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Hermione hesitated as she stood outside the new bookshop that had appeared in her neighborhood overnight, as if by magic.
As a child, so much of her identity had been wrapped up in books and her peculiar affinity towards them. Her reputation as a bookworm had been well earned, and it was something she wore with pride even when it was held against her. However, as she had made her way through adulthood, she found more and more that she didn’t have the energy to read. She would routinely check out stacks of books from the library which would mock her until the day they were due and she dutifully returned them otherwise untouched. After a while, not reading became a habit, and the longer she was away from it, the harder it was to return.
Logically, she should turn and walk away to the market like she had planned. It felt irresponsible to spend money on books that she wouldn’t read when she could do the same for free. She was saving up to buy a place of her own and it felt frivolous to spend money unnecessarily.
Hermione sighed. She was so tired of being responsible.
The bell on the door jingled above her head as she pushed it open. The store was covered in bookshelves made of rich wood, reminding her inexplicably of Flourish and Blotts, and the sight made her nostalgic for those trips to Diagon Alley to fetch her school things. It felt like worlds of possibilities were opening up in front of her back then.
Pulling herself back to the present, she let herself begin to browse, meticulously going through aisle by aisle assessing the collection. Whoever ran this shop had a rather eclectic taste but it was clear the collection was meticulously curated. About halfway through her perusing, Hermione noticed a little cafe section in the back. A student was typing away furiously on a laptop in one corner, and a cluster of middle aged women were knitting perched on extremely comfy looking couches. Hermione smiled at this small sign of community just beginning to form in the new space.
Nearly an hour passed before Hermione finally completed her circuit of the shop, not due to its size but because of the many times she had to stop and look at yet another book. She was tempted to buy nearly all of them but knew that she would regret it later. At last, she settled on two—making a list of the rest for reference—and made her way to the queue formed in front of the counter. Keeping one eye on the line, Hermione cracked open one of the books, already feeling the tempting feeling of being drawn into a good story that she so missed. She shuffled forward periodically with only quick glances up to ensure she didn’t plow into anyone. At last she was at the front, so she reluctantly closed the book and began to fish for her wallet in her bag.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the man at the counter asked,
Hermione’s head jerked up in shock. She locked eyes with the man she’d last seen laying dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. For a split moment, panic flashed across his face before he quickly schooled his features.
Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he’d aged particularly well for a dead man.
“I wasn’t searching for anything in particular,” Hermione replied once she found her voice, hoping he would get the double meaning. She didn’t know how he ended up here, but she felt it was important that he knew she was not hunting him down. “Though I think I found some really special things. It’s a really lovely shop. Is it yours?”
Snape nodded. “It is.”
Hermione smiled, trying to force as much reassurance as possible into the gesture. “That’s really wonderful.”
Someone cleared their throat behind her. “Do you mind?” the man behind her asked impatiently. “You can flirt on your own time.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t,” she glanced at Snape. “I wasn’t.”
“Obviously,” Snape sneered, but his venom was clearly aimed behind her. “Sir, if you want speed over quality customer service, I suggest you take your business to Waterstone’s.” Hermione bit back a chuckle. The man seemed annoyed but apparently wanted the book in his hand enough to stay put and wisely say nothing more.
As she paid for her books, Snape’s hand brushed against hers as he took the cash. Hermione found strangely that she didn’t mind.
“Come again soon,” Snape told her, handing her purchase back to her in a paper bag. To her surprise, he seemed to genuinely mean it.
“Count on it.”
The following Saturday, Hermione made sure to run all of her errands the moment the stores opened. She wanted to get the mundane out of the way so she could get back to the bookshop. Her mind had made the trip back there every day, breaking only to get lost in the pages of her new books, which she had stayed up far too late to finish. The sleep deprivation was worth dusting the cobwebs off her reading ability. It felt like a homecoming, like she was rediscovering some core part of herself that she’d allowed herself to forget in the chaos of adulthood.
She was also desperately curious about the proprietor.
Hermione knew she couldn’t afford to scare him off. She would have to mind her tongue next time she saw him. If she saw him. She half expected the entire storefront to be vacant when she arrived, as if the entire thing had been some sort of hallucination.
And yet, there it was, same as she remembered. Hermione let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding and made her way inside. She was itching to explore, but she found herself winding her way to the register. Better, she reasoned, to know where Snape was, so as not to be taken unawares again.
Alas, her cunning plan was for naught. A young man, no more than twenty, was behind the till today. Unlike last week, there was no line, so Hermione quickly made her way to the front before she could overthink her actions.
“Excuse me, is the owner in?” she asked politely.
The young man gave her a dispassionate once over, but Hermione had the distinct impression she was being intensely analyzed. “He’s unavailable. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, thank you,” she replied hastily, backing away. “I’ll just browse a bit.” It wasn’t hard to get lost in the stacks, fully engrossed in the books before her as the rest of the world around her faded to a blur. It felt indulgent, letting herself get lost like this, but she savored it all the same.
Suddenly her leg came in sharp contact with a hard surface, and a number of things happened at once. A startled cry came from above her head. Hermione looked up to see Snape falling from the ladder she had bumped into. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, her body breaking his fall as he landed right on top of her and the top of the ladder grazing her arm. Snape was breathing heavily from the shock as their eyes met.
“I’m so sorry,” Hermione gasped.
Snape sighed. “You’d better be more careful, Granger,” he told her as he gingerly pushed himself upright. Hermione winced. “Mr. Waterstones might really get the wrong idea about us.”
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, relieved that he didn’t seem overly upset that she’d nearly caused him grievous injury. “We can’t have that, now can we,” she remarked.
Snape frowned at her, and for a moment, Hermione thought that she had misread the situation.
“You’re bleeding.”
Hermione turned to look where he pointed, seeing a gash across her skin where the ladder hit her. “Serves me right for not paying attention to where I was going,” she replied sheepishly.
“Come,” Snape commanded, pushing himself to a standing position and offering a hand to help her rise. “That needs looking after.”
Hermione shook her head. “I’m fine, really.” She glanced around furtively and lowered her voice. “I have some dittany in my bag, I can take care of it in the bathroom or something.”
“Nonsense,” Snape replied. “I live above the shop. It’s much more…private up there.” He hesitated. “Perhaps we could speak?”
“Of course,” Hermione breathed, letting him lead her to the back of the shop and up a narrow flight of stairs. The room they entered was a mix of kitchen and living area, and felt unexpectedly cozy. Snape directed her to the kitchen table and began pulling bottles from cupboards before turning back to her.
“This should work faster than the dittany,” he told her, handing her the smallest bottle. “Should hurt less too.”
Hermione smiled as she withdrew the dropper. “Your creation?”
“I try not to use too much magic,” he admitted. “Although sometimes a bit of dabbling is necessary.”
Hermione quickly applied the solution, and within seconds her arm was as good as new.
“Thank you,” she told him, handing it back. “What are those for?” she asked, nodding to the other bottles.
Snape’s lips quirked, as if amused. “Drinking,” he said simply, placing a bottle of butterbeer in front of her. “It’s not laced with anything, I can assure you.”
“How comforting,” Hermione replied sardonically, though she had to admit the thought had crossed her mind. She uncapped the bottle and took a tentative sip. Warmth flowed through her body, and she allowed herself to relax.
“I’m living a very different kind of life than the last time you saw me,” Snape told her, all joking gone from his features.
“I can see that,” Hermione replied earnestly. “You look really well. Especially…” she bit her tongue.
Snape snorted. “Especially considering I’m legally dead?” he finished for her.
“Essentially, yes,” Hermione admitted. “You don’t owe me any explanation,” she added hastily.
“And yet, your curiosity is burning, I’m sure.”
Hermione shrugged, fiddling with the label of the bottle. “You didn’t ask me to barge into your new life. I can live with unanswered questions, if I must.”
Snape gave her a tight smile. “I appreciate your discretion, but I will put you out of your misery. It’s simple, really. I knew from the moment I realized Potter was to be sacrificed that I was also expendable. So I prepared for any possibility. Dumbledore seemed so concerned about the snake that I knew I had to account for an attack from that angle. I didn’t go near that thing without taking a prophylactic antivenom.” He rubbed the still visible scar on his neck. “I didn’t account for just how much blood loss there would be, but it was enough to keep me hanging on until I could regain my strength.”
“We always figured it was something like that,” Hermione admitted. “Hoped, really, when we went back and there was no body.” She hesitated. “Harry made sure your name was cleared. There’s nothing hanging over you.”
“I know,” Snape winced. “It was all over the papers.”
“Well, they don’t need to know about all of this,” Hermione said firmly. “And they won’t hear about it from me.” She hesitated. “No one will.”
Snape arched an eyebrow. “Not even Potter?”
“Not if you don’t want me to. You clearly could have come back at any time but chose not to. The least I can do is respect that choice.”
To her surprise, Snape sighed heavily. “Not much of a choice, really. Not much there to go back for.”
“I get it.”
Snape snorted, taking a swig of his butterbeer. “You really don’t. But that’s no matter. I’m glad for it. Thank you for your discretion.”
Hermione finished her drink and stood to leave. “I’ll be off. Thank you. For everything. And don’t worry; you don’t have to worry about running into me here. I’ll steer clear of the shop.”
“Don’t you dare,” Snape warned, an echo of the stern features she knew so well dancing across his face, but the effect was spoiled by the playful glint in his eye. “I would be a fool to turn away Hermione Granger’s business. You probably will keep me afloat single handedly.”
Hermione grinned. Given what she saw on her previous trip, he was probably right.
“I’ll do my best.”
Going to the bookshop became a core part of Hermione’s weekly routine. She was buying books faster than she was reading them, but really, her purchases were only part of the appeal. Somewhere along the line after the ladder incident, Snape had turned into her friend Severus. At first, they kept their conversations brief, but soon he was inviting her up to his flat for a new experimental batch of matcha cookies and to discuss the latest book she’d finished.
Market research, he called it, but soon they began talking about far more than books.
It was strange, meeting someone you thought you already knew. It was a strange blend of fresh and familiar, and Hermione was quite enjoying it. Making new friends was challenging for her; she’d been burned enough times by people who just wanted to know her for her connections. It was nice, getting to know this man as Severus, knowing that he wanted nothing more from her than her continued discretion.
Logically, she knew he was still the same person who had been her teacher for six years. But Severus sometimes seemed like an entirely different person. Hell, she was an entirely different person. The war made her feel much older than nearly thirty. Still, she was convinced that he would only ever really see her as his former student, no matter how friendly they had become.
Hermione tried not to let it bother her. If friends were all they ever would be to each other…she would find a way to quiet the voice in her head that urged her to fight for more.
Hermione frowned, looking down at the small wrapped package in her hands. “Severus, what is this?”
“It’s called a birthday present,” he replied cheekily. Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was touched by the gesture. Their friendship was still so new that she hadn’t expected him to even know when her birthday was, let alone get her something.
“Thank you,” she managed, opening the parcel with shaking fingers. She pushed the brown paper aside and gasped. The green cover of the book was adorned by a silver peacock, which she reverently began to trace with her finger. “Is this…?”
“The peacock edition of Pride and Prejudice,” Severus told her. “I’m more a fan of Sense and Sensibility myself, but I remember you mentioned liking this one.”
“That was months ago!” she exclaimed. Severus shrugged.
“I was a spy, remember? You never know when a piece of information will prove useful.”
“You shouldn’t have. This must have cost a fortune!”
“I bought it in an auction lot,” he admitted, looking a bit sheepish. “Sometimes you find remarkable things in unexpected places.”
Hermione grinned. “Sort of like you then?”
“Your analysis, not mine.”
“Well, I’ll treasure it,” she told him earnestly, hugging the book to her chest.
I treasure you, she thought, but didn’t dare say.
“It feels like we never see you anymore,” Ron remarked, reaching across her for the bread basket.
“We see each other at work all the time,” Hermione reminded him, passing him the butter dish.
“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” he insisted.
“Perhaps we are just balancing out all those months we spent cooped up in a tent running around the countryside,” Hermione pointed out cheekily, reaching over and stealing a perfectly buttered half of a bun from Ron’s plate and took a massive bite. He glared at her, but they had been friends long enough to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.
“She has a point,” Neville pointed out. Ron rolled his eyes at his fiancé. “Hermione’s got every right not to spend all of her free time with her old school mates.”
“Maybe she’s spending time with her secret boyfriend,” Ginny proposed smugly as she sipped from a goblet of wine. Hermione clamped down her panic. She had been so careful. How did her friend know?
“What?” Harry exclaimed, and almost in unison, the whole table turned to look at Hermione.
“I do not have a secret boyfriend,” Hermione huffed. “If you must know, I found a new bookshop and it’s been taking up most of my spare time. Not to mention my paycheck.” There. It was the truth, just not the whole truth.
The lot of them had the good sense to look properly abashed. Except for Ginny, who continued to eye her suspiciously. Hermione sighed. They knew each other too well, and Ginny actually had a modicum of emotional intelligence.
“That does make a lot of sense,” Harry admitted finally, and the dinner settled into its normal friendly banter.
At the end of the evening, Ginny pulled Hermione aside.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she admitted. “What and who you do is none of my business.”
“Ginny!”
“There is someone though, yes?”
Hermione shook her head. “Just a new friendship.”
Ginny huffed doubtfully, sounding freakishly like her mother. “One that you want to be more?”
“One I am not interested in ruining by sharing unrequited feelings.”
“Then why all the subterfuge? Is whoever this is married? Because you deserve better than that, Hermione.”
“He’s not married,” Hermione assured her. “We’re just friends. I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want people jumping to the wrong conclusions,” she remarked pointedly.
“If you say so,” Ginny replied skeptically.
“I’m fine Ginny. Really, I am.”
“Then I’ll leave it alone. For now,” Ginny warned. “If it’s ever not fine…”
“I know where to find you,” Hermione assured her, giving her friend a hug.
“And you’re more than welcome to bring this…friend to the party, no matter the status of your relationship.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Hermione promised. “But it’s not likely. He’s a bit…shy.”
“That smells divine,” Hermione declared as she slipped out of her traveling cloak and hung it on the hooks by the door of Severus’ apartment. She put the key he’d given her back in her pocket, loving the gentle weight of it. She knew it meant nothing romantic, but she also knew that it signified a level of trust that Severus was not easily wont to give, and that felt good.
“It’s pasta,” he informed her, looking over his shoulder without stopping to stir the vat of sauce on the stove. “I hope that’s alright.”
“It’s perfect,” Hermione assured him. Without asking, she set the table and poured the wine he’d selected into two goblets as Severus brought the food to the table. They had settled into this comfortable routine, sharing a meal at least once a week if not more. There were moments, foolish moments, when Hermione imagined this as her daily life. Imagined a world where she didn’t let herself in as Severus’s friend but as his partner. She tried not to let herself dwell on impossible things, but she couldn’t deny the twinge of longing she felt in her stomach every time the thought crossed her mind.
Severus served the food onto their plates, then sat down across from her, lips tightly pursed.
“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked. “You seem…on edge.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought him nervous. “Listen, I…have a question for you.”
“You can ask me anything,” Hermione reminded him.
“Do you have plans for Christmas?” he asked, not meeting her eyes, as if bracing for a rejection. “I’m sure you must.”
“I do, actually,” Hermione told him, wincing. “I’ll be spending the day with my parents. And I just got invited to Weasley's for Christmas Eve.”
“Right,” Severus replied measuredly, clearly trying to hide his disappointment. “Of course you were.”
“I would happily invite you to join me,” Hermione told him hastily. “However, it would involve going public. At least where Harry’s concerned.”
Severus nodded. “I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time.”
Hermione did her best to hide her shock. From everything she’d seen from him, he enjoyed his voluntary separation from the wizarding world.
“Really? What’s changed?”
“You,” Severus said softly, and Hermione’s stomach flipped backwards.
“Me?”
“Turns out there was something for me to go back for after all.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Hermione demanded, trying to keep her hope at bay. “Once you do this, you can’t undo it.”
“Positively. You’re worth the risk, Hermione.” There was something vulnerable and intense in his eyes, and Hermione felt the lurch of confused hope in her stomach.
“Severus, what are you saying?”
He reached out across the table and took her hand. It felt warm and sure and Hermione thought she might melt on the spot.
“I’m saying that my life is brighter with you in it. I was happy before you walked into my bookshop, sure, but now…” He took a steadying breath. “At the risk of ruining our friendship…I selfishly want more.”
“What kind of more?” Hermione asked breathlessly.
“The kind of more where I lean over and kiss you and am utterly unbothered by the unseemly amount of garlic I foolishly put in the sauce tonight.” He looked terrified, clearly fearing that he had overstepped. Hermione knew she had to put him out of his misery quickly.
“That doesn’t sound selfish at all. Rather considerate, really.”
The hope in his eyes danced in time with the rapid beating of her heart. “Are we in agreement then?”
Hermione ginned, leaning in. “I think we are.”
“Last chance to change your mind,” Hermione reminded Severus as they stood at the edge of the security perimeter of the Burrow. The place was locked down nearly as tight as it was during the war now that Arthur was Minister of Magic.
Severus squeezed her hand, his warmth next to her in the cold night a comfortable reassurance. “I want to be here. It’s time. Besides, I can’t pass up a chance to show off my brilliant partner.”
Hermione grinned. “You’re in luck, they already love me.” She nudged into his shoulder with her own. “They’ll love you too, once they get to know who you are now.”
“I hope you’re right,” Severus sighed.
“I will be,” she replied confidently. “And in the event it isn’t, we know where the door is.”
Severus laughed. “You continue to amaze me.” He traced a finger down the side of her face, sending entirely inappropriate tingles down her spine. “Thank you for getting to know who I am now, and for seeing who we could be to each other.”
“That goes both ways, you know,” Hermione reminded him, pulling the invitation from her pocket and taking his hand.
“Come on,” she urged, holding the invitation to the security barrier. The magic absorbed the paper and then expanded around them both, pulling them into its protective embrace. They quickly made their way to the door, which bore a sign interesting guests to enter without knocking. “Ready for your grand entrance?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Severus sighed. Hermione gave his hand a squeeze, then let go, stepping forward to open the door.
“Hello everyone!” Hermione called out, eliciting a ringing chorus of greetings. “There’s someone here I’d like you all to meet.” She nodded to Severus, who crossed the threshold to join her. “Or rather, re-meet.”
The room went silent, jaws dropping in shock. Even Ginny looked surprised; clearly of all the torrid scenarios she had imagined for Hermione’s love life, this had not been one of them.
Ron looked back and forth between them. “He’s the bookshop?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Hermione replied, smiling warmly. She threaded her arm through Severus’s, holding him close. “It’s what brought us together.”
Harry stood and slowly walked towards them, his face infuriatingly unreadable. “How is this the first I’m hearing of this?” he demanded when he finally spoke, giving Hermione a hurt look that broke her heart.
“Don’t blame Hermione,” Severus interceded. “It was my fault she kept quiet.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Hermione braced herself for the snarky comment about how Harry didn’t understand a whole host of things, but it never came. Instead, Severus said something that startled them all.
“You were right, Potter. I am a coward.”
Despite the complement, Harry looked a bit abashed.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he began, but Severus waved him off.
“Your reaction reinforced my cover. I can’t blame you for not knowing what was purposefully withheld from you.” Severus hesitated. “I know what you did once you knew. Thank you.”
Harry shook his head. “I should be thanking you.”
Severus nodded once in acknowledgement. “I hope you can understand, all things considered, why I would choose to leave this world behind.”
“I can,” Harry admitted. “I always hoped as much for you if you really had survived.”
“I didn’t expect to cross paths with Hermione. And I certainly didn’t expect what’s come after. I hope you can forgive me for needing time to reassess my future plans.”
“Of course,” Harry replied, cracking a small smile. “If I haven’t scared you off, I hope you’ll stay and enjoy the festivities.”
“I’ve survived worse,” Severus replied. The room was quiet for a moment, unsure how to react. Hermione saw the teasing glint in his eyes, but she suspected no one else had. She didn’t bother to hold back her grin, hoping the others would get the cue. They didn’t entirely, but they seemed to relax when they realized he wasn’t being overly literal.
Once they pushed through the initial awkwardness, the evening was every bit of what Hermione had hoped it would be. Severus received a warm reception across the board, and she could see him relaxing more and more as the night went on. At one point he got cornered by Arthur who had a million and one questions about the bookshop’s point of sale system, but Severus didn’t seem overly bothered by the request.
“I told you it would be okay,” Hermione whispered into Severus’s ear as she wrapped her arms around him.
“I should know better than to doubt your judgement,” Severus agreed. “Thank you for pushing me.”
Hermione shook her head. “I didn’t push you anywhere you didn’t want to go.”
“It’s nice going there with you,” he replied softly. Hermione gave his shoulder an appreciative squeeze. She didn’t know how he’d feel about any more overt public displays of affection.
“Oh dear,” Luna called out as she approached them. She pointed above their heads. “Look out for the nargles.”
Hermione and Severus looked up in unison. They inadvertently had stood under a sprig of mistletoe.
“Oh dear,” Severus said slowly, grinning slyly. “I fear it may be too late.” He turned around so that he was facing Hermione and pulled her into a fierce kiss. Hermione grinned into his lips, barely registering the rousing reaction of the other partygoers. For just a moment, it was just the two of them, lost in each other and this new adventure which they had decided to embark on together.
As they broke apart, Hermione beamed.