Hermione looked up from the ledgers and let out a long sigh. The wizard who sat opposite to her at the broad, potion-stained table winced and ran a hand through his long, black hair. The numbers hadn't lied to him either. "You need a serious injection of cash, Master Snape."

His mouth twitched up at the corner. "Of that I am well aware...Miss Granger."

She smirked at him and sat back. The edge of the high stool dug into her spine.

"Tea?" Severus pushed himself away from the table and turned to the little kitchen set to the side of his quite lovely laboratory.

"Need you ask?"

Severus slid her a dark look, before he set about the familiar ritual of preparing their tea.

Hermione stared back at the spiky figures scratched into the ledger. It wasn't fair. Severus Snape was brilliant. A brilliant Potion Master. A brilliant wizard, all round. His magic was a thing of power and beauty. Something she openly —and often— said to him in their rather...unexpected friendship after the war.

Mainly she did it to see the line of soft pink chase across his sharp cheekbones.

Severus placed a mug to the right of the accounts ledger and took his seat again. The dark line, one that had eased since this spying days had ended, pushed back between his brows. "I will have to go to the goblins."

Hermione winced.

Yes, a loan from them, if you were needy enough, could be bloody generational.

And well she knew it. The Ministry, in an unusual act of generosity, had paid off her third of the debt to the bank. Vaults and banking halls and dragons were egregiously expensive, apparently. Her belly twisted, the sour burn of her swapping of a debt always there on the very edge of her nerves.

She should've worked out something with the goblins, because the oh-so-generous Ministry had bought her. Lock, stock and barrel. Utter bastards.

Her nascent plan to disappear into academia had been wiped away that day. A condition of their repayment was a muggle-born heroine front and centre in the Ministry. Ron had sidled out of it, she still wasn't sure how. Harry, naturally, had more money than Croesus and had paid off his share without blinking.

Severus set her usual white, bone china mug before her on the table and broke her bitter run of thoughts.

"I can't understand why your profits are so low. The figures should show a very healthy balance in your favour. But, they don't. I can't fathom why. Everything is correct. And, of course, you should be in profit. I mean, you're...you." She waved a hand at him, before she picked up her mug. She inhaled the soft steam and sighed. Perfect as always.

Severus huffed a laugh. "No, that would explain it."

She glared at him over the rim of her mug. "No. No." She sipped and another pleasured sigh broke from her. Tension bled away, her shoulders dropping. "You could always open a tea shop? I shouldn't be the only one to experience your perfect cuppa."

True laughter burst from him, rich and deep and a little spiral of joy spun through Hermione's chest. It was a rare occasion that she made him laugh. She savoured it, always promising herself that he should laugh more.

"A rival to Mrs Puddifoot? Cream teas, jam and doilies? I think not."

"Shame, though more for me." She frowned at the pages before her. "Something is off about this, Severus. And it's bloody annoying that I can't put my finger on it."

"It is." He closed over the heavy book with a decided thunk and securing wards chased around the leather binding. A flick of his fingers, a burst of silent, wandless magic, and the book zipped away to the little cubby hole that was his office.

"Show off."

He smirked at her. "Naturally."

Hermione set her mug down and stared into it, watching the steam curl. "I...can't stay to dinner tonight." She pressed her lips together. "My Department has a function. Last minute." She huffed. "Last minute to tell me, anyway. And I'm to be...paraded."

She risked a look at the man opposite. His mouth had thinned and there was the shine of black fire in his eyes.

"It would've been better for you to be owned by the goblins."

A bitter laugh broke from her. Hadn't she just been thinking that? "It would. Then you would've had company."

"Tomorrow instead?"

There was a hint of hesitation in his tone and Hermione's heart squeezed. Severus Snape always expected to be disappointed. She'd vowed to herself never to let him down. Their friendship was a secret he insisted she kept to herself, to protect her own reputation. Not that she wouldn't put it on the front, the back and the entire middle of The Prophet. She was proud to know him. But it was his request…and so she honoured it.

His friendship, his laboratory, his books, were the only thing keeping her sane lately. The Ministry and...and Ron danced on her last nerve. "Yes, please, if you can squeeze me in."

"My social diary is quite open, I can assure you, Hermione."

He was shunned. And that annoyed her too.

Polite wizarding society didn't want the reminder of their past in the form of the wizard who had probably done even more than Harry to secure them their Voldemort-free future. And it wasn't their rejection that was pushing down his profits.

No one knew that Wand Light Potions was solely owned by Severus Snape. Hermione had hidden the paper trail herself. The first act in the start of their strange little friendship as he'd made the application for his venture under her time at the Review Desk.

Her first act of rebellion against her masters...

Though...being shunned had to be better than being a paraded muggle-born dressed-up doll. By yards. "If you go to the goblins, you can happily vent. As will I. Then we can break out Malfoy's cognac. Did you know there's a cocktail called a French Squirrel?"

Severus snorted and fresh laughter broke from him.

He toasted her with his mug. "That sounds like a Saturday evening well spent."

Hermione grinned and sipped her perfect tea. "Doesn't it?"