Back to Black

She watched him stalk the room as she had seen him do a thousand times before. The long strides, the sound of his heavy boots as they hit the concrete floor, ricocheting around the silent room of loud minds - all focussed on their task or otherwise just afraid to look up. The swish of his black cloak as it rippled in the air before sweeping against the ground repeatedly, the monotony of the sound almost alluring to nobody but her.

She couldn't recall whether she had noticed any of it before she had returned; whether she had even really noticed him before. All she knew was that she did now and she couldn't help but avert her eyes from her parchment, unafraid of being caught in her observations.

Things were different now. Whereas before she'd opted to sit at the front of class, eager to avoid distractions and listen intently to his words, she now chose to hide in the far corner of the dark room. The shadows hid her newfound ability to become easily distracted. Really, she had no obligation to be there. She had no need to complete her finally year. After all that they had achieved, she was more than qualified to take up employment in most fields (as per Harry and Ron,) but something had drawn her back to Hogwarts.

Minerva McGonagall hadn't needed to persuade Hermione Granger to return but the promise of experience behind the scenes had of course piqued her eager mind and after a summer of relaxation and travelling she was excited to return. Her return was also not without trepidation however; she had no real purpose in completing her seventh year and she did fear that without her friends by her side, she would not quite enjoy the experience as she had before. But that meeting before with the Scottish woman had eased her mind and as they sat in The Burrow eating dinner together and Hermione couldn't help but smile at the thought of returning home.

How long he had been standing behind her she didn't know, but she could smell the subtle scent of musk and realised that he was indeed leaning over her. Instinctively, her hand returned to her quill and she began to complete the sentence which had been started over thirty minutes previously. That seemed to be enough for Snape, who continued his stalking of the dark room, not before throwing a loud tut her way. She'd expected an admonishing remark or a harsh telling off, but neither came. It was not that he was no longer capable of such callous words as before, no Severus Snape had not mellowed since the end of the war, in fact he had seemed to retreat into his dark self even more so.

What seemed like seconds later, Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp bang of Snape's palm on the desk, shortly followed by the scraping of stools on the hard floor. This noise had become her Professor's new signal for dismissal and his students were always very eager to be dismissed. The room emptied suddenly and not wanting to be the last student standing, Hermione struggled to bundle her books into her bag quickly enough.

'Miss Granger, a word,' came the rich drawl of Snape as she almost reached the exit to the classroom.

Slowly, she turned towards him. He was sitting at his desk at the front of the room, dark eyes locked upon her, his position in his chair upright, strong, unwavering. Breathing in as much of the dungeon's cold air as she could, as though needing some sort of lift to carry her forwards towards him, Hermione started towards his desk.

'Professor Snape, sir,' she began, 'I do not wish to be rude but I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall now and I really cannot be late.'

His brows furrowed into an emotion she could not read – was that anger? Annoyance? Amusement?

He stood from his chair quickly, his robes gave in to gravity and resumed their place, billowing at his ankles before he reached around them, pulled them tight into his chest under folded arms: a very Snape-like stance indeed. She noticed in that moment that he had gained weight. He was bigger than he was before – broader. He did not look physically strong by any stretch of the imagination but he did look more intimidating than before. He looked forbidding.

'You wish not to be rude Miss Granger, yet you are being insufferably so by even stating so. Professor McGonagall will have to wait, we need to have a little chat.' The emphasis on the word chat was not lost on her, the affability that it seemed to imply immediately quelled by his intonation and she knew that he no more wanted to chat than he did spend an evening at the Yule Ball.

'What would you like to chat about then, Sir?' She mimicked his emphasis something which she would not dared to have do two years earlier.

'Not the weather I assure you Miss Granger. Sit.' He gestured to a stool at one of the student desks and to her surprise sat down next to her, his long legs bent upwards at the knees as his feet hit the floor. If possible, he looked even taller for sitting.

'It has come to my attention that you are not behaving as a little book worm should. Your essays are merely acceptable and you attention in class is, well, wavering. Do you think that you are better than anybody else in my classroom Miss Granger? Do you feel as though you are too good to be here? Too good to learn? Have you learnt all that you can by saving the wizarding world with your imbecilic friends that a life of academia is now lost on you?'

Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor habitually before she caught herself quickly. Her mouth retorted before she had chance to formulate them in her mind. She was no longer a child afraid of him.

'Firstly, Professor Snape, I did not save the wizarding world as you so casually put it. I think you'll find that my imbecilic friend did most of the leg work and I merely guided him along the way. Others' own sacrifices helped too, but then again some have forgotten this and seemingly all that transpired.'

He knew she was taking about him, but he let it go. He was, admittedly, taken aback by the girl's audacity.

'Secondly,' she continued, 'I do not feel that I am too good to be here, or that I am smart enough to get by with little effort. I merely find this whole situation bizarre and I am struggling to adapt to it now that my eyes have been opened to the real world.'

Honesty, he thought.

'Well Miss Granger, as much as I am privileged to be privy to the inner workings of your teenage mind and the struggles of your new role here in the castle, I do not care. I care only that you start paying attention in class. It is only then, that I will consider the Headmistress's absurd request that I allow you to help me brew for the Infimary stocks.' The last sentence was almost spat from his mouth as though he could barely stand the taste of the suggestion.

Hermione faltered then with any witty remarks about her teenage mind actually being a twenty-one year old mind that had actually helped defeat the greatest and most fearsome wizard of all time. Instead, she focussed on the suggestion that McGonagall had finally given her permission to work behind the scenes; granted, she was hoping that she would be working with the Headmistress herself, but Snape was an incredible wizard who she could learn a lot from (if he'd let her.)

'Your mouth is gaping Granger,' he spat, his lips curling slightly in the corners.

'I just…I just had no idea that Professor McGongall had found a role for me.'

'A role that will remain unfulfilled unless your next essay gives me something worthy of more than kindling for my fire. Sort yourself out Miss Granger.' He waved his had dismissively and stood before stalking back to his desk. She took that as her cue to leave.