Near Whitehall in London stands a busy Indian Takeaway.
"Order 23! Chicken Masala Biryani!"
The man shouted from the counter. The after-work crowd was at overflow capacity on Monday nights. Tonight was no exception. This place was on her way home from the Ministry with better than average food.
Hermione Granger didn't feel like cooking. The weekend was full of that, having visited Harry and Ginny and the three kids. All she wanted was to curl up with her takeaway, good old Crookshanks, and a book.
She grabbed for the bag. A much larger hand landed atop her own. Their heads shot to one another immediately. The young woman with a no-nonsense frown and a mane of hair that threatened to engulf the place stared at the tall, slender man in the black leather jacket. He stared at her. She knew him! She was also hungry and tired and not in the mood for a fight,
"I believe this is my order." She was polite but firm.
He didn't look in the mood for anything other than a fight,
"Cheeky."
"No, Chicken. Chicken Masala Biryani," she stated matter-of-factly.
"That's correct...and it is my order," he growled.
Severus Snape presented his ticket to her with a smirk then to the clerk who didn't care either way.
Hermione looked at her ticket. 28. Shite!
"Oh, sorry, I ordered the same. I just misread my number. 28. My number is 28. My order number that is...not...my phone number...unless you want it...my...phone number."
As she released her grip on the takeaway Hermione looked around as if to find a hole big enough to crawl into as the heat of blush rose up her neck and consumed her face.
He thought for a moment. He knows this woman. Who is she?
"I don't except phone numbers from strangers. So, what's your name?"
By now she was certain of his identity, that voice was the kicker. How could she forget the one man of whom she had been terrified and then respected more than anyone else she had ever known? She had remembered him but apparently he didn't remember her. She thrust out her hand,
"Hermione Granger. I know who you are but it's been awhile and, I must say, you've changed, Professor."
She was babbling but she was right about that. Professor Severus Snape had changed. Firstly, he was in an Indian restaurant ordering Chicken Masala Biryani, her favourite.
Secondly, his black hair was tied back into a doubled-over ponytail bun hybrid. With that, his carved-in-granite face no longer boasted that sickly sallow pallor. This small style choice had made all the difference in easing the severity of his features. Or was she just seeing through more mature, adult eyes now.
Thirdly, His clothes were Muggle and not all black. He wore dark grey slacks, navy blue buttoned shirt and that sexy black leather jacket.
"Order 24!"
The man at the counter shouted over their heads.
"Excuse me!"
Another man pushed grudgingly between them. Hermione was apologetic as she moved out of the way.
"Oh, sorry, sorry."
Snape just moved to the side, out of the way of the impatient glares coming from the hungry throng.
"You look a bit harried, Miss Granger."
Hermione self-consciously pushed her hair back away from her face and gave it a quick flip to one side in an attempt at nonchalance.
"Sorry, just came from work. I work at the Ministry...of Magic...the Ministry of Magic....I work there."
Snape couldn't help but chuckle inside himself. Why was this woman so flustered by him? Perhaps he still had that intimidation factor going for him. Good. Then again, it could just be that whole 'Death-Eater War I swear we thought you were dead when we left you in that shack' thing from...how long ago?...eight years! Already?
"What do you do...now, I mean...Professor? Still teaching?"
"Merlin, No! I work at the Ministry, the Muggle one."
"Really? What do you do there, if I may ask?"
"Were I to tell you...I would have to kill you."
Hermione laughed before noticing he didn't. He looked very serious. Hermione wanted to run but she had paid for her food and it wasn't ready yet.
"Order 28!"
Oh Thank Circe's tits!
The crowd pushed back against her struggle to break the edge of the near riotous queue. Snape pressed his food bag into her midsection. As she instinctively grabbed for the offending takeaway sack she fell back against the wall. Snape turned towards the waiting hoard, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter. Nice trick. She'll have to learn that one.
When he returned with her order Snape took Hermione by the arm and walked out the front door straight through a great sea of humanity still trying to get into the small shop.
The pair continued along the pavement before finally stopping a block away in a less populated spot. Snape motioned for her to sit down. He cast a Notice-Me-Not charm as they sat at a vacant table outside a nearly empty Chip shop. Everybody knows Monday night is curry night. What customers there were simply walked out with their chips and proceeded down the streets of London to wherever they were going.
As Hermione and Snape tucked into their individual Biryanis, he said,
"So, Hermione Granger, where are your eleven redheaded children?"
She choked, sputtering and spewing bits of rice hither and yon. Finally Hermione composed herself enough to reply,
"I'm not even married, Professor!"
Coolly swallowing a mouthful of Biryani, Snape raised an eyebrow.
"The two acts are not synonymous, Miss Granger, though why anyone would have eleven children without a full commitment from that Weasley person is beyond me."
"I don't have eleven children!"
"How many do you have?"
"I don't have any!"
"Curious."
"Look, Professor. I'm not married, least of all to Ron Weasley, and I do not now nor have I ever had...children. I have a career and a cat. That's it!"
A look of minor puzzlement mixed with amusement crossed his face,
"Ah...I seem to recall Minerva reading the Prophet to me in hospital as she kept vigil at my bedside...for whatever reason. I could have sworn she said you and Weasley were to be married. Perhaps I was still delirious."
Hermione remembered the story. Fawkes had swooped in to save Snape with his tears and taken him to Madame Pomphrey at Minerva's insistence. After he was stabilised and his true loyalties had become public record he was taken to St Mungo's to complete his convalescence. Minerva never left his side.
"Yes, well, Professor, don't believe everything you read...especially in the Prophet."
Snape nodded as he finished the last of his biryani. He knew all too well the gossipmongering the Prophet could get up to, maliciously, ruthlessly.
"Well, I have to say, that is somewhat of a small relief."
After wiping his mouth with the provided paper serviette he added,
"And I am no longer a professor. Snape...or Severus will do."
She could never call Professor Snape 'Snape' and almost certainly never 'Severus'.
"Ok, Prof-Sna-Se-...Severus. You find it a relief?"
"What?"
"That I'm not married."
"Oh that. Not married to Weasley most definitely."
Hermione finished the last bite of her own biryani and was a little sad their reacquaintance was nearly at an end.
"We're still friends though. We just weren't right as a couple."
"I should say not. Care for an ice cream?"
Snape rose from his seat clearing away the empty takeaway cartons, tossing them in the bin, and began to walk along the pavement. Hermione walked beside him as casually as she could muster in this surreal moment in time. Why didn't Professor Snape think she and Ron were a good match? He was right but...still.
"Yes, an ice cream sounds super."
She smacked herself mentally for such a childish reply, so 5th year Hogwarts.
"Why don't you think I was a good match for Ron?"
Snape stopped and looked at her,
"You are far too intelligent for that Weasley clod, Miss Granger."
Hermione was stunned. He thinks I'm intelligent!. Though she didn't care what any man thought of her, this one did.
Snape resumed walking,
"Do you live around here or is the curry shop just convenient to work?"
What? Oh,
"I do, actually. I have a flat a few blocks from here. You?"
"Same. We could have our desserts on the walk home...if that is acceptable?"
Hermione was an adult woman and quite capable of adult replies,
"Ok"
Shite!
As they walked she remembered what he had said a few minutes ago,
"You think I'm intelligent?"
"Miss Granger, I not only think it but I know it impunibly. Now, let's get that cone."
The slight flutter of excitement ruffled through her body.
A small Italian ice cream shop was set two doors away. They entered and a few minutes later emerged, cones in hand. The sun was beginning to set and the sky took on various shades of blue, orange and purple.
"Why am I not surprised you chose the crimson of raspberry gelato."
"You should talk. Pistachio is green."
"Hardly a discernable shade of green where as raspberry absolutely screams Gryffindor. Besides, I like Pistachio no matter the colour."
"Well I like raspberry."
"Fair enough."
They walked awhile longer before coming to the beginning of a tidy residential neighborhood. Hermione pointed to a black door,
"This is me."
As they stopped Snape looked down at her. The feeling was intense, more so than she had imagined. She was just about to close her eyes and present her mouth for a kiss when the crunch of the gelato cone snapped her from her fantasy. After chewing thoroughly his bite of pastry, he spoke,
"It was...nice to see you again, Miss Granger. Dinner was more...enjoyable with company."
Hermione could hardly breathe.
"Yes...yes it was, wasn't it. And thank you for the gelato."
After a few seconds of his eyes staring into hers, he took another bite of his cone,
"Pleasure...Perhaps, we could do it again sometime?"
Calm down, just breathe, she urged herself,
"Yes, I'd like that, Prof-Severus."
As they stood in the fading light of day he handed her his business card,
With that he turned and walked back the way they had come. She thought he said he lived nearby? Hmmm? Did he make that up just to walk her home?
She looked at the card he had given her and felt her jaw drop as she read,
Severus Snape
Senior Advisor
Prime Minister's Office
10 Downing Street, London Tel: 020 1111 9999
Of course the British government would recruit him! He was brilliant, brave, and quite attractive in a dangerous sort of way. Not that the government cared if he was gorgeous.
And he liked curry!
Hermione's mind stroked in that dreamy voice we all speak to ourselves in when it comes to affairs of the heart,
"Yes. Definitely see him again. Maybe over another Biryani, an ice cream cone and a sunset."
The End
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