A/N: I'm thrilled to announce the first installment of this story about Hermione and Snape and the space between the bullets and the fire. This story takes place in a timeline where all that horrible stuff with Snape being a double agent, etc., has happened but Albus is still with us. I… don't know if I'll resolve how THAT'S come to pass… But let's not worry about that now, eh? Let's just talk about Snape and Hermione and how great that is, okay?
A grateful shout-out to my beta, Blue, who like me, can't spell, but has some great ideas ;)
Get Out And Live Life
Several sherbet lemons and two cups of strong tea got Albus Dumbledore through a difficult but necessary letter that he had decided to pen a week ago. He signed his name in a flourish of ink and folded and sealed the parchment with a glob of blue wax pressed flat with his stamp. With a small sigh he turned and moved slowly over to the open window where a solidly built but gentle looking black owl was perched.
"You were good to come, my friend." The owl clicked his beak a little and held out his foot. "Oh, no need, no need. This is going just upstairs, please. To Miss Hermione Granger, Top of the North Tower." The bird took in his beak the folded letter that the Headmaster held out to him and blinked largely before he turned and stretched his wings. He glided down gently a moment or two and then beat his wings silently as he rose and headed for the far tower.
There was a ring of windows lit with candle glow all around the top of the North Tower's spire. There was one round room at the top of the tower. It was a squat room with a trap door entrance in the very center of the floor. It used to belong to Professor Sybil Trelawney, although Hermione Granger always thought that "professor" was more of an honorary title in this particular situation.
It looked nothing like it did when Hermione had seen it for the first time seven years ago. Trelawney took almost all of her squashy chairs and little ottoman poufs when she left three years ago. She'd also packed up the candles and the thick, heady incense, her scarves and her warm lamps, all of which gave the whole place a feeling of being trapped inside of an attic, which had not been aired for over two decades. But once Hermione thought about it, she realized that was exactly the problem. She had redecorated immediately. So she charmed the thick stained glass windows and replaced them with large curved panels of glass that let the light in and could be opened to circulate the fresh air. It had taken her the better part of a week to get them transparent as real glass, but it had been worth it. Once Hermione managed to air the scent of sage and old tea out of the place, it began to feel less like the place she had protested the ridiculous unfounded subject of divination and more like what it had become: her very own classroom.
Not yet graduated from Hogwarts, Deputy Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall had called her into her office for a cup of tea and an offer to teach at the school beginning the start of next term. That was, of course, if she had not already accepted a position elsewhere. Hermione confessed that she had considered dozens of other options since before even taking her O.W.Ls her fifth year, but only because she did not think that there would be an opening in the staff that could accommodate her. But with Firenze teaching more and more students through N.E.W.T.s, Professor Trelawney decided that she was no longer wanted and applied to an advertisement for a caretaker to a large summer home in Mead. And with Voldemort gone and the prophecies concerning him and Harry Potter fulfilled, Dumbledore had decided that maybe it was easier to just let the woman go. And, as it turned out, Professor Vector had also decided to submit her resignation, although for reasons much more ordinary. She had been teaching Arithmancy for over thirty-five years at Hogwarts and had finally decided that she wanted to see Brazil.
So Hermione accepted, with much pride and excitement, the position of Professor of Arithmancy. She'd been so overwhelmed at the idea that she did not even take the time Professor McGonagall had suggested she take to discuss the offer with her parents, or at least her best friends, Ron Weasely and Harry Potter. She'd thanked McGonagall profusely and, when McGonagall had offered her hand to shake, a bursting Hermione embraced the stunned older woman with both arms.
Three years had come and gone like a wind through the trees.
Hermione stared heartbroken at the letter in her hand. Her muscles tensed and her thumb began to dent the parchment. She clamped on to it, crushing it further in her tight hand, as she ran across the classroom and climbed down through the trap door.