Disclaimer: This was written for Tempest_Dreams as part of the HGSS Christmas exchange, based on the prompt: "FIC= Post-war. (HBP flexible.) Something involving heavy books and Hermione chewing on a quill - not too angsty, not too fluffy, rating up to the writer."

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Prologue


When the Dark reign of Lord Voldemort finally came to an end and the proverbial dust settled, the wizarding community was surprised to learn that Severus Snape was not a traitor. The Killing Curse the turncoat had supposedly cast was not Avada Kedavra as originally thought, but the removal of the protective magic he had cast to halt a Dark and evil curse that had been killing Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore himself gave proof to that. With Pensieve memories and his own word via his portrait, the ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts cleared his spy. Those who actually saw the Wizengamot trial reported that Harry Potter also gave testimony in Snape's defence, but appeared none-too-happy to do so. Immediately after that, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger (who would soon be Weasley according to gossip) took the stand to support Snape.

Even though the four of them had joined forces at the end and stood together to destroy the Dark Lord's last Horcrux, Nagini, it was painfully obvious that at least the two wizards did not regard their ex-professor fondly. It was difficult to tell what Hermione Granger felt towards him; she spoke both to and of him politely and friendly, however, as the magical community reminded each other, she also wanted to free the house-elves, was friendly with some giants, and was held in high regard by the goblin community.

As high as the goblins held anyone, that is.

After the subsequent celebration, which always followed the fall of a Dark Lord, the Ministry was hard-pressed to find something to show their support of the heroes. Public outcry demanded it. Scrimgeour was especially anxious to get the four settled down in an appropriate situation; the public's love of Harry Potter unnerved him. What if young Mr Potter decided now was a good time to make a play for the Minister's seat? It could start a revolution that would take his office from him.

Ron Weasley was the easiest of all to satisfy; his love of Quidditch was well known. Scrimgeour had only give the barest of hints to Martimus Maximus, owner of the Chudley Cannons, that Mr Weasley would be interested in playing for him professionally. Maximus loved the thought of what such a well-known hero could do for ticket sales. He couldn't care less what position the young man played, or even if he could sit a broom; war heroes brought the crowds out in full force. Why, even Harry Potter might come to watch his friend, and so many people would buy tickets to watch Harry Potter watch his friend play Quidditch.

It took several visits to Headmistress McGonagall to determine that Harry Potter wanted to be an Auror. Five minutes with Annabella Constenella, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and they both agreed that ridding the wizarding world of Tom Riddle was the equivalent of full N.E.W.T.s. Harry joined the Auror Department within a week.

The last two were the problems. Miss Granger, McGonagall informed him, was planning to further her education in the Muggle world. Scrimgeour decided this was a Very Bad Thing. Certainly some Muggle-born and half-bloods had done the same after completing their N.E.W.T.s, however, she was too high profiled. What if other students decided to do the same and eschew their magical roots? He finally paid a visit to the young witch to try to determine what would stop her from being a threat to his political life.

"More schooling?" Ron Weasley had said when they settled down to tea. "I told her she's mental." He laughed and gave her a fond look. “But she’s a right swot, and a smart one to boot. She’ll do all right, I s’pose.”

Hermione merely smiled over her teacup.

Scrimgeour was his most pleasant during the visit. Feigning interest, he asked her why she wanted to attend university, if she had a special course of study in mind.

"I want to learn," she said earnestly. "It's what I do. I research."

That was how Hermione Granger because the first contracted Researcher for the Ministry. He didn't dare push for her to become an Unspeakable; that could give her too much power. Instead, she was paid to read books and learn what she could on the supposition that one day her knowledge might come in handy.

Severus Snape was a bit of a problem. They couldn't offer him a position at Hogwarts. He might be cleared of Death Eater crimes and murder, but no one wanted him to return to the school, except possibly a few faculty members. Very few, Scrimgeour thought.

Potions was a field Scrimgeour thought of, naturally; Snape had been the Potions master at Hogwarts for nearly fifteen years. However, Scrimgeour nixed that idea. Who would trust Snape to concoct any medicine? The man had few interests, Scrimgeour learned. Potions and the Dark Arts. He seemed to detest most people.

It wasn't until Annabella Constenella came to him to try to wheedle more storage space for the large number of Dark Arts books they had confiscated during MLE raids of Death Eaters' homes and hideouts.

Space was at a premium at the Ministry. An already overcrowded Muggle London limited the physical space, and it had been magically enhanced and enlarged time and time again over the centuries. Annabella didn't feel the books were safe enough to be placed in the small storage room they claimed as a library, not until they had been thoroughly checked for hexes and catalogued.

"But if we had someone who could check for hexes…" Scrimgeour thought aloud.

Annabella snorted. "And have to waste time training them for the common and uncommon jinxes those wretched Death Eaters put on them? It'll take more time than it would just do it all ourselves, but I've no one to spare for it. If Alastor were still alive…" She sighed heavily.

Scrimgeour smiled and rubbed his hands together. "I might know of someone."

And so it was that Severus Snape became the Chief Cataloguer of the Ministry for Magic's Dark Artefacts Reference Library. Scrimgeour stopped having nightmares that he lost his office. Harry and Ginny were married not long afterwards and the wizarding world waited for the next Weasley to wed.

And waited.

And waited.


Chapter One


The morning was unvaried from those preceding it. At eight a.m. precisely, Severus unlocked the front door of the library. At eight a.m. precisely, Hermione Granger smiled, inclined her head and said, "Good morning, Mr Snape."

He never answered her, stalking instead to the desk at the front of the room. For the past year, Severus had held the position, cataloguing the hundreds of books MLE found during their sweeping raids. By careful calculations, Severus decided he could spend the next five hundred years doing just that, and he would never be bored by it.

By far, this was the best job he could have asked for. No dunderhead students trying to blow either themselves or him up (accidentally or on purpose). No idiotic colleagues trying to force him into inane conversation. No direct 'superior' doling out the Cruciatus Curse for a failed assignment. Best of all, the unostentatious, subterranean, library afforded him little interaction with people. Not to mention the fact he could investigate the counter-jinxes and remedies for some of the Darker curses the Dark Lo -- Voldemort, he mentally corrected -- had created.

Hermione deposited the heavy rucksack that doubled as her travelling office on the table she claimed every visit. As the official researcher for the Ministry, she attended daily. Without a word, she disappeared in the stacks of books to recommence her research. He knew, from overheard conversations, that she was working on reversing spell damage. There was the slight suspicion that, like him, the position was a pay-off, Scrimgeour's compensation for fighting and winning a war without support from the Ministry.

The Daily Prophet reported that Weasley was now playing first-team for the Cannons, as well as engaged to Hermione Granger; just like Potter's engagement to Ginny Weasley was announced as 'news'. Neither couple surprised him, though he was a bit disappointed to think of the mismatch that a Granger-Weasley marriage would be. He knew Potter was in the Auror program. He would occasionally see the younger wizard in the hallways of the Ministry. They would glare at each other as they passed. Briefly, he wondered why Potter had come forward during his trial with evidence to have the charges against him dropped.

Well, if Potter is waiting for a obsequious display of my appreciation, he thought as he settled himself behind his desk, he'll have to go on waiting. I'll make sure to do it after my ice skating lesson with Lucifer and before the flying pig races. He opened the copy of Magick Moste Deathly, glancing up when Hermione reappeared, carrying a stack of books back to her table.

A year earlier, he had soundly berated her for levitating the tomes. Letting her know, in no uncertain terms, how dangerous it was to use magic on Dark books. A simple spell could activate a hidden hex, causing more trouble than the Healers at St. Mungo's could remedy easily. While he ranted, she stood calmly listening, and then she apologised. For some perverse reason, he never informed her that he had tested every book after that and found only one responded negatively to a Levitation Charm, and he had removed the hex from it.

He wondered what she would say if he casually mentioned, "Oh yes, Miss Granger, you may now Wingardium Leviosa to your heart's content. I made sure of that earlier this year. So sorry for not telling you sooner."

Probably try to hex me, he thought sourly as she set out her table. Books, parchment, ink, and -- Dammit! he internally growled -- quills made their appearance.

There were a few small problems in his life, nothing he couldn't cope with. It wasn't the paradise Dumbledore had implied long years ago. Some might consider him heroic, but most were afraid of him. Severus could never quite decide if that was a bonus or not. It did impinge on his social life somewhat.

Social life, he thought with a small snort. He had gone out with a few witches, now that he was not encumbered by teaching, spying or running for his life. Most wanted to know about Harry Potter. Those nights ended early. A few wanted to hear titillating stories of the rapes committed by the Death Eaters.

The Dark Lor -- Voldemort -- was after world domination, not a shag. The Death Eaters were too involved with scrabbling up the ladder and committing acts of mayhem to have 'rape parties'. However, those evenings ended a bit later. After all, a shag was a shag, and after years of enforced celibacy, anything that didn't look like his right hand was worth a tumble.

Still, there had been a handful of witches who had met with him simply to tell him what a monster he was, how lucky he had been to escape the proper punishment, and that he was a terrible instructor. Those evenings ended the quickest, yet he couldn't help but agree with them on some points. He was neither a good man, nor a kind one. He had committed monstrous acts and watched while others did worse. He had indeed been the cause of Dumbledore's death, even if he had been acting on the old man's orders. He was very lucky Potter came forward with Pensieve testimony from Dumbledore himself. As far as being a terrible teacher, well, no student ever died under his watch and it was quite possible a few may have accidentally learned something.

Perhaps.

But the worst thing about his new life was the Monday to Friday, eight a.m. until noon, torment from the antics of the witch before him. She was always polite and rarely spoke as she performed some obscure research. Considering all the questions she had asked when she was younger, he almost missed her steady chatter. At least one could speak with her about something more than the weather and the slowness of the lift. But one habit she had developed was going to drive him barmy.

Glancing up, he watched as she stared at the book before her, totally engrossed. Her quill was in her right hand and she twirled it, absentmindedly. Eventually, as she turned the page with her left hand, she moved the quill to stroke her cheek.

His breath caught as he watched this unknowing, sensual display. One she would repeat often during the morning. Sooner or later, if she were truly immersed in her reading, the feathered end of the quill would be nibbled on by her small, white, even teeth as she pulled it across her pink lips, her large brown eyes darting back and forth as she read.

He couldn't stop staring whenever he caught her doing so; his mind filled with visions of soft sheets, feathers and those perfect pink lips opening under his. Then, remembering her passion for her studies, he couldn't help but wonder how that would translate horizontally, so to speak.

The thoughts made him feel dirty, perverted. Not only was she an engaged woman, she had been his student for six years. Severus knew he was a good twenty years older than she was. Not to mention, even through her politeness, she probably hated him as thoroughly as Potter and her fiancé, Weasley, hated him. The fact he was sitting at his desk with a partial erection, fantasizing about taking her to bed made him feel lecherous.

And old.

Very old.

Standing abruptly, he startled her so the tip of the quill dropped from her mouth and she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Surreptitiously adjusting his robes, he snarled, "That is a dirty and disgusting habit, Miss Granger. Buy yourself a pacifier if you must, but you will cease doing that in my library."

For a moment, time stood still. Severus was shocked into silence by her wounded look. Then, as sudden as his outburst, she stood, blindly grabbing her papers and stuffing them in the rucksack. Hermione barely capped the inkbottle before hurling it into the bag. She fled in a flurry of brown robes.

The only thing that she left behind was the lone white plume, abandoned on the dark wood next to a stack of books. For a long time, he merely stood there, staring at the quill. Finally, he walked to the table, waved his wand and the books rose in the air to re-shelve themselves.

Severus picked up the quill, pondering her red eyes. Certainly he had spoken to her more harshly in the past. Although he couldn't remember any specific times he had berated her in the classroom, he knew there were some. And the time he had come across her when she had become separated from Potter and Weasley during the Great Horcrux Hunt and had told her that unless she wanted to die or the others to die, she should move her arse immediately. He could hardly recall being complimentary in his remarks.

But her eyes had been red before I said anything to her, he recalled. What on earth could she have been crying about? She hardly struck him as the sort to cry about anything. Even during the final confrontation, when Weasley had fallen with that hex from Bellatrix, she stood over her love, not knowing if he lived or died, and valiantly cast non-verbal hexes with a single-minded determination that would have been awe-inducing had he not been fighting so fiercely himself. Eventually, he had worked his way over to her and Potter, forming a spearhead. By the time of the fight, Potter had reluctantly acknowledged Snape was working with them and the three of them had held their own and fought back defiantly. When Weasley revived, thanks to the potion containing phoenix tears Snape had tossed Hermione, the four of them managed to destroy Nagini and then Harry destroyed Voldemort.

Later that evening, Snape replayed those memories in his Pensieve, and others. He remembered a time in her fourth year where her teeth had grown due to some hex. She had cried then as she ran to the Infirmary, but that was the last time he knew of that she had openly wept.

Fiercely, he wished he could find out who had made her cry this time. It would assuage his own guilt in the matter if he could punish them. There had been no gossip at the staff canteen, even though he appeared at lunch, disguised. He would simply have to ask her some questions the next day, Severus decided, as he readied himself for bed.

But she didn't return the next day. Nor was she there Thursday or Friday either. On Monday, he sat in the empty room, scowling at his morning paper. Few people ever spoke to him at the Ministry, and the Reference Library only received the odd visitor here and there, mostly Magical Law Enforcement officers, though occasionally someone from St. Mungo's would venture in to study some obscure curse. If he were disguised with appearance charms, people would speak to him and even smile, but appearing as Severus Snape, conversations stopped when he ventured near and people scattered. Except for Hermione's 'good morning,' no one had spoken to him in nearly a week.

He tried to tell himself that was what he preferred, but without her presence, he suddenly found himself questioning why he even held this job. His mood didn't lift, even when MLE sent down a box of artefacts found in a raid of Macnair's last hideout. Cataloguing them and running Dark Magic Detection Spells was done by rote; his mind kept thinking about Hermione Granger.

Tuesday, he had just Conjured a cup of tea to enjoy with his morning paper, when the door opened and she walked in. No 'good morning' greeted him; her back was straight, her head back and her jaw set as she settled down at her usual table.

The unspoken words he had wanted to welcome her back with lodged in his throat, strangled by his clenched teeth. He watched from the corner of his eye as she returned from the stacks with a large pile of books. Not knowing what to say, he commenced to reading the Prophet.

When he reached B-6, the photograph made him choke on his tea. A smiling Lavender Brown and Ron Weasley hugged, kissed, then waved at the camera.
Weasley Weds Model

Ronald Weasley, the right-hand of He-Who-Slew-He-Who-Can't-Be-Named was married yesterday at his mother's home in Ottery-St. Catchpole. Weasley, who plays Keeper for the Chudley Cannons…


Severus looked up from the paper to find Hermione staring at him, twin spots of colour on each cheek. As he stared, her chin raised another notch. His gaze dropped first.

He is hardly worth your tears, Hermione, he thought, scowling at the young man's picture. Uncaring, the pictorial Weasley merely kissed his new wife again. A small stone seemed to be developing in the pit of his stomach and he wondered if there was anything that he could say to her that would help ease the pain. Probably not, he decided. She wouldn't want to hear anything I have to say. Glancing over at her, he noticed she was taking notes… with a biro.

That, if possible, only made him feel worse.

They sat in silence for nearly four hours until Hermione closed her last tome and began putting her papers in order. As she stood and picked up the heavy pile of books, Severus was standing there, waiting.

"I'll re-shelve those for you, Miss Granger," he said. It was the only peace offering he could think to offer.

"That's not necessary, Mr Snape," came her cool reply as she marched past him, carrying the heavy load.

Grinding his teeth, Severus returned to his desk and an obscure book on blood curses. He looked up only when she stopped in front of the desk.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he queried coolly, arching one eyebrow questioning.

"I don't need pity, Mr Snape. Yours or anyone else's," she said stiffly, her brown eyes burning in anger.

"No, Miss Granger," he agreed, obviously surprising her. "Nor do I pity you. You've had a narrow escape."

For a moment, they started solemnly at each other. He tried hard to decipher the emotion in her eyes, but she turned too soon and left without another word.

That night, Severus revisited his Pensieve and looked over his memories of Hermione. Walking around the battle scene, he sneered down at Ron's unconscious form. "I had begun believing you had some sense, Mr Weasley. But choosing a book by the cover -- or a witch by her flashiness -- makes me realise I was mistaken."

At eight a.m. the next day, Severus unlocked the library's doors to find Hermione arguing with Potter.

"He's a fool! I don't want to talk with him now or in the future," Potter said furiously.

"He's still your friend, Harry, and you shouldn't forget that."

They both turned guiltily when the door opened. Hermione flushed while Potter simply glared at him. At Severus' greeting of "Miss Granger," she nodded and walked past him, head held as high as yesterday. Harry stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides. For a moment, the two men merely glared before both glancing at Hermione, who was already retreating between the bookshelves.

"Don't make it harder for her, Snape," Potter whispered, his tone fairly crackling with anger.

"For once, Mr Potter," Severus replied, "we are in agreement. He is a fool." It was an amusing moment while Potter decided if he was going to defend Weasley or not. He obviously didn't want to, yet he couldn't wrap his mind around agreeing with Severus. In the end, he simply turned and stalked off.

Severus had returned to his desk and the latest tomes to classify when Hermione reappeared carrying half her weight again in books. He waited until she settled down at her table before speaking.

"Perhaps someone should tell you, Miss Granger," he informed her smoothly, "that it is no longer your position to defend Mr Weasley in any shape or form." Her eyes flashed with anger. "In fact," he continued, "you should be the one Mr Potter is trying to calm down."

Carefully placing his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers, Severus eyed her speculatively. "Must you always be the voice of reason?"

"There is more to the situation than a broken engagement, Mr Snape," Hermione bit out precisely. Her lips tightened and she opened the first book with more force than was called for.

"Indeed?" Only the slightest inflection kept the one word as a question instead of a dismissive response.

"Yes, indeed! Harry and Ron have been friends since the first train ride to Hogwarts." Hermione hmphed as she returned to her work. When he did not reply, she looked up at him. "You might as well say it. Everyone has been giving me advice or saying their piece."

Tracing his lips with his index finger, he took his time with his answer. "I do hope this isn't a frustrated attempt of Gryffindor martyrdom, defending him like that to Potter."

"Trust me, it isn't." The way her gaze quickly darted back to the book told him that there was far more to this story than covered in the pages of the Daily Prophet.

It was a guessing game, something that occupied his imagination over the next few days. From her response, Severus believed she felt some guilt, but why? She was an intelligent, passionate witch with looks that were more than fair. What would she be looking for in a… companion?

Obviously, it wasn't looks. After all, she had dated Victor Krum in her fourth year. Severus remember him as an odd-looking boy with an unfortunate nose and lank hair. And she wasn't looking for excessive intelligence, or she'd never have picked Ron Weasley -- not that the boy was stupid, but he wasted his intelligence on Quidditch and games rather than employing any useful pursuits. At least his brothers, Fred and George, were using their cleverness to the best of their ability. Their ingenuity surprised him, in fact; he never thought they were paying that much attention in Potions or any of their other classes.

What would interest Hermione Granger? That thought drew him up short. Was he seriously considering pursuing her?

Well, why not? he questioned himself belligerently.

She's an ex-student. Of course, any witch I look at will be an ex-student; after all, I taught for fifteen years. If she's from the United Kingdom, she'll be an ex-student. Or old. The thought of dating a foreign witch did not appeal to him.

And she's twenty years younger than I, he conceded as he sat in the small parlour at Spinner's End, nursing a small brandy. Of course, age differences as such were not unheard of in the wizarding world. Hezekiah Smallpot married a woman one hundred and sixty years his junior. True, he died soon after, but Severus had always heard he died with a smile on his face.

"There is the fact that she hates you," he murmured to himself.

"I thought you were going to work on your people skills once you stopped teaching," a familiar voice called from over the fireplace.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to stave off the headache that was threatening. "And I thought we had discussed the fact that you were to announce your presence and not just eavesdrop on my personal thoughts," he reminded sharply.

In the portrait, Albus sat back in the chair. "I thought I just did," he responded with a smile. "But, if you wish more..." He cleared his throat. "Severus, I'm here. Are you free?"

Sighing, Severus opened his eyes and glared at the painted effigy. Deciding he would shock his mentor, he announced, "I'm deciding if it's worth my time to romantically pursue Miss Granger."

Albus' smile blossomed into a delighted grin. "I'd say it's worth your time. Miss Granger is a very special witch." His smile faded. "Shame about her and Mr Weasley though."

"Indeed," Severus replied with just the right touch of bored indifference in his voice.

"You know they were engaged?" the painted Dumbledore asked. "I'm very surprised she hasn't hexed him to Halifax and back."

Severus made a noncommittal sound and picked a book up off the table. Sometimes the easiest way to get information was to not ask for it. Dumbledore had been the one Severus had trusted the most in this world, but the old man must have been in a mischievous, gossiping mood when his portrait had been painted because that was the mood his portrait stayed in.

"I'm sure Molly is thrilled though," the portrait continued, as if to itself.

"If I recall, she was never that fond of Miss Granger," Severus concurred, obviously bored, never lifting his eyes off the print.

"And it does give her a reason to be knitting again. She stopped after Arthur's death, but a new baby…" Dumbledore sighed, rather excessively for someone who didn't have to breathe. "Well, that does make one think about living again."

A baby. Severus stared unseeingly at the page. Ron Weasley's hasty marriage to Lavender Brown, after the quick break-up with Hermione… You should've realised what that meant, he thought. Aloud, he said, "I am sure Molly will find joy in it."

"I believe Ron will as well," Dumbledore said slowly. "I do like the boy, but it never seemed to be a good match between the two of them. He really needs someone who will make him feel special, important."

"And you believe that is beyond Miss Granger?" Severus asked sharply.

As he had when he were alive, Dumbledore ignored the younger man's anger. "I believe he would have always felt threatened by her intelligence. Hermione could no more hide that than Hagrid could hide a dragon. In time, Ron's Quidditch career would be over with, but Hermione, well, she'll go far -- no matter what direction she ventures out in."

Taking the familiar role of devil's advocate, Severus used his finger as a bookmark and settled back in his chair. "Miss Granger could recite facts like an encyclopaedia. That does not demonstrate intelligence, merely a photographic memory."

"Do you really think so, Severus?" asked Dumbledore. "I recall at one point, you were most impressed by her logic."

"That was when she got your precious Potter past my logic problem."

"And when she brewed the Polyjuice?"

"That nearly turned her permanently into a cat," Severus reminded him.

Albus laughed. "Oh, admit it, Severus! There have been a few times she had impressed even you. And when she was talking to me about her new ideas in research, well…" He trailed off, waiting for the questions about her research. However, Severus pressed his lips firmly together and re-opened his book. After a few minutes, the original inhabitant, Adolphus Prince, returned and painted Dumbledore bid him a good night.

There was no doubt in Severus' mind that he needed to find out what Hermione Granger was working on. And to find out exactly what had happened between her and Mr Weasley. If only to satisfy his own curiosity and for no other reason.

That's what he told himself at least.

And, as there seemed to be no chance of a reconciliation between her and her ex-fiancé, to give her time to get him out of her system. It would give Severus time to manoeuvre his way into her field of vision as a potential… whatever.


Chapter Two


After a quick trip to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes (in disguise, of course), Severus was prepared to begin his own research project. He arrived at work before dawn the next morning and liberally coated every book with the special powder he had obtained from the twins. The ridiculously expensive glasses rested in the pocket of his robes, to use later.

When he unlocked the doors, precisely at eight a.m. as usual, Hermione entered alone. Giving him a sharp nod, she set about her research in silence. Severus, however, noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the tightness across her cheeks.

He's not worth losing sleep over, Miss Granger, he noted, if only to himself. Or not eating. But he said nothing of the sort to her, merely wishing her a 'good day' when she left at noon.

The goodbye obviously startled her, but she gave him a curious look and murmured "You, too," before slipping out the door.

Severus went to The Leaky Cauldron for lunch, lost in thought. He didn't bother to disguise himself, but for once, didn't notice the ring of empty tables around him in an otherwise crowded pub. He barely noticed the re-heated food Tom placed before him, as he was so occupied wondering what Hermione was researching.

It was a quiet afternoon at the library, giving him ample time to review the books Hermione had been reading from. Using the special glasses, Severus followed the trail of blue glowing fingerprints.

If anything, her choices in reading material only confused him further. Six volumes dealt with Blood Magic, one with magical creatures, two with rare poisons, and one with non-identifiable curses. To the best of his knowledge, they had nothing in common and were on separate bookcases, scattered about the library. It made no sense.

The next morning, she greeted him as she used to, and gave a tentative smile when he greeted her back. That afternoon, Severus discovered she had perused the same book on magical creatures, two on altering potions and What's Not for Dinner: The Complete Guide to the World's Most Deadliest Plants.

His curiosity had been mild, but was now growing on a daily basis. Severus was also beginning to get impatient with himself. It was easy to imagine conversations with Hermione as long as she wasn't present, but being perpetually taciturn, could never think of something to start a conversation off with when she was there with him.

As the days passed, he found himself desperate enough one evening that he discussed the situation with Albus' portrait. Severus waited until Albus brought up the subject.

"How is Miss Granger, Severus? You never talk about her anymore," Albus observed.

"I do believe I only spoke of her once, Albus."

"Yes, but you were thinking of pursuing her. Did you change your mind?" Albus' curiosity had not diminished upon his death.

"It's still under consideration," conceded Severus.

"Have you asked her out? Taken her to dinner?"

The silence was all the answer Albus needed. He turned a painted, shrewd eye on the younger wizard. "Have you even spoken to her?" There was the audible sound of Severus grinding his teeth.

"Severus, she's an intelligent witch. Talk to her about her research! She's tried to explain it to me, but, I admit, I'm not sure I grasped it at all." Albus' voice grew softer. "I know she'd like to talk to you about it, but I do believe she's afraid you'll…"

"What? Be myself?" Severus sneered.

"She's had a lot of opposition, mostly from people who are afraid of change, but some from her contemporaries. I'm afraid that some people are writing her off as being a bit... well, cracked around the edges."

Finally, Severus could stand it no longer. "And what exactly is she researching?"

Albus gave a chuckle. "If I could explain it to you, m'boy, I would." He shook his head. "I suggest talking to her about it." Without further ado, Albus left the painting.

Severus took a few days to determine a plan. There was a reason why the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin; plotting was second nature to him. All he had to do was sit back and wait for the right opportunity.

It came at the close of the week. Hermione was working quietly at her table while he pretended to be reading a book, not sneaking glances at her as her pen scratched across the paper. She barely looked up when an Auror walked in, carrying a box.

"Got some more for you, Snape," Pennyworth announced as he placed the box on the desk. "These are some more of Malfoy's hidden stash."

"Indeed," Severus murmured as he stood and opened the box.

"We've done the preliminaries; they should be safe enough for you." Pennyworth was a gruff, older wizard, not prone to small talk. He was gone before Severus could say much more, which was probably the reason why the other Aurors usually chose him to make deliveries to the Dark Artefacts Reference Library. Severus smirked slightly, knowing that most of the younger Aurors were still intimidated by him.

There were only four books in the box. Making sure her attention was on her work, he slipped the small tome from his robe pocket in with the others. He then sucked in his breath in a whistling sound of surprise. Just as he thought it would, Miss Granger's attention turned to him.

"Oh my," he said softly, removing one book from the box. "Death Curses, Poisonings, and Pain."

"Is that an important book, Mr Snape?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Adopting a startled look, he turned to her. "It's a very rare book, Miss Granger. Most copies were thought to be destroyed after the Dark Lord Morcar was overcome in 1071. Trust Lucius to have it hidden away." It actually was Lucius' copy he had placed in the box; Severus had borrowed it from him a few weeks before Lucius was caught at the Ministry of Magic, trying to obtain the prophecy.

She leaned forward, excitement shining from her brown eyes. "Really? What's in it?"

"Supposedly, the first written mention of the Cruciatus Curse," he answered, pretending his attention was on the book and not the witch who had left her chair and was inching forward.

"Would you like to look at it, Miss Granger?" he offered, still holding the book. She looked at him, a bit surprised at his suggestion. "I would need to do some testing upon it, but it should be available after lunch. Providing there are no hexes that cannot easily be removed," he cautioned.

"I would love to," she breathed.

"It wouldn't be keeping you from anything, would it?" Severus smoothly asked.

"Nothing important," Hermione said, her eyes still on the book.

It was easy enough to make a few showy wand sweeps and wrap it in a magical cloth, before reciting some incantations. "The cloth," he explained, "will give me a listing of magic surrounding the book."

"Do you have to do that with every book?" she asked.

He explained the process of curse-breaking, mainly identifying the curses to be broken. Hermione looked as if she wished to be taking notes. "But I doubt if there will be many curses on this one," he admitted. "Lucius would have liked to be able to show this one off at a moment's notice. It was his more common books he safeguarded."

Through some skilful wordplay, he managed to invite her to lunch with him, away from the Ministry, without making it sound like an invitation or a romantic liaison. The café was Muggle, so they each took a moment in the respective loos to do some quick Transfiguration of their wizarding garb. Hermione ended up in a modest blue dress, of which Severus approved, while she seemed to like his black suit.

It was one of the most enjoyable meals Severus ever had. At first, conversation was a bit stilted between them, then Hermione asked about one of the detection spells he had used. That gambit opened up a topic, and by the time pudding arrived, they were arguing over hidden jinxes.

"I know Michelmas wrote that the easiest hexes should be removed first," she surprised him by saying, "but if there are layered curses on an object, it will only tangle the worst ones until they're almost impossible to be rid of."

Of course, he scoffed. "Not many use layered curses, Miss Granger. It takes an incredible amount of effort and planning to weave them together."

"Well, if I were going to go to the trouble of placing protective jinxes on an object, I'd layer them," she said candidly, waving her pointed pastry fork for emphasis. "I imagine you would as well."

"Why would you think that, Miss Granger?"

Her look was shrewd as she stared at him and pushed her plate to the side. She crossed her forearms on the table and leaned forward. "Because I don't see you going halfway. If you wanted to protect something, you'd make it impossible to un-hex easily."

"Nothing is impossible," Severus reminded her, though what she said was true. He had only used curses to protect a few objects in his home, but he placed the most complex curses possible on them, interweaving them with an artistry few could appreciate.

"I said 'easily'," she retorted. "I'd wager my wand that you'd make whoever it was trying to remove them regret ever considering it."

It was true, and it was the thought he had when he laid the hexes. Her insight surprised him.

"It's when I knew you were really on our side," she confessed on the walk back to the Ministry, "when we found Helga Hufflepuff's cup and the barriers around it. I recognized your logic in application and noticed you left several small holes. I knew then you'd only do that purposefully. If you truly were Voldemort's spy, you'd have made sure it was foolproof."

By the time they arrived at the library, they had naturally slipped into the habit of calling each other by their first names. Hermione didn't leave the library until after three, but returned right as he was locking up.

"I thought you might be interested in these," she said a trifle breathlessly. 'These' turned out to be several pages on goblin curse-breaking. "I know you'll not flaunt them about; the material is quite sensitive."

Indeed, he was very interested. "Bill Weasley?" he said.

She nodded. "He was very helpful… until he found out what I was doing with it all."

Raising one eyebrow in question, he waited for her to continue, but she was oblivious.

"I don't think I'll be able to get much more information out of him now... considering..." she trailed off.

"Considering there's no possibility you'll carry the Weasley name in the future?" he suggested.

Frowning, Hermione looked down at the marble tiles of the library. "That, and the fact he doesn't like my idea… He kept quoting his father. 'Don't trust anything if you can't see its brain' or something." Raising her eyes, her look was indignant. "He wouldn't even let me explain it! If Arthur were still alive, he'd be fascinated! But Molly spoke against it all then, and, well, that's all she wrote."

For a long moment, he reflected. She was speaking as if he agreed with her, talking to him as if he were a confidante, a friend. "As I'm not really sure exactly what you are doing, I can neither agree nor disagree with you."

"You don't know?" Hermione bit her lip. "I thought you did," she said quietly to herself. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "If I explain it all to you, will you let me continue my research here?"

"You should realise by now, Hermione, I don't make promises lightly and without fully knowing what I'm getting into," he cautioned coldly.

She flushed. Chagrined, she apologised, "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't be unfair about this. It's just that the few people who know about it all… some of them really object." Hermione sighed and began examining the tiles again. Dejected, she said, "I just don't want to lose this resource."

He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her. The apprehension in her brown eyes touched him, however, and he found himself saying, "I'll hear you out on this." Unless she was indulging in something truly dangerous though, he knew he would allow her to return; he didn't like the thought of losing contact with her. Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

Gesturing towards a table, Hermione suggested they sit down for this. He complied and waited silently until she began. It took her a few minutes before she said, "First of all, what do you know about computers?"


Chapter Three


Voldemort always said that the Mudbloods were going to destroy traditional wizarding life. They brought in their ideas and polluted the 'pureness' of magic. Hazily realising this concept as a child, Severus became one of the most traditional-minded students at Hogwarts. On the weekends, some students might wear non-wizarding apparel, even Muggle clothing, but Severus never did. He stayed stoically clad in his school robes, revelling in the uniformity. No one could look at him and tell he was a half-blood.

When Hermione explained that she was creating a 'database' of all individual components found in potions, he was intrigued and immediately grasped the possibilities. She was also compiling information on charms, curse-breaking, and any other discipline she could.

"It's basic Arithmancy," she explained quickly, "but with more data than most ever have. It should allow me to take a leap forward in medicinal potions."

"Not only that," Severus said, "but it gives you a library at your fingertips. Do you mean to say some people are against this?"

"Mostly people who don't understand anything about computers." Hermione shrugged and gave a half smile. "Pure-bloods, in other words. They think I'm giving the computer magic, instead of using it just to store and retrieve information."

"Is that all you're doing?" Severus asked shrewdly.

A slight smile graced her lips. "I'm also comparing different formulas. I am hoping some can be tweaked to become more efficient. For example, I believe if you add three ground thyme seeds to Pepperup Potion, you can reduce the simmer time to ten minutes."

Severus stood and walked to a bookcase in the back. Walking back to the table, he flipped the pages impatiently. "Have you seen this book, Hermione?"

"I might have," she said, confused. "What book is it?"

"Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme: Experiments with Common Herbs by Simon N. Garfunkel." He slid the open book across the table. "He was all for using common plants whenever possible. In a Muggle town, you don't want to have to explain why your snapdragons actually snap."

Hermione began reading. Before long, a smile stretched across her face. "I thought it would work! I've seen it mentioned in two other potions. I wonder why no one's tried more."

"Because people are afraid of change. Pure-blood wizards especially," explained Severus.

She looked up expectantly. "And what about you?" Are you afraid of change?"

Unexpectedly, he chuckled. "I was a Death Eater, a spy, a teacher, a murderer, and now a librarian specialising in the Dark Arts." His reward was her laugh. "You are not proposing change as much as you are utilising new ways to research. All your work may not accomplish anything, or it could revitalize research overall. I'd like to hear more."


* * * * *


"It's rather clever, Albus," Severus said over his shoulder as he perused his bookcase. "If it works, it might save a few steps in research."

Portrait Albus chuckled. "For you to lavish such extravagant praise is telling. So what are you doing?"

"Hermione invited me over to dinner tomorrow night to show me her setup. I thought I might lend her a few books that could assist her."

Albus looked surprised. "You? Lending books? How unlike you, Severus."

For his answer, Severus only scowled and added another volume to the stack on the sofa. A slight smile plying his painted lips, Albus watched as a good two dozen books were gathered and boxed.

"At least you're speaking to Miss Granger now," Albus said, blue eyes shining mirthfully. "I understand you've ate lunch together for the past fortnight." His remark earned him a glare from the dark-haired wizard before him.

"Still with your network of spies, Albus?" Severus sniped snidely.

"Only to make sure my best spy is happy," Albus assured him. "You deserve happiness."

Scowling, Severus sat down in his chair, propping one leg up on the footstool. Arms folded across his chest with his fists hidden in the folds of his elbows, he said, "It can still go pear-shaped, old man." And it probably will, he reminded himself sourly.

"So it could, so it could," Albus agreed smugly. "But you don't think it will, really, or you wouldn't be loaning your books and dining with her. You should take some wine and flowers to her. That's what we did in my day."

"No." Severus shook his head. "She needs time to 'get over' her broken engagement. I won't be pressuring her into something she is not ready for." I'm not going to scare her off. I'll be her friend first, then… when she is truly over that little ginger prick… then I'll become a suitor.


* * * * *


Hermione opened the door to her small flat, obviously a trifle nervously. Instead of her regular dark robes, she wore Muggle clothes -- jeans, T-shirt and trainers. As he was venturing out into Muggle London, Severus wore his black suit -- not to be confused with his only other suit, which was also black.

"Hi, I'm so sorry I'm running late," Hermione said quickly, ushering him in. "My parents' receptionist was out today and I went in to help."

Her flat was more Muggle than magic, he noted. The sitting room, which was filled with the tantalising aroma of stew, was sparsely furnished, only two chairs and a small table between them and a small, older telly sitting on a box across the room. A Wizarding Wireless set had pride of place on one of the many bookcases that lined the magnolia-painted walls. She had so many bookshelves, they covered the length of the walls entirely, leaving only the smallest gap for a Victorian sash window that looked out over parallel rows of identical red-brick garden walls and endless lines of rooftops.

Taking his jacket, Hermione Transfigured a bookmark into a coat tree and hung it up. One of the orange pillows in the chair stood and unfolded itself into a cat, turning a baleful eye on him.

Severus listened to her chattering nervously as she led him through to the kitchen. The fare was simple, stew and fresh home-baked bread. She dimpled when he complimented her on it.

"My Gran sent me some. She keeps me supplied with bread." Hermione went on to explain that the stew was her grandmother's recipe. "When Ron and I first moved in together, Gran sent me a slow cooker and most of her recipes." She laughed. "She still thinks the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"And what do you think?" he asked. It was as close to flirting as he could get.

Her smile disappeared. "I'm sure I wouldn't know," she said quietly. They ate in silence until Severus remembered the box of books in his pocket. That got the conversation going again until an apple pie was served at the end of the meal.

It was then that Hermione took him into the spare room and showed him her computer. If the living room was bare of furniture, this space made up for it. Two long tables flanked the door, filled with electronic devices, papers and notes. A chair on wheels stood by the computer and another armchair was by the window. The remainder of space was filled with small bookshelves and books.

He sat on a box, mindful of Hermione's injunction that no magic be used in this room. "I fried a computer early on by using a Summoning Charm too close to it," she said. "I won't try that again."

The speed in which information was called up fascinated him. In a blink, one could find out every potion in which crabgrass was used -- both successfully and non-successfully. Cauldron information was also recorded, as well as times, fire types, special instructions and even harvesting information of the fauna.

Later, back into the living room for coffee, Hermione waited for his impression.

"What other information you have stored on that machine?" he asked, setting his mug down on the table.

"Charms, Arithmancy notes, some Transfiguration," she said. "Anything I wanted to keep. I back the information up frequently, and I've also stored it on another computer. It helps me because I can access anything I need very quickly. In the summer, I hope to experiment with burn salve. None of the balms used now have anything to numb the pain; that's done with a Charm or another potion."

"Why summer? If you have a clear idea now, you should utilize it."

"If I tried to put some protective charms about this flat, to make it safe to experiment with potions, it would interfere with my computer and other electronics," she explained. "But Minerva told me I could use the Potions classroom at Hogwarts during the summer holidays."

Picking the coffee mug back up, Severus considered. "What changes do you intend?"

"There are two numbing potions that I think could be successfully combined with aloë to make a base for a burn salve."

"If you would like to try next weekend," he offered quietly, "I do have facilities in my home. Primitive, but workable. I would like to observe, and perhaps help if I could."

She stammered her thanks. "I-I'd love that! I had hoped--" Her cat jumped in her lap, upsetting her cup, so her hopes were never voiced.
Chapter Four


A few days later, Severus unlocked the library doors at eight a.m. precisely. His slight smile turned into a black look. Hermione was there, arguing with Potter again.

"--what you have to do, then I'll put up with it," Harry said as Hermione tried to hush him. He threw a disgusted look at Severus, who met it with his own scowl. "But you have to be there. We want you to be godmother. Don't let 'Won-Won and Wav-Wav' scare you off." He turned and marched away, shoulders set and robes flying behind him.

"Good morning, Hermione," Severus said. She looks tired, he noted.

Wearily, she entered the library and set her rucksack on her table. "Hullo, Severus…" she looked at him and he was struck by the anguish on her face.

"Ginny's pregnant," she announced baldly.

He snorted, but bit back any remark he wanted to make and waited for her to continue.

"Harry and Ginny are having a party on Saturday night…"

We didn't even have a date and she's breaking it for another, he thought. He had seen girls do it often enough over the years; make a date, then break it because something -- or someone -- better came along. Anger flared in him.

"So would you mind going with me?" she concluded.

"Pardon?" he questioned.

"I know parties aren't exactly your style," she acknowledged with a smile, "but it'll be mostly Order members there and we can leave early to try to get some experiments done, but I have to go."

Pieces started falling into place. "And Mr and Mrs Ron Weasley will be in attendance?" She nodded. "And what point would it prove to make your entrance with me in tow? Do you really want to test his reaction by attending with someone he hates?"

"What?! How dare you!" She leaned against the table, angry tears forming in her eyes. "I asked you because I wanted to be with someone whose company I enjoyed, someone I could talk to when everyone else is talking Quidditch! If you think this is just some plot to make Ron jealous -- Oh, never mind!" She stormed off into the sanctuary of the bookshelves.

He stood there for a moment, thinking. His presence wouldn't make Ron jealous. Sick, perhaps, or even angry, but to attend a party with the 'Greasy Git' wouldn't serve any purpose at all. Except, perhaps she does enjoy my company.

She returned with a stack of books and slammed them down on the table. She didn't sit as much as flung herself into the seat, and opened the first book with much more force than necessary.

"Ron Weasley is an idiot --" Before he could finish the sentiment that Ron was a fool to choose any woman over her, she interrupted.

"Don't even talk about him!" she railed in a high, thin voice. "It wasn't all his fault! I was to blame as well!"

Anger bloomed again within him. "How can you say that?" he demanded. "He treated you in the most cavalier manner a man can treat a woman! I realise you might think you're still in love with him, but you don't need to defend --"

"In love with him?" Hermione's voice rose to banshee levels. "Is that what you think? In love with Ron Weasley?" She shook her head so vigorously, the small bun she wore came undone. "I loved Ron, I still do, but never more than a friend."

"You were engaged." He spoke so softly, she could barely hear.

"Yes, engaged, but I couldn't set a date for the wedding. I just couldn't," Hermione confessed. "D'you know why I was here every morning as soon as the doors opened? The Cannons started their practice at nine."

At his blank look, she hmphed. "I hate Quidditch! I thought it'd be better once we were out of school. You know, just have to put up with watching an occasional game. Ron said he wanted to be an Auror. But then the Cannons approached him and he changed his mind.

"He went to the games alone, because I kept using excuse after excuse. If I really loved him, I'd want to be involved in it just because he loved it so much. But he hated my computer course because it kept me from his night games, then he told me Lavender was at his game in Bulgaria… and I didn't care!"

Frowning, she admitted, "I just didn't think I'd be dumped quite so…"

"Publicly?" he suggested.

Looking down, she nodded. "I can't blame him though. I kept hoping he'd see what it'd be like if a woman, his woman, would support him. But Quidditch bores me!"

"I wish I knew this sooner," he said lowly, thinking of the time he had wasted for her to be over Ron Weasley.

"It wasn't very nice of me," she confessed, then looked up at him challengingly. "And you never asked," she accused.

Perhaps she was waiting for me? he mused, then silently commanded the books to return to the shelves. Today was not to waste for studying old books, but for examining a new potential relationship.

"You used magic!" she exclaimed. "But I thought --"

"Oh, that," he said dismissively. "I checked for hexes on them earlier this year. After you…" The look on her face was priceless. He simply couldn't resist. "Well, you didn't ask."

She closed the distance between them. "And you didn't ask this either," she whispered before slowly pulling him down for a kiss.

A kiss that went on for a very long time. A kiss that started gently, her soft, pink lips tentatively asking for his acceptance and approval. When he reciprocated, her lips parted and she stood on tiptoe as he gathered her toward him. When at last they broke apart, he asked, "What didn't I ask that time?"

"Would you kiss me?"

"Gladly," he said with a smirk. And so he did.

The End

* * * * *

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A/N:
All hail Wartcap, who performed illegal Dark magic on this and made it so much better. And big thanks and hugs to JackieJLH who never once said, "Dammit! Would you quit obsessing over that story and talk about something different for five minutes?"

Writing a story for someone else's prompt may be the hardest, yet most rewarding, part of fandom that I've been active in. I sincerely hope you wander over to livejournal and the sshg_exchange and check out some of the truly great stories that can be found there. And drop some reviews for the participants. Believe me, writing something for one person is a lot harder than it seems and the only rewards offered are the reviews. Don't want to review here? Then find something you do like and review it. Spread the love.