A/N: A shorter chapter this week!
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.
"Okay, how about now? Do you feel any different?" Hermione asked Julius Blott, who was currently blindfolded in his office.
"...I'm not sure, my dear girl," he said gruffly, reaching for the blindfold, though Netta batted his hand away. "To be honest, I'm not sure I'm noticing much of anything."
Hermione huffed a sigh and waved Netta away. "Okay, let's take a break then. I need to regroup."
She'd been trying for the past several days to make the charmed shelves communicate with the proprietors of the shop. They'd already had some success in connecting the shelves directly to the books. When a book was taken off the shelf, the change was recorded and then made permanent by a sale, whether through coin or wand payment. But so far, she'd had absolutely no luck in tapping into the natural connection that Julius and Netta had with their store. She couldn't help but think some of the problem lay with the fact her best informant on such magical technology had gone completely silent.
It was already Wednesday, four days since Hermione had any contact with her new downstairs neighbor. Well, not new. He's been here longer than I have. The distinction made little difference to her as she was now convinced she'd made some fatal error in the impulsive decision to invite Severus up to her apartment. She'd started referring to him by his first name in the privacy of her own mind. "Snape" worked as a direct address…but she had no idea when she'd next use it. Ever since she'd realized her little crush on her old professor, referring to him as Snape had felt strange. Though, if he ever deigned to speak to her again, she'd make her best effort to maintain that verbal distance.
In addition to pining for their professional exchanges about magic, Hermione couldn't help but feel like she'd screwed herself out of the possibility of anything more. She'd imagined myriad ways to get back in contact with Severus, both subtle and otherwise, but all of it seemed doomed to fail. After all, it had only been through a series of chance interactions that they'd come to be in each other's company in the first place.
Hermione grabbed herself another cup of tea even though she was nearly vibrating from the caffeine she'd consumed already. She couldn't tell what wasn't working. Unfortunately, she'd yet to hear from Professor Flitwick or Headmistress McGonagall and she was starting to wonder if she'd actually be able to deliver on her promises to Flourish and Blott's. She'd also received word from Hemlocke over the weekend that the next business looking for help with the transition to wand payments was hoping she could start sooner than later. She'd technically accomplished what was expected with the ledgers and she was more than excited to size up Borgin and Burke's. But, Hermione knew she'd feel like a failure if she couldn't finish what she'd started at the bookstore.
Saturday night, she'd felt so sure of herself and her plan for the wizarding shops. Severus had even seemed quite supportive of the theories she hoped to use in building the connective sentient charms. Now, any small confidence she'd built up over the past week was more than a little stale.
Annoyed at her own morose composure, she rifled through a few of the books on advanced charm work that she'd found on the shop's private stores. She hovered them in front of her, trying to absorb the similarities between the different resources for what must have been the tenth time.
She was stirred from her concentration when a hand plucked one of the tomes out of the air to examine it.
"Sometimes, Granger, it's hard to tell if you're a genius or just exceedingly dull," Draco Malfoy drawled, looking at a book of obscure charms he now held in his hands.
"Malfoy," she growled, immediately reshelving all the books she'd been using on instinct. In her years of experience, interaction with Draco could easily devolve into duels and she had no desire to hurt her employer's trust in her with their precious books. At the same time, her heart leapt into her throat and she clenched down on the impulse to look around for the wizard's godfather. "What could you possibly want?"
"I'm hoping to take you to lunch," he said and despite her Occlumency training she stared at him open-mouthed. "Yes, I know, what a wonderful surprise! Let's just move past it and get some food. I have matters I'd like to discuss with you.
Without any further explanation, Draco hauled her out of the shop and set off down the street. They stopped about five minutes later at a kiosk that was selling sausage rolls and carry-away cups of coffee. When Hermione got her purse out to pay, Draco sneered at her.
"Really, Granger," he said in mock reprove. "I was the one who so rudely interrupted whatever it is that you get up to at that dusty old shop."
"Well, in that case, thank you." She tried to trace back her life for the past week to understand exactly what steps had eventually resulted in her being treated by Draco Malfoy. She supposed lots of strange things had happened, but none of it gave her any indication of what he might want to discuss. His next words weren't encouraging.
"Don't thank me yet," he said, stuffing a handful of paper napkins into his cloak. "I'm looking for answers in exchange. Are you alright with walking?"
Despite the snow that still lined the streets, today was mild and actually rather nice for the season. At the very least, it was dry and between their cloaks and warming charms, they could find a way to make the outdoors work.
"Sure," Hermione said, warming her hands against the paper cup of coffee. "We can go to the park just up here."
The sausage roll was quite fresh and the coffee was decent enough. Hermione eyed her old nemesis as they ate. Unsurprisingly, he'd grown to be handsome, though looks had never been the area in which Draco lacked. Now fully grown, he was the perfect mix of his parents, all of Lucius's genteel and structured features with Narcissa's icy beauty. Hermione had kept up with his odd and yet somehow predictable career, despite avoiding the man himself at functions until very recently. She'd been thankful for his family's defection from Voldemort's ranks, and was heartened by Draco's apparent embrace of a very progressive and active stance on blood politics.
However, nothing she could read in a periodical would truly cleanse the bad taste of the direct prejudice and harassment she'd experienced at his hands during their time at Hogwarts. Before Draco, blood purity politics had simply been something Hermione had read about in history books and absorbed from the hushed conversations of her professors. That had all changed when he'd called her a mudblood in second year, bringing the hatred of Voldemort's war directly into her daily life much too young. Draco was the face of wizarding racism to her psyche.
And presently there was mustard on that face.
"Draco," Hermione said, gesturing towards the smudge on the corner of his mouth.
He quickly wiped it away with a napkin, grimacing somewhat gracefully.
"You must excuse me, Granger," he said, every bit of Lucius's salubrious heir as he grinned. "I've not eaten yet today, and I'm a bit overly enthusiastic."
She rolled her eyes. "Why have you dragged me out here, Malfoy? I don't take kindly to constantly being whisked away by your whims, especially during business hours. You could have contacted me privately."
"Where would the fun be in that?" he asked, balling up the trash of his meal and tossing it into the air before wandlessly vanishing it.
"Pardon my frankness, Malfoy, but there being "no fun" would be exactly the point," she snapped. She couldn't help but feel a little anxious for him to reveal his purpose…something told her it would be about the other Slytherin man who'd most recently spun into her orbit.
"I heard you finally discovered the identity of your downstairs neighbor the other night," he drawled, languidly lounging on the cold bench as if it were a finely upholstered couch.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to gather the information he wasn't saying. When she realized what he was actually asking, she gasped.
"You knew!" The accusation was more or less a formality, since there was no other explanation for his cocky posturing. "Why didn't you tell me…or him?
Draco sighed heavily as if her basic questions were the burden of a lifetime. "Can't I just want some magic in the world? What a wonderful coincidence that would be, for two of the brightest and most discerning magic users to happen to live in the same building. I was giddy when I discovered it…so imagine my surprise to find my godfather in quite the fit over it."
Hermione blanched. So it really was as bad as I thought. "Oh…Draco…" What could she possibly say about that evening that would make any sense to him.
"Here I was, thinking this would be easy— that with a little bit of time and more exposure, he might just see reason and realize you were perfect for the job." Draco was smiling, but there was an investigative shift to his blond eyebrows. "Now he won't tell me what happened. So I'm here with you."
"Listen, Draco, I would certainly enjoy helping Snape with his agency. But, I'm afraid it's as I originally suspected, he doesn't want to work with me. He seemed quite disturbed by my…general proximity."
Despite her greatest intentions to remain professional, a hot flush spanned Hermione's cheeks and neck. Her sudden blush did not escape her old classmate's notice.
"Aha, there!" Draco said, pointing at her face. "You're blushing, Granger. Now, I know we are hardly old chums, but please believe me when I say that I am truly invested in the idea of you and Snape working towards a mutual goal. Not only do I think it suits both of you individually, I also believe it will be a boon in vanquishing the roots of the darkness that destroyed our childhoods. You may not believe me—"
"No!" Hermione interrupted him. "I'm not here to cast doubt on your…trajectory since our school days. We may not be friends, but I believe your efforts are genuine. Though I fail to see why you think I might have anything to do with that."
He cast her a dubious look. "Don't act stupid, Granger, it hardly suits you. I don't know what tripe they've been filling your head with at the Aurory, but out here in the real world, you're a symbol for young muggleborn witches and wizards everywhere. Do you know how many letters our foundation receives from students celebrating your role in the war? I'm pretty certain we sent some to the Ministry…"
She shrugged, mildly shocked at the combination of a casual admonishment with one of the nicest compliments she'd received in quite some time. "I had no idea," she muttered, and then shook herself back to the present moment. "Regardless, I haven't spoken to Sev—Snape since the evening of the Gala. And not for lack of trying. Sorry to burst your bubble, Malfoy, but I think it's quite clear he wants nothing to do with me."
Hermione was annoyed by how much her own words stung. She couldn't understand what had gone wrong. So she'd inappropriately asked her old teacher up to her flat. So what? Actually, that sounds pretty bad. Couldn't he have just rejected her flat out like a normal person?
Some of her internal seething must have leaked into her expression because when she looked up, Draco was sneering.
"What happened?" he asked. "Did you bore him with incessant questions as you would when we were students? Or did you do exactly as I told you not to and broach the topic of employment directly, like some puffed-up Gryffindor idiot?"
Hermione's patience with this lunchtime imposition snapped. "For your information, everything was going swimmingly until I invited him inside his own bloody building!"
It had been the wrong thing to say…or rather, it had been exactly what Draco had hoped for if his cheshire smile was any indication.
"Well!" he said, genuine surprise coloring his tone. "That is certainly an explanation. Granger, you minx!"
Hermione was up and walking away before he could say another word, casting a bat-bogey hex behind her as she went. The sound of Malfoy's deflection and his laughter followed her all the way back to Flourish and Blott's. He may have disavowed the Death Eaters, but Draco Malfoy would always be a rotten prat.
For the fourth time, Severus crumpled up the note he'd rewritten to Hermione Granger and incinerated it. With a huff, he stood and once again began beating a well-worn path back and forth in his flat. He was debating leaving some of the books he'd originally promised to her outside of her door, and whether to provide an explanatory note.
You're being ridiculous about this. Just leave the girl the books and be done with it. In the days since finding out that Granger lived on the top floor of his building, Severus had had an easy time avoiding her with the help of his charms. He'd vaguely noted each time she'd left for and returned from work as to not run into her. Sunday had been the only time she'd knocked, and he couldn't decide whether he was happy or annoyed at that fact. Perhaps, both.
She had, however, posted a note to his door, one which Draco had brought in with glee. It had only been a simple request for more information about warding, though it did include a slightly cheeky reference to the extensive wards on his own dwelling as means of currying his favor. He'd ignored it for a few days, but had found his mind wandering while he researched. Eventually, he became aware that he'd unconsciously stacked some topical tomes on his desk that would serve her purposes well.
Abandoning the impossible quandary of note or no note, he decided to take out his rubbish while the space was clear of company. He could just as easily banish it with a simple gesture of his wand, but sometimes Severus preferred doing things, especially chores, physically. And at the moment, he was feeling a little bit trapped in his own flat. This is my foyer too, damn it.
Tossing the bags down the chute that lead to the bins in back of the building, Severus dusted off his hands and turned, nearly stepping directly onto the orange cat that had suddenly appeared on his heels.
Snape swore nastily and glared at the feline who watched him with yellow eyes.
"Beast!" he accused. The cat somewhat uncharacteristically rolled over on his back, exposing his fluffy tummy. "Oh, don't act so innocent now. Not after keeping such key information from me."
Severus huffed, annoyed more with himself for speaking to the animal than anything else, as he turned to stalk back towards his flat. Crookshanks followed, meowing as if to remind the wizard that he had in fact been the one to reveal said information, even if it had taken over two years to get around to doing it. Despite his best intentions to ignore the half-Kneazle, Severus eventually had to stop in place as the cat wound around his legs or he would surely trip down the stairs to his door.
"Can't imagine how you've gotten out, unless your Mistress has been neglecting my very clear instructions to keep you locked up," he growled at the now loudly purring cat. They locked eyes, Snape's black and glowering, Cookshanks's golden orbs boring right back into him. With a small groan of frustration, Severus relented, bending down to pet the insistent familiar. There was no reason to start a staring contest with a cat, particularly this one. He would surely lose in the end anyhow.
His mind wandered as he automatically scratched the ginger fur. Severus had to admit to himself that he didn't like the current arrangement of things. He'd much preferred last week, when he could ignorantly enjoy the occasional company of this cat and his owner completely separately, oblivious to the context. Was it really so bad to live downstairs from Granger?
Yes, Snivellus, and it's exactly because you think it's not so bad that makes it so. He squared the cat with a stern look.
"You'll not speak a word to her about this meeting," he mumbled under his breath. "Good day to you, sir."
Once back inside his dwelling, Severus once again ignored the stack of books. He was back at square one, trying to decide if there was a polite way to obliviate a neighbor. How exactly could he communicate his need for her discretion in what should be a simple note about books without somehow revealing his own vulnerability?
His mind cycled through the same arguments he'd been having with himself for the past day. Of course, outside input hadn't helped in the least. When he'd last seen Draco, the boy had hardly been capable of keeping a straight face. Malfoy had giggled and tittered with increasing mirth every time Snape asked him another question until he'd eventually kicked his godson out.
Draco couldn't possibly understand, anyhow; he reveled in the limelight. Any attention was good attention for the young Malfoy, because if he was being talked about, he still had a chance to influence what people were saying. Severus was more than happy to let everyone who'd ever known him continue forward with whatever view they already held.
Is that really true, though? Ironic that no matter what he did, the critical voice in his mind would never be satisfied. Do you want Granger to think of you the way you used to be to her? He'd made a sport out of generally being a scary, grumpy bastard to all the students at Hogwarts, but there were particular moments that his treatment of Hermione Granger exceeded his typical ornery manner.
With her showing up so often in recent days, he'd naturally thought back to their shared years at Hogwarts and had cringed deeply at some recollections. Certain instances were excusable, of course. Between her friendship with the Boy Who Lived and the generally lax discipline of Gryffindor House with Dumbledore as Headmaster, Granger had a knack for an outrageous level of impertinent rule breaking. She was smarter than her counterparts, and even though she was also quite a bit more polite and aware of school rules, it had never seemed to stop her from being the one to commit the most advanced of the group's petty crimes.
But he had to admit, some of his harshest moments had been excessively personal and uncalled for. It hadn't taken him long to realize why: she'd reminded him entirely too much of himself. Obnoxiously smart, something of an outsider to the Wizarding World, and more than willing to do anything that might prove her utility to convince others of her right to be there. Granted, she'd had friends, which he had not, but that had hardly helped the comparison, especially when those friends included the spitting image of his own boyhood bully. He was ashamed that in those moments, he'd simply been mean and spiteful for no other reason than to hurt.
No, he didn't want her to think of him like that. Perhaps she had dismissed such memories long ago, but given how much he still pondered similar experiences from his own school days, he doubted it. It was exactly those memories that he had expected would keep her distant and why he'd not considered hiring her seriously when Draco had first made the suggestion.
And yet… he'd been the one shutting her out most recently. Perhaps she's matured, but you certainly haven't. Scowling, he realized he'd just been standing in the middle of his flat staring at the stack of books he'd set aside. No longer wanting to be cooped up inside with his thoughts, he double checked that there was no one in the foyer before making a beeline for the door. A long, cold walk might do him some good, even if his joints would ache later.