Chapter Nine

Author Note: many people have taken turns helping to whip this chapter into shape: queenofspades, gottawrite, corianderpie and the Empress of Betas - Southern Witch 69. I am in debt to them all.

Chapter Nine

Hermione had been doing a lot of thinking during her walks around London. Her venture in New York had decided her in favour of making a life for herself in the Wizarding world – a life that hopefully included one Severus Snape. But billing and cooing could only take up so much of the day, and she was the type of person who needed something useful to do. Her experience with maths had led her to the conclusion that, whatever she decided to do with her life, it wouldn't be something abstract and removed.

Part of the reason she had felt so cut adrift after the war was that it had provided focus to her life. So she wanted something that was 'hands on' with meaning and purpose. She had felt deep contentment in her dream, being at home with her children. However, she didn't feel the same urge that Ginny did: to rush into childbearing right out of school. Regardless of how much the idea of the 'practising' was enticing – there was also the issue of whether or not Severus wanted children and when. Even that conjecture was putting the cart before the currently un-located horse. No, she wanted to have something more in her life – some work that brought her a sense of contributing to the well-being of humanity in general.

She knew that she liked learning new things, so perhaps something that would allow her to keep adding to her current skills. Maybe teaching? She admitted to herself that any subject she had taken at Hogwarts would be very easy for her to teach, but was there some subject in particular she was drawn to? Something she would enjoy, or maybe, something she felt was lacking from her education . . . Perhaps she could fill some previously unknown need . . .

She wondered if any of her friends were finding it as hard as she was to figure out what to do next. After all, school hadn't helped much. Students took the classes they were good at, and then poof! – they were done and out the door. What if one didn't want to be an Auror or work for the Ministry? How did someone work out what she could be good at, what she would enjoy? Stirrings of thoughts began in her brain – building to a quiet simmer. She would need to look into it, of course, but maybe what Hogwarts needed was a personal advisory and assessment system to help students figure out their career paths! And what about adults who were out in the world and wanted to change what they were doing or mothers returning to work after their children were grown? Was anyone addressing these needs, or did people have to flail about on their own? She had an inkling that arithmantic tropes could be adapted to specific career trajectories.

Hermione felt flushed with excitement. It was the perfect problem on which to exercise her fondness for research, her organisational skills, and her determination to Do Good in the World. This would bear more reflection, perhaps a note to Headmistress McGonagall.

--ooOO0OOoo--

Now that his living space was no longer a concern, even of a very niggling variety, Severus started applying himself to the problem of his livelihood. Although Minerva had made it clear that the Potions master position – or even Defence Against the Dark Arts – was his for the asking, he hadn't dissembled when he told Hermione he wouldn't consider returning to Hogwarts. He had always kept his hand in, brewing the odd experimental thing here or there during holidays. He had made something of a name for himself with articles in some the best Potions journals and was itching to discover what kind of budget the Ministry would be willing to put behind him to get a jump on the American researchers. There would be no more faffing about half-arsed. Especially if he could paint a convincing picture of their technological advances . . .

He had his own contacts at the Ministry; mostly mid-level bureaucrats who'd had to approve the curriculum and expenses for his classes at Hogwarts, but he thought a word in Kingsley's ear wouldn't go amiss. The idea of his own lab, a couple of assistants, the freedom to explore several interesting avenues in cross-purposing of potions (off-label use, the Muggles called it) appealed to him immensely. It was almost as appealing as the notion of being his own boss. Advancing on his own merits! Accountable to no man! Aside from the Ministry, of course. But surely that couldn't be as intolerable as the pick of sociopathic manipulative madmen he had, until recently, laboured under. Then again, the Ministry was responsible for the Board of Governors, and they were a right cheerless lot. Still – individual members of a committee could be got around in a way that a delusional egomaniac could not. The future was looking bright!

Having established his bona fides to his satisfaction, he spared a thought for Hermione. He decided that this session of cogitation required something stronger than tea. He Transfigured his spare kitchen chair into a stern armchair in front of the grate in the living room. He settled into the creaky leather and swirled the liquor around in the glass, inhaling the hot sweet aroma of a respectably venerable tawny port. Dratted girl . . . woman? I wonder how she's faring now that she's back home. I imagine she's still living with her parents. She needs to break out on her own, find her feet.

What of Hermione, herself? What was it about her that was prompting all of this spring cleaning of the soul? Severus' vocabulary was inadequate for a mode of interaction warmer than collegial. He was aware of the theories behind luring a mate into one's den. He even had some degree of practice with the physical side of attraction. After all, everyone was young at one point – his experience, coming of age in Slytherin house, was that there was always bound to be someone more desperate and unhappy than oneself. Later on, female interaction could be hired by the hour, as the need . . . arose. He discarded those avenues of thought like a snake shedding a skin, outgrown and left behind.

Severus was determined to do something substantially different with his sleek and shiny new self. Hermione merited nothing less. He was determined to secure her affections for the future, and he wanted to do it in the right way. But she was such a strong flavour to add to the mix! He worried that she would overpower the subtler notes, the darker base of his own potion. She was all kinds of things that were brash and green – vetiver and lime, the bruised stem of lavender fresh from the field. There was also something basic and earthy about her – the summery smell of rain on warm dirt. There was something he couldn't identify – it must be particular to her, but greater proximity would be required to smell it properly. Maybe it was her hair, or perhaps her skin . . .

He had an idea that precision and method was required in wooing, much like making a tricky and exacting potion. He wanted to do it correctly. He had a place where he wouldn't feel ashamed to invite Hermione for tea or to examine a particularly abstruse text. He had a solid foundation for a respectable and remunerative livelihood. So – he wasn't the most attractive or well-regarded bachelor on the market. He had never imagined being on the market. The idea of having to change himself in some fundamental way to appeal to a woman was abhorrent to him. Luckily, the witch in question had a pretty clear idea of his basic personality and qualities, and altering anything at this point would be a sign of weakness. He also had the vague idea that Hermione had come to tolerate him as he was, and that modification could be confusing. As strange as it was to contemplate, she seemed to accept him and enjoy his company.

He wanted to owl her – he missed her impertinence and felt he was getting rusty, not having her challenging nature against which to sharpen himself. It's her time to make her way in the world, and I don't want to impose myself upon her. She needs to determine whether we spent time together because there was no one more appropriate available or if there's something stronger than convenience that brought us together. Now that she's back with her friends, she'll almost certainly find someone rather less . . . used up. But if she seeks me out, then I'll know that she is amenable to proceeding further . . .

He took a large swig and held it in his mouth – swished it in his teeth, hissed through the alcohol and swallowed it. He raised his glass towards the fireplace in a silent toast to his decision to make a sea change in his life. He had never thought he'd sign up with another master – perhaps a mistress would make a favourable change?