Chapter 4

Author's Notes: thanks again to out to Scabbyfish for beta reading and minimizing my symptoms of the look-it's-an-American-writer-pretending-to-be-British syndrome. Anything that still sounds US-centric is likely due to my belief in compromising.

Weeks later, Hermione was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She moved through her days at the Ministry on auto-pilot, creating and solving all manner of Arithmantic equations for the Aurors, the Wizengamot, and other departments that needed assistance. She kept her ear to the ground for any rumours about Severus. And she retreated to the office above the shop every night to double-check and triple-check the information they'd worked out about the Can-Touch Talc.

She had convinced the twins that until they were seriously ready to create an adults-only section, they would be better off keeping their new product for personal use only, if they wanted to use it. They were unhappy about it, but they had agreed.

Or so Hermione thought.

She finished up at her Ministry office early one Friday afternoon and decided to head to the shop to kill some time before going home to relax in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a good book.

The door chimes jangled as she stepped inside, and she glanced towards the counter to see who was working.

One of the twins – she thought it was George – hastily shoved what looked to be a cloth sack under the counter, and announced to Lee Jordan that they'd have more Aardvark Almonds by early next week. "We sold the last of them yesterday," he said.

Lee put his hand in his pocket, attempting to look inconspicuous but failing utterly. "Of course – just give me a Floo-call when you get some more in, will you? My cousin is coming to visit my parents next weekend, and he and I don't get along much, you see."

Hermione gritted her teeth and moved to the counter to stand next to Lee. She had a nasty but strong suspicion that she had been too trusting. Lee turned to go, but didn't get far as she grabbed him by the arm.

"So, gentlemen, would you like to tell me what's in that sack beneath the till, and also in a packet in Lee's pocket? Or should I guess?"

"See here, now, Hermione," Lee spluttered, "it's just a free sample!"

"Exactly, Hermione," George – Fred? – continued. "I know you don't think we should give away the merchandise, but we like to reward our best customers. Keeps 'em coming back, you know."

"So if I asked Lee to empty that packet into his hand to show me, it wouldn't be a problem?"

It was definitely George. He and Lee traded glances before he replied. "Well, if you did that, it'd spill all over, and that would waste some perfectly good Peruvian Darkness Powder."

Hermione rolled her eyes and set her bag on the floor. "You don't sell that anymore, remember? The Ministry confiscated it after the night Professor Dumbledore died. That was a terrible excuse, George."

Lee cringed, but George just cocked an eyebrow. "So? It's our shop, Hermione. Yes, we appreciate your advice, but if we want to give something away, we will."

"You can make the decision, yes. But you lied to me." She slapped both hands down on the counter. "That's the part that's inexcusable!"

"It's hardly the first time," Lee muttered.

Hermione frowned at him. George groaned.

"When else did you lie to me?" she asked quietly.

George let out a breath. "Hermione, Fred and I spent your entire fifth year at Hogwarts lying to you before we 'did a Weasley' and escaped the Wicked Witch of the Wizengamot. We haven't lied to you since then. At least, I haven't. I suppose I can't completely speak for Fred."

"Until now."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," he retorted, his voice getting louder. "You love the stuff yourself. You and Ron and Harry and Ginny practically had an orgy going with all the backrubs you were giving each other!"

There were gasps from behind them, and Hermione spun around to see several parents slapping their hands over their children's ears. She felt her face heat and knew she must be turning red. The parents hustled their children out of the shop, dropping items back haphazardly wherever it was convenient.

"That was just brilliant, George," she said, still facing the shop floor. "Not only did you embarrass me, but you also emptied your shop and drove away customers."

She could have sworn she heard him shrug. "They'll be back. And if not, others will."

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. She let the sounds of George and Lee talking wash over her as she battled desperately to get her embarrassment – and anger – under control. Moments later, she heard footsteps fade from the counter towards the shop door and a brief tinkling of the chimes before the shop fell silent again.

A hand dropped onto her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Why? Why did you have to lie to me about it?"

George turned her around so that she was facing him, and she reluctantly opened her eyes.

"We lie to everyone, Hermione. It's actually more of a wonder that we haven't lied to you about anything else since you started working here. We needed you."

"Hermione Granger, walking encyclopaedia of magic," she said irritably. "Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better, George."

"Fine. Fine! Here, take the damn stuff and get rid of it, okay? Will that make things better?" He grabbed the sack from under the counter and shoved it at her. Unfortunately, he hadn't tied it tightly when she had walked in earlier, and the abrupt movement to give it to her showered them both with a huge cloud of Can-Touch Talc.

"Shit," George muttered.

"What on earth have you done?" Hermione shrieked. "I can't believe you! Not only do you lie to me and start distributing this, but you can't take the time to put it in a proper container so that it doesn't stand a likelihood of leaking?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione! I forgot that I'd put it away without closing it."

"And that carelessness is exactly my point! You can't be careless with products like these! You have to be prepared to deal with them properly and responsibly!"

George winced.

"Forget it," she continued flatly. "You're on your own. There has to be some other way I can stretch my brain that doesn't require putting up with idiocies like this." She shook the dust off as best she could and moved towards the fireplace, then shook her head and changed directions. She didn't know what travelling by Floo would feel like against her skin, so she headed for the door instead.

Before she exited, though, Hermione felt the need to get in a parting shot. "I'd say good luck, George, but I wouldn't mean it." She let the door slam behind her as she melted into the crowd in Diagon Alley.

If this had happened during her fifth year at Hogwarts, the two of them would have been given detention until they left school. Detention. Detention . . . Hermione wondered if there was any way she could assist a certain Potions master in exchange for her own revenge.

Severus kept the boxes of Muggle magic tricks on the corner of his desk where he could admire them daily. He was biding his time. He had no interest in exacting Tweedledum and Tweedledumber's comeuppance until they had completely forgotten about it and would have no idea what was happening or why.

He, on the other hand, would not have forgotten. And since he had no intention of forgetting, he kept the trick wands and other sundries in a location where he would see them every time he sat down to work. There was only one small problem with the arrangement.

Remembering the detention he needed to arrange inevitably reminded him of Hermione. In particular, Severus didn't seem to be able to forget the feeling of touching her when he had massaged her headache away. The Can-Touch Talc – Merlin knew why they gave their products such stupid names – had ensured that he had derived an inordinate amount of pleasure from the experience.

He was fiddling with one of the trick wands, collapsing it and straightening it, lost in thought, when he felt a shudder run through him. Someone – a witch or wizard – had crossed the perimeter of his property. Friday night was an odd night to come calling. He carefully set the trick wand back down on the edge of his desk. It looked out of place, painted white and black; nothing like a real magic wand. But he had plans for it. Tentative plans, perhaps, but plans nonetheless.

He rose and went downstairs, and stood in the sitting room, waiting. A scant minute later, the doorbell rang and he crossed to the foyer. Severus preferred not to use potentially-detectable magic to see who was on the other side, so instead he peered through the Muggle peephole that had been installed by his paranoid father.

He almost rapped his head against the door when he saw Hermione on the other side. He quickly unlocked and opened it.

"Hermione! What brings you all the way out here? I didn't realise you even knew where I lived. Do come in." He was babbling and he knew it.

She smiled, however, and didn't seem to mind. "Thank you, Severus. Of course I know where you live. I wish I could say I had learned for pleasant reasons, but the fact is, you had to recite your address when you took the stand during your trial, remember?" She followed him into the sitting room and took a place on the chair he indicated with a wave of his hand. After stepping aside to let her pass, he remained standing just inside the doorway.

A lesser wizard would have completely dropped his jaw. Severus was proud of himself for keeping what he thought – hoped – was a neutral expression on his face. "You don't mean to tell me you remember that kind of detail about everything?"

"No, of course not," she replied. "But it was a rather memorable day, you must admit. The few of us who were privy to the contents of Professor Dumbledore's memories were anxious and probably overly attentive."

"Anxious to see me into Azkaban?"

"Must you, Severus? It was general anxiety – not knowing what was going to happen, but knowing it was going to be a circus either way."

"So you didn't want to see me into Azkaban?" He knew he was being ridiculous for dragging this out, but he didn't seem to be able to help himself. That day was burned into his brain; the sight of the Dream Team sitting together had made him want to spit fire.

Hermione looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "Severus, I didn't know you. I still don't. I wanted justice but didn't know what that would be in your case, so I tried to go in with an open mind. And by the way, I didn't come by here today to discuss old news."

He grimaced. It seemed he wasn't capable of polite conversation. "And so why did you see fit to grace me with your presence?"

"Can I help you give the twins detention?"

Severus was glad he wasn't eating or drinking anything, or else he would have choked. "Come again?" He sat down, heavily, into a chair across from her.

"You heard me. I want to help you with whatever you're planning to do to Gred and Forge," she repeated.

He looked at his former student and frowned. Something must have happened. "Who said I was actually going to give them detention? That was weeks ago. Water under the bridge."

"And I'd like to sell you some seaside property in Glasgow."

Apparently she'd learned something in six years of being his student. "And if I am – how do I know this isn't a trick, and you're going to report back to them?"

She grimaced, but then a sly look came over her face. "I think it's my turn to give you a head massage, isn't it?"

He was confused at the non sequitur and had no idea why she was bringing that up. It had been uncharacteristic of him to offer the massage, true, but he had only thought of it because of the cantharis powder – oh. "They didn't."

"George did. To be fair, it was an accident, but it was an accident that shouldn't have happened. And it was right on the heels of discovering that they'd lied to me about not distributing the stuff."

Severus quirked a brow. "How did you find out that they had lied?"

"I finished up early at the Ministry tonight and stopped by the shop. I caught George red-handed as he gave some to Lee Jordan."

He had to refrain from smiling at her disgust. Even coming from his post-war, less-grim self, that might scare her off completely. "And this is why I am supposed to trust that you won't go back to them with tales?"

She harrumphed and crossed her arms. "I'm not a schoolgirl to be accused of 'telling tales' anymore, Severus. And even when I was, I wouldn't have given the time of day to those two. Harry and Ron, yes, but I always drew the line at the twins."

Pondering, Severus steepled his fingers in front of himself, elbows on his knees, as he looked at her. Having her help him would invariably give him inside information that would make the revenge all the more effective, but would he be risking leaking information to Potter and his sidekick, which would inevitably then trickle back to the Toxic Twins?

He hadn't successfully spied on the Dark Lord for years without being a good judge of character, however. And it seemed to him that Hermione was sincere in her intent – as long as the "detention" wasn't going to harm anyone, chances were good that she would do whatever was needed. And even if she decided to back out, she'd keep it to herself.

She was practically squirming in her seat, waiting for him to respond. It reminded Severus, not particularly comfortably, of his days in a classroom, looking at her from across his lectern and her desk. Always squirming and shooting her hand into the air. She didn't look like a student anymore, however. Particularly not in the Muggle attire she was currently wearing. The deep red jumper clung to – best not go there right now , he thought, shifting a bit himself. Or ever, actually.

"Very well," Severus said.

Hermione's smile was big enough to light the room, he thought a moment later. She was apparently absolutely thrilled that he had agreed.

"Oh, thank you, Severus!" She jumped up and, much to Severus's surprise, threw herself at him in a hug. He caught her awkwardly before she landed in his lap, held her arms for a moment, and set her back on her feet. She blushed and stepped hastily away from his chair, briskly rubbing her hands together. "I'm so sorry! I just reacted – I admit, I'm a rather huggy sort of person. Ron and Harry are used to it, but I know most people dislike it."

Severus couldn't remember the last time someone had "just reacted" by hugging him. If anyone ever had, that was. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, but for some reason it didn't anger him or make him cringe as he would have expected.

"No matter," he replied, "though I wouldn't expect it to happen again."

"Of course not, sir."

"Tut, tut, Miss Granger."

If it was possible, she blushed even redder. It was – hell, he couldn't say it, could he? – cute. Her face came close to matching her jumper, which was still clinging to her like she had stepped out in the rain. He closed his eyes and silently counted to ten as he stood up.

"Now," he said, looking at her again, "we could seal our bargain more appropriately, if you wish – with a handshake, perhaps?"

She grinned again and immediately stuck her hand out. Severus met her halfway and clasped it with his own, perhaps squeezing a bit more personally than necessary and lingering a bit longer than he normally would have. There was a sparkle in her eye that made him think that she had noticed. The way she gently pulled her hand out of his made him sure of it – oh, drat, her hands. The powder. Yes, she had definitely noticed his lapse in judgment.

He cleared his throat as he dropped his hand. He was afraid he was in uncharted territory here; he rather suspected that Hermione was attempting to befriend him. If a former student had approached him like this ten years earlier, he would have sneered at her and insulted her; he had been in no position to make any friendly overtures then. Now, though – there wasn't really any reason they couldn't be friendly at least, was there? Voldemort was gone for good, and Severus was no longer terrorising students and making everyone around him fear and despise him. Not that he wanted to be friendly with all his former students, of course, but perhaps a few of the ones that could provide tolerably intelligent conversation.

Hermione was still standing in front of him, her expression back to neutral. She was waiting for him to do or say something, he realised. He started to tell her to sit back down, but what came out of his mouth was, "Would you like to go to dinner?"

That question triggered another smile from her. Severus panicked and backtracked. "That is, we should discuss our plans, and I know I haven't eaten yet this evening. If you haven't either, it would be pleasant to have our discussion over a nice meal."

He thought he saw a frown flash across her face, but her expression returned to a smile so quickly that he wasn't certain. "That would be lovely, Severus," she replied, "but given the Talc accident, I think that it's probably not a good night for me to do so. Monday, perhaps? Did you have a particular place in mind?"

He quickly ruled out pubs like the Hog's Head and the Leaky Cauldron. The Three Broomsticks would be acceptable, but . . . "Have you been to Avalon before? It's off Diagon Alley. A step up from pub food, but not a place that requires being particularly dressed up."

"I haven't, no. I've walked past it a few times, but it's not the kind of place I'd go to by myself, and generally if I'm eating with Harry or Ron or the twins, we go to some place more casual. Seven o'clock?"

"Certainly. Where do you live?"

She gave him her address and turned to go. "I'll be looking forward to it," she said as she left.

A short half-hour later, Hermione was stretched out in bed with a cup of tea and her copy of the latest Charms journal. She wasn't particularly hungry and was a tad worried about preparing a meal while her hands were sensitive to warmth, so she decided that she'd just read for a bit and then go to sleep. Hopefully the effects of the Can-Touch Talc would have worn off by the time she woke up.

Because right now she was in trouble. She could still feel the phantom echo of tingling in her hands, first from hugging Severus, then from a simple handshake. An almost simple handshake, she corrected herself. He had definitely held her hand a second or two longer than was strictly necessary, and it had caused her skin to heat up and her hands to feel a little too pleasant, thanks to the effects of the powder.

The first thing Hermione realised the next morning was that while the residual effects of the Can-Touch Talc had worn off overnight, the phantom feelings must have invaded her sleeping mind. Her subconscious had clearly enjoyed expanding on them. She could remember Severus's low voice murmuring to her in her dreams, arousing her without any physical contact. And she could smell herself on her hands – her body had clearly needed relief while she slept, and she must have brought herself to climax. She winced, thinking of how she had to face him in just a few days, and got out of bed to shower and get dressed.

Hopefully, spending the weekend with her parents would distract her from all of this. Staying in her childhood bedroom would certainly discourage any wayward thoughts about her former teacher. She was rapidly becoming far too interested in him on a personal level. He seemed to have made peace with himself since the end of the war, as his face no longer looked like he was always in a state of frustration. Or, on occasion, in pain. His nose was still overly large, and his hair oily, but with the rest of his features more relaxed, the flaws were less obtrusive. And his voice . . . alternately arousing and calming and sneering . . . the voice was something a woman only dreamed about. In her case, literally.

Any relationship with him – sexual, romantic, or platonic – would be full of obstacles. Most of whom were named Weasley, plus one Potter. If he was willing to make an effort, however, she thought whatever he was offering would be worth it. She couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed a conversation as much as she had back in the café before things turned sour. That was what she had been looking for and just didn't find with Ron. But other than a slightly overly-friendly handshake, he had made no indication at all that he would welcome her attention. And she hardly thought a friendly handshake was indicative of anything more than a truce.

She had a pleasant weekend in Oxford, and was busy all day Monday at work. The evening came faster than Hermione expected, and she had to rush home to get tidied up for her dinner meeting. Not a date, she told herself. He had made that clear enough. Still, her clothes from the day felt grimy and tired from sitting in a dank little office for so long. She could at least put on fresh robes – her aqua ones were very attractive on her but were casual enough that they wouldn't appear as if she was dressing up – brush her teeth and hair, and freshen her make-up. Just because it wasn't a date didn't mean she wanted to go out looking sloppy.

Severus arrived promptly at seven o'clock. Hermione noticed that he appeared to have taken particular care with his appearance. His robes were the same as ever, but looked to perhaps be his newest set, with nothing faded or fraying. His hair was combed neatly and looked like it had just been washed. She smiled and invited him in for a glass of wine before they left, but he politely declined, saying that he had made a reservation for seven fifteen. He offered his arm, and after locking her door, she tucked her hand into his elbow.

Before they set off, however, Severus looked down at her with a serious expression on his face. "Hermione, when I suggested dinner – I hadn't thought through the repercussions for you. I'm the most infamous former Death Eater alive, and you were staunchly at Potter's side during the war. If we're spotted – and I have to assume we will be – I'm confident that people will talk. Certainly behind your back, and quite possibly to your face."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. He had obviously thought that speech through multiple times since she last saw him. She couldn't decide if he wanted her to change her mind or to go through with it. The same thoughts had crossed her mind as well, but she had committed to going, and was looking forward to it, and that was that. He'd probably call her an idiotic Gryffindor for it if they were still at Hogwarts. So be it.

"I'm aware of that, Severus. I've had several days to change my mind and cancel on you by owl post – if I was going to do so, don't you think I would have done so in a more polite way than waiting for you to arrive and then not going with you?"

She could see a minute relaxing around his eyes and mouth, and concluded she had said the right thing. He nodded. He started to say something, but apparently changed his mind and instead made a waving gesture with his hand to indicate that they should be off.

A short walk later and they had arrived. Hermione was surprised, though she thought she shouldn't have been by now, when he reached in front of her to open the door and hold it while she entered. A quiet word with the maitre d' and they were promptly seated in a back corner table, away from prying eyes and unlikely to be overheard.

"I thought it would be easier to be out of the limelight, and besides, I didn't want to risk anyone getting wind of our plans," he said as he held her chair out for her.

"No, of course not," she replied. She sat down, and he took his seat as well. "I take it you've been here before? Is there something you'd recommend?"

Severus picked up his menu and scanned it. "Do you like seafood? Eggs?" he asked.

"I love seafood," Hermione replied, picking up her own menu. "I'm terrible at cooking it myself, so I enjoy ordering it when I go out to eat. Eggs are fine, too."

'Then I suggest you try the seafood soufflé. It was very good the last time I was here."

She found the soufflé on the menu and agreed that it looked very good. "And may I ask what you're having?" she asked as the waiter came to their table.

"I believe I'll have the beef tonight. Medium," he said, addressing the waiter. "My companion will have the seafood soufflé. A glass of wine, Hermione?"

"Please. Whatever the chef or sommelier thinks would go best; I'm not familiar with any of the wines listed here."

Severus nodded to the waiter and added, "And I'll have a glass of the Pinot Noir." The waiter nodded without taking any notes – no scribbling down orders on an order pad at this establishment – and took his leave.

They made small talk for a little while, though Hermione noticed that Severus looked rather uncomfortable, and that his half of the conversation was rather stiff. Still, he was clearly making an effort to be pleasant. She was flattered. She suspected he hadn't made any effort for any of his former students in recent years, if ever.

Finally, once their meals and drinks had arrived and they had started eating, she broached the official reason for getting together. "Will you tell me what you had in mind for the twins?" she asked.

He stiffened briefly, then seemed to force himself to relax. "Of course," Severus replied. "Though I must admit, it's nothing particularly exciting or disgusting, more annoying and tedious for them than anything."

"Oh?"

"I ordered a collection of Muggle joke shop 'magic' tricks with the intention of disguising them as Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products, then somehow getting them mixed in with their stock." He fiddled with his fork and knife, then set them down again. "The idea being that they'd have to go through nearly all their stock item by item to separate out the good from the bad."

"That seems pretty good to me. It's not as disgusting as disembowelling horned toads, but the twins are pretty immune to disgusting stuff, anyway. And as a general rule, Can-Touch Talc aside, they are very proud of the quality of their products. So they would definitely feel the need to sort out the Muggle things."

She took a sip of her wine before smiling and continuing. "Of course, the one downside to your plan is that they may well find themselves interested in the Muggle items, and keep them to resell."

"You think they would?" Severus asked. He took a few bites of his steak. "Ah, perfectly cooked, as always."

That prompted Hermione to further taste her soufflé. "Also excellent," she agreed. "And yes, I am quite sure they'll feel the need to at least examine the Muggle items. Probably they'll also feel compelled to take them apart to see how they work. And to see if they can use any of the Muggle techniques in their own products, I would think."

Severus snorted at that. "That shouldn't surprise me, but it does. Actually, though, my main concern is that they discover the mix-up before customers start buying them accidentally."

"Um," Hermione replied stupidly. She had trouble believing that Severus's conscience – though she had seen evidence of its existence at his trial – extended to ensuring that the Wizarding public wasn't hoodwinked by products that by definition were designed to hoodwink people.

"No, Hermione, I don't care about the general public." Hermione felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Was he using Legilimency? "No, not Legilimency, either. You're showing your emotions and thoughts almost as obviously as Potter used to. If I was using Legilimency, I'm sure your thoughts would be shouting at me right now."

She could feel a gentle probe at the edges her mind. Not that he was trying to get in – but just trying to tell her that he could.

Apparently she had become rather complacent in his company, which was rather a long way from the neutral she had started at just scant weeks ago. She deliberately cleared her mind and dropped a mental screen in front of her thinking processes.

His eyes narrowed. "Very good, Hermione," Severus commented. "But you would have done better to do that at the beginning of dinner."

His previous comments had irritated her. This last one made her angry. "Thank you for the advice. Were you planning on raiding my mind while we ate?"

"Of course not," he said.

"Then I'd prefer to think of it as having good judgment on who I can trust, thank you very much," Hermione snapped. It was an effort, but she maintained her mental defences.

Severus just quirked the edge of his mouth at her. "As I was saying, I don't particularly care about the general public. But I do have a career to think of, now that I'm not indefinitely tied to Hogwarts. I would prefer not to deliberately do something that will cause my credibility to suffer, were it to cross certain ears."

"So why don't you just put the things in the stockroom on the upper floor?"

He looked at her. "First of all, because I didn't know about it. Second of all, that might help, but I still don't see how to ensure they spot it before it gets cycled into the main shop and sold to customers."

Hermione shrugged and pondered. He had a point, unfortunately. "I still think it's a good, viable plan. And if I'm still invited to be a part of it, perhaps I can figure out some way to trigger their notice."

"We wouldn't be discussing it if you weren't still invited," he said wryly. "However, I do suggest we finish our meals before they get cold."

They ate the rest of their food in a companionable silence. They both declined dessert and were standing to leave when Hermione looked across the room towards the door and spotted something she truly didn't want to see.

"Severus, is there a back door we can leave through?" she asked, turning to him.

He looked down at her, obviously not having seen the problem. "I would think so, undoubtedly through the kitchen. Why?"

"About ten feet to the right of the main door, at the table in the front window," she replied.

Severus followed her implicit instructions and turned his gaze in the appropriate direction. A redhead that he recognised all too well sat conversing with a woman at the table she had indicated.