Snape, A History

Chapter 15: The Offer

Although Molly Weasley had never heard of Our World magazine, it was well-known to at least two of her offspring. Fred and George, when they heard that Hermione was planning to submit her story to that publication, were impressed.

"Very far-thinking, Hermione," George told her. "Forget the old establishment. Go with the progressive bunch."

"The 'progressive bunch'?" Something in the tone of his voice made Hermione uneasy. "What do you mean by that?"

"They're not, ah, counter-cultural or anything," Fred hastened to assure her. "They aim at a younger crowd. It's not your parents' type of magazine."

"I'm quite certain of that," she said dryly.

"Well, they're not our parents' type of magazine then. You know what I mean."

"I've only examined one issue. It didn't seem disreputable..."

"It's not," George guaranteed. "It's...you know. Young. Hip."

"Then why have I never heard of it before now?" Hermione asked blankly.

Fred and George exchanged looks. "Not that you're not young and hip, Hermione," Fred told her. "It's just a little more cutting edge than that."

It was one of those conversations best left unfinished. Yet watching Darius Billingsley rise from behind his desk now, Hermione could see what they meant. The man seemed to be her age, yet he appeared much younger. He wore his wavy black hair long and interspersed with the occasional plait, and was clad in the latest must-have fashion for wizards: satin-trimmed, dragon-hide robes.

"Madam Granger. I'm delighted to meet you," he murmured as he shook her hand firmly.

"How do you do, Mr. Billingsley." Hermione smiled pleasantly as she tried to keep her nervousness under wraps. This man, one of the editors of Our World magazine, was her last chance to be published after The Thinking Witch and Wizard had turned down her manuscript.

"Please, have a seat." Billingsley sat back down in his chair while Hermione settled into hers. "So," he said with a disarming smile, "you're one of the heroes who helped rid the world of that nasty piece of work Voldemort."

Hermione found herself blushing. It was a very long time since anyone had labeled her a hero, and if there was anything she'd learned in the writing of her book, it was that her war contributions were only a few among many. And although she desperately wanted to learn whether this man would put her words in print, it seemed prudent to ease into the discussion.

"Just one of the heroes, Mr. Billingsley."

"Call me Darius."

"Did you attend Hogwarts, Darius? It seems as though we surely would have known each other at school."

Billingsley threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Dad married a very strong-willed woman. My mother is Basque, and I ended up attending her alma mater, the Academia de Magia."

"I see." So much for small talk. Hermione tried to relax, but it wasn't easy when her pet project was on the line.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed. This is quite an endeavor," Darius said, sliding her manuscript from where it lay at the desk's edge to sit squarely in front of him.

"Thank you. It was a labor of love, actually."

"It shows. So you've had no takers among the hardcover crowd?"

Hermione translated 'hardcover crowd' into 'book publishers'. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Pity. This is good stuff."

"You've had a chance to read through it, then?" she asked, her fingers mentally crossed.

"Yes, although I need to run it past Barry Vance, my co-editor. Since I wasn't in Britain when all this -" Darius waved briefly in the direction of the manuscript "- went down, I want someone else to take a peek."

"Of course." Hermione couldn't help but feel vaguely disappointed. She was hoping that Billingsley would be so awed by her story that he would demand the publishing rights immediately.

Her disenchantment must have shown, because the man reacted at once. "Let me put you out of your misery, Madam Granger. I would love to publish your story in my magazine."

Hermione hesitated, expecting to hear the caveat 'however' issuing from Billingsley's mouth. When it didn't, she allowed herself to feel the first glimmer of hope.

"You would?" she repeated faintly.

"One can never learn enough from the past. To let the details be lost is a crime."

"That's it exactly," Hermione said, excitement bubbling up from within. "And that's why I wrote it. I didn't want anyone's efforts to be forgotten."

"You were certainly thorough," Billingsley pointed out, an enigmatic smile on his face.

She felt a frisson of panic, a throwback to her years at Hogwarts and the dozens of long-winded essays she had handed in. "Is it too long? I know that you're limited, space-wise, in a magazine, but I can pare it down -"

Darius waved a finger at Hermione as if she were a naughty child. "Editing is my department."

"Oh. Of course. I'm sorry, I'm not used to having someone do that."

"Even with the editing process, I'm envisioning a year's worth of material here, Madam Gra - may I call you Hermione?"

She nodded at once.

"As I said, I believe that it would take a year to do your work justice. We only publish quarterly, as you know, but twelve months would be about the proper time frame. Would you have a problem with that?" Billingsley raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. I mean, no. That would be fine." Perhaps, Hermione thought now, this would work better than having her material published in book form. Newly-published books held the public's interest for only a short time, while a serialized version over a solid year would keep readers coming back for more. Suddenly all those rejection letters didn't seem quite so bad in retrospect.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please forgive my nervousness. I was afraid that no one would ever want to read this."

"I'm certain that it will be quite well-received." Darius leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Let's discuss payment, shall we?"

Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing once more. Her primary purpose in writing the book hadn't been about money. In fact, when Bill Weasley asked her one time how much she expected the book to earn, she had been rather taken aback. Still, she wanted to be compensated for her time and effort, and if the book managed to do well, so much the better.

"I realize, Darius, that by having my material published in this fashion, I won't be earning royalty checks and such. How does it work exactly? Do I receive a lump sum payment?"

"That's correct." Then, without preamble, Billingsley said, "I'm prepared to offer you five hundred Galleons for your book."

"Five hundred Galleons?" Hermione repeated, merely wanting to confirm the fact that she would not become a wealthy woman this way.

Darius Billingsley shifted in his seat, evidently taking her reiteration as displeasure at the terms. "It should be more, Merlin knows that. You should be in hardcover and earning royalties and rave reviews. The sad fact is, you're not. My problem is that Our World is still in its start-up phase. We've only been publishing for a little over a year now, and we can't afford large payouts yet. But..." he straightened up in his chair at this point, "you will receive exposure and publicity. It's entirely possible that after that, the demand for your story to be printed in book form will follow."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. That aspect had never occurred to her. "Do I - ah - sign a contract?"

"Not a contract per se. There is an Agreement to Print form that you'll need to sign. It simply gives us permission to edit your work and publish it. You still retain ownership of your manuscript, of course."

"I see."

Darius reached for a calendar and began to flip through it. "Let's set up another meeting. When Barry gets back in town, I'll have him read through your work, and then we can get together to discuss it. Two weeks from now okay?"

Hermione racked her brain to think if there was anything pending on her schedule. When nothing presented itself, she nodded agreement.

"Bueno. I'll be in touch."

* * *

"Madam Granger!" Nora broke into a broad smile when she opened the door.

Hermione returned the smile. "Hello, Nora. Is Mr. Snape at home?"

"He is, and hard at work in the lab just now. Don't stand there in the cold, come in, come in!" Nora waved Hermione into the parlor of Snape's house.

"I don't want to disturb him. I've just received some very good news and thought I'd let him know. It won't take but a moment." Hermione removed her gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of her cloak.

"All grins, you are, so the news must be good. Let me find him for you." Nora turned to go, and discovered that she needn't bother. Severus was standing directly behind her, and she literally bounced off him. "Oh. Sorry, Mr. Snape."

Snape sighed, and Hermione had the impression that Nora found it necessary to apologize to him any number of times each day.

"Make yourself useful in the kitchen, Nora."

"Yes, sir. Tea?"

"If you must."

He was wearing the frayed trousers and filthy trainers that she had noticed on her very first visit. They were his work clothes, Hermione realized, and understood why she had mistaken the dirty lab clothes for poverty. And then she remembered the abortive kiss of New Year's Eve, and was suddenly tongue-tied.

"Well, Granger? To what do I owe this honor?"

Ouch. She'd hoped to be greeted more enthusiastically, or at least be called by her given name. Hermione pressed forward regardless.

"I received some good news today. Our World magazine wants to publish my story." She was beaming, despite herself.

"Do they, now?" The corners of Snape's mouth turned upwards in the faintest hint of a smile. "Then congratulations are in order."

"I wanted you to know, because you've been so helpful."

"I was?" Severus raised a dubious eyebrow.

"Well... yes. I mean, not at first, but then you helped quite a bit." Hermione felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"When will you be in print?"

"I don't know yet. We have to meet once more. Darius Billingsley is one of the editors, and he wants to run the book past his associate first."

"Then it's not official yet?"

"No. Well, yes. It is, but I haven't signed their forms."

"How much are they paying you?" Snape inquired.

Coming from anybody else, the question would have been a rude intrusion. "Five hundred Galleons," Hermione admitted, feeling far less triumphant.

"Five hundred Galleons? For all the work you put in?"

"They can't afford any more because the magazine has only been publishing a short time. But," she added with more enthusiasm, "the book will be serialized over twelve months. And Darius said that by that time, a book publisher might be interested in it."

Snape looked as though he wanted to tell her to stop believing in fairy tales, Hermione thought, but to his credit, he did not.

"That would be... a good outcome," he said carefully.

"Yes," she agreed.

There was a brief silence. Finally, Severus spoke. "Thank you for sharing your good news with me."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your work," Hermione said at once. "I know you must be very busy. I'll just go..."

"Don't be ridiculous. Nora's making tea. There's no point in - what?" He scowled, puzzled by the sudden flash of amazement that crossed her face.

You said that I was being ridiculous, just as I said the same thing to Ron time after time... For some reason, Hermione wasn't upset by the realization at all. Instead, she found it comforting in a strange way. Perhaps there were similarities between her and Severus after all...

"Nothing," she said, fighting back a smile. "Tea sounds good."

"Very well. While Nora is making the tea, perhaps you would care to see my lab?"

"I'd like that," Hermione said honestly, and followed Snape down a short corridor leading off the parlor. Ahead was the kitchen, where Nora could be heard preparing the tea.

"Nora!" Severus barked, and the girl peered around the corner. "We're going down to the lab. We'll be back up shortly."

"Yes, sir."

Snape turned left into a doorway that led to a narrow, steep flight of stairs. "The stairs are rather treacherous. Watch your step."

Hermione nodded automatically, even though Snape didn't bother to see if she had heard him.

The narrow stairway took them to the basement, which, to Hermione's surprise, was not the dark, cramped space she'd expected. The room was easily five times the width of the small house, and immediately brought to mind some of the magical expansions she'd seen Arthur Weasley perform on various tiny spaces at the Burrow. It was also brightly lit, displaying a U-shaped grouping of tables filling the room. Although Hermione had little experience with commercial potions laboratories, she had no difficulty in recognizing that what Snape had here was no make-do, home basement operation.

Severus pointed at the nearest tables on the left, which were filled with a variety of scales and measuring devices. "The preparation area," he told her, a clear note of pride in his voice. "Production is beyond that."

Hermione looked towards the next set of tables; they held what looked like fifty cauldrons of various shapes and sizes, and almost all were bubbling away. "You don't need to monitor them?"

"The substances are all stable at this point. As long as the flames remain steady, they will be fine for another forty minutes. Beyond that," Snape said, indicating the bottom part of the U-shaped arrangement, "is the distilling and concentration table. And along the right side, we package the products and ready them for shipping."

It was the perfect potions assembly line, Hermione thought. Nothing was out of place, there were no wasted spaces, no clutter, and even with the system up and running, no spills or messes. No wonder Snape was proud of this. And no wonder his business was profitable.

"'SP, Incorporated'", Hermione read aloud, eyeing the boxes stacked on the right. "Is that the name of your business?"

"Short for 'Snape Potions'", Severus said, shrugging. "I was not likely to gain any business using my name on my products."

"You mean no one would buy from you because of..." her voice trailed off.

Snape snorted. "Would you want to do business with a murderer?"

"I suppose not."

"Of course not, when you consider the fact that I was blacklisted by virtually every wizarding establishment in -" He broke off abruptly, as if realizing he'd said too much.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Blacklisted?" she repeated faintly.

"You wondered why I go to The Plaid Pony, a Muggle pub? I'm not allowed to go in a wizarding pub."

"But - it's unofficial, surely..."

"Of course it's unofficial," Snape snapped. "You don't think that the Ministry would be that insensitive, do you? No, this was entirely a voluntary move by my fellow wizards. I'm fortunate that I can even obtain the supplies to make the products I sell."

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted out of sheer polite reflex, then realized that it was probably the worst thing to say to Severus Snape.

"So you're back to pitying me again?"

"Not at all," she said, lifting her chin in defiance. "I think you've made the most of an untenable situation. I'm only sorry that it was necessary."

Snape studied her intently, then muttered, "Well, I hope you're satisfied with The Plaid Pony, because the chances of going elsewhere are nil."

Hermione smiled. "I like to think that I'm flexible."

"Tea's ready!" Nora's voice floated down from the hallway.

"Shall we?" Snape gestured toward the stairway.

Hermione nodded and started back up the steps. Midway up the narrow stairs, her foot slipped, causing her to stumble. A strong hand gripped her arm from behind, preventing her from tumbling any farther. Still, she ended up twisted sideways on the steps, staring Snape directly in the face.

And her heart seemed to falter for a very long moment.

Snape wore the same puzzled expression that Hermione recalled from New Year's Eve. Yet this time, he wasted no time, displayed no reluctance. He leaned forward and cautiously, tentatively kissed her.

It was the first stumbling steps, the initial voyage of discovery, the original testing of the waters. Hermione could sense his curiosity competing with his hesitation and wondered briefly which would win out. Then she reached out to touch his cheek - found the beginnings of stubble there - and was suddenly at the mercy of her own inquisitive nature. She was lost in the kiss, wanting to think and examine, yet completely unable to do so.

Severus pulled away, but his eyes were fixed on Hermione's face. "I don't know what to do with you," he murmured.

I know the feeling. "Neither do I," Hermione whispered.

The moment, thick with tension, seemed to hang forever, then...

"I said, tea's ready!" Nora bellowed from somewhere above.

It was like being drenched in cold water.

"We'll be right there!" Snape bellowed angrily, and Hermione didn't blame him. She wanted to bellow at Nora herself just now.

But the moment was gone. After fifteen awkward minutes spent drinking Earl Grey, Hermione took her leave. As to future visits, Severus said nothing.