A Long Black Coat

~~~~~

I don't own the Harry Potter universe, and I doubt anybody would pay me for my writing even if I did have the right to demand money, money that belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me.

Like the Muggles Do

A Long Black Coat

"Hermione."

"Yes, Severus?"

"You must do something about that man. He keeps touching me."

"Severus, he's a sales clerk. He's simply getting your measurements so that your clothing will fit properly."

"I do not like it, all the same."

"You'll live."

"He, however, might not. You know how I react when people dare to touch me. Especially if those people are blithering idiots, raving on about fall fashion and movie stars while they touch me. I do not care what looks 'fabulous' or what Hugh Grant is wearing. That inane chatter that he kept up, blathering on about... who the hell is Hugh Grant anyway? Don't bother answering that, I really don't care. If that stupid, annoying child touches me again, if he speaks to me again, if he comes near me again, I cannot be held responsible for my actions."

With a resigned sigh, Hermione left Severus to browse the coat section alone so that she could intercept the salesman before he reached her irritable partner. It was amazing how pushy and annoying people could be when working on commission. The idiot salesman (she had heard his constant talking, he really was an idiot) was aware, because Severus had told him, that they had a good deal of money to spend. Severus of course had never dealt with a pushy sales clerk and did not expect the sod to try to predict, however incorrectly, their every need or want. Hermione berated herself for not anticipating the possibility of Severus answering the question 'can I help you?', especially not with the truth.

"Do you think you could just... estimate what size he is? From over here?"

"Well for such esteemed customers such as yourselves, we want the look and fit of every article of clothing to be perfect. I wouldn't dream of asking you or your gentleman friend to compromise on the quality of your purchases."

Kiss ass, Hermione thought, vowing to introduce Severus to thrift stores sooner than later. As horrible as this boy was, though, the clothes in this shop were first-rate, and she did feel that if they had the funds, they could and should insist on the best. She considered just telling the boy to bugger off, but decided that shopping would be easier with someone to scurry off to find the right size of everything they liked. It was a luxury few could afford, and Hermione had not been raised to take available luxuries for granted.

"Well, you see... My friend, he doesn't like being touched."

"I don't quite understand." The simpering fool did, at least, look like he was trying to pay attention to what they wanted, rather than what they could afford.

"He's a very... private man. He doesn't like physical contact. When people touch him, he becomes uncomfortable and tends to... how do I put this... lash out."

Hermione could not deny that when Severus lashed out it was quite a show, but she felt that the Muggle before her would not survive Severus Snape's wrath. Something as simple as his dislike of being touched had weakened much greater men and women; even Aurors chose carefully how to pick their fights with the dangerously short-tempered Wizard.

Tonks had tried to give the sour man a hug at the first meeting for the Order Games. Her hair did not return for several months. And when it did it would change only to green and silver. When she patted him on the back and chuckled "no hard feelings, mate" at the next meeting, he had added a black snake design to twine around her scalp. It hissed at anybody that Severus didn't particularly like (which was most everyone) and Tonks was so frustrated by the end of the game, she swore to never touch him again. Whenever there were no Muggles around, the damned thing had slithered and hissed and tried, despite its status as hair, to bite Tonks' forehead. When there were Muggles around, they openly stared at her, more so than usual. Snape eventually took off the charm that animated the snake, but when he heard her mumble something about a 'spiteful bastard' he simply renewed the other two charms before returning to Hogwarts.

Hermione had thought it rather dashing, though she was a red and gold girl herself. And she was astonished that when they all met at the end, before Severus had lifted his spell, the snake had not hissed at her as it had at the beginning. She had been rather impressed with Severus' reinforcement spells when, before Albus shipped them all to the New York subway six months later, Tonks admitted that she had finally been able to remove the serpent design only a few days prior, though she had been able to change the colors from Slytherin pride to those of her own choosing for a few months.

Of course Hermione could not tell the salesman in front of her the possible hazards of touching her 'gentleman friend' – the young man was a Muggle, after all. She and Severus were Muggles. So as the salesman continued to stare at her blankly, while she imagined him with a Slytherin-themed Mohawk, she continued her explanation as best she could, trying to hold on to some semblance of honesty.

"He used to have a dangerous occupation; he couldn't trust anyone. So he developed strong natural personal defenses." She tried to find the right words to explain her companion. "And besides which, he's..."

"Sensitive?"

"A sadistic bastard."

"Oh."

Hermione did not miss the snort that came from somewhere around the trench coats. Apparently, someone thought that the idea of Severus Snape being sensitive was rather absurd. She agreed.

Her glance flicked towards the noise and locked with a pair of dark, impatient eyes. The salesclerk not only didn't notice that her attention had been drawn elsewhere, but he was also still trying to convince her that he wanted only the best for them. Apparently, only he could offer them "the perfect fit, the most modern and popular styles, and only the highest quality fabrics."

The eyes she was watching were animated, trying to convey some message. The look said "get rid of him or I will. Annoying dunderheaded boy..."

Or at least that's what she was thinking.

She looked back at the man before her and interrupted his inane chatter, exasperated with how much he didn't get what she was trying to say, no matter how nicely she tried to put it. "I am through being polite. You don't seem to take a hint, so I'll be blunt. We do not need an ignorant little cretin buzzing around us and boring us with... well, whatever you've been saying. I tuned you out some time ago. We can do just fine without your assistance. I think that I will go find the men's section – without your escort – and personally pick out several items on which we will spend an unimaginable amount of money. Thank you." She gave him one last superior and disdainful look, and walked away, with a curt "Good day," and, just loud enough that she was sure he could hear her, "you useless idiot."

When Hermione rounded the corner, quite proud of herself for leaving the mosquito-like little nuisance in the stupor that she had, she refused to think about just where she had learned such behavior. Snape emerged from the coat section with a long black trench coat hanging over one arm. The dazed salesclerk started a bit at Snape's sudden appearance, but actually had the nerve to launch into some sort of apologetic plea to salvage his commission. He had apparently decided that the 'bitch' he had just encountered was clearly the unstable half of the duo, and he was sure Severus would be much more reasonable. His expression reflected that he was sure he could convince the man now scowling at him of his dubious usefulness.

Severus' voice came out icy cold as he interrupted the impertinent young fool. "The lady has informed you that we no longer require your services. And she has done so in a far more polite manner than I am likely to." He drew himself to his full height, towering over the boy and silencedany further protestation with his harsh, black stare. "Without her around to keep me calm and collected, I am likely to show you what I really think of your efforts and your opinions. Do not bother me with your sniveling inanities. You will not like seeing me in a bad mood."

The salesclerk exited the dangerous man's presence as quickly as a first-year Hufflepuff.

"You scarred him for life!" she scolded him, with a hint of amusement. She had felt that she had done a highly satisfactory job of dismissing the rude, annoying little shit. She was not pleased that Severus had chosen to continue the imbecile's torture after her suitably haughty and insulting exit.

"It's what I do."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue with him, but promptly swallowed her words when she considered the man walking beside her.

"Fair enough."

He was right, that's what he did. She could no sooner confront him than she could a panther. Asking Severus Snape to not insult and intimidate someone was akin to asking a panther to cease its hunt, and never again pounce, attack, and kill its unsuspecting prey. Shredding the defenseless creature's hide with razor-sharp claws, and tearing flesh with long, fierce teeth...

She'd rather take her chances with the panther than Severus.

One wrong step with either would result in the salvation of the original intended victim only because the focus of the attack would be transferred to her. Little chance existed for all of the possible targets to escape unscathed. A panther's dinner, she thought, was a much better option than being the sole target of the Potions master's viciousness.

Besides, the little sod deserved it. "He was a blithering idiot anyway," she continued. "And I did try to warn him about you."

"That you did," he said with a smirk. "Don't do it again. I like them surprised."

She laughed as she slowed her pace, still alert as she navigated the department store in search of menswear. Severus' attention was drawn to his recent acquisition, hanging over his arm as they walked.

"I picked a coat."

Hermione practically screeched to a stop, not noticing in her excitement that they had reached their intended destination. She beamed at him and eagerly took the long black trench coat for inspection.

Severus studied his surroundings and noticed that standing on a platform next to them were several men. Well they obviously weren't real men. They didn't look like anybody had even tried to make them realistic... lazy, inartistic Muggles. They were ghostly white, with limbs stiff in unnatural poses. They were given faces, of a sort, but all three were the same. And there were no real details, just the basic outline of eyes, ears, nose, mouth. Their hair, or at least the idea of hair, had been simply carved into their heads. To make them even more dreadful, these men – they must have been made of stone, though he couldn't tell for sure without studying them up close – were dressed atrociously.

One held a long metal stick and wore plaid pants which made him think of Minerva, a vest-like sweater over a short sleeved shirt, and a flimsy looking hat with what looked like a baby Kneazle on top. The poor bastard in the middle had been contorted into a ghastly parody of someone running. He had on pants and a jacket made of the same, indistinguishable fabric that could only have been developed by Muggles. There appeared to be buttons running down the side of the pants, as though one could pull them apart to reveal a separate front and back. On the man's feet were ugly white shoes; trainers they were called, though he had never seen any so pristinely white and detailed with all sorts of useless-looking additions. Severus looked at the third man and nearly gagged at the thought of any man dressed in the ridiculous costume. The shorts he wore bordered on obscene, topped with a brightly colored shirt. There were fuzzy bands around his head and wrists and he held a racket, though Severus had never seen a metal like it. It was clearly not steel or any other strong metal, it was shiny and looked to be easily bendable. The strings crisscrossing the strange racket also did not look like those he had seen in the Wizarding World. Everything looked man-made, nothing he held appeared to be natural. In his other hand was a fuzzy, bright green ball; much larger than a Snitch but not nearly the size of a Bludger. The third man also wore trainers, with white socks that went higher up the man's calves than the shorts went down his thighs.

Severus couldn't comprehend why someone would take the time to carve these sparsely-detailed statues, not even giving them color for their hair, and then dress them up in these ridiculous, appalling clothes. He hoped Hermione didn't expect him to look like one of them when they left. He would rather dress as Longbottom's boggart, in a dress and large ugly vulture hat.

Hermione had taken his coat from him and was examining it, and then holding it up to his body, and then her own. She murmured a distracted "They're mannequins, Severus" before continuing her investigation by putting her hands in every pocket she could find. Approving of his choice, she gave him an unhindered smile.

"Brilliant. It's perfect. You chose a good coat."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the smiling woman. "I am not a child, and I will not tolerate such condescending remarks about my ability to choose clothing."

"I'm sorry, Severus," she sighed, a look of relief not completely hidden by her newly contrite expression. "I was just worried that this shopping thing would be difficult."

==

"Why do you have to be so difficult?" the exhausted witch cried. "We're going nowhere, Severus!"

Indeed, the pair had been, essentially, arguing for almost an hour now. Piles of discarded clothing lay like corpses around their feet, and the two were facing each other, looking murderous. On a chair, off to the side, sat her purse and shoes (which had become exponentially less comfortable as her irritation grew), their cloaks, and on top of all of it, a long black trench coat.

She gazed longingly at the coat, which had been so easy to find and agree on. Anger flooded her brain again and she looked back at the man across the clothing battlefield from her.

He stood perfectly straight, arms folded tightly across his chest, feet almost shoulder-width apart. He was glaring at her, all sense of amusement gone from his demeanor. His thin lips formed a sneer as he looked down at her – over that prominent nose of his – with an irate stare, eyebrows coming together to complete his angry expression. His lank hair fell in front of his face and grazed his cheekbones, but he did nothing to fix it. He didn't move. It didn't even look like he was breathing.

She studied him, recognizing the stance from seven years of being on the receiving end. But as she looked at him now, she did not see the intimidatingly fierce Potions master, Great Bat of the Dungeons, that she had seen him as during her childhood.

She was looking at him as a grown woman, now. She saw him in a brand new light. She finally identified exactly what this new view was. Her stomach flipped and her mind reeled, but this new opinion did not budge. She would never have predicted that she would feel this way about her former Professor, let alone tell him. But he needed to know how she felt, how he was making her feel.

"Severus Snape, you are acting like a defiant, stubborn, spoilt little boy!"

He was dumbstruck. She could hardly believe herself, as her mouth continued to speak to him with a familiarity for which she was sure he would somehow punish her later. Her anger overpowered her fear and respect of the man, and she berated him further.

"I am not asking that you don pastels or take up golfing. All that I ask is that you deviate from neck-to-toes covering black. I insist that you stop acting like a child and compromise with me. Otherwise, I will lose this game for us right now by hexing you into a pink and purple party dress with Gryffindor red and gold tights and matching hair ribbon."

He was gobsmacked. Gobsmacked and dumbstruck.... She had scolded him to the point of speechlessness.

His defiant stance melted away as he strode toward her, calm yet dangerous. Speech was only returning to him in parts, and rather than complete sentences he was growling fragments of an incoherent phrase, raging at her.

It had all come out as a sort of non-understandable sentence, with only tiny pauses between words to demonstrate the changing of thought. "Disrespectful... superior... war hero... headmaster... Golden Trio... insolence... detention... librarian... stealing... clothing... black... on fire... grown man... lost your mind?"

He had reached her now and stood silent again, mere inches from her. For her part, Hermione was giving him her best basilisk-stare, with her hands defiantly set on her hips, her face flushed with anger rather than fear.

"Miss Granger," he began, his voice deafening in her ears, barely above a whisper. He leaned closer until his face was right next to hers. "You will remember-"

Her hands silenced him as they came up to cup his face, suddenly. Her entire disposition changed from the expression Draco Malfoy was accustomed to, to a look only Ron and Harry had seen before.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed, tapping her hands on his cheeks in a playful, excited mini-slap. There was a triumphant gleam in her eye and she was smiling. And then she stepped back from him, turned on her heel, and walked away, without another word.

The sharp left that she took, two aisles down, and her determined stride assured Severus that she would return. Besides, she had left her purse and shoes.

He retraced the steps he had taken moments before, this time not in anger, but not pleased. He kicked a pile of black garments lying, unwanted, on the floor, and considered her final argument from the battle they'd been fighting right before she had, quite clearly, lost her mind...

"Severus, you have to wear some kind of color."

"I will only wear black."

"You can't wear just black."

"Well, there is usually a bit of white as well."

"You can not dress the way you usually do."

"I don't see why not."

"It's not acceptable!"

"It has always suited me just fine."

"At Hogwarts!"

"Yes, at Hogwarts. Since before you spent that first day, hand waving in the air and that eager-to-prove-yourself look on your face. For as long as I've worked there, which is longer than you have been alive. I have always worn a white linen shirt, black wool trousers, a black vest, and a black wool coat. When I really want to cut loose, I will remove the jacket. Maybe roll the sleeves up, which is more likely now, at least, than before your lucky bastard of a best friend defeated the Dark Lord for good, practically by accident. Now I only have a foolish tattoo, rather than the sign of death destruction and enslavement to a madman. On top of all of this I don robes, which I have conceded to avoid for the sake of this ridiculous Muggle farce.

That is how I dress. I have dressed this way for over twenty years. Conservatively, and in black. I am an old man, Hermione, and set in my ways. My clothing has always satisfied all of my needs and purposes."

"And what are those purposes, old man?" Her fury had doubled during his rant, and she always worked up a rage when he went on about being old. That's why he called himself an old man, her response was predictable and enjoyable. It had incensed her further, and she did not wait for him to answer. "Frightening small children? Intimidating teenagers? You don't have to dress that way here, now, Severus. You can try something new."

His voice dropped to an angry growl, he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her.

"I do not wish to try something new."

She had really lost her temper (and all sense of reasoning) then. He was sure the entire store had heard her screech as she implored, "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

==

It hadn't been long before Hermione returned, a confident expression on her face.

"It's practically what you wear already!" her excited sales-pitch began. "They're just like your white linen shirts. Long sleeved, with the collar and the buttons. They're in cotton, though. So you'll look like you belong in this decade." He arched an eyebrow at her, allowing her to continue as he took one crisply folded shirt from the pile in her arms and studied it. She took a deep breath.

"I grabbed a couple black ones and a couple white ones, and a few colored ones. Before you protest, please look at them. The colors aren't that bad. This plum will look dashing on you. The blues are all very dark. And manly. Menacing, even. And the dark green ones are perfect for a Slytherin. None of them are shiny or silky or showy, so you won't look like Lockhart. There are also some gray ones. They aren't technically a 'color,' so that should make you happy. But they're not your usual simplistic black and white, so I'll stop nagging at you. They're all good shirts, Severus. But they won't leave you looking..." she was gauging his reactions, trying to satisfy his demands. And doing a much better job of it than that idiot sales clerk had done. "...like you're trying too hard," she finished, her practiced speech concluded. She drew in a long breath – really that had been a lot to say on the minimal amount of oxygen she had provided herself.

She studied his face and opened her mouth to launch a second attack.

"Fine." he said, not wishing to hear her try to convince him further. "These will do." She smiled again, the first genuine one since he had shown her the long black coat. "All that I ask is that we leave this God-forsaken place and return to a world of people. No matter that the clothes are probably better company than the various Muggles you no doubt plan to inflict on me."

"Brilliant. Let's pay for these, then we can go." She was somewhat shocked that he had agreed so fast. He wouldn't ever tell her, but he was quite pleased with her selections. He felt a strange bit of pride that she had thought of something he truly approved of.

Her face fell, and his headache returned full force, preparing for what she was about to say, which was bound to be bad news.

"We still need trousers."

==

Severus pulled the money from his Muggle wallet, not sure if they were spending a lot or a little, glad to be leaving. The rest of their shopping had gone rather smoothly. She had insisted that he wear pants not made of wool, and begged him to pick something suitable.

He had chosen several pairs of black trousers and a few of a very dark gray, satisfied with Hermione's beam of appreciation at his, however fractional, deviation from all black. She had not argued with him over any of his choices and everything had gone much more efficiently.

She had picked out a pair of black boots that resembled his own, laughing when he told her 'none of those ridiculous lace-up trainers' he had seen. "Oh!" she had exclaimed. "I would pay money to see that!" Her fit of giggles only escalated as she looked around the shoe department, at all of the possibilities. She was doubled over, tears forming, gasping something about 'Birkenstocks' when a salesperson came over to see if they were ok

Hermione had straightened, and – at Severus' disapproving glare – reverted to a somber expression. She calmly told the young woman that they were ready to check out.

Hermione had only grabbed one thing for herself – a pea coat that she said couldn't wait. She had insisted that Severus put on his new trench coat and asked the cashier to put their cloaks into one of the large bags full of their new purchases.

Walking out of the department store, Hermione informed him that they were returning 'home' to relieve themselves of their packages before coming back for more 'fun.'

"Tomorrow, I'll leave you at the flat while I come into town to buy a few articles of clothing for myself. I doubt that you want to accompany me on another exciting shopping trip."

He had been relieved at that. Doing that again, in a woman's section, rated just above Double Potions with Slytherin and Gryffindor – her year.

"I'm sure you can shop for yourself, you seem to be competent at it." She studied his face, trying to discern if his comment had been an insult or a complement. "I had wondered why you had only bought the one item." He looked her up and down, appraising her appearance "You look quite nice in your new coat."

That, she was sure, was a compliment. After all that, the bastard had just told her she looked nice! She looked around them, the entrance to the store was crowded but there was no one properly witnessing the historic event. She saw his lips twitch and just about fainted. Was he going to smile? A smile and a compliment together? That could be considered nice. And even throughout their growing friendship, Severus Snape had never been nice.

He smirked at her – oh thank Merlin! He enjoyed having thrown her off balance; it was a very Slytherin trick to compliment her just to see her squirm. That was the Severus she knew.

With that smirk, he turned from her and began walking down the pavement, his long black coat... not really doing anything special.

==

All traces of reaction to the compliment and almost-smile followed by the inevitable superior look and rather rude abandonment disappeared, replaced by simple, uncontained glee.

"Ha!" she barked, startling a Muggle man walking past her. "I knew it!"

Severus stopped walking and allowed her to catch up with him, undoubtedly viewing it as a gracious favor rather than common courtesy. He looked at her with a bored and exasperated expression, but also an invitation to continue.

She caught up with him and he resumed walking. She checked behind them just to be sure. Triumphant and confident in her discovery, she grinned at him smugly and, lowering her voice, bragged "I knew you charmed your robes to billow the way they do!"

He looked at her with a mix of shock, confusion, and innocence.

All of which she could see right through – he had been a spy, you'd think that he'd at least try to make his farce believable. Amidst all of his feigned indignation, she saw the glimmer in his dark eyes. A spark of amusement danced in his gaze, and she knew that she was right but he would never admit it.

That didn't mean she wouldn't tease him about it in the future. But she smiled and continued walking in the direction of their flat, triumph in her step, content to have one long-standing question in her life answered.

She could only imagine what new questions and answers this man would pose in the future.

Author's Notes ah, that's much better.

Because if I'm going to admit to being an author, I'll damn well insist that I've no idea what I'm doing, and admit that I'm scared as hell.