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The ticking of her wall clock had started to irritate her. She’d paced the length of her apartment more times than she cared to count, trying to wear herself out so that sleep would come. It was one of those rare nights where Hermione found herself wide awake in the twilight hours. It had been nearly twenty years since the Battle of Hogwarts, but some nights she found herself haunted by an anxiety decades out of place. It kept her awake, no matter how much she convinced herself that she wasn’t in danger of anything other than oversleeping. Unfortunately, logic never seemed to win the argument on nights like this. The clock chimed the hour, informing her it was two am.
After a certain point, she knew it was time to give up and resign herself to the fact that slumber was a lost cause. With that resignation, came the desire to not waste it. If she was awake, she might as well get some chores done that she’d be too tired to do tomorrow. The nearly full laundry basket was first on her list of things she had planned on tackling in the morning. She’d be less frustrated that she couldn’t sleep if she wasn’t constantly glancing at her empty bed, so the change of scenery to the downstairs launderette might help.
Doing a quick pass over the flat, she gathered her towels and other items to be washed, throwing them into the basket with her washing liquid. Hermione grabbed the book she’d been reading before bed, assuming it would be empty and peaceful enough to finish it while she sat downstairs.
The trek down the four flights was silent, as she assumed most if not all of the other residents in the building were asleep. She tried not to be envious. Hermione pushed the door to the launderette open with her shoulder as she balanced the basket on her hip.
To her surprise, she found it wasn’t empty.
A tall man had his back to her as he watched a spinning dryer, jet black hair draped down past his shoulders. He had not reacted to her entering, and she couldn’t tell if he’d even heard her. He could have had headphones in for all she knew.
A strange feeling of deja vu came over her as if she knew the man. But she didn’t know any neighbors with black hair, so she dismissed it. Walking over to the washing machines, Hermione took the one farthest from the dryers, giving the man his space.
She began to sort her laundry into whites, darks, and linen, until she suddenly realized that with it being so early in the morning, she could run all her washes simultaneously. Something she rarely got to do when washing on a busy Saturday. Typically, she had to wait to even get a machine and then had to stand guard to make sure someone didn’t take her wash out and put theirs in its place. Maybe her sleepless night was a blessing in disguise.
Halfway through loading the washers, she had the feeling that she was being watched, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She glanced over to the other occupant of the launderette, only to meet familiar black eyes staring at her. Shock fell over her like a bucket of ice water and she took in a breath in surprise.
Severus Snape was staring at her, arms crossed over a black button-up shirt.
Surely she was seeing things.
Blinking, she shook her head and opened her eyes again, but he was still there.
Hermione considered maybe it was a doppelganger—someone else who looked incredibly like her former professor—but the obvious recognition in his eyes and the clearly visible scars under his jaw running down under his collar defeated that idea.
Why was Severus Snape in her launderette at two-thirty in the morning?
She’d been standing there—shell shocked—staring for far too long, with her arms half extended into the washing machine. Regaining her senses, Hermione decided to complete that task before doing anything else.
Starting the washers, she turned back toward him to see that he was still looking at her with an inscrutable expression. She stared back, not sure what she should say or how to address him, or why he was there. An uneasy silence stretched between them, with only his dryer and her washing machines making any sound at all.
It was definitely Snape, even though he looked fuller in the face and with a healthier complexion, there was no doubt in her mind. Questions filled her mind, but she couldn’t get one out before the next was taking its place. She ran through a million reasons why he was there, each less likely than the next. It had been nineteen years since she’d seen him at least, so it was unlikely he was there for her .
“What are you doing here, Miss Granger?” Snape asked, breaking the awkward silence first.
Hermione’s shock was dispelled by the tone of his question, as he acted as if she was the one that had no business here. “I could ask you the same. Why are you in my building?”
“Your building?” His eyes widened with surprise briefly as he glanced toward the launderette door. “I wasn’t aware we had a new resident.”
“I’m not a new resident—I’ve lived here for years,” she disputed his insinuation and then realized what he just said. There was no way he lived in the same building as her, and she didn’t know it. “What do you mean ‘we had a new resident’?”
“You have lived in this building for years?” Snape didn’t seem to believe her.
“I’ve lived here since 2014—almost six years,” she explained.
He uncrossed his arms, his eyes searching her face. “How have our paths not crossed in six years?”
That was a good question, one Hermione didn’t have an answer for. She wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, she knew only a handful of neighbors on her floor and mostly kept to herself. She knew he didn’t live on her floor. “I’m not sure, we must live on different floors.”
“Obviously,” he agreed sarcastically, “I would know if you lived on the sixth floor.”
Well, that answered her next question. The only person she knew about who lived on the sixth floor was ‘ the man in 602', who had a reputation for being intimidating, a stickler for the rules, and had neighbors convinced he was not someone to bother.
“I live on the third floor—wait, are you the man in 602?” Hermione asked.
Snape looked at her with suspicious concern as he drawled, “Why?”
“I was warned not to cross the man in 602 because he is intimidating, covered in scars, and those who have bothered him in the past have regretted it.” The fact that he didn’t immediately deny it made her laugh, because that meant all the stories she’d heard about 602 were actually about him. She covered her hand with her mouth, trying to not be rude in her amused surprise. “I had just assumed it was a cranky old man, I would have never guessed it was you.”
“It seems my reputation precedes me, Miss Granger,” he said, obviously not as amused as she was.
Hermione cringed as he called her by her surname. It took her back to her school days and she didn’t like it. “Could you maybe not call me that? It makes me feel like I'm at Hogwarts again. My name is Hermione, please call me that.”
She recognized the surprise on his face as she told him how she wanted to be addressed before his facial features relaxed.
“I suppose that would be reasonable to call you Hermione,” he seemed to pause as if reflecting on it.
There was a wash of warmth through her hearing him say her name. Likely because from him it was akin to being treated as an equal. If he was going to extend her the respect she’d asked for, she would give it to him in return. She still wasn’t sure how he wanted to be addressed. “Do you prefer Mister Snape, Snape, or something else?”
He shook his head. “Do not call me Mister Snape, especially after insinuating that you thought I was a cranky old man. You may call me by my given name.”
“Severus,” she said almost apprehensively. There was something a little exciting about calling him by his name, making the warmth she felt move through her limbs. “It’s nice to see you and know that you are my neighbor, and that I shouldn’t be as concerned about ‘the man in 602.’ ”
“You most certainly should be. Just because we are familiar doesn’t mean I will tolerate nonsense from you,” Severus corrected her sharply, recrossing his arms. “Since we’ve had no issues to date, even so far as to not know we are neighbors, I expect we won’t have any now that we are.”
Hermione was taken aback, as the tone of the conversation changed. “I wasn’t planning on any nonsense. I don’t pose any risk to your living here as you have.”
“Then I think this is a fine arrangement,” he replied, glancing back at his dryer momentarily.
When he turned back toward her, he paused, glancing over her before relaxing his arms.
Silence settled between them again. Hermione glanced around the room, trying to think of what to say next or if his silence was a dismissal. She was grossly underprepared for this interaction. It wasn’t as if she expected to see him, and while he seemed conversational at first, he’d just snapped at her and she didn’t want a repeat.
The launderette was not where she’d expected she’d run into him.
This brought another question to mind, looking around to ensure there was truly no one else around, as she had no intention of breaking the statute of secrecy. Hermione glanced at him curiously. “I know this might be a little hypocritical, but may I ask why you are using Muggle means to wash your laundry?”
“It would be very hypocritical, considering where we currently are and the three machines you currently have running.” He seemed amused, one eyebrow arching as he glanced past her to the three machines she was using.
“I know.” A nervous chuckle left her. “I find my clothing doesn’t feel as clean when washed by other means, and I wanted to know if you found that too.”
“It is a habit from when I was on house arrest,” he replied, a dark look crossing his features.
Hermione had forgotten that he’d had his wand taken for some time. She suddenly regretted asking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up—”
“And when my wand was returned to me, then I found the laundry didn’t feel as clean,” he interrupted her apology.
“Oh, so it’s not just me.” Feeling left-footed, she didn’t press to apologize again.
“No,” he replied just as the tumble dryer buzzed, his laundry coming to a halt, “it is not just you.”
Severus grabbed his basket that had been tucked under one of the folding tables and moved to gather his washing.
She assumed the conversation was done then, as obviously he wasn’t going to stay just to chat with her, and she’d put her foot in her mouth enough for one morning. “Well, I’m going to read my book.”
He acknowledged her with an ‘mhm’ as he opened the dryer door.
Hermione grabbed said book and moved over to the chairs by the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The quiet suddenly felt awkward, and she tried to start reading but couldn’t focus. She glanced up as he shut the dryer and stepped toward the door with his basket.
Severus stopped at the door, glancing at her again.
Unsure of what to do, or why she felt so off-kilter, she smiled expectantly at him.
“Goodbye,” he paused, “Hermione.”
“Goodnight, Severus,” she replied, ignoring that her face suddenly felt warm.
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She’d been distracted all week. Ever since her late-night laundry escapade and finding out that Severus lived in the same building. She kept replaying the chance meeting from that moment she saw his back—when she felt the sense of deja vu—to the way he said her name when he told her goodbye. For such a short accidental encounter, thinking about it took up a lot of her time.
It was Friday night again, and she couldn’t sleep, but this time it was because she wondered if he was down there doing his laundry.
Was Friday night his laundry day?
If she took her half-full basket down there at midnight, would she run into him again?
Did she want to run into him again?
The last one she could answer, but the answer itself made her self-conscious. Hermione wanted to meet him again, she wanted to get a chance to speak to him. There were a million questions on her mind about him and what he’d been doing. And there was also this tiny part of her that wanted to feel the excitement she felt in talking to him again.
When the clock chimed one in the morning, she couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted to see if he was down there and talk to him. Gathering her laundry, she glanced around the flat and thought she’d better take something to read just in case he wasn’t there. Hermione snatched the copy of Practical Magic she’d not yet read, and tucked it under her arm.
She took the stairs quicker than was typical, anticipation fueling her descent. When she reached the ground floor, she realized her heart was pounding, and she took a deep breath to calm down. She was just going to do her laundry, and maybe see Severus, she told herself.
Pushing the laundry door open, she felt the corner of her mouth tug into a smile at seeing him standing calmly in front of the washers.
“Back again?” Severus asked, “We haven't run into each other once over six years, but now twice in two weeks?”
Hermione shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get my washing done again. It was nice not to fight for access to machines.”
“I see,” he replied, his gaze turning back toward his laundry.
Moving to the washers, she began to sort her laundry into two of them, feeling the heaviness of the silence that fell between them again. With all the questions she had thought about this week, it seemed none wanted to be summoned. Once she started the machines, she tucked her basket under the table and leaned against it. Pulling the magazine from under her arm, she opened it, turning to the featured interview, hoping they spelled the name of her firm right this time. If she looked casual, he wouldn’t think she’d just come down here to see if he was down here.
“ Practical Magic ?” Severus’ voice dripped with obvious judgment. “I assumed you read periodicals where they didn’t only interview idiots.”
His words stung, and Hermione didn’t look up at him as she replied. “I’m reading the interview I gave their editors this month.”
“Perhaps their vetting process has improved.” He cleared his throat, and she could feel him staring at her again. “It wasn’t my intention to insult you, my apologies.”
Hermione glanced at him over the magazine, trying to hide the shock that he’d so easily apologized for his words.
“That’s okay, you didn’t know,” she accepted, trying to read again, even though she was so distracted that the words were now gibberish to her.
“What was the interview for?” he asked her after a pause.
“I was discussing the recent developments in the research I’m conducting on compound runes and how they can help us adapt modern technology,” Hermione closed the magazine over her finger, lowering it so that she could talk to him. “I don’t know if you know, but I transitioned out of public service a few years ago, and now do R&D for a private firm.”
“I wasn’t aware,” he replied, shifting so that his body was facing her rather than the machines. “That sounds like something more fitting for you than politics.”
“It really is,” Hermione agreed. Suddenly one of the questions that had been evading her returned to her mind. “What do you do now?”
“Inventory,” he said flatly.
His answer confused her. “What?”
“I am the inventory manager for a private apothecary,” Severus explained.
“Oh, that's not what I expected at all,” Hermione confessed.
His posture changed, and he crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes slightly narrowed. “Pray tell, what did you expect?”
A great deal of her time this week was spent speculating on what he was doing with himself, but she’d never considered he’d be working for someone else. “I assumed you had your own business, perhaps in brewing or alchemy, perhaps consulting.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint.” Severus drawled, giving off the clear impression that he’d taken insult with what she’d said.
It wasn’t her intention to insult him, and she put her fingertips to her forehead, frowning. “That didn’t come out right, I am not disappointed and I am sorry for the way it sounded,” she paused, trying to think of how to salvage the conversation. “Do you like it? Doing inventory, that is?”
He gave a slight shrug, accompanied by a noncommittal hum. “It pays my bills and it is mindless work. I don’t detest it.”
“That’s something,” Hermione replied. “Nothing is worse than working a job you hate.”
“I am well aware of that,” Severus agreed, visibly relaxing. “Do you like what you do?”
Hermione confessed she loved what she was doing now, and from there the conversation continued, both discussing their jobs and how they’d gotten there over the past two decades.
He’d asked if he could see the magazine she’d brought to read the interview. She couldn’t help but smile when he complimented her on it after reading, the warmth lingering on her face.
When his dryer was done, he stayed, folding his clothing into his basket as they continued talking while hers dried. And they continued the conversation up the stairs, speaking quietly until they said goodbye on her floor.
A flutter of giddiness filled her chest when he said her name again as he said goodbye and that he hoped to see her next week.
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“Was that your neighbor who decided to set off the fire alarm this evening?” Severus asked her as she walked into the launderette the next week.
With a deep sigh, she nodded, setting her basket on the table to start sorting her clothing. “Yes, my next-door neighbor. She has an absolutely useless boyfriend, and apparently she’d asked him to watch dinner while she showered and he took a nap.”
“I hope she made him eat the charred remains,” Severus replied wryly.
Hermione laughed. “I do too.”
A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he turned to her. “Is he a rather rotund man? Short, and has the look of an empty house with the lights on?”
His words rekindled the laughter that she’d just calmed down, as Severus had described him perfectly. “Yeah, that’s Christopher.”
“I believe he keeps leaving his trash beside the bins in the foyer, instead of taking it out to the skip.” Severus’ expression soured. “I have complained about him several times in the past.”
Hermione started her washers, nodding. “I wouldn’t doubt it, I’ve heard her begging him to take out the trash before, I don’t doubt he’s half-arsed it.”
Severus snapped his attention to her as if he’d made a realization. “Was your apartment damaged by his idiocy?”
“No, it was a contained fire, thankfully, just a lot of smoke,” Hermione explained.
“That is a relief,” Severus said with what sounded like genuine concern.
Her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling as she thanked him for his concern.
She thought for a moment she’d seen the smallest glimpse of pink on his cheeks too, but she had to have imagined it.
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Hermione was anxious that he wasn’t going to show up when she arrived at the launderette before him. She’d considered not putting in her laundry and going up to see if he was alright, but she was sure that would give away the feelings she was trying to keep under wraps, more than just waiting to see if he did.
Halfway through her wash, he arrived, his basket in hand. “A late-night shipment that could not wait until tomorrow held me up.”
“I was wondering.” She tried not to look as excited as she felt, and she glanced at the crossword she’d been putting very little effort into to conceal the smile on her face.
“Have you read the newest edition of The Transformative Alchemist ?” Severus asked as he put his own laundry into the washing machine.
“I have not,” she confessed, “I didn’t know there was a new edition out yet.”
“I brought you a copy,” he explained, pulling the book out of the basket and handing it to her. “I had an extra and thought you might find it interesting.”
‘Oh, that was so thoughtful of you,” Hermione exclaimed as she saw it was a newly published edition, pulling the book to her chest. “I’ll read it this week.”
“You don’t have to get it back to me so you can take your time,” he told her, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I’d be interested to know your thoughts when you finish it.”
“Of course,” she agreed, “thank you so much.”
Severus was staring at her again, and there was a pause before he nodded. “I am glad you like it.”
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Severus did not look happy when she walked into the launderette.
“Are you alright?” she asked, setting her washing to the side so that she could approach him.
“I have encountered Christopher, yet again, leaving his rubbish inside,” he replied, glaring at the door she’d just entered. His face lost its soured expression as he looked down at her.
“Oh, did he survive the encounter?” Hermione wondered aloud. Was that the reason she heard a door slam next door a bit before she’d come down to meet him?
“He did, though he will not be leaving his rubbish about in the future.” Severus smirked devilishly.
Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight, and she almost choked around the words, trying to pass it off as laughing. “What did you do?”
His eyes searched her face, concern behind black eyes before he replied. “I merely advised him that if I found him continuing to leave his rubbish where others had to trip over it, I would be putting him in the skip for the lorry to take away in the morning.”
“Severus,” she actually chuckled. She could only imagine how he’d said it in such a way that a grown man would have been afraid. “I hope he listens.”
“We shall see,” he replied with humor in his voice.
The quiet fell over them again, but it had lost some of the heaviness of the previous nights. Once her washer was spinning, she turned to see that he was watching her thoughtfully, a ghost of a smile on his face.
“What?” she asked him curiously.
He seemed to snap out of his thoughts as he cleared his throat to speak, “Was your hypothesis correct? Did your study turn out as you hoped?”
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The weeks went on like this: Hermione switched her laundry day from every two weeks on a Saturday afternoon to every week on a Friday in the early morning hours, just so she could see him. They exchanged books and ideas, and he seemed to become more knowledgeable about her work every week.
After almost three months, she struggled against the fact that she’d developed something more than a crush on him. There was no denying how she felt about him. He excited her, intrigued her, treated her like an intellectual equal but also as just a person. He didn’t hero worship her or make her bigger than she really was, which was so refreshing from how she was treated in her daily life. Sometimes she dreamed about him in ways beyond the platonic. Laundry night became the best part of her week, and seeing him gave her such a rush of glee that she had issues concealing it.
The only reason she hadn’t said anything was that she was certain it would ruin everything. She didn’t want to damage the friendship they’d developed, and she was afraid he’d reject her because he didn’t see her that way. She’d sooner say nothing at all than lose these late laundry nights with him.
Juggling her laundry basket and the small picnic basket she’d brought down to the launderette, she had issues getting the door open.
Severus noticed and opened the door for her, glancing at her full hands before extending his hand to offer help. “What did you bring with you?”
“Thank you, I brought something for us.” Hermione handed him the picnic basket and carried her laundry into the room. Following the routine of getting the wash on, she then turned to see he was still holding the basket and glancing at her with curiosity.
Hermione took the basket from him, setting it on one of the folding tables as she opened the top of it. “I had the urge to bake, and I made a bit more than I should. Would you like a lemon poppyseed muffin?”
“Are they poisoned?” he teased her with amusement as he reached out his hand.
“No, that would be too many additional steps,” she laughed as she pulled one of the muffins and placed it into his extended hand.
“These are still warm,” Severus looked at the baked good and then suspiciously up at her, “You were baking at midnight?”
“I really wanted muffins,” she gave a small shrug, trying to conceal the fact that she might have made them with sharing with him in mind. She pulled out a thermos from the basket and two cups. “I also brought tea.”
“Muffins and tea?” he sounded pleasantly surprised. “You better be careful, Hermione. Someone might be fooled into thinking you like me.”
“I do like you Severus,” Hermione confessed before she realized what she’d just said. She felt her face heat up as she looked away from him. “Uh—I mean—I like spending time with you! Oh— that’s not much better is it?” She found herself stumbling for some way to make this sound better so that he wouldn’t just get upset or think she was trying to force her feelings on him. “I don’t mean to—I’m not—I know you don’t—I don’t mean to make this weird. Can we pretend I didn’t say anything?” She turned to look at him, hoping he wasn’t angry.
His eyes were wide as he stared at her, his voice slightly higher than normal. “If that is what you prefer.”
Great. She’d put her foot in her mouth, and now he wasn’t going to want to see her again. She had to try to salvage this. “I just—I enjoy your friendship, and I didn’t mean to put that out there and ruin it.”
“Ruin it?” he asked her, tilting his head slightly as if he didn’t believe her.
“Obviously,” she rattled out as she set the thermos down, rubbing her now sweating hands against the front of her trousers. “There's no way you share the sentiment. Most of the time, I’m not even sure if you consider me a friend, or are just humoring me.”
Severus set down the muffin he was holding, straightening his posture.
“Hermione, stop.”
She rubbed her hands up her face and through her hair, taking in a deep breath before looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, I can leave—”
“No, you won’t,” he interrupted, holding his hand out to stop her.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s nothing you have to worry about, and I’ll never bring it up again,” she promised, feeling like a prized idiot.
Severus closed his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose, before he looked at her again. His voice came out in a deep rumbling whisper. “I find myself looking forward to late-night laundry with you every week, Hermione. To the point that I keep a washing schedule when I never did before — just so that I won’t miss an evening with you. I am not humoring you, I also enjoy your company.”
Her jaw dropped, and she stared up at him dumbly. There is no way that he meant it the same way she did. “So you like my company, as a friend ? You don’t like me like I like you? Do you?”
“I —you are—” He let out a nervous huff, glancing away for a moment. “Forgive me, I am not good with this sort of thing,” Severus explained. “I confess that my thoughts have wandered to the possibility of—of—of how lovely you are and that I am—that I have grown fond of you in a more than friendly manner.”
“Oh,” was all she could say, her chest feeling tight as if she couldn’t take in a breath. Severus felt the same way about her. He looked forward to late-night laundry with her as much as she did with him. She felt a little lightheaded as she took in what he had said.
Severus continued, “I assumed it was you, Hermione, who was not interested in anything more than friendship.”
“I—every week—” Stumbling over her words, Hermione reached out her hand to touch his forearm, to reassure him that it wasn’t the case, and to reassure herself that this was real and not a dream. “I started changing clothes more often so that I can come see you every week. I’ve become very fond of you and I’ve been trying to hide it, while still trying to see you every chance I can.”
Severus’ eyes fell on her hand, resting on his forearm. “Well, it seems there is only one thing to do now,” he spoke softly.
“What is that?” Hermione asked nervously, starting to pull her hand back in case she’d been too forward.
He stopped her, placing his free hand gently on top of hers as their eyes met. “Hermione, would you like to see me somewhere else, outside of the launderette and maybe at a more reasonable hour?”
“Like a date?” If it weren’t for the warmth of his hand on hers and the pounding of her heart in her ears, she would have believed she was dreaming. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I am asking if you’d like to go on a date with me, Hermione,” he repeated, saying her name so softly that she was sure her knees were going to give out.
Hermione swallowed hard and nodded vigorously, “I’d like that, Severus.”
He took a step closer to her, gazing down at her, and she could clearly see the slight blush on his face this close. Severus took her hand in his, gently lifting it to his face.
Hermione felt chills go through her whole body as she took in a surprised breath, curling her fingers around his.
Holding her gaze, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand tenderly. “I would love to take you on a date,” he whispered.
She had no idea what it was she said to him, something came out of her mouth, but she was no longer in control of her brain or mouth. Whatever she said, he chuckled, and she wanted to say it again to have him make that sound over and over again.
It seemed like five or ten minutes before she had regained her senses, even though it was likely only a moment that she was standing there staring at him. He let her hand go, and she took a step back, leaning against the folding table.
Severus picked up the muffin he’d set down, glancing between her and it. “Did you really have the urge to bake at midnight?”
Breathless, she shook her head. “I might have made them just for you because you mentioned you liked lemon-flavored cakes.”
“I see,” he said, before taking a bite of it. He swallowed and smiled at her. “It is delicious.”
“Thank you,” she grinned, his compliment meaning more to her in that moment than any other accolade she’d ever received.
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