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It was one of those days where Hermione wished she had never gotten out of bed. Absolutely everything had gone wrong.
She’d been woken by Crooks very thoughtfully jumping on her face and mrrow-ing insistently until she’d opened her eyes…to find that her alarm hadn’t managed to wake her and she was over an hour late for her day. She’d rushed to shower only to have the heating spell fail just as she was rinsing. Then, she’d slipped when getting out, blindly reaching for her wand to clear the soap she’d managed to get in her eyes.
A slice of burnt toast and a cup of woefully over sweetened tea (she really did need to replace her honey dispenser) later, she’d stumbled out of her flat and right over the package sitting propped against her door.
The delivery person had left a 'sorry we missed you!' note, though she was positive they hadn’t knocked, since she saw the truck driving away when she turned her head. She found a hair in the croissant she had grabbed from Pret in her rush to get to work with more than charcoal in her stomach. Her proposal at work was denied—again—which led to an argument and, ultimately, to her rather spontaneous resignation.
If she had planned to quit today, she would have brought a box. Instead, she had loaded her personal items—including one desktop peace lily which had rather ironically put up a considerable fight—into an old canvas bag dug out from her desk and just left. She only needed to make it from her office to the floo in the back room of George's shop; she knew better than to Apparate when she was this upset. Once she was home, she would draw a bath and have a nice cry.
That had been the plan. But she forgot to factor in that nothing was going right today . So, of course, she collided with someone she hadn't seen coming while attempting to hide her face from the people in the Alley. As the icing on her proverbial shit cupcake if a day, she managed to throw the contents of her bag across the cobblestones while trying to steady herself.
"Sorry!"
The tears she had scheduled for later threatened to break free as she took in the mess strewn into the street. Dirt from the plant and ink from a smashed jar had spattered everything with thick, dark goop. The pot was in pieces, but the plant looked okay. And apparently Harry had charmed the picture frame he gave her, as that seemed to have survived the fall.
Hermione dropped down to try to quickly wrangle scattered quills and tampons back into the bag. "Again, I am terribly sorry," she said as a Pot Noodle rolled into the shoe of the person she had collided with. A shoe that seemed oddly familiar. Was that dragonhide?
"No harm done." The voice was male. It also sounded vaguely familiar, yet she couldn't place him. Maybe a past colleague? Or even worse...the Minister! Could her day get anymore stressful? Surely not!
She scrambled to grab more of her belongings before they suddenly flew past her and into the arms of the man she’d run into.
“Thank you.” She spoke quietly, all too aware of how close her voice was to breaking, how close the tears in her eyes were once more from flowing free. She took a deep breath and steadied herself before standing, finally looking up to see who exactly she was speaking to.
The first thing she noticed was his eyes. They were brown, with light flecks of gold around the edge. His hair was short and shaggy and was sticking straight up everywhere. He was taller than she, tall enough that to make eye contact she had to tilt her head slightly. His posture was good, his shoulders on the narrower side but not unsuited to his build. As he casually straightened the items he now held, she was aware of a grace to his movements, a lithe awareness that reminded her somehow of a large cat. But it was his eyes that intrigued her. His eyes had a depth to them, a sense of knowing, which seemed so very familiar.
She suddenly realized he was standing there, staring back at her expectantly. Shaking herself and hoping she wasn’t blushing too badly—she was too emotional today to be embarrassing herself over her own distractions!—she cleared her throat and tried to remember what he’d said. “I’m sorry?”
He pursed his lips a bit, and gestured towards the door to one side of the street. She hadn’t noticed it before.
It was a rather unassuming shop front. A dark sage green color adorned the door and the tinted window panes, and the sign above their heads read simply, ‘Tea’.
Glancing between him and the door, Hermione considered that it may in fact be a good idea to sit for a moment and put her things in order before moving on to George’s. With a quick nod, she walked past the stranger and opened the door to the shop.
As soon as she had crossed the threshold, she froze. All of her senses were assaulted at once. Some of the tension eased from her body with the relative warmth of the shop’s interior. It wasn’t hot, but it was certainly ideal when compared to the Autumn chill outside. She was aware of the soft, lilting music playing, adding to the ambiance without distracting the guests. The scents of fresh tea leaves both blended with each other and battled for dominance. She could pick out multiple herbs, flowers, and even some citrus. The tingle on her tongue from the odors on the air was unexpected, but her mouth nearly began to water at the prospect of a moment of peace with the perfect cup of tea in hand.
What had halted her forward momentum, however, causing the man to bump into her from behind, had been the visual she was presented with. As with many Wizarding shops, the interior was very clearly larger than the building should have allowed for. What appeared to be a sprawling study lay before her. Numerous areas were gently separated and defined by bookshelves of varying heights, each section containing small conversation settings. Oversized and obviously comfortable armchairs of every style sat positioned to enable groups of any size to find a place to sit and relax, chat and enjoy a perceived isolation and some privacy from other groups. The walls were sporadically decorated with more shelves, some containing books and others containing tins of tea, planted herbs and flowers, and every tea accessory she could have imagined.
To one side, individual setups had been arranged, every other setting with a different portrait on the wall, presumably so that people who came alone but wanted light conversation could keep the company of their choice. To another was what Hermione could only describe as a bar, with padded stools lined up against a high counter, behind which a plump and cheerful woman bustled back and forth between the patron already seated there and what must have been a workspace. Her hair was piled into a loose bun atop her head, and grey whisps fell to frame her face.
Hermione let herself be gently guided to a small table, and lowered herself into the overstuffed armchair as the man walked over to the bar to speak with the matron. The woman’s warm greeting told Hermione that he must be a regular here. Hermione slowly removed her coat and scarf, her eyes devouring her surroundings.
She jumped a bit when a teapot and two small cups appeared on the table, and was joined a moment later by her new acquaintance. If acquaintance was the term for someone she’d only just met, whose name she did not yet know. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, before he gave the barest hint of a smile, leaned forward, and knocked twice on the table. A small tray appeared with milk, sugar cubes and crystals, honey, lemon wedges, small spoons, and a sign that said simply, “Sense”.
“Allow me?”
Hermione nodded and watched as he poured both cups, adding a dash of sugar to both and handing her the cup. She surreptitiously flicked her wand at the arrangement—she wasn’t about to accept a drink from a stranger without ensuring it wouldn’t harm her—and was a bit surprised when he smirked, clearly having noticed. The lack of red glow from anything on the table confirming to her that it was safe to consume, she inhaled deeply. Her senses danced, and she immediately recognized the minty freshness of peppermint, and a hint of something almost spicy. Taking a small sip, she hummed contentedly when the bright heat of ginger hit her tongue, melting with the coolness of the mint.
She settled back, content to savor the tea in quietude for a moment and loathe to be the one to speak first.
Before she knew it, they’d emptied the teapot and the cheerful woman from the tea bar was at their table, asking if she could offer and other tea or snacks for them.
“Yes please, Sylvia. A small snack tray and a pot of Sensibility would be ideal.” The man raised an eyebrow at her and she realized her jaw had dropped open when he’d spoken.
It couldn’t be. It was impossible. But that voice…she was certain there weren’t many men on the planet who could possibly produce such a recognizable timbre. Her mind was spinning with rationalizations, and at the same time she was kicking herself mentally for not recognizing it earlier. She must have been in quite a state.
She felt relaxed now, though. Her mind was a calmly flowing stream despite the small eddies of uncertainty. Her senses seemed heightened, too, now that she was self-assessing. Perhaps that had allowed her to catch his voice more consciously. She continued to stare at but also through the man as the matron left and a second teapot appeared alongside a tray of tea cakes, cooked, and lemon bars. Where the first pot had been a pale blue, this was a bit more brightly colored, and featured small blossoms on a vine which meandered lazily around the pot as though basking in its heat.
Once their new tea was prepared, the man pulled out his wand, making a point to reveal it slowly before making a quick gesture. “Muffliato.”
It was him—it had to be! Her mind raced once more, shock blocking her tongue. To buy time, she raised her cup once more and took a deep inhale of the steam swirling from the surface of the heated liquid. This one, too, had both mint and ginger, but they were more mellow. She could tell it was not peppermint this time but simply mint leaves alongside a clean white tea blend. The first sip confirmed her suspicion that there was also anise added to the blend, developing the sweet heat into a bright and cheerful brew. She couldn’t help the small hmm of contentment that escaped her, then remembered herself and glanced back up to see he was watching her, head tilted and eyes sharp.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever survived your presence for so long without a question asked or a hand raised, Miss Granger.”
Well, there it was. She was certain now, if she hadn't been quite before. With her certainty, or perhaps at his intention, the glamour…faded. That was the only way to describe it. It was still there, but as a thin water colored screen would be over a stronger image. She was able to see the truth behind it. The familiar hooked nose, raven-like hair and piercing eyes that seemed to see right into her soul.
“Good to see my suspicions were correct, Prof—Mister Snape.”
He nodded in approval and took another sip of his tea.
Well this was decidedly odd. Here she was sipping tea with a man the world thought dead, who she’d by turns respected, admired, hated, and for a while had even borne a bit of a crush on. Hermione’s uncertainty was fleeting though, the tea bolstering her awareness as the previous one had, and seeming to sharpen her mind, in a way. Her thoughts seemed less foggy, more organized. She still felt the remnants of her earlier frustration, but was calmer and more able to look ahead and see potential courses of action. She’d always believed in having contingencies for every possibility, but this was—
“What do you think of the shop?”
The sudden question pulled her once more from her internal thoughts. “Sir?”
“I’m not a professor anymore, Miss Granger. No need for such formalities.” When she nodded, he continued. “I was simply asking as to your thoughts on this shop. They are, at present, an invitation only venue.”
She looked around them again, taking the last drink from her teacup and fixing them each another before answering thoughtfully. “It’s lovely. The atmosphere is certainly unique, they’ve created areas with appeal for just about any customer. The tea is lovely too, and seems quite more effective than those I brew at home. They’re nearly potions.”
“Indeed.”
The hint of a smirk was back on his face, and she looked from her cup to him. “So that’s why you’re a patron?”
“Close.” He, too, looked around contentedly before proceeding. “This is my shop.”
She swallowed her surprise with another cup of tea.
Once more, time seemed to pass without her as she considered how the man across from her must have spent the last decade, how he might have made it out of the Shack in secret, what might have led to his starting a tea shop in a small corner in Diagon Alley. So many questions spilled through her head, yet she could bring herself to voice exactly none of them. For one thing, this was notably the only pleasant part of her otherwise horrendous day. For another, she had a sense that it wasn’t her place; that even were she to ask, he would share nothing he wasn’t willing to volunteer. She was shocked that he’d revealed himself to her at all, if she were honest.
Too busy trying to puzzle out the why of this particular situation, and too drained and uncertain to ask outright, she barely noticed as Snape prepared the last cups of tea from the pot.
“Thank you,” she said as he set hers in front of her once more.
“Ah, she speaks.” He eyed her for a moment. “I’m sure you have questions. Perhaps I can allay them.”
She was sure she blushed as she nodded; he’d always seemed to hate her incessant questioning. But he refrained from commenting, instead proceeding to confirm most of the theories she’d held over the years regarding his disappearance. He had, as she’d suspected, been carrying a number of healing potions on his person that night and had built a gradual tolerance to Nagini venom over the years. He’d portkey’ed out of the Shack, to a safe house he’d prepared well in advance, where a number of house elves he’d taken on for that very purpose had aided him in his recovery. He was quick to assure her that all such elves had been freed elves, volunteers for the special assignment and paid for their work.
Once healed, he’d remained in isolation for a couple of years, not having any desire to face the ire of the public once more. He recounted with amused disdain his discovery that he’d been posthumously pardoned and awarded the Order of Merlin. Hermione blushed again when his amused gaze turned to her as if he knew she’d had a hand in that.
He’d eventually decided he’d spend enough time secreted away, and had developed his glamours—which were apparently anchored in and controlled by his buttons. Once content he’d be unrecognizable, he’d ventured out on occasion. As if reading her thoughts, he quietly admitted that he’d been so grateful his voice had not been damaged by Nagini that he hadn’t the heart to disguise it, instead opting to speak very little around those he did not know with certainty could be trusted.
It had only been in the last couple of years that he’d begun to feel a sort of yearning, a drive to once again engage his mind, challenge himself, and contribute to the betterment of life for others. Apparently he had enjoyed some aspects of teaching.
“And what do you do now, Miss Granger?”
The question caught her a bit off guard; he’d been talking about how a custom Earl Grey blend he’d made for his own enjoyment had spawned the idea of putting his potion skills to use in a subtle but accessible way, and had cautiously started up the shop. Now, his gaze was turned on her full force, clearly expecting an answer.
“Nothing, anymore.” The answer huffed out of her rather quickly, and as his brow furrowed she rushed to explain. “I was working as an Arithmancy assistant in the new Muggle Liaison department at the Ministry, but I quit today because…” she examined the teacup in her hand, searching for the words. “Well, because I’d had a horrible day wherein nothing went right and to top it all off my boss reminded me once more that he’s a clueless oaf with the imagination of a hermit crab.”
She sheepishly took the final sip of her tea, calming herself before she continued. “I tried for years to make headway, to make a name for myself. But he was promoted last year and after my divorce, it seemed like anything I proposed was dismissed out of hand. I guess the Golden Girl was only worthwhile so long as she had the backing of the rest of the Golden Trio.”
Snape snorted. “I’ve rarely known you to be sulky.” He drained his own cup, knocking on the table once more and prompting it to be cleared. “Though I suppose I’ve hardly known you at all.” He considered her again.
“Well you were my teacher after all. And you certainly had enough on your plate.”
“Indeed.” Snape stood slowly, pulling his coat on before once more stopping to meet her eyes. “Miss Granger, while I may not have known you personally in years past, I do know your abilities have few equals. Do I understand that you will be seeking employment in the near future?”
She nodded slowly. “I suppose I will. I want to… I need to find something with purpose. Maybe I’ll reach out to Charlie, see if there are any opportunities on the Dragon Reserve for a number cruncher.” She laughed a bit bitterly and stood, shoving her arms into her coat as well.
“How about something closer to home?”
When she looked up at him, he appeared more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him.
“That is, I’ve been looking to grow the business, and I had considered taking on a partner. While I enjoy the art and creativity of brewing and blending, my skills in Arithmancy are not as developed as I’d like.”
“You’d have me on as a partner?”
It was then that she witnessed something she had never before seen, regardless of the face he was wearing: Snape blushed. It was so faint that it could have been a trick of the light, had it not happened so quickly. The knowledge that Severus Snape's ears blushed as well as his face distracted her for a moment from what might have been the cause.
She felt a matching heat rise to her own face as the realisation struck her. Unfortunately, with it, and the comforting effect of the tea, came words . "A business partner! Obviously. Sorry. Although, if today is anything to go off of, I'm sure we'll get on better than I would have expected. You already know all the quirks that tend to put people off of me. And you already know we like the same books, since you apparently gave half of mine to me and—"
“We could agree to a trial period," Snape replied, and Hermione found herself wondering if the tinge of color from his ears had simply migrated to her own, "if that would suit.”
Her mind clung to the idea, racing down paths of possibility. The prospect was exciting and had a lot of potential. She really did think he would be far more tolerable than her former co-workers had been. And she really didn't want to move to Romania. But the ease with which the words had fallen from her a moment ago had passed, leaving her only able to issue a nod in response.
"After that, perhaps we could look into expanding our partnership," he added with a smirk.
It made sense, professionally. Personally, too, of course—she inhaled deeply to force down the urge to blush once more; she couldn’t think about that now, not when he was right in front of her! Strictly business thoughts for now, Hermione. Tea was a natural product which had effects even muggles enjoyed, but could be brewed strategically to enhance magical qualities as well. His business had the rare opportunity to expand across both sides of the divide. Practical consideration needed to be made, of course.
“As a—a business partnership, what breakdown of profits are you thinking?”
“As it’s my business and I hold the majority of risk, I think an 80/20 split with a set stipend would be fair, don’t you?”
“70/30 and you’ve got a deal, with the caveat that, as the business will grow and change over time, we renegotiate terms every two years.”
“Acceptable.” He extended his hand to her, holding in it her shrunken belongings. She hadn’t even noticed he’d still had them. Giving him a small, sheepish smile, she took and pocketed them.
“I still default to the Muggle way sometimes.”
“As do I. I’m of the opinion that it lends to one’s creativity.”
They stopped at the door and he extended his hand once more. “I suggest you take the week to regroup from your last position, and we can meet Monday to discuss in more detail?”
She shook his hand, struggling not to react to the small jolt of static electricity their hands created. Something in the back of her mind marveled that for all the time she’d known him, in all the years spend in classes and Order meetings, she’d never once touched him. His hand was warm and firm, calluses here and there from brewing. It was…nice. It felt like…well, like potential. The lingering way he held it, as though reluctant to let go, made her certain he felt the same.
As they parted and wished each other a good day, she couldn’t help but reflect that her whole life had been shaped by him, by his role. By his hands. His hands had touched her life long before she’d ever had the opportunity to touch him.
Something in her hoped to do so again. She was looking forward to Monday. So many things had gone wrong today, but all in all, she felt right for the first time in a long time.