Vellichor

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Vellichor: n. the strange wistfulness of used bookshops, which are somehow infused with the passage of time; an invented word by John Koenig (from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows website).

Hermione was drowning in books.

She had never been happier.

She lost track of time as she pored over and organized shelf after shelf, dusting and humming.

Harry and Ron later found Hermione on the floor of her new shop, curled up with a large volume open in her lap, a content smile on her face.

"Oi, Harry, d'you reckon she realizes she's not supposed to read the books before she sells them?"

Hermione snapped the large volume shut with an audible thud and glared at her best friends after hauling herself to her feet. "Where have you two been?"

"We stopped at the quidditch shop on our way over." Harry grinned, clearly unrepentant. "What can we say? We're weak. There's only so many racing brooms we can resist."

"You mean, they were open and you didn't feel much like working," Hermione deadpanned, trying not to smile.

"There is that." They shrugged at the same time, making Hermione laugh.

"I'm a fully-fledged auror, you know," Ron announced, "not a blooming librarian."

Hermione set her tome down and handed Ron an overflowing box of books. "Well then, here you go, Auror Weasley. Two aisles down."

She ignored his pouting and grinned at Harry. They all set to work, not paying any attention to the steady stream of complaints from Ron's corner.

That evening, a few hours after Harry and Ron claimed bad backs and arthritis and paper cuts, making their escape to The Leaky Cauldron for a rejuvenating pint or three, Hermione slipped her coat on, donned her warm hat crocheted by Mrs. Weasley, and wrapped up in a scarf, making sure her nose was covered. The weather had turned frightful since the last time she had looked outside and she watched the snow falling through her store-front window for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. She was still in awe at the direction her life had recently taken.

Diagon Alley was a charming street, especially with a fresh dusting of snow beginning to stick to the store-front window displays and the cobblestones. Tucking her chin into her coat, Hermione left the warmth of her shop and, locking the door behind her, she looked around. Very few people were out and about this late; she was chagrined when she noticed the time on the large, old-fashioned clock tower across the street. It was 8:15 in the evening.

She passed many of the shops, looking in with curious eyes, but they were closed and she couldn't make out the fascinating shelves of wares in the storefronts' darkness. Coming up to the apothecary, she smiled. She had wandered around the shop a few days ago, enjoying the many smells and the exotic items on display, but the assistant at the front had been busy with a customer and she hadn't needed to buy anything. Eeylops Owl Emporium was next door and then Magical Menagerie, the pet shop where she had found Crookshanks, who was probably curled up on the foot of her bed right now, in her new apartment above the shop, taking a nap. If he wasn't out terrorizing all of the mice in Diagon Alley.

It had been a long, very productive day and she had only taken a few bites of her lunch. It was hard for her to slow down and take the time to eat when she was immersed in a project.

The Leaky Cauldron's dimly-lit interior held its own brand of appeal and as she stepped through the back door, Hermione noted that the pub had only a handful of patrons at the moment.

Hermione settled herself at a table near the back of the open room, near a large window facing the Muggle London street. A few bundled up shoppers were toting large bags and Hermione guessed that they had been getting in some early Christmas shopping. While it was December, the holiday was still three weeks away.

Hermione had just taken off her coat and was unwrapping her scarf when a man retook his seat in the table next to hers with an audible huff. Hermione was too busy thinking about what she might like to eat to pay him any mind.

Tom approached, giving her a warm, toothless smile. "Evening, Miss Granger. What can I do for you?"

"Is there any of the special left?" Hermione asked.

"There is, my dear. Now then, what will you be having to drink?"

"A warm English ale, please."

"A fine choice in weather like this." Tom winked at her and headed back towards the kitchen.

Tom had been blocking her neighbour from view and Hermione now realized with some surprise that she was seated next to her former potions professor. She met his cool gaze with a tremulous smile and a sheepish wave.

He turned away, making an obvious point of ignoring her for the glass of wine in his hand. It was full, and if he was here for dinner, his food had yet to arrive. Hermione bit the inside of her lip as she contemplated what a long meal it could turn out to be.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye, trying to be inconspicuous but too curious to avoid the temptation. It had to have been at least ten years since she had last set eyes on him and she wondered how he had been occupying himself since his abrupt retirement from teaching after the end of the war. She doubted very much that he missed his students. She didn't want to be a pest, but —

"Can I help you, Miss Granger?"

His raised brow and direct stare unnerved her, but Hermione offered him a smile regardless. "I'm sorry, Professor, I just —"

"I am no longer your professor." He sighed, draining his glass, and pushed his chair back. "Thank Merlin for small mercies."

Hermione opened her mouth, but clamped it shut as he headed towards the front. There was no misunderstanding Snape's tone as he told Tom he'd take his order to go.

Heat and an uncomfortable feeling crept over Hermione and she turned to stare out the window, clasping her hands on her lap. It was on the tip of her tongue to confront him over his rude behaviour, but she thanked her lucky stars that she'd likely not see him for another ten years, if then, and let it go. He'd always been unpleasant; she didn't know why she expected anything else.

He was long gone by the time her cottage pie arrived and Hermione forgot all about him as she took her first bite. The meat and gravy and potatoes were delicious and her stomach rumbled, reminding her (very loudly) to feed it more often.

The next week passed in a blur of activity and it was with a deep sigh of satisfaction that Hermione hung her new shop's sign outside. It read: The Kneazle & the Bush, Used Books.