The Fourth Problem

When she thought about it, as she wove Sorting and Filing Spells, introduced herself to her new coworkers at the GGGWSB, took breaks to chat with Snape – well, took breaks to irritate Snape and argue with him about the finer points of infernal magic (she was still a vampire and did know a thing or two about being dead) – being a glorified file clerk wasn't that bad.

All right, it was a little demeaning. Surely her massive brain could be put to better use, but compared to running Harry's life (down to the point where she had to make sure he was eating all his vegetables in the lunches Ginny packed for him) as well as running the Ministry (keeping Draco from being too much of a prat and sleeping with everything that moved – and some things that didn't), filing was actually restful. Like a holiday.

There was something soothing about the gentle ebb and flow of paper, the whoosh of the color-coding system she set up, with the frequent baiting of Snape adding a nice counterpoint.

Some days were boring, naturally. Some days she would seethe over what she saw as a demotion – going from essentially running Wizarding Britain to a file clerk was, in the harsh light of day, a step or four down – but Hermione had always excelled at creating systems, and certainly this was a project in need of a decent system.

She did worry about her "other" job. But Snape did allow her "afternoons" (really the early evening when she first rose) to go and check on Harry and make sure he was eating his vegetables, so to speak. And Snape had pointed out that at some point she had to cut the apron strings with Harry; he was, after all, the Minister, and even if he was a lousy wizard who apparently only knew one spell (expelliamus), at some point, he had to learn how to wipe his own bottom.

Although Snape had used slightly cruder language than that.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione mused, extending her fangs and running a contemplative tongue over them. "It's just I've been so used to managing him for so long, it's become a habit, really."

"Well, it's a bad habit, Granger. You have more important work to do," Snape replied. Hermione noticed he was staring at the gigantic clock that hovered above the cubicles.

"Important work, right. Filing."

"Don't whinge, Granger, you know you like it," Snape said, bringing his gaze to her and smirking. Her vampire side rolled its eyes and groaned. Her human side kicked the vampire side and glared at it. If her human side wanted to feel a flicker of interest at Snape's flirting – and she was sure that's what it was – her human side was damn well going to feel it.

And it was true, too. Because it wasn't just the filing. She was systematically pulling the more interesting cases and showing them to Snape. And then arguing with him about them.

Loudly.

The problem was that it was fun.

More fun than biting incompetents, even. Which, Hermione reckoned, was downright disturbing. But now... now, she seemed to be getting a rise out of Snape in a completely different way.

She licked her fangs again.

Snape coughed, and Hermione caught him staring at her mouth.

Her human side smirked.

Her vampire side pointed out that he probably wasn't going to enjoy being bitten, especially since... didn't her human side remember the snake?

Her human side pointed out that she wasn't going to eat him, just nibble a bit. And if he'd ever take off those blasted robes, she was sure he had very nice legs – there was a rather plump vein in the thigh, or did her vampire side not remember that?

Her vampire side conceded the point and added that now that it had come to think about it, it had been a while since she'd had a shag, decent or otherwise.

Her human side noted it had been Viktor, and expressed its appreciation of her vampire side's acquiescence.

Her vampire side grumbled that surely there were more attractive candidates than Snape in the office, but it supposed that beggars could not be choosers.

"Granger, stop woolgathering!"

"What?" Hermione jerked her attention away from her internal conflict back to Snape.

"You were daydreaming. Stop it. Pay attention to what I'm telling you, you stupid girl."

"Oh, erm, sorry."

"Are you feeling all right?"

"What? Yes, of course. Go on, please, Snape... do continue."

"Professor Snape to you, and stop, licking your fangs. It's distracting."

Hermione hid a smile and retracted her fangs.

"Now, pay attention. When you've finished compiling your system, you need to assemble a report to submit to the Powers that Be. In your report, you will document the incidents of Muggle-Odd Magical interaction that you find the most disturbing, and suggest solutions for limiting the damaging effects in the future. Use the files you've already discussed with me. Feel free to include any other cases you've discovered.

"I should warn you, Granger, that obliviate is completely out of the question. I saw what you tried to do to your poor parents; it's a miracle they didn't lose their minds entirely."

"My parents were just fine, and I was eighteen!" Hermione protested.

Snape snorted.

"If by 'just fine,' you mean absolutely furious that you'd done that to them and equally furious that they no longer remembered how to drive, then yes."

"They forgave me. Eventually." Hermione pouted.

"You're impossible, Granger. Write your report."

Hermione extended her fangs, licked them, and winked at him, hopping up onto her desk and swinging her legs – the effect only ruined by the flapping of her robes, and the fact that they got tangled in her legs.

"And stop that," Snape said. "You're not seducing me just so you can bite me."

"Well, maybe I don't want to just bite you," Hermione snapped back, embarrassed that he'd noticed. Not that she hadn't been hoping, but still...

"Oh, right, you just lick your fangs and pretend to flirt with me because you like doing it."

"Perhaps I like you, Snape."

"Thestral shit."

"Professor Snape, I'm shocked. Shocked and appalled," Hermione rejoined, inwardly delighted that after such a long dry spell, her flirting skills were still decent. Although the fact that she was flirting with Snape was a bit disturbing.

"No, you're not. Ever since you became a vampire you've also become a foul-mouthed harpy. And I read your file, Granger. I know how you bit Weasley."

"Which one?"

"Don't make jokes – you did make a mistake when you bit Percy. Biting Ronald was the best thing you ever did for the Ministry. And guess what, Granger? You're not doing it to me!"

With that, Snape spun away from her and stalked off down the row of cubicles.

"Write your damn report, Granger!" he shouted over his shoulder. "You have three days!"

Hermione smirked and hopped down from her desk.

Susan Perkins, the witch who handled emergency calls and was therefore the only person on the floor when Hermione was at work, poked her head around the cubicle and gave Hermione a thumbs up.

Hermione giggled and sat down at her desk, satisfied with the groundwork that had been laid.

If she was going to be stuck filing and writing reports for the rest of her death, at least she could get a shag on the side. Even if it was from Snape.

Which, in hindsight, didn't sound too terrible. She wasn't necessarily going to be looking at his teeth. Or his hair. And he did look as if he had a nice arse.

But, of course, once presented with a task, Hermione set to it. And really, writing the report was child's play. What was really interesting her was Snape. Other than the rather odd desire to shag him (really, what was that?), she found him intriguing. So, in the odd minutes when she tired of her report (and she was being very careful to include massive annotations, just to tweak Snape's nose – she remembered how he'd always marked her down for them on her Potions essays), she made a list of Things She Knew About Professor Professor (sigh) Snape.

The list was as follows:

One: Still irascible.

Two: Still greasy and ugly.

Three: Still teaching (how the ever living fuck was that happening? Hermione had always been of the opinion that Snape had hated teaching and would have been thankful to escape the sheer mind-numbing, soul-crushing tedium of it. Not to mention the danger associated with teaching Potions to accident-prone, hormonal teenagers).

Four: Teaching at a higher level. From what it sounded like, he was more of a consultant than teacher. Which would explain number three.

Five: Actually willing to engage in conversation with her regarding her work. This was decidedly new.

Six: Dead. Or not.

It was Number Six that really made Hermione stop and chew her quill.

It was obvious that she was (un)dead – or Life-Challenged, as she preferred to think of it – and that as a Life-Challenged Individual, it was easy for her to identify and, essentially, connect with other Life-Challenged Individuals. This might, she reasoned, be the cause of her rather odd rapport with Snape. Or it could be that she was just dying for companionship at her intellectual level.

Which also explained the sexual component.

But. But, but but...

There was something different about the connection she felt with Snape. Perhaps it wasn't the Life-Challenged thing at all, she mused. Perhaps it was that, for the first time in, well, practically ever, she felt that somebody was actually listening to what she was saying and able to offer cogent and coherent (if not shouted) responses to her theories – honing them and developing them with her.

Good Merlin. It was almost like having an actual colleague that one wanted to go round the pub with. Or have dinner (in the traditional sense, not the other one) with. Or even, as Hermione had noticed first – interestingly enough – shag.

Scowling at her list, Hermione came to, really, what she considered to be the only logical conclusion.

She'd have to find out just what Snape was.

And then decide if he was still shaggable.