AN: 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.

Thanks for reading!

Timing could not have worked out better for Hermione. Speaking with Snape filled her mind with the possibilities of using magical signatures to automatically keep track of the store catalogue. But first, she had some questions for Bill Weasley.

When she arrived at the Burrow, she was delighted to see that while Harry, Ginny, and Ron had yet to arrive, Fleur was already whirling about the kitchen, helping Molly to prepare the meal.

"Hermione, wonderful to see you darling!" Molly called over the large pot she was stirring.

"Bonsoir, Airmyonee," Fleur said, her pretty face flushed from the heat of the oven as she took out a loaf of beautiful, fragrant bread.

"Good evening, thanks for having me!" Hermione pulled out two bottles of Elven wine from her ever-expanding purse.

"Well, of course we needed to celebrate your new job, Hermione!" Molly said, leaving Fleur to manage the pot while she stepped over and swept Hermione into a back-breaking hug. "We can't wait to hear all about it."

Ever since Hermione had quit the Aurory, the whole of the Weasley clan had been very supportive…in their own individual ways. Any time she was around, Molly would force food on her until she was fit to bursting. If the wine was flowing, eventually the matriarch would not so subtly wonder aloud if this was just the time for Hermione to start thinking about having babies (with whom never seemed to be much of a concern). Arthur would suggest upper level Ministry positions that were currently occupied by aged wizards he didn't get along with. Bill would talk of anything besides work, while Percy looked at her with blatant, pitying sympathy. George would tease her mercilessly about being a low-life burden on society, and promise to make her respectable with a job at his shop. Ron would go white in the face anytime he or someone else brought up his and Harry's work as Aurors, as if the subject were now verboten. Ginny, with her own growing belly, settled on a somewhat less overbearing version of her mother's approach, joking that Hermione might serve as an au pair for her coming baby. And Charlie would offer her the nearest beverage when it seemed that the others were getting to be too much.

Everyone was a bit over-invested in her employment situation. Hermione could hardly blame them; they'd seen her steadily withdraw into herself over the past several years. Though she'd given her parents back their memories and reconnected with them after the war, they had decided to make their move to Australia permanent. Hermione visited them whenever she could, but it was undeniable that they lived in separate worlds and always would.

The Weasley clan and Harry were the closest thing she had to family in the wizarding world and they seemed to possess an unerring belief in her brilliance and destiny for greatness. Even her breakup with Ron hadn't shaken their support. However, her issues with being an Auror had always been more intractable and impossible to explain. She could feel their love…but they would never truly understand how dark things had gotten by the end.

Finally, Hermione was elated to celebrate a new step in her life. It wasn't a forever career. It wasn't very glamorous. But it was something new, and it was hers.

"Is Bill around?" she asked the two witches. "I have some questions about Gringotts I was hoping to ask him."

"Ee's in za den wiz the othzers."

"Here, sweetheart, take this tray out, would you?" Molly pressed a multi-tiered platter of canapés into Hermione's arms. "There's a dear."

Taking careful steps, Hermione was grateful when she made it into the other room. George was the first to greet her, offering a steadying hand as she stumbled on a fold in the rug.

"Finally, the star of the evening: the food!" He snatched the teetering tray out of her arms. "I'm half-starved."

"And more than half-barmy," Percy said, extending a hand out to Hermione. "Congratulations on the job! I spoke with Jonathan Hemlocke about it already, but I want to hear about it from you too."

"We never doubted you, Hermione!" Arthur said, stepping in for a hug.

"Blimey, give her some space, lads," Charlie said, passing her a flute of champagne. "Good on you, love."

"Thank you!" Hermione beamed at each of them in turn, feeling her shoulders drop a few inches as she realized how natural the expression felt. "I'll wait till everyone gets here to tell the whole story, but suffice it to say, I'm quite pleased."

The Weasley men all lifted their glasses informally and resumed their general conversation. Hermione made her way over to where Bill was watching George demonstrate his latest gag invention for the shop.

"Can I break your rule, and get you to talk about work?" Hermione asked. Bill raised his eyebrows, making his scars twist. "Okay, maybe it's not a rule, but you seem to make a point of not talking about work."

Bill laughed. "More of a force of corrective habit than anything else. If I get started, it's hard to stop. The personal lives of goblins…" he shivered. "They might come off as stoic, but there's just so much more interpersonal drama than you'd expect, or want to hear about."

"Fleur yelled at him when he wouldn't stop relaying the dating habits of Grendolk the Great in Bed," George explained. "Or so he calls himself."

Hermione giggled. "Well, I've been thinking about this transition to wand payments. Do you know anything about that?"

"I might."

"I'm specifically wondering about how the magical signature of one's wand connects to their vault and vice versa."

"Well, it's not exactly my area of expertise, per se, but one of the reasons Gringotts is so hard to break into is because all of the magic of the place is woven together. Sort of like Hogwarts. All of the enchantments build together to essentially render the bank sentient."

"Amazing," Hermione breathed. It made perfect sense when she thought about it. "Did much have to change in order for wand payment to be possible?"

"Not at all," Bill said, stroking the stubble on his chin as he considered it. "Gringotts has been using wand identification and magical signatures as part of their security for years. They have their own ways of identifying people, which I couldn't even tell you about if I understood them, but they record everyone's wands. Wand magic is really different from goblin magic when it comes to the signature left behind, so if someone other than them has been casting in the vaults, they want to know exactly who it was."

"So, what happens when I use my wand to pay for something?" Hermione asked. "Do the goblins receive the receipt and then move the correct amount between the vaults?"

Bill smirked. "We're butting up against details I'm not at liberty to share, now. But I can tell you this: for all that they like to put on a little show with their keys, locks, and rail carts, the goblins do not spend very much time down in the vaults."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in understanding: the majority of transactions were accomplished magically, then. It actually made a lot of sense as a security measure: show off the intimidating and dangerous vaults to visitors, but do most of the work from their accountants chairs with magic no outsider would understand. She patted Bill's arm in thanks.

" Just one more question: Is any of the wand recognition magic at Gringotts managed by the Ministry's tracing?"

"No." The answer came from Percy who had been edging closer to their conversation as soon as he'd heard the word 'work.' "The Ministry only started an official wand registry in 1780 when wandmaking became as specialized and regulated as it is today. Before that, witches and wizards often made their own wands as a rite of passage and usually had more than one. There have always been artisan wandmakers, of course, but it's rather a recent development for magic users to receive their one wand at the beginning of their official magical education. The first wizarding reports of goblin's being able to sense and identify individual magical signatures come up around the turn of the 15th century, but undoubtedly that's only indicative of increased contact leading up to the Rebellions, and not a date for when the ability developed within goblin populations."

He'd hardly paused for breath through his entire speech and was left panting slightly. Hermione realized everyone else had quieted down to listen and watch the most studious Weasley rail out his encyclopedic knowledge.

"Bloody hell, Perce," George exclaimed. "You're really pent-up at that desk job. Don't take it out on us!"

A dark glint that looked like a jinx in the making shone in Percy's eyes and Hermione rushed to smooth things over.

"No! Thank you so much, Percy. That really puts things into perspective," she assured him. She'd not really thought of consulting him because of his undying loyalty to the Ministry, but she was unlikely to find anyone else with such a clear grasp on the history of how the current institution came to be. "I may have to pick your brain later on my project, if you'd be up for it."

Percy smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but the answering voice came from the door.

"I can't think of anything Percy would like better than to whinge to someone who's actually asking for it," Ginny said as she entered, followed closely behind by Harry and Ron. George leaned over to give her a high five and this time, Percy did land a jelly-legs jinx on him.

"She's the one who said it!" George complained as he struggled to pull back up on the furniture.

"I'm pregnant, you idiot," Ginny chastised him. "Plus, Percy never fires on the first dig, so I'm sure you were being a prat before I even got here."

"Children," Arthur said in fatherly warning. "Tonight's to be a very nice evening for Hermione. George, fix yourself, and stop flopping your legs on me."

Giggling, Hermione turned to Percy again. "But truly, I want to talk more if you're open to it."

"Owl anytime," he said. "Much as I hate to admit it, they're right: I love to talk about things like this."

The call for dinner time came and she traded greeting hugs with her friends as they all ambled into the dining room. After they'd settled in with full plates and cups, Harry placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, then, 'Mione. Tell us about this new job!"

She experienced her first spike of anxiety that evening as she began to describe her new assignment. For the most part, everyone was very encouraging and interested. It was only when her eyes met Ron's and she took in his bemused expression that she started to feel a touch insecure. It was worrying her that he hadn't said anything past his regular warm greeting. She'd expected he'd blurt out his opinion, whether negative or positive, and they'd be able to have it out as usual. But seeing him somewhat pensive sent chills down her spine and she quickly refilled her goblet with more Elven wine as the rest of the table chattered and asked her the occasional clarifying question.

It was well after diner when Hermione was more than a little tipsy that Ron aired his opinion. She was sitting with him and Harry near the fire, while the others watched Ginny and Percy play a spirited game of Wizard's Chess at the table.

"Hermione, I think it's great that you're so happy about this new job…" He started, sounding frighteningly sober and rational. The full pronunciation of her name was not a good sign.

"Ron," Harry warned as if he already knew what their friend was going to say. Have they talked about this? When did he make up his mind to disapprove?

"No, let him say it," Hermione hissed under her breath, hoping some of the venom in her tone would rile Ron into an outburst. She'd at least know how to respond to that.

"Well…it's not really up to your standards, is it?" Ron said, the gentleness in his voice making her sicker than the actual words. He thinks I've absolutely lost it.

"That's enough, Ron. We can talk about this later," said Harry, trying once again to diffuse the tension. But Hermione was not having it.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Ronald?"

His eyes grew wide and his voice got softer, but it felt like a slap in the face. "Don't take this the wrong way. You left the Aurory because you didn't feel like your work was important enough–"

Her voice was deadly quiet when she interrupted him. "I left the Aurory for a lot of reasons. Namely, I didn't want my work to go to waste while other muggleborn witches needlessly suffered and died!"

Ron's face drained of color and with some small sense of victory, Hermione saw the familiar furrow of his brow that foretold his anger. "And that was wrong, and I understand why you had to leave. But now, what are you doing? Now you're just completely on the sidelines and what does that accomplish? It's beneath you! You're Hermione Granger–"

She felt the threat of angry tears only a few seconds before they began to stream down her face. Such was the way with Elven wine and intense emotions. This conversation was worse than anything she could have imagined. It was as if Ron had been listening to the darkest mutterings of her inner critic and was now reciting them back to her gently. As if I haven't considered exactly this everyday since I left the Aurory.

"I'm trying to live with myself!" she cried out, losing all care as to whether the others overheard. "The war has been over for nearly a decade, but all I can see are the same shadows that caused it in the first place. Except, unlike when we were children - because that's what we bloody well were, children - no one seems to care! I got more respect as a nosy, reckless teenager than I do as an adult who actually has the skills to help people. I'm taking myself out of that game so I don't lose everything. I can't lie to myself anymore and pretend that me being there was helping anything– I've already wasted most of my twenties trying to make it work, and I'm exhausted."

Ron scrambled to apologize, but Hermione was fed up with his kid gloves approach. She stood up quickly from the couch and looked around at the room full of people she loved and who loved her. She needed to get as far away as possible before she lost any greater hold on the small…relative peace she'd been cultivating over the last four months.

"Thank you all for dinner," she gasped before turning on her heel and rushing out to the apparition point in the garden. She heard a few voices call out behind her to wait, but she just wanted to be alone. Finally, she passed through the wards and spun on the spot, apparating to the first place she thought of.

When Severus saw Granger appear in front of the entrance to Gringotts, he wanted to turn tail to run in the opposite direction. That was, until he noticed the younger witch was crying, scrubbing at her face furiously as she stumbled to sit on the large marble steps. Without thinking, he altered his path, bringing him deeper into the shadows to watch unseen.

After their curious interaction at Flourish and Blotts hours earlier, he'd struggled to get any significant work or study done in his flat. As he often did when his mind wasn't cooperating, he took to the streets, rather enjoying the look of the quaint shops completely shut down for the night. As a life-long insomniac, he was often at his most functional when others were asleep or resting. The natural inclination had only been strengthened by nearly twenty years as a spy. Night was a time when hidden things came out to play, and he stayed up to discover them.

This evening had been slightly different. Usually, an equation or potion recipe was the problem to be solved. And despite the plentiful list of magical answers he was searching for at the present moment, the matter that had distracted him was that of Hermione Granger's sudden reappearance in his life, twice in the same week. Three times, if he counted the promise of receiving her protocol manual the following day. After so many years of not seeing her at all, it was a notable increase. The last thing he'd expected was for her to appear yet again in front of him.

Why am I hiding? I'm allowed to walk in my own town, am I not? Despite his musings, he stayed well out of sight as he watched her quiet sobs slowly curb into heavy sighs. He wondered where she'd come from that had made her vibrantly cheery mood from a few hours earlier turn so low. Severus watched as she appeared to master herself, casting a quick clean-up spell on her face. Then she stood and began to walk with determined, if slightly wobbly steps. He followed from a distance.

She gained confidence and stability as she walked. Convinced she would be fine, Severus was about to turn down an alleyway and head back to his flat when he registered exactly where the witch was heading. Scowling up at the sign of the Leaky Cauldron, he wondered if she was indeed alright, or had simply gathered some apparently drunken courage to be more reckless. Heaving a sigh of annoyance at her for being so troublesome, and himself for his apparent savior-complex, he made the snap decision to follow her inside.

The pub was fairly busy, though not nearly to the extent it would have been on a weekend. He watched as the witch approached the bar and plunked down onto a stool. Severus decided to continue his examination from a booth in the corner. She ordered what looked to be a stiff drink, as well as a goblet of water.

Severus ordered himself a glass of firewhiskey and continued to watch her. The witch was clearly going through a significant life transition. If he was a diviner, maybe there would be a planetary explanation for it, but anyone without an ounce of magical Sight could see the girl was having a rough time of it. Why did she leave the Aurory? Maybe she really had been sacked.

Regardless, she looked more or less calm as she sipped her drink. This concern is misplaced. She's an adult now and if she wants to drink her sorrows away, alone in a pub, who am I to deny that right? Resolved, he stood up and gathered his cloak. He was about to place a few coins onto the table and slip back into the night when a voice stood out from the general din of the pub.

"Blimey! Is that Hermione Granger," asked a pompous voice, loud enough so that Granger turned to see who had recognized her. The stiffening of her posture had Severus tensing against the wall as he watched Cormac McLaggen sidle up to her. Instead of sitting down, he leaned against the bar, clearly a little buzzed and obviously flirting.

"C'mon, Granger, give us a smile," Cormac intoned, his drunkenness evident through his too-loud voice. Severus glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed the scene, and then remembered that they were in fact in a pub and this was just about as typical as it got. He scowled at himself. This is what normal people do at the pub, Snivellus. Maybe this is what she's here for.

Berating himself, he slowly made his way to the door, while still keeping one eye trained on the witch. See, you fool, she's leaning towards him now. Severus deftly ignored how his stomach clenched as, indeed, Granger clutched the front of McLaggen's shirt, pulling his ear to her lips. He caught a glimpse of a seductive smile as she whispered. For the second time that day, Severus was confronted with the very discomforting realization of his former student's womanhood. He was about to throw himself into the cold winter air and wash his hands of the whole sordid situation when McLaggen's voice rang out once more.

"What the—!" the younger wizard cried out in alarm and Severus turned to see him clutching his face. When his hands moved, they revealed a pig snout where his nose and mouth should have been. As his shock melted away, McLaggen squealed in fury, brandishing his wand. "You oink fucking oink bitch!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape snatched McLaggen's wand out of the air as he crossed the room in a few broad steps, neatly placing himself between Granger cackling on her stool and the victim of her handiwork. McLaggen initially turned his rage on him, but then shrank away when he realized who'd taken his wand.

"Oink! Professor!" the fool of a wizard said, as if he could possibly appeal to Snape. "I was just oink paying her a compliment."

"Leave," Severus said, proffering the wand. "Now." He placed as much psychic threat into the words, pressing his Legillimentic power on the younger wizard's open mind with a flash of dark eye contact.

It had the intended effect. McLaggen squealed before he hastily grabbed his wand and ran for the exit. A few of the other pub denizens clapped half-heartedly, some giving a little cheer. Tom, however, did not look happy.

"I'll not be having any brawls in here, Miss Granger," he chastised the witch, who looked remarkably self-satisfied. Perhaps she's a bit more drunk than I thought. "I'm trying to run a respectable establishment here and I don't allow unwarranted transfigurations."

Before Hermione could answer in a heated defense, Severus found that his mouth was moving.

"I assure you, Tom," he said smoothly. "It won't happen again. A carafe of water and bread at the corner booth, if you would?"

The proprietor seemed assured by Snape's words and shuffled off to prepare the order. He turned back to Hermione Granger's ever-widening eyes.