First, many thanks to my fantastic and invaluable Beta, Toblass, and my cheerleaders, Toby, I M Sterling, and Jesi. I love you all, thank you so much for all of your work! Secondly, this was written for Fizzabella1110 for the sshg-giftfest. :) I am not terribly keen on Potions Apprentice Hermione in most situations (I just..no..), so I hemmed and hawwed and sobbed over this until I got an end result I was pleased with. :)
As always, I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from writing this, etc, etc. :)

Chapter One

Hermione laughed and he scowled, swiping at his nose. "No, here, let me... I don't know why you were stirring so vigorously."

Her hands were gentle, wiping the small splatters of Fever Reducer from his cheek and nose. Her fingers were cool—no doubt a side effect from the dungeon air, even in June—but where they touched left trails of fire. Irritably, he brushed them aside. "It is necessary in order to make the air bubbles, as well you know, else—"

"Yes, yes, or else the solution won't create the necessary cooling effect. I know, Severus." Her smile was entirely genuine, and he felt the weight of it down to his boots. When had that begun, he wondered, not for the first time. He realised his lips were parted as if to speak and firmly shut them once again under the guise of removing his slim spectacles...

The silver strand of memory clung to the tip of his wand as it left his temple, and he deposited it with great care into the bowl with the others. So many moments. So many memories. They swirled around lazily, affording him glimpses of the past three years since Minerva more or less gave him the ultimatum to make Hermione his apprentice so that she would have "the best possible academic record, as befitting a heroine". Minerva's bloody quote, not his. As if he wasn't a hero and entitled to perhaps a damn choice. Despite all that had happened, that still stuck in the back of his throat, and he prodded the shimmering liquid. Three years. Well, almost...there was about a week left.

How had it been so long already? It seemed as if time had flown, once he'd gotten over his initial dislike of the situation.

Sighing, Severus glided over to his desk, running his finger along the line he was supposed to sign. All it would take was one moment for him to sign his name, and she would be free of him. Gone, leaving him all alone.

But wasn't that what he'd wanted when Minerva had ordered him to take the girl on? He'd spent four years in peace, none of Potter or his friends in the school to torment him with memories, and then out of the blue, Minerva had told him that Hermione Granger—how her name had grated on him then!—was seeking an Apprenticeship in order to become a full-fledged Healer. She'd told him that he was going to oblige the girl and take her on. Not asked. It hadn't been a question, and he was still annoyed to admit he'd thrown a bit of a tantrum, Albus's thrice-damned portrait twinkling benignly down at the scene like some sort of demented Christ figure.

It had been to either rage and destroy or claw at the buttons suddenly constricting his throat—at the scar tissue, as if he could rip it open and finish what the Dark Lord had started. But strangely, since he had gotten over the urge to die in recent years, rage it was.

He had served enough, hadn't he? Suffered enough? He'd bound himself to too many in a single lifetime for him to take on yet another responsibility. He deserved a respite, some long-denied freedom of choice. Knowing he'd be magically forced into servitude once more filled him with dread. He would be forced to teach the girl, look after her well-being—like hell he'd wanted to babysit the girl!—but she'd changed his mind, the bossy, stubborn witch.

Severus looked over at the faint glow from the Pensieve, brow furrowing. He hadn't bothered to store his earliest memories, since they weren't making this difficult on him. He remembered so clearly Hermione's indignity on his behalf when he'd made it clear that he hadn't even been asked to take her on as his apprentice. He'd only meant to impress upon her that he was still the bitter, surly bastard who'd taught her for seven years, regardless how the papers spoke of him.

He had sat her down and prepared to lambast her with every vicious word in his vocabulary: every word that fell from his lips tasted foul. Hermione had sat, frowning slightly as he sneered and snarled, blustering his way through a rather windy rant. He'd thought the girl he remembered would have flinched, burst into tears and fled. Yet she sat there, watching, evaluating.

It took him several minutes to realise just how astute she'd become, and already she seemed to have acquired the Healer-take-no-bullshit mindset that would serve her well in her chosen field. She'd convinced and cajoled him to tell her the truth of the matter. He hadn't been given a choice. He had been ordered and coerced into taking her on.

He had been stunned at the way her eyes had narrowed, flashing in Gryffindor righteous indignation. Hermione had called him a hero, a word he still had not thought applied to him. She had been angry on his behalf. Severus had never had someone be so...concerned. Lily hadn't, and she had been his best friend. But this witch, with her mad hair and perfect teeth... it floored him.

She'd stormed right out to Minerva's office. He had been too surprised to follow, unable to comprehend why she wasn't jumping at the chance to make his life hell for the next three years.

By the time Hermione had made her way back into his office to confront him in front of his massive pile of marking, she was no longer pink-cheeked-white-knuckled with anger, but instead displayed a sort of simmering calm that made him wary.

"Tell me what the binding ceremony is, please." Her back had been ramrod straight, her smile tight, a determined glitter in her eyes. "The Headmistress may have already filed the paperwork so you're stuck with me, but I'll see if I can make it a bit more bearable."

That last bit had made him suspicious, but he'd outlined it as curtly as possible, handing over the copy of the words he was supposed to utter, the words that would tie him to Hermione Granger. He hadn't known what she was planning, but grudgingly had had to admit to himself that she was intelligent enough to possibly come up with a solution that he hadn't... one that hadn't involved him faking his death and running off to warmer climes, or Minerva being mysteriously ousted as Headmistress.

Severus's face softened as he picked up his quill. In the end, Hermione's solution had been ingenious and so extraordinarily simple; damn it, he should have thought of it first. Long fingers caressed the lines of their contract as he recalled her marching up to him in the Great Hall and muttering for him not to say anything.

As the center of Hogwarts, which itself was upon an old ley line, the Great Hall was a traditional spot for oaths and bindings. The magic was stronger here, and it had been with great apprehension that he'd clasped hands with her—his cool and hers warm and slightly damp, had she been nervous?—and allowed Minerva to put the tip of her wand to their joined appendages. His gut had churned; the meagre breakfast of tea and toast he'd managed to choke down was threatening to make a reappearance all over the witch who was giving him a smile she must have thought looked reassuring. All it did was unsettle him further; what had she planned?

A plain white binding cord slithered out of the Headmistress's wand, twining around their hands, and he tried to squash the rising panic as it knotted. He couldn't do this, not again... No more vows, no more bindings... He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed at his weakness.

"When you're ready," Minerva said, and Hermione's hand had gripped his more tightly, "speak the words of binding and the cord will fall free." To his immense relief, she swept out of the hall without any further ado, giving them the privacy that tradition dictated.

How different it was from his own Apprenticeship—he'd been proud and angry and ready to prove himself. Here, now, he was still angry, but he was panicking and couldn't disguise the tremors in his hand. All he wanted to do was run and jump out the damn window, but the magic wouldn't allow it.

"I pledge myself as your Apprentice," Hermione said softly. The cord began to glow faintly at her words and her shoulders relaxed. "I will listen to your teachings in all things regarding the spells and potions that pertain to my studies."

He couldn't believe his ears. She'd reversed the oaths. She'd bound herself to him.. The responsibility was hers. All he would have to do was teach her. She'd done this? For him? He frowned; perhaps he had misjudged her.

"I will take any lodgings you find acceptable for a witch of my standing." The glowing cord brightened with each word. "I swear to maintain all decorum and privacy as befitting a master-apprentice relationship, until such time that you sign the contract as completed."

The cord tightened on their wrists and his stomach clenched almost painfully. The knot untied and it dropped to the floor, useless now the binding was complete.

Severus opened his desk drawer and dug through the jumble of papers and bent quills to find the cord. It had begun as plain white when it wrapped around their hands, as all binding cords did, and the colour would change during the vows to denote the strength of the bond. He'd Summoned the damn thing as it hit the stones of the Great Hall and had been praying for nearly three years that Hermione either hadn't seen the colours or didn't know what they meant.

His questing fingers met silk and he grasped the cord, pulling it out. He left it hidden in the back, ashamed that he was unable to control the wonder he had felt when he'd examined it in the privacy of his office. Sometimes, he took it out as he did now, brushing over the braided threads of silver and gold.

Silver and gold. He'd never seen such a cord, outside of the few weddings he'd been dragged into attending as part of the Death Eater crowd, and certainly he'd never heard of one for a mere apprenticeship. The colours had unnerved him, that first month as she settled in. Minerva had given her the quarters that connected to his, and he'd been worried that she would intrude so he'd assigned her books to read and essays to write to keep her out of his hair...

Severus scowled suddenly and hurried to the Pensieve. Another memory to deposit, if he was looking back at it with fondness. His temples throbbed as the thread clung to his wand. Headaches were not a good sign, and the Pensieve was very full.

"I have to stop for the day," he muttered, prodding the silvery strand until her face swam into view.

"Books!" Hermione cried, exasperation writ large on her features. "Books and essays, that's all I've done for two weeks. I thought I was your apprentice, not your student!"

Severus raised a brow. She wanted to slap him. "So you are. What does that have to do with the work I have assigned you?"

"Books," she told him again and he waited for her to continue, leaning backwards with a creak. She glared at him. "I need practical work, sir, not just book work. That means going over potions and spell reversal. You haven't even given me access to the supply cupboard or the lab to brew anything! The whole point of this is to learn, to be taught, and I can't do that with just books!"

"Of course you can't," he said snidely. "But I refuse to try to tell you in months what you can learn in weeks from books that already exist. Frankly, I'd rather not waster either of our time on the foundation."

"And the essays?" She knew she was clenching her jaw, grinding her teeth, but couldn't be arsed to care. Her parents would be scandalized.

"The essays are for me to gauge your progress," he replied after a moment. "They let me know what you are taking from the books and how you apply the information. It will make practical work much easier."

Hermione stared at him for several heartbeats before nodding, curls bobbing. Well, that made sense. "Thank you. That makes sense," she told him, echoing her own thoughts. She made a face. "I really do appreciate the explanation. Like you, I think, I don't much care for floundering in the dark anymore."

"I understand completely." His tone was mild, but it was clear the discussion was quite over.

Hermione smiled to herself at the memory as she browsed Severus's shelves for the titles she needed, toying with her necklace. It seemed that every time she turned around this week, memories were bubbling up to the surface of her mind, and that particular incident had certainly changed their dynamic from master-former student to master-apprentice.

And thank Merlin it had! Severus was much better company after that. Not that he'd been unbearable or anything beforehand, but it had definitely been an improvement.

She frowned. One of the reference books was missing, the one with the gilt edges. Damn it! She had been ninety-seven percent certain that the measurements she needed were in there, and she'd been hoping to finish off her workbook before dinner.

It was possibly in his office, but he'd locked the door, so he was either busy or with a student. Hermione smiled; he was a wonderful Head of House, at least when it came to Slytherin. It had been an eye-opener to see things from the other side. He truly cared about them, and she'd been surprised to hear him berate them when they had misbehaved. It was behind closed doors, which would be why she'd never seen him do it during her own years as a student, but at least he did it.

Lost in thought, she headed for the door. Perhaps the library had a copy.

The memories swirled in the shallow basin as Severus downed the Headache Potion.

He had three years of memories and emotions to deposit, and less than a week to sign the contract. With the memories pulled, he would presumably be able to honestly convince himself that she had, in fact, fulfilled the parameters of her apprenticeship and was ready to become a full-fledged Healer.

Under a week was all he had until his signature had to be on that parchment and the binding dissolved. Mere days until she was no longer his Hermione Granger.

His mouth tasted like ash, and his eyes felt crusted shut. He pried them open and scowled blearily at the clock on the far wall. Shite. Overslept again. Severus scrubbed at his face, pushing back the lank strands plastered to his sallow cheeks.

At least he had remembered to drink copious amounts of water along with Ogden's Finest, judging by the lack of hangover. The stones were cold under his bare toes, and he nudged the empty whisky bottle away with his other foot, wavering unsteadily.

He took a lurching step forward and heard the bathroom door lock.

"Bugger."

He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, grey nightshirt bunched under his bony knees. Their chambers connected solely at the bathroom, and he had quickly laid enchantments upon the doors in order to avoid any meetings at inopportune moments. The door on the opposite side from the entrance locked automatically, with certain provisos. For example, if either of them even whispered 'help', the door would unlock and alert the other, same if their heart or lungs ceased to work. And of course, if the other was unavailable, a House Elf would be alerted to render aid. Better, he'd been able to create enough of a dampening in the wards that any bodily noises would go unheard.

Very neat spellwork indeed.

And right now, with his bladder full, he bloody hated it.

Trying to take his mind off of the pressing need for the loo, Severus ran his fingers over the spines of the various books stacked on his nightstand before selecting one at random. The leather was cool and smooth in his hands and he opened it to his marker. The words on the page were blurry without his reading glasses, but he still bent lower to the tome for all the good that it did him. His nose was nearly touching the page, but he didn't give a shit.

...Wrong choice of words.

He managed several minutes before the tapping of her toothbrush against the marble sink reminded him of his body's urges. He fought the urge to pace, knowing rising would do little to aid him. The water ran a moment later, then more tapping. Always the same rhythm and count—four, like a double heartbeat.

Severus knew her routines well by now, and he managed to cross the room at a stagger, his book forgotten among the folds of his duvet, just as the door unlocked on his side.

Sweet relief. He sighed blissfully, listening to the soft humming coming from her chambers. When Hermione hummed in the morning, it usually indicated a fair mood. It was off-tune, and he was unfamiliar with whatever she'd meant to be singing, but it had grown on him over the past year or so when she'd picked it up sometime around the hols.

The water was ice cold on his face and he gasped, inhaling water and coughing and he scrubbed indelicately at his large nose and angular features with his towel. The mirror wisely held its tongue as he brushed his teeth and forced a comb through his hair. He'd hexed the bloody thing more than once, and Merlin knew Hermione had stormed out of the bathroom, still shouting at it on a few occasions. The mirror was an opinionated annoyance installed by Albus when Severus had started teaching, and he was still unclear if it was meant to be helpful in terms of his appearance or if the doddering ex-Headmaster had simply wanted to remind Severus to hate himself.

It was hard to tell.

Grimacing, he spat out the paste and rinsed his mouth. The enchanted mirror had ceased to annoy him when he had simply ceased to care, though it did try to offer helpful advice and didn't much care to be saluted with a single finger in response.

Severus was well aware what he looked like, thank you. He was no prize, but, well, it was harder to hate himself these days. Not impossible, but he supposed he was making great strides or some such rot. He'd seen the Muggle psychotherapist as ordered, until it had come down to ending the therapy or Obliviating the man after each session, and that was too much of a hassle.

Even so, he had to admit with the whisky-induced honesty still churning in his gut (and now the castle's sewage system), that he was...different, thanks in part to time and largely to Hermione's presence in his life. He was less bitter. More patient. Hell, he'd even lost some hostility, and took the whole hero nonsense in stride.

Mostly.

Really, he hadn't undergone a personality swap and was not a fucking ray of sunshine, but he was better. Still a surly, sarcastic git with a sharp tongue, but, he knew as he fumbled the medicine cabinet open for a Sober Up, that Hermione made him want to be better.

The ginger-and-honey flavoured elixir was easily swallowed—he didn't need it for a hangover, but it worked better than a Pepper Up. He scowled at his reflection. Severus chucked the phial into the small bin and hoped the potion would take effect soon. Damn Ogden's for making him maudlin.

Hermione hummed to herself as she combed her hair. She wanted to make the best possible impression on him this week. Call her foolish, or sentimental, but she wanted to feel beautiful. Her time as Severus's apprentice was almost done, and she'd be lying if she didn't admit that her blood was bubbling through her veins like champagne.

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him, really, for all the jokes her friends had made about it when she'd started. Honestly, Ron had been the worst. Cracking jokes about her "shacking up with the bat of the dungeons" while he sat half on Viktor's lap... Harry had been just as bad, the git!

Rolling her eyes at her friends' past antics, Hermione started to put her hair up with a few charms she'd learned from Lavender. It took a while to do, but she rather liked the result. She'd last worn her hair up like this... Merlin, when? That Valentine's Day Ball? She'd loved that dance.

Sometimes it was hard to believe she'd gotten him to dance with her. She'd asked him once if he'd consider it—her palms had been clammy as she'd crushed the burgundy velvet of her skirts in her fists—and then she had asked him once more when the floor had seemed full enough for them to join in.

His immediate acquiescence had stolen her breath even as he'd slid that wiry arm around her waist and spun her out into the throng. The waltz had been divine. Cliché, perhaps, but she'd felt like she'd been dancing on a cloud. She could recall perfectly the scent of Severus's aftershave, the feel of the wool of his robes under her fingers, the heat of his body.

Hermione shivered at the memory, jabbing her wand at one last curl before setting down the length of wood and reaching for her earrings. The small gold hoops were cold as she put them in, but warmed quickly to her body temperature. She smiled at her reflection.

Soon, she wouldn't be Severus's apprentice any more, and she would be free to approach him for a second dance. Well, dinner first; it would probably look odd if she just asked him for a dance!

With a giggle, Hermione hurried to dress.

Less than a week to impress Severus, to try to see if he viewed her as a woman, a potential partner, rather than just an apprentice. She didn't want to just out and ask him. They'd be colleagues after Poppy retired, and she wanted to avoid any awkwardness.

By the time he was dressed and had had a cup of tea, he felt marginally human and cheerier than he had any right to be. The signing of the contract niggled at the back of his mind and as much as he tried to avoid thinking of it, he still prodded at the knowledge like a child with a loose tooth. Only there was no promise of a Knut under a pillow at the end of this wait.

Severus glanced at the ornate silver timepiece, a gift from his mother when he completed his Mastery—he was early for breakfast, so in a rare fit of tidying, he decided to shelve the stacks of books on either bedside table and the low coffee table.

It was a terrible habit, he knew, picking up books, carrying them somewhere to be read, and leaving them there. And it was not as if he had an actual method for shelving his books, so the normal sorting spells did him no good, and he wasn't truly bothered by the stacks he left around to work one out, either.

His haphazard method of shelving of his books had thrown Hermione the first time he'd allowed her into his quarters a few months into her apprenticeship with him. The memory, one he hadn't yet pulled, still made his lips curve into a wicked smirk.

"Do not touch anything," Severus warned her, choosing to ignore the fact that the witch was rolling her eyes at him. His key slid smoothly into the lock and he turned it.

"Shall I hover?" Hermione's snide reply made him turn his head to glare at her, but it lacked any real heat. He was, frankly, exhausted, and having a meeting in his quarters rather than his office would allow him some respite. "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologise. I should have anticipated that you would have assumed that I meant for you to take things literally. Allow me to elaborate—you may sit on the settee, and of course touch the floor and anything I hand you, but otherwise keep your hands to yourself. I haven't the inclination to lock up my projects simply because you have the urge to investigate." Severus paused in the small stone passageway, undoing the last ward. "Ah," he added, his eyes gleaming, "and you may touch the air."

Hermione laughed behind him. She sounded delighted, and he couldn't for the life of him decide if it was genuine amusement at what he'd said, or if she was making fun. When upon reaching his sitting room he stepped aside to allow her past, he glanced at her face. He was surprised to see that the humour on her features was genuine, and something warmed in him.

As he watched, her expression changed to one of wonder—had she thought he lived in a cave or slept upside down? Severus's eyes darted to the open door at the other end of the sitting room—shite, he hadn't bothered to make the bed again, but at least he knew he deposited his dirty clothes in the laundry basket each night and morning, so she wouldn't see anything embarrassing.

On second thought...why risk it? Severus waved a hand and his bedroom door slammed shut.

"Tea?" he offered, gesturing for her to take a seat at either the settee or his favoured wingback chair. To his relief, she took the settee.

"Yes, please, thank you." Hermione beamed at him as she smoothed her robes over her knees.

Severus nodded jerkily and headed for the kitchenette. Preparing tea was not a difficult task, giving him a welcome reprieve. Today had been exhausting.

"Do you need a hand?" Hermione appeared at his elbow and he swore, loudly, his wand out and pointed at her. "Sorry, not my intention to startle you."

He sighed, stowing his wand safely.

"I was not startled." Merlin, he sounded petulant to his own ears. Hermione ignored it, and nudged him out of the way.

"Go sit, you look dead on your feet. I think I can figure out tea." Her voice was gentle as she steered him out towards his own chair. "Sit," she ordered.

Severus watched her, occasionally telling her where he kept the tea spoons or the tea leaves, and soon the tea tray was on the coffee table, just in reach for them both. Hermione inhaled the fragrant steam from her cup with a smile.

"Your office always smells of this. I'd wondered what it was."

He snorted. "Clearly I am not giving you enough work if you have time to wonder about my office."

"Probably not," she agreed cheerfully, taking a cautious sip of the hot beverage.

They talked for a while across various topics before he winced, realising how close he was allowing her, and he began to withdraw. A lull in the conversation, and he nodded to the shelf behind her. "Hand me the book by Pushland, if you would."

"Sure." Hermione rose and stared at the shelf a long moment. "Severus? Has Irma ever seen your shelves?"

He frowned. "No, why?"

"Because I think she'd have a fit." Her voice was tight. "It's a mess..."

Scowling, he set down his tea cup and hastily crossed to her, plucking the book from the shelf. "No, it is not. I know precisely where each book is."

"There's no order!" Hermione looked at him with dismay, accepting the book from his hands. "If you'd like, I could sort them for you..."

"No," he told her firmly. "I will not have you destroying my system."

"What system? You have science fiction—that's a surprise, by the way—next to Arithmancy, and then there's two reference books but I can see more reference books on the other shelf. Even Potions are all over the place, and you have so many books! How do you find them?" She was clearly aghast.

"And I suppose your own shelves are sorted by topic, then author," he sneered defensively.

"Well, yes..." She seemed to regain some margin of control over her innate need for order. "What 'system' do you use?"

Seeing as he would get no rest until he'd answered her pestering, he sighed. "They are grouped by how often I use them, or personal preference."

"It's so wrong," she muttered, clutching the book to her chest. "So terribly wrong. Never let Irma in here, she'd have a stroke."

Severus laughed loudly, missing the enthralled look on her face as the rich sound rolled over her for the first time.

tbc in chapter 2... ;)