Here we go again! This one has been wandering around in the recesses of my mind for a while, so I've decided to release the beast, so to speak. It is not as dark as some of my other fics, so read on happily, although be aware that there's plenty of smut coming up, so you might want to hit the back button if that's not your bag. Reviews, comments, thoughts and opinions as we go along are massively helpful and supportive, so feel free to vomit your feelings on my review board! As always, anything you may recognise belongs to JKR. Non-profit making work of fanfiction.
Chapter 1
It all washed over her like the soft ripple of a veil, lightly brushing against her face.
There had been a new crop of first-years that had trooped dutifully up the centre of the Great Hall to take their turn upon the stool, and have the Sorting Hat placed upon their small heads, sending them to one of four tables. That had definitely happened, but Hermione had no memory of it. Not how they'd looked, not how small they were, not even which houses they'd been sent to by the old, patched hat.
Her former Head of House, Minerva McGonagall, had made her first speech as Headmistress, which had sounded like nothing but a few snatched words over a hum of nothingness. Why wasn't she listening?
The Welcome Feast had arrived on the house tables as it always did, golden plates now groaning with food. She fed herself out of habit, the tastes and smells quite beyond her realm of awareness. It was purely fuel, for Hermione was drawing no pleasure from eating.
It was the first of September, 1998.
The wizarding world had been liberated from the dark forces that had sought to destroy it, thanks in no small part to the efforts of herself, Harry and Ron. In the aftermath of the final battle, where Harry had finally brought down the Dark Lord, there had been an atmosphere of celebration, blissfully chaotic and heady with the euphoria of their victory.
Hogwarts had been closed after the battle, the decision being made to end the disastrous school year two months early, to allow students, staff, and families time to regroup and grieve. There had been extensive magical repairs conducted on the castle and grounds, ready for this moment; the time that Hogwarts School had reopened for the new term, as it always did.
Somewhere in the relieved delight that had been the golden summer, months where they had been sought after from all corners – attending Ministry functions, not able to walk down Diagon Alley without being stopped at least a dozen times, and an unconfirmed love affair between herself and Ronald, somewhere amidst all that – life had become normal again.
The world? It continued to turn. It hadn't noticed that Hermione Granger had no idea what normal was, anymore.
Death Eaters were rounded up and imprisoned in Azkaban, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed Minister for Magic, and Pius Thicknesse had recovered from the Imperius Curse that he had been placed under and returned to his job as Chief Auror. The Ministry had picked itself up, dusted off its robes and slowly but surely, began to function again.
Complimentary NEWT certificates had been offered to all seventh-year students, and most had taken them, but Hermione, along with a few others, had made the easy decision to return to Hogwarts to take the year she had missed whilst on the run. Well, it had been an easy decision for her, anyway. School was familiar, and she desperately needed something, anything, to feel familiar in this strange new world.
Harry and Ron had taken the complimentary certificates before you could say Quidditch, and set about planning a wizarding 'gap year' before they both enrolled on the Auror training programme next September. Harry had been signed by Tutshill Tornados for a season as their Seeker, and Ron had arranged to work in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George, a position that George had reluctantly given him after Ron had made a surprisingly impassioned argument for keeping WWW in the family. He'd caught his brother at a weak moment.
George was still grieving terribly for Fred, although Hermione felt that he concealed the worst of his anguish under humour and congeniality. She supposed he would submit emotionally, when he was ready. You couldn't force these things.
You couldn't force these things.
She should know. Hermione had not cried for the loss of her parents, for how could she, when they were not dead? When she had returned home, to their home, after weeks staying at the Burrow, the house had been cold and silent, as she'd expected. The only things that were missing had been the belongings she'd sent them to the airport with, off to their new life in Australia, safe from Voldemort and with no memory of ever having a daughter.
Neville gave her an encouraging smile across the table, digging into his syrup sponge with quiet pleasure. The two of them had been the only Gryffindors to return from their year group, and were now seated at the very end of the long table, nearest the Great Hall doors, next to the current seventh-years, Ginny Weasley included.
They'd had a look around the hall, trying to see who else had returned that they might know. Susan, Hannah and Ernie had returned from Hufflepuff, and it seemed like most of the Ravenclaws were back. Well, that was hardly surprising. More shocking had been the sight of Draco Malfoy's white-blond head at the end of the Slytherin table, finally free from the henchmen-like Crabbe and Goyle, and seeming to be deep in conversation with Millicent Bulstrode. Perhaps Malfoy had decided to stop being an arsehole for once. Pansy Parkinson certainly looked put out at not being the centre of her boyfriend's attention.
After the plates had been cleared, Professor McGonagall called for silence, announcing that she had moved the opening speech to after the school had eaten, to allow for adequate digestion to take place before sending everyone to bed. A few smaller students had sniggered at her words, to be quelled with a stare of such disapproval that they would be left in no doubt that the new headmistress would not be putting up with such behaviour.
McGonagall announced that all staff had opted to return, after the 'events of the last year'. There was loud applause when she announced that, unsurprisingly, the Carrows would not be returning.
"What about Snape?" a lone voice had called out, sending a wave of slightly nervous laughter around the echoing hall.
Professor Snape. He had been kept in the news from the Daily Prophet most of the summer. It had been reported that by using potions and antivenins he'd secreted in his teaching robes, Severus Snape had managed to keep himself alive after the snake's attack that she, Harry and Ron had witnessed, and summon help once the battle was over. Madam Pomfrey had transferred him to St Mungo's, and he had managed to fight his way back to health.
They had all felt extremely guilty that they had left Professor Snape laying in the Shrieking Shack, believing him to have died.
No doubt he would never set foot in this castle again, not after the last year, where he had been forced to command the school as Voldemort instructed. Snape was probably the most despised teacher that Hogwarts had ever known. Even the disclosure of his memories before the Wizengamot, his full exoneration for any war crimes, and the role he had played in bringing down Voldemort, appeared to have done little to stem the tide of disparaging opinion against him. Not even his steadfast protection of Harry Potter meant much to those students who had suffered so much under his leadership.
"Professor Snape," replied McGonagall, coldly, "will be returning to teach Potions."
There was a loud gasp of shock from all tables, even Slytherin, for Snape was not present at the staff table.
"Professor Slughorn has now retired, permanently," she continued. "Professor Snape was invited to return as Headmaster, but for his own, personal reasons, he declined the appointment. He did, however, agree to resume the teaching of Potions. He is not at dinner tonight for he is unwell, but do rest assured that he will see many of you bright and early tomorrow morning for your first Potions lesson. Now, stop whispering amongst yourselves, for there is no further discussion to be had on the matter."
For the first time since she'd boarded the Hogwarts Express, Hermione snapped out of her daze. Snape was returning to teach? How on earth could that ever have been considered a good idea? Not just for the students, but for himself?
The notoriously private man had been exposed most cruelly before everyone; his faults, torments and desires laid bare for all to see – ruled over in the Wizengamot, chewed over in the Daily Prophet, and gossiped about relentlessly in the wizarding community.
There was no way he was ill tonight. She had never known Professor Snape miss a day due to illness in seven years. More likely, he needed McGonagall to make this introduction, to prepare the students for his return. Hermione felt a surprising pang of sympathy for the reviled man.
"Now, if you have all quite finished chattering, I have other appointments to inform you of. Please welcome Professor Richard Briner, who will take over my own role as Transfiguration teacher, Professor Andrea Masters, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Beatrice Gladstone who will be taking Muggle Studies."
There was a small round of applause as the new professors identified themselves by briefly raising their hands. Professor Briner was young-looking, possibly mid-thirties, with short brown hair and glasses. His robes were clearly brand new, and he looked excited to be there. Professor Masters was a little older, possibly late-forties, but seemed haughty and rather glamorous for a teacher. Professor Gladstone was a rotund little witch of about sixty, with a smiling face and curly grey hair.
Oh well. She would give them all a chance, for Hogwarts was, for the first time, all about education. There was no Harry or Ron to run around after, no threat from the Dark Lord taking her attention away from her studies. Hermione didn't need to like her professors, she only needed a clutch of Outstanding NEWTs. The thought of making something so mundane as a revision timetable seemed inordinately appealing after nearly dying ten times over in the last year.
As they were dismissed to their common rooms, the so-called eighth-years all headed in the same direction, regardless of house. It had been decided that since there were so few of them, and because each common room had only seven boys and seven girls' dormitories, that the returning students such as herself would each have their own small rooms on the guest corridor, which was rarely used.
They'd been led to the rooms earlier by a grumbling Filch, moaning about them 'living in the lap of luxury.'
Luxury it was not, but vastly preferable to sharing a dormitory with girls a year younger. The rooms, and she'd seen that her neighbour, Neville's, was the same, had a small four-poster double bed, a desk for private study, a tiny shower room and a half-size fireplace with a single armchair in front of it.
This evening, now that the fire had been lit, the room looked cosy and appealing. Yes, she would be quite happy here, more than willing to forego the noise of the Gryffindor common room for the tranquillity of her own workspace.
Hermione was less pleased to see Malfoy enter the room opposite hers, offering her nothing but a curt nod of greeting, which she returned. It had been well-documented that Draco had been spared Azkaban due to his age alone, and was probably as welcome as an outbreak of dragon pox in Hogwarts at current time.
His parents had both been imprisoned, for an unspecified period. According to Mr Weasley, Draco had taken the incarceration of his mother far harder than that of his father.
But, Hermione had no real interest in Draco Malfoy. She had no real interest in anything apart from taking her exams, achieving the grades she needed for a job as an Unspeakable, which she had decided would be her career path - the smooth logic, discretion and cool head that the occupation required appealing perfectly to her best qualities. The Department of Mysteries was the only department within the Ministry that had refused to take students with the complimentary certificates, citing the reason that they only accepted the most exceptional of candidates.
Subconsciously, the challenge of meeting that requirement had made her decision. Perhaps, if she worked exceptionally hard, she might be allowed to take her exams early.
Then she could leave Hogwarts behind, and the rest of her life could finally begin.
-xxx-
In the darkness of his dungeon chambers, Severus sat quietly in the old leather armchair before the fire, a heavy glass of firewhisky in one hand, and a Muggle cigarette in the other. He brought the little stick to his lips and inhaled deeply, drawing the delicious poison down to his lungs and holding the smoke there for a good few seconds, before exhaling through both his mouth, and his large nostrils.
A filthy habit, his mother had always called it, catching him smoking time and time again when he was home from Hogwarts on school holidays. Since she had been dead by the hand of his father before he'd turned eighteen, Severus had cared little for her opinion ever since, and he took another deep drag of the tightly-packed cigarette, blowing away the smoke and opting for a large sip of the Old Ogden's next, allowing it to burn his raw throat.
His throat was always raw, lately.
Severus supposed that this was unsurprising, since it had been nearly ripped out by that fucking snake. Two months in St Mungo's had patched him up well enough, however, although the scarring was a foul sight to behold. Ah well, that's what Glamour Charms and high-necked robes were for. To cover up that which you would rather others did not see. Perhaps he should glamour his entire head.
When Shacklebolt had visited him in hospital to invite him to return to the headship, Severus had almost thrown his bedpan at new Minister. As if he would ever wish to return to the office that had seen the most tortuous year of his life. Although, as far as bad years went, he had several others that came close. Life, thus far, had not been kind to Severus Snape.
An abused child from a violent home, with a frightened, battered witch for a mother, and an alcoholic, unemployed Muggle for a father, one could say that the odds were stacked against young Severus right from the start. After Tobias Snape had killed his wife in a drunken rage and imprisoned for life in a Muggle prison, their only child had to find his own way in the world, not that he hadn't already been doing so for most of his wretched life.
Reviled in childhood for his dark 'weirdness' amongst the neighbourhood children, and bullied as a youth, at Hogwarts, Severus had found the lure of the Dark Arts, with all the visceral, seductive pleasures they promised, too tempting to resist.
Through his obsession with dark magic, he had lost the one good thing in his life, his friendship with Lily Evans, a friendship he had hoped would turn to love, one day. That the vivacious redhead would love him … as he loved her.
He gave a mirthless laugh before taking another drag of his burning cigarette. How pathetic that sounded now. Love? He didn't even know the meaning of the word. All he had endured, all he had done in the last eighteen years, all in pursuit of a long-dead witch who would never have felt anything more than pity for him. And he'd never seen it – doggedly continuing his self-imposed torture with blinkered vision.
And where was he now?
Right back where he started. In the dank dungeons of Hogwarts Castle.
He had apprenticed here under Horace Slughorn after achieving the highest recorded score in history on his Potions NEWT. After leaving for a short time, during which he fell into the full clutches of the Dark Lord, creating the potion that had killed Regulus Black, betraying Lily Potter and indirectly causing her death, Albus had taken pity on Severus and given him the job as Potions Master, as Slughorn was retiring. He had been the youngest professor that Hogwarts had ever seen, yet he took no pride in his overachievement.
The new Professor Snape spent his time being as surly as possible, allowing no one close to him, considering any pleasure he gained from life to have been personally stolen from Lily Potter.
A bum-clenchingly awkward conversation with Harry Potter whilst he was still recovering in St Mungo's, had resulted in the boy absolving him of any guilt over his parents' deaths, although Severus opted not to tell the earnest young wizard that he didn't give a shit about James Potter, that the man had been an arrogant arsehole his entire life. When someone was offering forgiveness of the magnitude that James and Lily's son was, it seemed churlish to advise them that their father was a malicious fucking git.
Minerva had accepted the position of Headmistress from Kingsley Shacklebolt, and had first sought Severus to return to his role as Defence professor, but he'd requested the Potions position instead, a subject that truly piqued his interest, knowing that the private research laboratory would once again be available to him now that Slughorn had moved his corpulent girth out of it.
He heard the sudden clatter of a hundred pairs of shoes heading down the dungeon corridor, past his door, towards the Slytherin common room. The welcome feast was clearly over. Down to business, then.
It had been an inexorable show of cowardice not to attend the feast, but the truth was, he couldn't face the students, not yet. Not until Minerva had explained his role. He couldn't have borne the look of horror, fear and derision on their faces as they'd have filed into the Great Hall and seen his black-cloaked frame and miserable face at the staff table, to all intents ousted from the Headmaster's chair that he'd occupied last year.
He would be ready for tomorrow. No more excuses.
He had the security of his dungeon, the familiarity of his acerbic teaching style and a whole extra year group to terrify.
Which led him to another thought, who of that godforsaken cohort had returned?
If any of the so-called Golden Trio, those three, bloody irritating Gryffindors who had watched him 'die', had returned, he might as well finish the job.