Chapter 1
“Kingsley!”
Severus snarled as he stormed past the protesting receptionist. The door to the Ministers office burst open as he reached it, bouncing off the wall. Vaguely he was aware of a woman’s voice offering some reproach but he had eyes only for the man behind the desk. A man who, from the look in his, knew exactly what brought Severus to his office.
“Se—“
“Vandersnap!” Severus said his colleagues name like a curse. “You are sending Vandersnap to the Potions Conference in America.”
“He’s a senior member of the staff.”
“He’s an imbecile who’s been allowed to coast for far too long on the labor of his so-called apprentices. He has no business leading this presentation.”
“He’s perfectly capable of doing the presentation.”
“A bloody flobberworm could be charmed to recite the presentation; what he lacks is the passion, the intricate understanding—“
“He’s the only one with the clearances,” Kingsley interjects. He meets Severus’ eye. “He has the ranking, the clearances. He’s the only one qualified, Severus who hasn’t… been rejected.”
“Rejected.” Severus repeats. “On what grounds have you—“
“Not me.”
“Then who? The committee? But why—“
And then it hits him. He looks down at his left arm.
“Severus—“
“Progressive, my arse,” he snarls, turning on heel.
At the door a soft voice speaks.
“Severus, if I may—“
He turns to face the woman whose meeting with Kingsley he had interrupted. Hermione Granger is the incarnate form of picturesque pencil pusher. Her shoes are sensible, her tights smooth, and the flattering pencil skirt tapers just beneath her knees.
Her unruly curls are tamed into a tight knot at the base of her skull. The hairstyle exposes the delicate curve of her neck working in tandem with her silk blouse to remind Severus that she’s no longer an insufferable child but an equally infuriating woman.
“You may not,” he sneers. “I’m taking a half-day, Shacklebolt.”
oOo
“Severus,” Lucius drawls. “You can’t honestly be surprised, can you?“
“No,” he admits with a sigh, glowering at his glass of whiskey. “But I’m finding I had allowed myself a moment’s hope.”
“Hoping for more when you’ve already got the best of our lot, are you? I knew you were just as selfish as the rest.”
Severus looks around. “Feeling jealous of my position are you, Lucius? You appear quite comfortable.”
The older man adjusts his robes primly. “Oh, my legitimate resources are far more than sufficient to see my family through for generation to come. It is the legacy we leave I worry about.”
“Your reputation.” His incredulity is palpable. “You’re worrying about how society perceives you?”
“Not me,” Lucius says softly. “As I said, my wealth will see Narcissa and I to a comfortable end. It is Draco I worry after. This new order it… it doesn’t have much respect for the old money.” For purebloods.
“Draco is employed in the Department of Magical Law, is he not?”
While he hasn’t spoken to the boy in several years, he recalls seeing his name alongside Granger’s in their inquiries for his potioneering expertise.
“They’ve relegated him to desk work. While, he doesn’t need to work—and Salazar knows I wish he would have chosen something with greater prestige—you must be aware his capabilities far surpass his position.”
“Doesn’t he work with one Hermione Granger?”
Never mind the fact that he knows that Granger is far above the work she is doing. Her shift from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures into Law Enforcement was unsurprising; it was her failure to rise in those ranks that didn’t make sense. Lucius raises a sardonic brow.
“Indeed. They’ve become… friends, even. Narcissa has had her for tea. However you’ll agree the work is beneath her as well.”
Severus doesn’t bother to hide his shock.
“New order indeed. She’s… she’s been here?”
Lucius’ smirk that formed over his surprise collapses into a frown. His gaze shutters.
“About a year after the war, just a few months after she graduated Hogwarts, Hermione reached out to Narcissa. Apparently she’d been seeing a mindhealer who suggested something Muggles call exposure therapy.”
Severus brow furrows in confusion.
“She requested to visit the Manor and face her traumas. I was still in Azkaban at the time she visited. Narcissa did not give me many details, but it is there that I gather she and Draco formed their connection. She got him his position. She even found someone to remove his wretched Mark.”
“She did what?”
“Draco’s Dark Mark is gone,” Lucius repeats.
“That’s impossible.”
“So I too believed.”
“Then yours is—“
“No,” Lucius says. With a flick of his wand his sleeve rolls up. “I cannot even look at the girl. There’s no way that I…”
He trails off. Then his eyes snap to Severus.
“You did not know.”
Severus scoffs. “If I had known there was a means to remove the Mark, would I be here cursing the committee?”
Lucius studies him. “You and Granger are not friendly?”
“We’re colleagues.” Severus says stiffly. “Our departments interact on occasion.”
He doesn’t mention her numerous attempts to speak with him. Her continued small gestures that spoke of friendship and familiarity. She was creating bridges over lines he had no ability to cross, undeterred when he incendio’d each one.
Was this the cost? She kept the cure to his affliction from him. His thoughts turn briefly bitter before he reminds himself of this morning. Was this going to be her suggestion? It would have been the first time he voice complaint about the Mark in her presence. It would be like her to worry about offending him over an offer he never vocalized wanting.
“I can speak with Draco, of course, and see if he can arrange a meeting. I’m given to understand that’s not how it’s done.”
“He’s not the only one who’s had his mark removed then?”
“I believe he was the first. Naturally it’s hard to ascertain, given it would raise a public outcry should anyone learn we can now be unbranded.”
“It shouldn’t be possible. The Dark Lord’s charm work is exceptional.”
Lucius grimaces. “For someone convinced he’d never die, he certainly went to great lengths to ensure we could never hide our association in the wake of his passing.”
“I believe he added it after his resurrection, once he realized what turncoats we all were.”
“And that we could glamor it while he was alive… Narcissa is gifted with charms and even she can’t work out how it was done.”
“But Granger’s contact has done so?”
“Several times over,” Lucius confirms. “Draco is unmarked, as well as young Nott and Goyle.”
“Only the younger generation?”
“I presume that is a matter of hubris; Hermione offered to connect us, once.” His voice is tinged with longing.
“I see.” Severus takes a measured sip of whiskey. “If you could connect us, I would be much obliged.”
oOo
It is a non-descript building in the heart of Muggle London that Severus finds himself in front of that evening. The skies are dull grey, clouds preparing to burst at any moment. Passing Muggles seem more interested in the Chippy to the left or secondhand store on the right but he gets the impression they can see it. The bell tinkles as he opens the door.
The shop is small. Six mismatched chairs crowd the waiting area. Every inch of the grey walls is taken up by art: large intricate pieces detailing creatures both magic and muggle, smaller collections of tiny art—flash he believes it’s still called though he’s not been in the muggle tattoo scene for some time. There’s a small reception desk separating the waiting area from two tattoo chairs. Against the back wall are three doors.
“Just a minute,” a familiar voice calls out from the door left ajar on the right.
Severus schools his expression as the speaker comes into view. Even so it takes years of Occlumency training to not betray his surprise at her appearance. Her sensible shoes have been replaced with worn out Chucks and her legs are now encased in form fitting denims that fit her like a second skin. Artistic rips in the fabric draw his eye—not, surprisingly, for the glimpse of flesh they offer but for how little sense they make on someone he understands to be so composed.
That tantalizing silk shirt has been replaced with a somehow even more alluring jumper. What was once clearly a well-structured creation of the Weasley matriarch is now threadbare; he can easily see the stark white of the vest underneath and the collar is so overwrought that it now hangs loosely off of one shoulder. As her blouse had accentuated her collarbones, so too does this top, as well as the now visible tattoos dusted along her collarbone and over her shoulder.
Even her hair, no longer contained in that sleek knot, is different. Gone is the wild birds nest and in its place dangle tantalizingly sleek curls that beg for him to wrap them around his fingers. If not for the familiar whiskey hue of her wide eyes, for the full lips curling into a knowing smile, he wouldn’t know her for Granger at all.
“You’d have cost me galleons if I was a betting woman” she says drily. “I’d guessed you’d be here in less than five hours.”
Her wit washes over him. It is warm and then ice cold as he remembers exactly why he’s kept her at a distance over the years, why he’ll never let them be more than colleagues. Hermione Granger, and the things she makes him feel, is dangerous. Severus clears his throat and straightens up.
“Are you here as representative?”
She smirks. “Don’t act dim, it doesn’t suit you.”
“It shouldn’t be a surprise,” he grumbles. “Your bleeding heart has never left well enough alone.”
Her lips morph into a true smile, as if somehow he’d complimented her. He shifts his gaze to the wall.
“I could report you for this,” he says.
“It’s Muggle fantasy, Severus,” she informs him. “Would you like me to recite the by-laws?”
Strangely, yes. “Hardly.”
“Then what can I do for you?”
When he doesn’t answer for a moment, she wanders to the wall. With a flick of her fingers, several pages float down. She lays them along the counter and beckons him closer.
“Which suits you?”
“I did not come to receive a tattoo.”
Despite his statement, he glances over the sheets. One sheet is comprised of birds; a rook catches his eye. The other contains flowers; he passes over the lily, captivated instead by the bluebells. His eyes snap to hers as he takes in the final sheet, her gaze is alight with playful malice.
“Intimidating, don’t you think?”
He snorts. “I find men who feel the need to adorn their body with weapons have little knowledge on how to properly wield them.”
“A sentiment we share.” She vanishes the paper back to its spot on the wall. “The rook, then?”
“I am not here to get a tattoo,“ he repeats. Then pauses. “Or is it a matter of exchange?”
“You’re not required to get a tattoo,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s my need to know it all, I presume.”
He smirks. “You certainly have stumbled across quite the knowledge here, Granger.“
“Still think I’m the girl from your classroom, Severus,” she asks lightly. “A bit of praise and I’ll stumble over myself, trying to explain to you what I’ve done.”
“Seemed worth a try.”
“How candid for a Slytherin.”
“Only fitting for such a discrete Gryffindor. How do you intend to help me without revealing your process?”
“Are you asking for my help?”
He glowers. “You intend to make me beg.”
“Never. However your verbal consent is part of the process.”
He studies her face carefully. Seeing no deceit, he takes a deep breath. It leaves him as a shudder.
“I… I need your help, Granger. When can we begin?”