multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Hermione Granger, Severus Snape α
What: Accidental meeting, horror?
Where: Apothecary. Shady part of town.
When: Not long after this.
Warnings: None as yet.

Trying to build a life in Baedal is strange, slow, difficult- and admittedly fascinating. Hermione, naturally, isn't one to shrink away from hard work, and has thrown herself into the practicalities with her usual businesslike bluster; a job has been acquired, as has a flat. With the job comes money, and with the flat comes space, and so things have been bought; rather a few books, for instance, despite Hermione trying to avoid bookshops and instead borrowing liberally from the library. She's been budgeting with just as much fervour as she's been buying, and she knows how quickly a bookshop can drain both her willpower and her wallet. Other than that, her purchases have been day to day things, toiletries and stationary and clothes; a thick coat, shoes that will probably outlive her, a huge and none-too-fashionable bag. They all share a practical, long-lasting quality; she's gotten over the initial shock, and now she's building the foundations of a life.

Which has lead to another issue; that of potions. Hermione, as a capable potioneer, is used to brewing her own and depending upon them for all sorts of things. At home, she had a cabinet full of them, many of them for rather specialised purposes, just in case- and here in Baedal, preparing just in case seems even more vital. She's already bought a cauldron and various pieces of equipment- all that remains is to procure ingredients, and perhaps see if there are any ready-made vials of unknown potions available for her to study and use. So that's why she's currently slipping down the streets of a rather shady part of the city, keeping her chin high and trying to look as if she does this everyday and is not at all worried by how distinctly unsavoury the area is. The shop she's going to comes highly recommended; she can't say the same for its address.

So that's how she arrives at the apothecary, looking torn between trying not to attract attention and wanting to appear entirely untouchable- to her credit, she does at least look like a woman with an agenda, but her on-edge manner makes it look as if said agenda is illicit and nerve-wracking. Tightly-wound is, as ever, an understatement.

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A quarter of the way through Hermione's inquiry, Severus looks up. Halfway through, he recognizes her. (Everyone gets advised to lock things from the Lestranges, as if Rodolphus isn't a perfectly peaceful man making his way honestly in the city, and no one ever says a damn thing about the potentially murderous Snape. Well, that suits him just fine.)

The other employee begins to fumble through an answer, but a glance from Severus shuts him up. (He doesn't realize, fully, that the reason he's so terrified of the other man is all the instances of the Imperius curse and memory modification. Oops?)

Severus closes the ledger. "How can I help you, Miss Granger?"

Welp.

Immediately before he speaks is when that slow, creeping suspicion starts to solidify into realisation. Her stomach is suddenly full of ice and she would really like to be elsewhere.

Idiot, she curses herself, eyes widening rather a lot.

"Professor," she says, a little weakly. "I wasn't expecting to run into you."

That gets a reaction - even slight - and Severus makes a bit of a face, just a near-delicate wrinkle of his nose, recoiling a little at it.

"You haven't." Flatly. He is no one's professor; yes, he's taught for a few years, but it's not a role that he identifies with in any way, and in fact rather resents it. (It bothers him, knowing it's something he could enjoy doing, but that such a fulfillment is barred from him.) The man next to him, meanwhile, is practically radiating awkwardness until Severus shoots him a look and he takes it as permission (or maybe an order) to flee to the back room.

"Right," she says, and watches the other man go, feeling rather sorry for him- and then feeling very, very uncomfortable. It's very quiet, and for a second she just stares at him, trying to reassemble her thoughts.

"How do you know my name?" she inquires, and then realises it sounds a little demanding, and she doesn't want to pick a fight. "It's just that you aren't old enough to have met me at home," she adds quickly, her brain back in action now and cycling through all the people who could have told him- she's been very careful, after all, to use an alias and not mention her name when at all in doubt, and now he knows and- yes, alright, he's Snape, and she knows Snape's story. Why else would she help the older version of him present in Baedal? But regardless of that, Snape in his twenties was a Death Eater- and she has no idea where this version's allegiances lie.

That and he has an unpleasant air and makes her feel like a deer in the headlights, but that's a trait he shares with his older self and so therefore can't actually be counted as 'potentially evil'.

"Experience with other timelines," is all he says, sounding mild - for him. He doesn't enjoy this, not really, even if he is looking at her a bit like a bug under a microscope. She's barely younger than he is, certainly not enough for any kind of student-teacher dynamic. (It was plenty odd enough beginning his 'career' teaching students who'd been first years when he was still at Hogwarts.)

She's staring back with a kind of horrible interest and more than a bit of nervousness.

Other timelines. Well, that was conveniently uninformative. Did he mean he'd learnt about her from the Malfoys? The Lestranges? Sebastian? "Personal experience or secondhand?" she inquired, managing to sound almost conversational, her eyebrows slightly lifted and her face rather pale.

He might have been only a few years older than her, but he reminded her of his older self, and she found herself in the terrible position of not knowing whether to expect detention, curses or civility. Her brain was hardwired to register his older self as a harbinger of either punishment, humiliation or something much worse, back when they'd all been convinced that his true loyalties laid with Voldemort, and that applied to the Severus in front of her as well.

He just gives her a flat look. She may be some kind of academia hero in her world, but to him, she's a few pages of notes in his research - not even someone he's known as her first year professor, yet. And so he's not going to be interrogated, even casually.

"Is there something you're looking for?" ... In the shop.

She nearly quails under the look- but damn it all, she reminds herself; she's a war hero and a politician, and she won't revert back to being a terrified schoolgirl with a horror of losing house points just because he's glaring. So there. She returns his stare with determined but polite steel.

"Rather a list," she says after a moment, digging in her handbag for a notebook and flicking to the appropriate page; Hermione Granger does not joke about lists. It's meticulously well-ordered, and exceedingly long, with some strikeouts where she's sourced things elsewhere; almost all the ingredients are, of course, from her home world, but she's done some reading and snooping in other shops and has a few ideas about other things which sound useful, including a particular form of pain relief potion she's sure isn't from home. She's clearly planning on brewing a few basic necessities, but a few slightly more particular requests stand out- items that might be more at home in, for instance, a Polyjuice Potion or a draught for dreamless sleep. She turns the notebook on the counter rather than read it all out to him, and adds, "I'm aware that I might not be able to find everything here in Baedal- but if that's the case, perhaps you could recommend substitutes? If that's even feasible, I mean. And if it's not too much trouble."

That latter's not sarcastic; she's genuinely trying to be polite, but she's also trying to make sure they have more of a conversation than him simply handing over merchandise as she hands over money. Any sort of information that he might give would be helpful- whether it amounts to information she can deduce about him, or simply an informed opinion on how various magical systems mesh in Baedal. If nothing else, she trusts him to be an excellent potioneer.

Wordlessly, Severus reads over the list, and then pulls over a sheet of paper - with a little motion of his fingers, her list duplicates onto the blank sheet, and he begins to write out notes on the copy. It's not that he thinks her notebook's got cooties, or something, but that it's a habit; partially not knowing what enchantments she might have on her personal belongings, and partially just not wanting to muck about with anyone else's things. He ticks off objects that are on hand in the shop, notes down alternatives and substitutions for a few others, and in one instance jots down an easy recipe for a flesh-mending salve made from a few of the substitutions listed, making an assumption from her list what she might be up to in a few cases.

He works meticulously, his handwriting that familiar cramped scroll, neat and efficient and just as flowing and open as his personality (...which is not at all). Typically he hates helping people, and he's rejected a few individuals who've managed to catch him here before, but Hermione is potentially useful - if not to him, then to Sebastian, so he doesn't begrudge doing this. It's only a minor irritation, after all. (Someday he will live in a world where no one ever bothers him, ever. The Valhalla of misanthrope reformed villains.)

Severus hands it back, and then points out at the shelves. "They're organized by base use and name." As if he'd pull them for her.

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/slowly crawls back into being active

<3

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