Misdeed and Retribution

Chapter 2: Misdeed and Retribution

The amber liquid in the shot glass refracted the firelight nicely, producing an alcohol-hued halo that warmed the sallow skin of his hand; Severus considered it as he mused over the events of the day.

He actually hadn't expected her to break down like that when he brought up her failed relationship with the Weasley boy; a glare, perhaps, or maybe even an attempted slap, but certainly not a gush of tears. He remembered months at Hogwarts during which she had been teased, insulted, and even sent hate mail, but she had always stuck her nose in the air and ignored everything, a paragon of Gryffindor self-confidence. He had heard her called "Mudblood" half a dozen times and she hadn't even blinked.

Had Weasley abandoning her really brought Granger so low as to burst into tears at any jibe? He found it hard to believe that anyone would mourn that little sod being out of their life, especially an intelligent and not-unattractive witch such as she.

Well, apparently he had miscalculated the depth of her anguish. But witches were fickle creatures; a standard, meaningless apology would probably mollify her, at least to the extent that she would not ban him from her very interesting bookstore. He would go by tomorrow and make amends.

Satisfied with this solution, Severus picked up the book he had purchased and began to read about the differences between arterial and capillary blood in potions-making.

* * *

It had been a terminally slow day at the store, which gave Hermione plenty of time to brood over her life. She leaned on the counter, staring at the shelves of books in front of her, while her mind whirled like a top.

She remembered when she had first told Ron about wanting to open the bookstore; he had protested, saying that his pay as an Auror would be enough for them and the children, once there were children.

"You don't have to make money, Hermione. That's my job. You'll take care of the kids. And me." It had taken him so long to understand that she didn't just want to make money; she wanted something to do besides take care of whatever children might appear. It had escalated into another one of their loud, heated arguments, and they hadn't talked for several days.

That had been three weeks before the wedding. Why couldn't he have said something then? Why not tell her quietly, in private, instead of humiliating her in front of everyone she cared about?

Because he's Ron, said the same little voice that kept reminding her that he had been right about them. He was at dinner stuffing his face when tact was handed out at the front door.

The bell on the door jangled, which allowed her to break off from that uncomfortably accurate train of thought and direct her attention to the person entering.

It was Snape, striding inside as though he owned the place, his boots thudding imperiously on the wood floor. He glanced around briefly before his black eyes located her at the counter and he stalked over to her. Determined not to show any signs of intimidation, Hermione crossed her arms, planted her feet, and stared up at him, wishing heartily that either he were shorter or she were taller. Still, he paused for a moment before he spoke.

"Miss Granger, I believe I may have said something rude to you yesterday. I apologize. It had been a long day and you were... convenient." With that, he turned and made his way over to the shelves opposite the counter and began to peruse them.

Hermione stood there, dumbstruck at his minimal apology. It was shocking enough to hear Snape apologize for insulting someone (though she was willing to bet he had done it to ensure continued access to her shop or something equally selfish), but the fact that he believed such a bland apology would get him forgiveness was astounding. He had targeted her love life, her heartbreak, the spot where she was most vulnerable; he had done it out of pure maliciousness, and he had enjoyed seeing her break down. And he thought "I'm sorry" was going to make up for that?

Before she fully realized what she was doing, Hermione had her wand in her hand, crossed the short distance to where Snape was standing, and had wrenched him around by a shoulder. Making the most of his temporary surprise, she jammed the point of her wand into his lean chest, pressing him up against the bookshelf. She glared up at him, meeting his narrowed black eyes.

"'I apologize'?" she snarled, "You said the exact thing you knew would tear me apart and then smirked at my hurt! You did it just to be mean; exactly what you did to me and everyone else at school! And you did it because I was 'convenient' and you were having a bad day!" She was shaking from anger, and she heard the shrillness in her voice; Ron always said she could crack glass with her voice when she was mad.

"Graduating from Hogwarts does not exempt you from my personality, Miss Granger," he hissed back, his eyes boring into hers. "Besides, it has been two months since the wedding; I assumed you had moved on." Slowly, he began to edge down the shelf, towards the back of the store. She followed him, wand still firmly ensconced in his pectorals, sidling along down the Potions aisle until they hit a wall. Distantly, she realized what he was doing–-if someone came in, it would look very odd for the owner of a store to have a patron at wandpoint–-but she didn't see why he should give a damn at the moment. This, of course, did nothing to improve her mood. She continued her ranting when they had stopped.

"Like hell you did! You wanted to hurt me because that's what gets you off, isn't it: hurting other people!"

She was so engrossed with being furious at him that she didn't see his arm moving until it was too late. Like lightning, he grabbed her wand hand and forced it away from himself, ducking and twisting around her until she was between him and the bookshelf. His wand had appeared in his hand; the long piece of ebony was pointed straight at her. She was now well and truly trapped, pressed up against a bookshelf by a no doubt irate and very dangerous wizard.

God damn my big mouth! Hermione thought, as she looked up into flashing black eyes.

* * *

"Then I suggest you make yourself more difficult to hurt, Miss Granger," Severus said calmly, gazing down at her intently for a moment before releasing her and stepping back as far as the narrow aisle would allow. He doubted she would try throwing hexes inside the store; too many of the books in there were sensitive to magic, but it did not hurt to be cautious with irate witches.

"You should know by now that the only deterrent to someone who wishes to upset you is not to get upset," he continued blithely. The girl's pert little mouth dropped open in outrage, and her eyebrows were practically meeting in the center of her forehead, but she seemed to be more in control of herself than she had been a minute ago.

"Not get upset," she repeated flatly, staring at him. "Right. Not get upset when someone uses my broken heart as a punching bag."

He snorted and leaned back against the shelf, still keeping his wand trained on her. Bloody Gryffindor histrionics. "However ill-used you may feel yourself to be, Miss Granger, I assure you that you know nothing of heartbreak. You feel betrayed and insecure at your abandonment. May I suggest, however, that if young Mr. Weasley cited your intelligence as his reason for leaving, then perhaps it was he who felt himself unworthy of you?"

She opened her mouth, probably to say something about how he knew nothing of how she felt, then stopped, biting her lower lip in thought. With any luck, the hint would get her prodigious mind out of whatever angst-ridden rut it had been in and he would not be subject to more outbreaks of emotion. Severus watched her as she processed what he said, and he could not help but notice how enticingly disheveled she looked: flushed and breathing hard, with her thick hair in disarray and her eyes focused on him intently.

It was quite a sexual visual.

She broke the rather awkward silence that had descended while she pondered his statement.

"I... I never thought of it like that." She hesitated, swallowed and continued. "Everyone acted like I had driven him away, and I didn't think I had, but I didn't see any other reason for him to have left." The tip of her wand slowly lowered with each word, until she held it at her side; Severus copied her action, as he didn't want her to feel threatened at the moment, magical books or no.

"But... But how do you know that, Professor?" she asked, meeting his eyes with her own. "How do you know it wasn't my fault?"

"Because I understand people better than you do," he replied simply. As her mouth opened, doubtless to pose some query about his statement, he quickly continued.

"Miss Granger, you are very intelligent–-don't deny it," he added, as she opened her mouth again to demur, "I am simply stating a fact. People of average intelligence--such as your ex-fiancé--are often afraid of people who are extremely intelligent. There are exceptions, of course. If a person is personable and easy to like, such as Albus, then intelligence becomes a social boon. However, Miss Granger, people such as you and I are not... easy to like. You in particular are very forceful with your knowledge--in laymen's terms, a know-it-all."

"Are you trying to make me feel better, Professor?" she interrupted dryly. "Because you're not doing a very good job of it."

"Do not mistake my explanation for an attempt at comfort," he snapped, jerking a hand in irritation. Surely the girl knew him better than to think he was trying to make her feel better?

"Right. I forgot who I was talking to. Please, continue with your analysis of my love life."

He gave her another glare to keep her silent, and then continued. "As I was saying, Weasley, who is thicker than a brick sandwich, feared your intelligence and so he left you. He, and those like him, will never understand you, or people like you. The fact that he has been raised to think the husband rules the household was probably a factor, as well." Explanation completed, Severus crossed his arms and waited to see what would happen. Hopefully, he hadn't just turned on the tap to her tear ducts.

* * *

It was so logical, so cold, so Slytherin.

So true.

Hermione fought the urge to put her face in her hands and cry. She didn't want to cry in front of Snape for the second time in two days, especially after he had just dissected her problems with Ron (or rather, Ron's problems with her) so accurately.

"Isn't it irritating when other people are right?"

She glared at Snape, who arched a sardonic eyebrow at her and smirked before continuing.

"Now, Miss Granger, unless you are planning some sort of meltdown, in which case I shall vacate immediately, I came in here looking for something to read."

Oh, no, you don't. You don't get off that easily, she thought. While the frank analysis, though uncomfortable, was appreciated, Hermione wanted a real, honest, sincere apology from Snape before she would so much as sell him a bookmark. She was determined to extract her pound of flesh somehow.

"I'd like an apology. A real one."

He stared at her, and she saw a muscle in his cheek twitch. She was pushing her luck, she knew, but her stubbornness overrode her common sense.

"Very well. I'm... sorry. Happy now?" he growled, reluctance ringing in every syllable.

Well, it wasn't poetry, but it would have to do. "What kind of book did you have in mind?" Mentally, she ran through her current inventory of rare Potions and Dark Arts books; there were a few very interesting and very expensive ones that he might like.

"Something..." One long hand gestured slowly through the air, and Hermione noticed that it was very strong-looking, for all its thinness--as was he. A sudden recollection of him pressing her up against the bookshelf came to her, and she mentally shook it away, especially the feeling of his warmth and the muscles shifting under his robes...

"Something I haven't read and most likely would not have thought I would want to read. Something unusual," he finished, crossing his arms and looking at her with challenge in his black eyes.

Unusual... Unusual as compared to what? she wondered. Hermione had a feeling that he didn't necessarily want something that was simply rare or dangerous – he wanted something truly new to him. A thought occurred to her and she considered it carefully. It was risky, no doubt about it, but it definitely met the qualifications, and if what she had heard of his history was right, he probably wouldn't have explored these sorts of books. No Death Eater who tried to hide his Muggle heritage would have picked up Muggle literature.

Coming upon a decision, she gestured for him to follow her and led him along the back wall of books, past the five narrow aisles that made up most of her store, to the little room made out of a converted broom closet. She entered, but he stopped at the doorway.

With a small grunt, she pushed the armchair out of the way so she could bend down to examine the D's. Quickly she ran a practiced finger along the spines, mentally reading off the familiar names. De Lint, Dickens... Dostoyevsky! Smiling to herself, she pulled the red hardback book off the shelf and turned back to Snape, who was leaning against the doorframe and watching the proceedings with great interest. A flush spread across her cheeks as she realized that her arse had been in the air for about twenty seconds.

"Here." Hermione handed the book to him. He took it solemnly and looked at the gold lettering stamped on the cover.

"Crime and Punishment?" he said, looking back at her with that eyebrow raised again. Hermione wondered if sexual withdrawal combined with emotional upheaval was messing with her mind. It shouldn't be possible for a man with greasy hair, a big nose, and a nasty personality to be sexier by raising an eyebrow, but he managed it somehow.

They made their way to the counter, and she rang him up in silence. He paused on his way out the door, though, and she braced herself for some new sally.

"Miss Granger, you may find this nearly as rude as what I said yesterday, but rest assured I say it with your welfare in mind." His silky voice sounded sincere, though Hermione wasn't about to put an enormous amount of faith in 'sounded'.

"I recommend you--what is the colloquialism?--'go and get laid.' It will help. Trust me." And with that, he turned and exited the shop, leaving Hermione staring at the door and wondering if it was she or Snape who had gone mad.