not be. But even if such training were imperative, there is only so much prevention and preparation private citizens can take on. In the case of harmful activity, there should be a responsive department, ready to get to the bottom of it all and support those affected."

After a pause, he looked up to find her nodding vigorously, her eyes lit with grave interest.

"Permission to speak, professor?" she asked, and for the first time since running into her at the Department of Employment and Assignments, he could see the Auror that she had become. The uncanny realization made him feel old and he grimaced at the militancy of her address.

"I'm not your professor, Granger," he growled.

She chuckled nervously. "Oh, um…my apologies…err…Mr. Snape."

"Snape will do just fine, Granger," he said, waving away her bothersome sense of propriety. "Go ahead and speak your mind."

"Thank you, prof— Snape!" she said, wincing at her immediate slip up. Severus lifted his glass to his lips, hoping to hide the grin that curled his mouth. She shook off her jitters and squared him with a look of impassioned solemnity. "I absolutely agree with your assessment of the Ministry, particularly in Magical Law Enforcement. The Aurory lost its best in the war…the remaining senior members were hardly involved in the fight against Voldemort. Honestly, I can't think of a better individual to head up something like this."

He choked on his whiskey. Her words were apparently genuine, if unbelievable. Severus desperately wanted to demand why she possibly thought that, but desired a more succinct subject shift, needing to regain control of the conversation as he coughed.

"Why did you leave the Aurory, Granger?" he asked. "It's clear that it has caused a not-so-insignificant upheaval of your personal life."

It was her turn to nervously down a cup of drink. "I thought I was the one asking the questions," she joked lamely through her wince, whether from the liquor or the matter at hand, he couldn't be sure. Probably both.

"Ha. Ha." He felt like a bastard for being so flippant when she was obviously uncomfortable. But he'd already expended his tenderness for the evening, and something told him that she wouldn't want to be overly-coddled during this admission.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, her eyes closing as she gathered herself. When she reopened them, she stared directly into his eyes, and he could feel her mind against his again. Stupid girl, doing trusting things like that.

"Do you recall the string of murders last summer? All muggle-born witches?" He nodded casually, as if he hadn't followed the case with a macabre attention to detail. She heaved another sigh and continued. "I solved it in two days flat after we realized the first three murders were connected."

Severus's eyebrows pulled together. "But that case took months…"

"Two months, ten days, and another fucking murder," she said coldly. "I'd given my commanding officer a shortlist of suspects, less than a handful of possible killers who'd had some form of contact with the victims. It was backed up by some basic fact finding and arithmantic projections of the likelihood of each suspect being the one." Her eyes once again swam with tears, though anger was clearly the emotion that fueled them now.

"Granger…" Severus said, feeling sick at the look of rage and hurt on the witch's face.

"He was top of my list, in the end," she said bitterly, scrubbing roughly at the tears that escaped her eyes. "It only took another murder to basically happen in front of a patrol for them to figure it out. Harry and Ron…well, they'd been on my side all along, though they were officially assigned to different investigations. When they confronted our commander, he apologized. To them."

The young woman appeared to be fighting an even larger outburst of angst, her hands shaking as they fumbled towards the bottle. Without thinking deeply about it, Severus snatched one of them, catching her amber eyes with his own dark gaze when she looked up in surprise. Without actually entering her mind, he projected as much understanding and indignation towards her as possible. She held the contact, her breath matching his own as another tear dropped down her face. After an interminable moment, he broke away, pulling his hands and eyes to his own glass.

"It was hardly the first problem I'd had with the chain of command there," she said quietly, thoughtful despite the agony coming off of her in waves. "It was too much. I…I couldn't justify staying any longer."

Her pain over this tragedy was deep and justified. Severus himself had been infuriated by the seeming lack of care with the investigation that he'd perceived from the sidelines. Even with how critical he was of the Aurory, he realized now that he'd been giving them entirely too much credit. They'd cut off their nose to spite their face the day they'd broken Hermione Granger.

"They didn't deserve you," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" she asked, seeming to get ahold of herself again as she wiped a few more errant tears off her face.

Before he could decide whether to lie or admit that he found her intellect and actions admirable, they were interrupted by a rather large patronus, phasing through the wall behind Hermione.

"'Mione!" the large horse keened in Ginevra Weasley's voice, though she sounded much more like her mother now than he recalled. "I know you probably just need some space, but let me know where you are. I don't know if it's just the baby making me crazy, but I'm worried about you. I'll meet you wherever, and we can talk about how much of a git Ron is."

Its message complete, the patronus dissipated like smoke. Hermione looked apologetically at Severus.

"Sorry, I really should send her one back," she said. He nodded and she turned, whispering the charm as quietly as she could. "Gin, thanks, but there's no need to worry. I'm at the Leaky, and totally fine. I'll see you in a couple of days."

As her silvery otter scampered off, she resettled into the booth facing Severus.

"What were you saying, pro— Snape?"

Having gained more control over his initial response to her compelling story, he raised an eyebrow at her second near slip up with his name. He continued clinically.

"What you experienced inside of the Aurory is more appalling than I could have imagined," he said plainly. "You asked me why I am trying to do what I'm doing—that is exactly why. Even from the outside…I felt something was amiss with that investigation. What a shame that your efforts were ignored."

Hermione's lip trembled, and for the smallest of moments, Severus lamented that she might start to cry again. But then she smiled widely, releasing a cleansing sigh.

"Thank you, Snape," she said. "Coming from you, sir, that means quite a lot to me."

Severus scowled and was about to berate the foolish girl for any reason he could grasp onto. But then the door of the pub flew open and a very pregnant redheaded witch walked in, flanked by a black haired wizard with glasses. For one very dizzying breath, Severus could have sworn he was looking at Lily and James Potter. The illusion was broken as soon as the Weasley girl turned, looking for her friend and Severus disillusioned himself wordlessly.

He watched as Granger stood and intercepted her friends. With her in relatively-trustable hands, he decided his duty was complete. He had entirely too much to think about, and a slightly drunken reunion with Potter was perhaps the worst of all possible outcomes for the night. So he slipped past them as they hugged Hermione, stepping out into the cold night before she could notice his departure.

The chilled air was a welcomed change from the warm, too-cozy atmosphere of the pub. Severus scolded himself; the second night in a week he'd found himself drinking at the Leaky Cauldron. Let's not make a habit of that, shall we? But he found it difficult to chastise himself all too much. As opposed to the last time he'd been nursing a bottle of firewhisky, the warmth of the liquor remained in his chest all the way home to his flat. He only realised that he'd enjoyed his evening, despite the heft of Granger's emotions, when he opened his wards and remembered he'd planned to start another experiment that evening.

With a resigned sigh, he prepared what he could while still drunk, some part of him not wanting to let go of the intrigue of the night. Finally, when he could go no further in his current state, he'd summoned his Sober-Up potion and took it with a wistful sigh. As soon as his wits came back to him, he scowled at his atypical sentimentality. With a muttered curse, he chucked the phial into the bin and started back onto his work.

"The basement witch must be brewing again," Hermione slurred, some hours later as Ginny and Harry helped her over the threshold of her building.

"You are pissed, 'Mione," Ginny giggled. "Harry, when's the last time you suppose she got like this?"

"Not for years," he said looking at his friend with a smile. "Though I've never heard tell of any basement witches before."

"No, shut up!" Hermione hissed, placing a silent finger to each of their lips. She sniffed dramatically at the air, wandering towards the basement apartment. "Octopus powder, doxy wings…"

"Harry, she's gone mad, and I can't carry her up the stairs."

"No, no, look. Honestly, you two, just look hard!" she said gesturing furiously to the basement apartment. "It's heavily warded, but there's a flat down there. The only neighbor I don't know."

Harry squinted. "Damn, that's quite a bit of protection."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm too tired and too pregnant, so I'll take your word for it. C'mon, 'Mione, you can visit the basement witch some other time."

Hermione conceded and allowed herself to be pulled towards the stairs. They paused as Harry examined the bulletin board.

"Gin, look," he said, barely-contained laughter leaking from his voice as he gestured to the collection of colorful notes Hermione had contributed.

Ginny giggled and yanked at Hermione.

"Don't make fun of my notes. I was a Gryffindor prefect, you know? Would have been Head Girl if I hadn't been off, helping him save the world!"

"Yes, 'Mione." Harry patted her head. "You were the best. Let's get you to bed."

After what felt like a million stairs, they finally made it to Hermione's flat on the top floor.

"God, you're nearly worse than Ron," Ginny accused. As soon as she said it, she looked at Harry guiltily, who just shook his head, pressing his glasses up his forehead to rub his eyes.

Considering the tiff she'd had with her ex-lover and best friend that evening, Hermione once again burst into tears.

"He hates me!" she cried, collapsing on the couch. "He thinks I've given up on it all. That I'm nothing."

Ginny and Harry rushed to console her.

"No, no, Hermione. It's not like that," Harry explained, not for the first time that night. "To be honest, I think he misses having you at work."

"Even if he did, 'Mione," Ginny intoned sweetly. "My brother is an ignorant stump of a wizard who doesn't know how to properly express himself."

It took a few more minutes and one calming draft for Hermione to stop crying again. A little bit more aware of herself, she urged her friends to head home.

"Ginny, it's too late for you to be dealing with the likes of me," she said, patting her friend's long red hair. "Harry, how could you let your beautiful wife out this late to help your stupid drunken friend."

"Well, Hermione knows best, Gin," Harry said. "We'll see you soon. Rest up."

"Okay, 'Mione, but only because you called me beautiful," Ginny said, hugging the other witch. To her husband, she asked under her breath, "Are you sure there's no Sober-Up in her cabinets?"

Harry shook his head.

"She'll just have to get some from her basement witch," he said.

With one last fit of giggles, he and Ginny were gone, leaving Hermione to settle into her place on the couch, thinking of what potions might be brewing several floors below her.