Odd Jobs: FIC: How Severus Got His Groove Back Title: How Severus Got His Groove Back Author:elmyraemilie Other pairings/threesome: None Rating: G Word count: 2600+/- Content/Warning(s): None Summary: Harry has found his niche in a little shop off Diagon; Severus is still underfoot is still looking. A/N: Many thanks, as always, for the ready beta services of BL, and to the mods of snape_potter for providing space for Harry and Severus to live happily ever after.
How Severus Got His Groove Back
“You really do have to find something, you know.” Harry paused in his sweeping and leaned on the broom for a moment, regarding his love. “You're getting cranky.”
Snape, enthroned in the shampoo chair, shot him a tetchy look. “And some miscellaneous job will fix that, I suppose?” He sat forward, pointing. “You've missed some. Over there by the reception desk.”
“Listen, I know it's hard for you. It's stupid, a complete waste of talent, and a punishment utterly unsuited to whatever crimes you may have committed during the war, but we've been over this again and again. It's time you moved on.”
“Harry, I have been banned from doing the thing to which my life was entirely devoted.”
Harry let the hyperbole pass. “It happened six years ago. Six. And, as I have pointed out before, you are only banned from making a living in the potions trade. The Ministry is not stopping you from doing potions work for your own interest.” He quirked an eyebrow at the dust pan, which sallied over to accept the pile of hair trimmings. Looking down at the broom, he sighed. “If you want to keep brewing, then you're going to have to pay for your own ingredients.”
Silence. Then, “That is low. We have more than enough money to cover my expenses.” Snape's eyes narrowed. “Unless there is something you've kept from me?”
“Of course not!” The broom put away, Harry Summoned the disinfectant and set it to scrubbing the pedicure basin. “The shop is doing well, and even if it wasn't, you know what's in the vaults. We won't go hungry. But you have to find something to do with your days.”
“If this is about Lavinia Backenstowe, I refuse to apologize.”
“Honestly, Severus! It's not about Lavinia, or Grinda, or Marybeth—it's about you, hanging about here like some kind of...I don't know, some hair fetishist or something. You're making Veda nervous, staring at her all day while she washes hair. I love you to pieces, but the clients are getting uncomfortable. You might be out of work, but I love this place, and I want to keep it going.”
That last shot hit the mark. It was a faint flattening of Snape's features, the slightest hardening around the eyes that showed his feelings had been touched. Harry reached over and grabbed his hand. “Come on, love. You can't tell me you're not bored. Just have a go—see what you can find. You might surprise yourself and find a job you enjoy.” He paused, then squared his shoulders. “And I meant it about the potions ingredients.”
Snape made no reply except to sigh and purse his lips, but Harry knew he'd won the point.
XOXOX
Ten days later, Harry came home at lunch to find Severus making cheese toast.
“I thought you were working today,” he said, once a hello kiss had been offered and accepted.
“I was.” That was all. Two words.
“And...?” Harry accepted a gooey toast and decorated it with tomato sliced to the sort of precise thinness only a potions master could achieve.
“The place is not suitable. The customers are willing to drink anything as long as it is delivered to them in thirty seconds. I have some standards.”
His mouth full, Harry waved his hand, asking for a moment to swallow before replying. After a sip of tea, he commented, “It's a coffee bar. How difficult should it be to make a decent coffee? They have all the apparatus, the grinders and the frother thing and so on. A wave of the wand--”
“It is a shoddy process. The grinder produces an uneven grade of particles, and the steaming nozzle is poorly calibrated. I went over and above the requirements of my duties in an attempt to improve the quality.” Taking a bite of his own toast, Snape shook his head and wiped crumbs from the corners of his mouth with a finger as he chewed. “It took only a few minutes longer to produce a reliably exact product, but all that mattered to Anderson was the speed of the thing.”
Harry thought for a minute. Arvin Anderson ran the most popular coffee spot in Diagon; first thing in the morning, it was mobbed with people on their way to work. “How many minutes?”
Apparently, Snape's mug of tea required refilling; he turned away as he answered, “Ten.”
“Oh, sweet Merlin. Ten minutes per cup? I bet it was a madhouse in there.”
Snape wheeled around with the kettle in hand. “It would not have been if any effort at all was made to keep that herd of commuting cattle in an orderly line. Anderson has no control of that shop whatever. He will have to brave it on his own, and if they turn ugly again as they did this morning, on his head be it.”
All was quiet for a while. Then, while they gathered the dishes and did the washing-up, Harry took up another line of conversation, telling about the color job he did that morning, and how the client loved it, but her husband nearly fainted away when he came to collect her. “A very nice shade of pinky-red, actually. I thought it looked quite good, but I guess she hadn't told him what she was going to do.”
He glanced at the mantel clock; the “Harry” hand pointed to “customers waiting.” Leaning across the table, he kissed Severus once more. “Well, that just wasn't the right thing for you. Keep looking. You're a brilliant man with amazing skills. The right job is out there.”
Severus made a “humph” noise as Harry Apparated back to the shop.
XOXOX
The following weekend, Severus announced that he'd found something else in a different line. “Not involving the public?” Harry prompted, and got a sideways glance and a restrained nod in reply. On the Monday, Snape put on his best business robe and Apparated away well before Harry had put his glasses on so he could find the tea kettle. He was rather excited for Severus this morning; from all they'd discussed, this might be a very good place for him indeed.
Snape returned home that evening glowing with equanimity; Harry took the lack of ruffled feathers as a good sign. The publishing house, said his spouse, was embarking on a full line of new textbooks. He would not be allowed to work on potions texts, of course (and here, in unison, they damned the Ministry), but his superior had assigned him to herbology, saying that the editor was very happy to have his breadth of knowledge in that area. As a proofreader, Snape would be making a real contribution to the material, and his suggestions would be taken seriously.
Each evening that week, Harry looked forward to hearing what was going on in Snape's new office. He had still not begun his regular work, since the galleys were not yet ready. However, he was acquainting himself with the others in the office, getting played in by assisting with other texts, and so on. Snape had very little to say against the books he'd seen so far; all of them were advanced material, reasonably well-written and not completely chock-full of inaccuracies.
A week into his new occupation, Snape came home with a face like a thundercloud. Harry, who had been lulled into believing that this was the job they'd both hoped for, was startled. “What's the matter?”
“You might as well know right away. I have resigned my position.”
“What! Why?”
“The textbook I was to proof? The one that needed the full scope of my knowledge?” That upper lip curled in distaste. “It is titled, Little Crup Goes For A Walk.”
Harry just stood there, looking at him. Severus repeated, “Little Crup Goes For A Walk. It is an infant school text. It features Little Crup, unsurprisingly, who discovers a number of different common plants on the way to her friend's house. You could have written it, much less proofread it.”
“And you quit.”
“Of course I did! They enticed me into the position with false promises. I was led to believe I would be working on fifth- or sixth-year material, and then once I was on board, they insulted me with this drivel.”
“You never said they promised you a particular kind of textbook. Kids have to start somewhere. Why wouldn't you want to get them off on the right foot?”
Severus shook his head, tight-lipped. “It is the principle of the thing. If the owners will stoop to this sort of low tactic with a new employee, why should they be trusted to deal with their regular staff in a forthright manner?”
“Don't be so pig-headed! Everyone there seemed perfectly happy. You said so yourself. You're just mad because your pride has been hurt. You think a children's book is beneath you.”
The rest of their discussion ran down this same path. It was several days before they were back on good terms again. Harry began to think that perhaps he was better off with Severus moping about the salon.
XOXOX
Some days later, on a Wednesday morning, the shop Floo chimed just as Harry was casting the last of the color spells in a multi-process style. He finished and dashed over to catch the call. “Happy Hair, how may I help you?”
“Harry, it's Veda.” Wednesday was Veda's day off, so Harry did all the shampooing himself that day; it made for a reduced client load but a busier day. “I have to talk to you. Do you have time now?”
That sounded ominous, but business was business. “Let me call you back. I'll just be a few minutes.” He returned to the witch seated with the protective cape around her shoulders, but his heart had dropped; he couldn't keep his mind on the exchange of hairdresser-banter. The customer didn't dally at the reception desk for the usual chat after she paid, and Harry was relieved to turn to the Floo as soon as the door closed behind her.
Severus was getting ready to leave for his afternoon shift at Bijou Cinema when Harry Apparated into the kitchen.
“Here. I prepared an extra egg sandwich for you when I made my breakfast.” Severus slid the plate across to Harry and canceled the warming charm before he set the kettle to reheating. He stood gazing at Harry for a moment. “I do not like this shift work at all. We see so little of each other.” Then his look sharpened. “Is everything all right?”
Harry shook his head and laid his sandwich back on the plate. “Well, we're going to see even less of each other. Veda called today.”
That brought a frown to Severus' face. “She did not have good news, I gather.”
“She's quitting. Or rather, she has quit. Elbert took a temporary job last month in Splott, working with the Welsh Wood-Nymph Preservation Board. They love him, and they've hired him permanently. She's packing their things, ready to go house-hunting out there this weekend.”
“That is most inconsiderate. I would have thought better of her.” Snape leaned back against the drainboard, his arms folded across the chest of the much-loathed bright yellow Bijou Cinema usher's uniform; in the dark of the theater, it shone with a gentle glow, which did nothing to make Severus like it any better. “The shop schedule depends on having a shampoo witch. What are you going to do? ”
“I wish I knew.” The kettle came over at Harry's gesture to fill his cup. He stirred his tea as though it was his own private cup of hemlock. “I'll have to advertise, I suppose, and struggle through interviewing. Merlin, I hate that. And in the meantime, I've got to reschedule everything. There are going to be a lot of unhappy customers.” He looked to Severus for a sympathetic eye, and saw instead a gleam that gave him an apprehensive shiver. “What are you thinking?”
Snape smiled. That was when Harry knew he was in trouble.
XOXOX
“...just the most soothing, relaxing thing. Those hands!” The stout little witch with the glorious waterfall of chestnut curls stood in the doorway of Happy Hair, finishing a conversation with her friend outside. “I wouldn't trade them for all the good looks in Wizardry. I'll meet you in an hour or so.”
She stood aside to let another woman, freshly coiffed and smiling faintly, pass by her into the street, then turned to Harry. “Good afternoon! Marybeth Mumpert for three o'clock.”
“Good afternoon, Marybeth. We'll be right with you. Severus is just finishing up with someone now.”
Behind a lattice charmed with an ever-flowering vine that budded yellow, blue and purple in turn, Snape finished rinsing off with a flourish of the water-spray. “You may rise, madam,” he purred.
“Oh. Oh, I was nearly asleep there. Thank you.”
As the back of the chair lifted his client into an upright position, Snape swished his wand at a stack of towels, Summoning one to wrap her dripping hair. He put a hand under her elbow. “Allow me to assist you.”
Harry always fought the urge to roll his eyes at these performances. He knew that the hand-under-the-elbow thing had nothing to do with chivalry, and everything to do with a witch, early on, who nearly passed out on the way from one chair to the other, so relaxed was she after her shampoo. She had been the one who told everyone she knew about Happy Hair's “shampoo master” and his long, skilled, powerful fingers.
What started out as a stop-gap until Harry could hire another shampoo witch had ended as a sensation. Some of his regular customers were skeptical at first, to say the least, and there was a drop in appointments. One witch in particular was no longer welcome at Happy Hair, after Harry overheard her describe Severus as “that disgusting, beaky man who killed Dumbledore.”
Little by little, though, the tide had turned. Severus' shampoo technique, which included a scalp massage between the wash and rinse, had the effect of turning sensible witches to mush, and romantically inclined witches to starry-eyed sycophants. The shop was scheduled months in advance. People made appointments for only a shampoo.
As the current of interest grew, Witch Weekly interviewed Severus, while Harry hovered in the background waiting for that innate and inapt sarcasm to flatten the reporter. It never happened, and with that story, the legend grew. Snape was careful to play the part; he took a mild but biting glee in delivering the frisson women experienced from having their scalps massaged by someone so mad, so bad and so very dangerous to know.
The fact that Snape's dangerous days were well and truly behind him was pointedly not discussed, due to its being bad for business.
Harry spun the chair around for the newly shampooed woman and brought his wand and comb up. “So, will it be the usual style today, Isabeau?”
“Hmmm? Yes, sorry. Yes, just let it a little longer. It gives Mr. Snape more to work with, don't you think?”
Marybeth, summoned by Snape with a gesture, giggled a little as she took her place at the shampoo bowl.
“Now, Mrs. Mumpert, just close your eyes. This will only take a moment.”
“More's the pity,” chirped Mrs. Mumpert. Harry looked over at Severus with a wry smile. The look he got in return, the flexing of fingers and wiggling of brows, was worth all the potions in the world.