Another conversation with no destination
Another battle never won
And each side is a loser
So who cares who fired the gun?
'St. Jude', Florence and the Machine
"Well, Miss Granger, I can not say that I am entirely surprised to see you back already," Headmistress Minerva McGonagall said with a slight smile on her face as she leaned forward onto her arms which rested on her desk, looking closer at her former student. "What exactly is it that you need out of the forest?"
Hermione smiled at her professor, not realizing until this moment just how much she'd missed the Scottish woman. While hardly loving, Minerva McGonagall had been a firm and unshaking presence in Hermione's life. An example of a strong woman who'd managed to survive two brutal wars in order to protect those that she cared for.
"I can't remember if I told you in my last letter or not Professor, but I'd like to open my own apothecary. I always loved Potions, despite Professor Snape's attitude towards teaching it. But Slug and Jigger's still isn't operating at peak capacity, and it doesn't look like Mr. Mulberry has any intention of coming back from the continent anytime soon. I heard that you're hoping to have the school back up and running at full functionality in September, and I was thinking that I could harvest some ingredients from the forest and begin preparing now for the school rush. If Professor Sprout is around, I was also going to ask her if I could take some cuttings so that I could start my own garden so I wouldn't have to rely on other people's generosity indefinitely."
Minerva smiled inwardly, briefly wondering if Hermione had taken a single breath during all of that explaining. With any luck, Hermione's ambitions could prove to be a boon for the school and a weight off of Minerva's back.
"As I am quite sure you know, Miss Granger, we so rarely take advantage of the resources that the forest could provide. I am more than willing to allow you to go out into the forest to harvest ingredients for your apothecary, but I have a couple of questions for you before you go.
"Miss Granger, have you already purchased the physical space for your shop?"
Hermione colored slightly and suddenly found herself quite interested in the pattern of her teacup. "Well, not as of yet. However, Molly has given me permission to start a greenhouse over near their shed to start growing in, and Harry is going to let me turn the basement in Grimmauld into a lab. I've been looking, but there's so much checking into survivors to be done still. The Ministry wants to make sure that there aren't any people out there with valid claims to properties before they begin to just sell them off."
This time, Minerva McGonagall smiled widely, and for the first time Hermione saw a clear resemblance between the Transfiguration professor and her animagus form.
"Then I may have another idea for you. As you undoubtedly know, we have had quite a hard time filling some of our vacant positions on the staff. One position that sorely needs filling—and needs to be filled by someone quite competent—is that of Potions Master. Or possibly, Mistress, as it may. Horace has decided that it is time for him to re-retire. If you are interested, I would like to have you join the Hogwarts family as our newest staff member."
Hermione let out an uncharacteristic shriek and almost dropped her teacup. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was smiling down at her, and the portrait of Severus Snape managed to look almost… pleased?
"I would love to! I can't believe—I mean, I'd always hoped that—I just—I have—Oh thank you!"
McGonagall chuckled and walked around the desk to hug her new coworker. "Anyone who knows you knows how much you cherish academia, and hopefully you will be able to instill in your pupils the same love of learning that you possess. You truly have no idea how much of a weight off of my shoulder it is to have you on board. I was certainly starting to get worried about who I would be able to find to fill the position suitably. It is already July and you were one of the only people on my short list that I trusted completely."
Knowing that someone like Minerva McGonagall held that much faith in her was one of the most inspiring things that could have happened for Hermione. She was about to thank her former professor again when she thought of something that wiped the smile off of her face.
"But Professor, I didn't attend my seventh year—I don't have any NEWTS. How could I possibly begin teaching Potions if I don't even have a NEWT in it?"
Minerva's smile didn't abate in the slightest, and a twinkle eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore appeared in her eyes. "Do not worry about that, Miss Granger. I am quite sure that will not be a problem. It will be sorted out by the time that school begins. Is that your only reservation?"
Hermione nodded, wanting to ask exactly how it would all be 'sorted out', but ultimately deciding against it.
"Good, my dear. Now, when would you be able to start cleaning up in the lab and Master's Quarters? They haven't been touched since the battle, so they are all just as Severus left them."
Hermione glanced down at her watch and saw that it was only half ten. She'd been planning on immediately going out into the forest or immediately taking cuttings from plants in the greenhouse, so there was no reason she couldn't immediately take a look at her new quarters.
"I could start now, I suppose. I'd already cleared my schedule for this afternoon and evening so I don't have anything planned."
Minerva smiled at her again, and the door to the headmistress' office clicked open. A wave of anticipation welled in Hermione's chest, and she gathered her coat and bag before quickly finishing her cup of cooled tea.
"Thank you Professor. I'm so very excited to get started. Oh, I'll have to clean out and catalogue the store room, and make sure that the supplies are all cleaned. I'd like to try to repair all of the books in the class set, and—"
"Oh yes, Hermione. I am sure you will have rather a lot to do. I will let you get straight to it. I still need to try to find a suitable Defense professor. I trust you still know your way down?"
Hermione nodded and quickly headed through the door. She'd been gone barely five seconds before her head popped back into the Headmistress' sight.
"Professor, I don't know how I could ever begin to thank you for this opportunity."
"Hermione," McGonagall began, refilling her own teacup. "You can repay me by doing two things. First, I would like you to give this the same consideration and focus that you give everything else. Of this, I have no doubt that you will succeed. Second, I would like you call me Minerva."
Hermione's grin widened, and she couldn't help the laugh that came from her. "Well, Minerva, I will be sure not to disappoint. I'll be off, then."
"Miss Granger," a deep voice called from the wall above the headmistress' desk. Minerva couldn't help but jump at the sound of the voice. In all of the time that the portrait had hung on the wall, she hadn't heard a single word from it—despite anything she said to it first.
Hermione seemed equally shocked, and came back into the room fully.
"Yes, Professor?"
"I will walk you down to the dungeons."
The portrait made its way through the other frames on the walls of Minerva's office and came to a stop in the landscape of the highlands that sat at the top of the stairs leading in.
"I will meet you at the bottom, Miss Granger," he said before disappearing from the frame.
"I'll see you there, Professor Snape," Hermione replied with a slightly panicked look to Minerva who ushered her to hurry down.
…
The walk to the dungeons was silent—or near enough to it.
Severus Snape, even in death, did not seem to wish to waste his time with "mindless chatter". Every now and then, Hermione would comment quietly about a change to the massive castle that had occurred during renovations, or about something that she was surprised had been repaired so well. He walked with her like a shadow, never saying a word but following her movements down the levels as well as he could with the gaps in the portraits' frames.
Finally, she arrived at the entrance to the potions lab. She rested an open palm on the thick wooden door, taking a moment to remember the first time she'd opened this door and what had been waiting for her within. The words quickly came back to her as though he were saying them again, even though she knew there were no portraits in this corridor and he had to be either waiting inside or must have retreated back to the Headmistress' office.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making... I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."
Her eyes slid closed and she fought back tears. He hadn't been a nice man, but he'd been a good one. Petty and vindictive, but the man had given his life for the future of the very children who he ensured held nothing but hatred for him.
Opening her eyes and squaring her shoulders, she pushed the door open.
…
The classroom was exactly as she'd remembered it. Cold and cavernous, with rows of desks with cauldrons just waiting to be heated, although the air was dusty and stale with disuse. She could smell a slight odor coming from the supplies closet, alerting her to the fact that some of the ingredients had turned. Knowing that the closet had a powerful shielding charm on it—in the case of a potions mishap, the last thing that one wanted was a chain reaction—she avoided it for now. It would take many air purifying charms and possibly a fire to clean the storeroom, and it wasn't something she felt like tackling at the moment. She looked around, wondering where to start.
"Miss Granger, I recommend that you begin in the Potions Master's Quarters. You'll need to go to my office to access them."
Hermione whirled around, finally spotting him in a small frame that would typically have been behind the door. No wonder she'd never noticed it before—he always closed the door behind himself, and he was the last one in. Only a fool would dare turn around instead of facing forward in Snape's potions lab. He always waved the door open as a sign of dismissal as well. There was no time spent standing at the door waiting for it to open.
She nodded at him, and walked towards the door. As she tried to gauge how far she could open the door without it coming rudely close to his face, he slid from the frame again. While she was somewhat grateful that he was with her—after all, these had been his stomping grounds for nearly twenty years—she was somewhat unnerved by his presence all the same. He'd certainly not hid his distaste for her existence when she was his student, and now he was showing her the way to his former living quarters.
It was all really quite odd.
Regardless, she made her way into the office. While the atmosphere of this room was marginally warmer, it still had the same eerie, Snapishness that the potions classroom held to her. While there were two large leather chairs that faced the fireplace and a dark wooden desk that looked to be well loved, the walls were covered in jars of all sorts of revolting things. She tried not to let her eyes linger on any of the jars—that was a mistake she'd made once before. With a quick wave of her wand, she got a fire going, attempting to raise the temperature of the office in the damp, cool dungeons.
Above the fireplace, Severus Snape sat in a chair that Hermione quickly realized was the one before the fire.
"The personal quarters can be accessed by walking straight at that uncovered section of wall. The magic there is much the same as that at the Platform in King's Cross. But before you go poking around there, I want you to open the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk. Underneath a book on the mating habits of ashwinders, there is a box. I need you to open it."
Hermione looked at him hesitantly, but saw no sign of deception in his eyes. Of course, neither had Voldemort.
She sat in the leather chair that sat at the desk, and took a brief moment to marvel at the craftsmanship of each. While she certainly would have classified Severus Snape's personal aesthetic as 'Spartan'—had she been forced to pick a word—this was anything but. The leather was soft and the wood of the desk was smooth and well oiled. Knowing that he was almost certainly waiting for her to do as bidden, she opened the bottom drawer on the right, and pulled out a simple, wooden box. The lid lifted easily, and there was a bundle of envelopes within. The top envelope was simply labeled 'To My Successor'. Meeting his eyes, expertly captured in oil, she ran a fingernail under the flap at the cue of his nod. Inside, were just a few pieces of paper covered in that familiar, spiky writing that had adorned a chalkboard almost daily for 6 years.
"To my successor, whomever you may be—
Rest assured, I have but a few guesses as to who you are. Once you've finished with this letter, there are a number of envelopes in the box. They are arranged in decreasing order of my faith in your abilities to handle taking over my role. I would certainly hope that you won't open any of the envelopes that you have no business reading, but I suppose I can't stop you. However, I'm hoping that a mix of a feeling of inferiority will arise at reading the names that I consider to be better than yourself, and the fairly nasty hexes I've put on them should keep untoward eyes out.
As of right now, I have every intention of returning to this office, to this school, and to one of my two positions here. In all honesty, if the danger abates tomorrow morning, as I certainly hope it does, I do believe that I would prefer to retake the mantle of Potions Master over that of Defense teacher. With luck, there will be no pressing need to teach you how to defend yourselves against an evil that I am familiarly acquainted with. If you are reading this letter, which clearly you are, then that means—equally clearly—that I have not survived the 'Final Battle', or whatever droll name you've all given it.
And so, I hope to be able to leave you with at least a modicum of advice to make your job somewhat easier. For all that you undoubtedly know about me, I am—or was, at any rate—quite capable of basic human emotions. Few things can be as challenging and strenuous as teaching, and it is one of my greatest regrets that I allowed myself to become so embittered as to be seen as little more than the devil incarnate by even my own allies.
All I can say, is that I hope you are able to learn from the mistakes that so many before you have made—myself included. This is, and always has been, a wonderful institution, but even those in employ here must constantly be aware of their own hubris.
That being said, best of luck. Go forth and read the names on the envelopes in the box. Think carefully about your placement therein—assuming you were even remotely capable in my mind of being considered—and look at those who are in the stack above you. Think just as hard about the names in the stack below you. Let this be your first lesson in hubris.
Severus Tobias Snape
1 May, 1998
Hermione folded the letter and placed it back on the desk, her hands shaking. He'd written this the night before he'd died. The night before Nagini had ripped his throat out due to Voldemort's crazed hopes that this would finally give him complete mastery over the Elder Wand. This letter was very likely one of the last things to be penned in his hand, and she was the one who was reading it.
Her eyes shot up to the frame above the fire, only to find the chair empty. He was gone. Probably for the best, she didn't know how she would be able to keep her emotions off of her face if she continued on. He was far more self-aware than any of them had ever given him credit for, and she had to wonder how much of his personality was natural to him and how much of it had been very carefully cultivated over the years.
She reached into the wooden box and pulled out the stack of envelopes, all of which were carefully wrapped in paper. She pulled the paper off of the outside of the bundle and was shocked at the name on the top envelope—the name of the person who Severus Snape had had the most faith in.
Hermione Granger.
…
Sliding one shaking finger under the flap to open the envelope, Hermione jumped and hissed when the fine edge of the paper cut the skin of her finger. She quickly sucked it into her mouth, reaching for her wand to heal the cut.
The envelope, which had fallen back onto the desk, glowed a light green for a brief second before unfolding itself.
Clever, she thought to herself. He'd placed some sort of blood magic onto the envelope to prevent the wrong eyes from looking in. If that was the hassle that he went to in order to allow the correct person to view it, Hermione had nothing but pity for anyone who may have attempted to open an envelope addressed to another.
Finger dealt with, she turned her attention back to the letter. Taking a quick glance at the portrait above the fireplace and finding it still empty, she began to read.
…
Miss Granger,
No, your eyes do not fail you. No, I have not inadvertently put the letters in to the parcel in order of reverse preference. Were I to have had some sort of hand in the selection of my successor, not counting that fool Slughorn, you are the witch that I would have chosen.
Regardless of whether or not I survive the battle, I have no doubts that my true loyalties will come to be known. While I would have liked to have been able to teach a Hogwarts during a time of true peace, it may be for the better that someone besides myself will help lead the school out of the age of the Dark Lord's influence.
We both know that I was far from supportive of you when you were my pupil. There are a number of reasons for this, only some of them fair.
First, you know how talented you are. You do not require every faculty member here to talk behind you and constantly remind you of your talents.
Second, there were plenty of students to whom this knowledge does not come easily. You have a predilection for dominating classroom and conversation, and it is only by keeping you silent that some of your other classmates have an opportunity to learn and grow as well. Potter and Weasley could have been far more successful in their studies if they'd been forced to practice critical thinking and logical reasoning. You did them no favors by feeding them answers and drafting their assignments. I can only hope that this did not prove detrimental to them in the end.
And Finally, it would have done no favors to either of our personal safety if I had ever been seen to have favored or encouraged you in any way, shape, or form.
There is another reason as well, but I cannot put it into words for you here. You will come into the knowledge yourself soon enough.
Your abilities as a student and as a mentor to your classmates give me hope that you will be able to take on this mantle and bear it with at least a modicum of grace. However, if you're reading this at the intended time, then that would mean that you are still either eighteen or nineteen years of age.
I was twenty-one when I began this job. It is demanding, and it is difficult to jump in and attempt to be an authority figure to those who still remember you as a classmate. I am unsure as to whether or not it will be easier or more difficult for you given your status as a 'war-heroine', or whatever they've labeled you.
In order to deal with that pressure, I hardened further. I recommend you choose a different route.
After you finish with this letter you will need to clear out your quarters—formerly my own. Earlier today, I moved all of my things back in, so that when Minerva takes her rightful place in the Headmaster's office my things will already have been moved out. This means that you will be in charge of deciding what to do with my possessions. All of my belongings have been willed to my successor in the position of Potions Master, as I do not view myself as ever having been anything more than a puppet headmaster. That being said, you have the utmost discretion over what to do with everything in this office and the living quarters within. Keep what you'd like, destroy what you'd like, give away what you'd like.
The choice is yours—both in how to make this space yours and how to take on the duties that being Potions Mistress will entail.
Best of luck, Miss Granger. You'll need it.
Severus Tobias Snape
1 May, 1998
…
While she had no choice but to take his word for it, Hermione was nonetheless surprised to learn that she was—or would have been—his first choice for the position. While she did have some of—if not the very—best marks of the past few years, she'd never thought that would have been enough to outweigh his personal hatred of her. And even that didn't seem to have been as existent as she'd always assumed. Sticking that letter with the first and placing them both in the top drawer of the desk, she flipped through the remaining envelopes, curious as to who the other names were.
Draco Malfoy.
Ernie MacMillan.
Percy Weasley.
Dean Thomas.
Five. There were only five names that he considered capable, and three of them were Gryffindors. Draco Malfoy had the highest marks after Hermione, so she wasn't surprised in the slightest to see his name there, Ernie studied almost more than anyone else in the castle, Percy was a well known ponce who took his studies almost too seriously, and Dean was extraordinarily clever, even if he did hide that by horsing around with Seamus Finnegan too often.
While immensely curious as to the contents of the envelopes, Hermione knew far better than to try to open them, especially with the cut on her finger still somewhat smarting. She carefully fed all four envelopes into the fireplace, and sat back in the leather chair. Looking around the office, she realized that everything in her line of sight was now her own.
The leather wing back chairs. The wooden desk that was starting to smell a bit like cedar as the fire warmed the room. The rows upon rows of books lining the walls. The rows upon rows of horrible things in jars that sat above the books.
She smiled to herself and stood, crossing the flagstone floor toward the entrance to the Master's quarters.
It was Severus Snape's legacy, and now it was hers.