Openings

Hermione's first thought upon opening the Daily Prophet was how nice Rita Skeeter would look pinned to a corkboard and displayed under glass; whether she was human or beetle wasn't particularly important.

It took quite a bit of willpower and logical thinking for Hermione not to Apparate to the Daily Prophet's offices and slap the malicious journalist across her overly made-up face. She knew it wouldn't do any good; Skeeter was very well ingrained at the Prophet, especially after the war. Taking a deep breath, Hermione began to read the article.

Eccentric or Evil-centric: Hermione Granger's 'interesting' little bookshop.

The Prophet has an exclusive look inside the shop. Tiburos Flourish, the new owner of Flourish and Blotts, says he was inside the shop on business. "It was dingy and cluttered--books up to the ceiling. Most of them were about the Dark Arts." Mr. Flourish tells us that he was attempting to make an honest business deal with Miss Granger, but was forcefully repelled and threatened by the angry witch.

We can only hope that this member of the famous trio of evil-fighters has not turned to evil after being spurned by her fiancée.

Damn her! Hermione thought, glaring at the beaming picture of Skeeter that topped the article. It wasn't so much the content of the piece that incensed her; it was that it was written so carefully as to be invulnerable. While it was clearly slanted and biased to make her look as bad as possible, it wasn't actually libelous--most of it was true, and the parts that weren't could not be proven as such. Selling material related to the Dark Arts wasn't illegal in any way, but now she was going to be under some very intense scrutiny by the wizarding community.

Hermione wondered if she should go ahead and cancel the mail or if she should wait until the first letter accusing her of aiding Voldemort all along appeared.

Matters did not improve over the two weeks leading up to the grand reopening of Flourish and Blotts. Two more articles by Rita Skeeter appeared in the Prophet; one was an interview with Flourish about his hopes for the future of business in Diagon Alley. The other was an opinion piece on whether selling items related to the Dark Arts was tantamount to performing them yourself--and, of course, the illustrious Ms. Skeeter declared it to be so. It's funny, Hermione thought sourly as she flung yet another newspaper into the rubbish bin, she never mentions any of the stores in Knockturn Alley that sell the cursed items and poisons that my books just describe.

It didn't help that large signs promoting the opening party for Flourish and Blotts now dotted Diagon Alley. Bright and colorful, they all featured pictures of attractive wizard families holding books and waving; the slogan for the store, "Real pages for real wizards," was emblazoned across the tops. Several prominent wizard authors were attending, as well a "secret guest," the identity of whom she heard discussed excitedly in the street.

And to pour bubotuber pus on the wound, the letters started arriving. Hermione, more out of curiosity than anything, read some of them (though she made sure to ascertain that there were no nasty curses inside before she opened them). "You horrible little bitch! I always knew there was something fishy about you, and now you're supplying Dark wizards with spellbooks!" read one. Another kindly offered counseling for her broken heart while gently reprimanding her for dealing with her grief by walking the line between good and evil. The last one she read informed her that she didn't "deserve someone as wonderful as Ron Weasley" and should essentially find a deep, dank hole to crawl into and die.

After that, she stopped reading them.

It wasn't all bad news. A number of her customers assured her that they would continue to patronize her shop, as no other store in the area sold what she did. One kindly man in his forties, who was what Hermione secretly called a "wizard nerd," told her to keep her chin up and not worry about what other people thought of her. Clichéd though it was, it did make her feel better.

Snape dropped by on occasion, to peruse the books or discuss (argue about) whatever he was reading. While he offered no words of comfort or concern, his presence was reassuring to her; it suggested that he was on her side, for whatever reason, and that was infinitely better than the alternative.

On the day of the Grand Opening, Hermione woke up, stared at the ceiling for a while, and then decided not to go in that day. I'm plenty good at depressing myself without forcing myself to endure that. She would go in the next day, or perhaps the day after; hopefully the hubbub would have died down a little and she could run her store in relative peace. Such decisions were one of the many advantages of owning and running a business on your own.

* * *

So much for Gryffindor courage and tenacity, Severus thought, crossing his arms as he studied the "Closed" sign hanging on the door of Words, Words, Words. He paid no attention to the people streaming past him to get to Flourish and Blotts; he didn't really have to, as they were mysteriously giving him a wide berth.

He was a little disappointed in the young woman, to be honest. All through the past two weeks, she had been showing the usual stubborn pluckiness in the face of what must have been considerable stress (though, as he had pointed out to her a number of times, it was nothing to some of the things he had gone through), and he had been wondering what exactly she would be like on the actual day of the Grand Opening. Severus had hoped that she would at least show up with her back stiff and her nose in the air, if only so he could see how much jibing it would take to crack that veneer. Apparently, he was to be denied that modest entertainment. A replacement pastime would have to be concocted.

Keep your enemies close, he thought as he made his way down to Flourish and Blotts, keeping to the edge of the alley where the crowd was thinner and then pushing through the throng once he was parallel to the shop. Once he was inside the shop, he discovered that there were very few people perusing the shelves--the crowd seemed to be focused entirely around the stage set up outside the shop, where a popular author was reading from one of her books.

There were large signs hung from the ceiling at seemingly random intervals throughout the shop; finding the one that read "Potions," Severus headed for the shelves underneath it. It was an easy store to navigate; the shelves were fairly low, with plenty of room between them. Bright globes of magical fire dotted the walls, burning clear and steady to perfectly illuminate the large store. He passed several smiling salespeople, who all took one look at him and ducked down the nearest aisle, smiles noticeably dimmer. Hogwarts alumni often had that reaction to him.

The Potions selection was predictably pedestrian, containing everything the average witch or wizard would need to make most basic household potions, including a few books on love and sex potions; however, none of them was nearly as interesting as the ones Miss Granger stocked. Severus was about to turn and have a good smirk at what would pass for their Dark Arts section when a surprised voice accosted him.

"Snape?"

Severus snapped around to gaze down the aisle where the voice had come from. He found himself staring at a rather shocked Ronald Weasley and a well-built brunette hanging on his arm.

"Congratulations, Mr. Weasley," he replied coolly, wasting no time in taking control of the situation, "you have remembered my name after a whole year of not being my student. Do you feel accomplished now?"

A tinge of red that echoed his hair crept into the young man's cheeks at Severus' jibe, but he was wise enough not to attempt to match wits with his former Potions Master.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Snape, that's all. Grand Openings don't seem like your kind of party." Much to Severus' surprise, Weasley was now looking a little thoughtful; it was not an expression he was used to seeing on that face. "Especially not this one."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Well," Weasley said, shifting his weight a little and crossing his arms, "I've heard you've been spending a lot of time in Hermione's store. It's bit weird, then, you being in this place."

"Contact me when you wish to make your point, Mr. Weasley." Severus turned, beginning to walk away, knowing that if Weasley wanted to say something to him, this would elicit a statement. He was right.

"It's just... Hermione can't win. Not against this Flourish bloke, at any rate; he's got a lot of influence and power. She should just give in, for once in her life."

It was amazing how much Severus wanted to plaster Weasley all over the bookshelves for that sentence. He forced himself to keep his hand off his wand and replied without looking at the young man, "Forgive me for not being entirely convinced that you care about Miss Granger's well-being, given recent events." With that, he took his leave of the store and, afterwards, of Diagon Alley.

Once he had Apparated into Spinner's End, Severus stood and stared at the peeling plaster of the wall, trying to determine whether or not he cared about Miss Granger's well-being. Why should he? She was annoying as all hell at times; her sheer tenacity in their literary debates had caused him to forfeit a few of them, as she would simply not concede her points, however erroneous he would prove them to be. There was a certain close-mindedness to her that often allowed him to win arguments and solve problems that her by-the-rules mentality prevented. Even her reason for starting such an interesting shop fell into her way of thinking--it was a logical niche to fill, not some radical statement or outrageous idea that had occurred to her; apparently, she had considered several different themes for a shop before deciding on rare and dangerous books. She was still a know-it-all, though the trait was not as conspicuous as it had been when she was his student.

On the other hand, she was an attractive young woman whom he knew lusted after him, however well she tried to hide it.

The streets were not exactly teeming with women who fit that description.

It was reasonable, then, for him to at least have a passing interest in her well-being.

It was with that idea in mind that he Apparated to Diagon Alley two days later to see if she was back yet. Fewer people occupied the narrow alley than had during the Grand Opening, and he was glad of the respite from the press of humanity. The bright banners that had previously advertised the naissance of the store had been changed to read "Now Open!" in flashing letters, with moving arrows pointing the way. Unfortunately, the sickeningly picturesque wizard families that waved from them had not been altered in the slightest.

Suppressing the urge to light the banners ablaze, Severus strode down to Words, Words, Words. To his satisfaction, the modest sign on the front of the door had been changed to read "open." He quickly turned the knob and pushed the door forward, saying, "Miss Granger, I must say that the book you sold me on vampires was--."

The sight of toppled bookshelves and scattered tomes was what stopped him midsentence. Running square into the back of Miss Granger as she stood like a statue just inside the doorway, surveying the devastation, was what stopped him from moving forward.

He glanced down at her. She was standing stiffly, arms wrapped around her midsection one on top of the other, with her wand dangling from the fingers of her right hand. Slowly, he shifted his position until her face came into view; her brown eyes were huge above dark circles, and those plump lips were parted in shock. It was a second before she focused on his face, and he thought he saw the faintest glimmer of relief in them before she spoke.

"Well, Professor, I think I had better start cleaning up. Excuse me." Turning from him, she picked her way across the floor, pausing every now and then to pile up a few books, until she reached the first abused bookshelf, which had fallen into the shelves that lined the walls. Most of the books on the side nearest the wall were now heaped on the floor, and the tops of both shelves were splintered and cracked.

She paused for a moment, her back to him, considering the scene before her. Then she turned back to him, her free hand coming up to run through her bushy hair. "I may have to hire some big, strong wizards to get the shelves back in order. I don't dare risk using magic around all these books..." Her voice trailed off as Severus stared back at her silently, and he saw a faint wobbling of her lower lip. Very slowly, she walked back to him via the path she had cleared on the floor, pocketing her wand as she did so.

But she didn't stop in front of him to continue whatever it was she had been saying. No, she walked straight into him and seized his shoulders, pressing her face into his chest; every muscle in his body went rigid, but she didn't let go. After another moment, Severus felt her shake as she began to cry very quietly into his shirt.

Severus wasn't quite sure what to do. Generally, if someone were crying in his vicinity, he was the cause rather than the cure. Feeling awkward, he hesitantly brought his arms forward to wrap them around her quaking body, though he wasn't confident enough to venture any sort of vocal attempt at comfort.

"What the fuck did I do to him?" she mumbled into his chest, her voice thick and less crisp than usual. He could feel the wetness from her tears soaking through his shirt, but he decided not to mention it, given the circumstances.

They stood there for a few minutes, as Severus was too nervous to try to break away, and the tears showed no signs of cessation. Finally, she pulled back a little, far enough to look up at him with red, swollen eyes, though she still kept a hold on his shoulders. "I mean," she said, still choked "it's not as though I'm a major competitor or anything. We don't even sell the same types of books...." She held his gaze for a second before a fresh wave of tears returned her face to his pectorals.

Now, the situation was certainly very serious and Severus was not sure of what exactly he was expected to do, but the fact remained that a rather curvy woman was currently pressed flush against his body and was, frankly, vibrating a bit. One part of him, at least, knew precisely how to respond to that situation, and he found he had no control over it. Gritting his teeth, he tried to extricate himself quickly, but he knew he was too late when Miss Granger's sobs paused and she went rather still. Fully prepared for her to recoil in disgust and anger, Severus prepared to make some apology as he moved backward, but his words died in his throat as one of her hands slid down from his shoulder and stopped at his chest, and her other hand gripped his shoulder more tightly.

"Professor," she began, slowly beginning to move her hand in gentle circles, "I don't know what you'll think of me for this, but... I need someone to not hate me for a night. And after all," she continued, looking up him again with a slightly more cheerful expression, "it was your suggestion."

He stared at her, trying to get his mind off the sensation of her hand on his chest. "Miss Granger, I--,"

"Hermione, if you please, Professor."

"Hermione, then. I don't know if it is really the wisest action to take at the moment." He was stalling, he knew he was stalling, but he needed a minute to fully evaluate the situation and respond adequately.

"It doesn't have to go beyond tonight, Professor. Tomorrow we can go back to being... whatever it is that we are. But please, I need this. You knew that two weeks ago, when you told me to go and get laid. Well, now everything is even worse than it was, so your advice holds truer now. And you're convenient."

"Use my words against me, will you?" he murmured, looking down at her. There was no reason to say no. He had no objections to having sex with her, she clearly had none for him, and tomorrow... would be tomorrow. And he was damned if he was going to go home and wank off like some pimply teenager when there was a much more pleasant alternative rubbing her hand over his chest.

"Very well, Hermione, I am inclined to acquiesce to your request, with one caveat."

"What is it?"

"That we use your place of residence, as mine is not exactly in good order for these sorts of activities."

She nodded, finally releasing his shoulder and wiping her eyes. A handkerchief appeared out of one pocket, and he waited while she blew her nose and tucked the cloth away before she looked back at him.

"Shall we go now, or would you like to do this tonight?" she asked, as coolly as if she had been asking whether mandrake should be sliced widthwise or lengthwise.

Severus shrugged as nonchalantly as he could and replied, "If you feel that no further progress can be made here, then by all means let us proceed to your home."

Bushy hair shook as she nodded and glanced around the shop. "I'm in no condition to deal with this now. Let's go." With a wave of her hand, she indicated that he should precede her outside. Once they were both in the alley, he watched as she locked the door securely and spent at least two minutes warding the shop, though he did not miss the grim look on her face. He could not blame her--obviously, her wards had been little help the night before. Silently, he added a ward of his own design, one that he was quite sure would hold up against anyone but a wizard of comparable power. Finished, he looked at her to find a hand extended towards him. Hesitantly, he took it and felt the familiar pressure of Apparation as they vanished from Diagon Alley.