Hermione Granger, despite her almost disgusting optimism, knew that life wasn't fair.
She was first acquainted with this when she was in the first grade and she was made fun of because her teeth were overly-large, even though she was smarter than anyone else in her grade. She was reminded of the fact in eighth grade, when she found out her only friend had began spreading rumors about her when she got a better grade on a test than she did; telling classmates she had no friends because she read all the time. She was further advised of it when, in her junior year of high school, her boyfriend broke up with her because she had been seen talking to one Viktor Krum, even though he was only asking to borrow a copy of her notes.
Yes, she was no stranger to unfairness.
So, when Minerva McGonagall, chair to the English department, called her into her office and told her she would no longer be able to serve as teaching assistant to Professor Vector, she was surprised to feel her throat begin to constrict and the heavy feeling of disappoint sink through her belly.
"I don't understand," she started, twisting her hands together in her lap. "I was just in contact with Professor Vector last week, she said everything was worked out already." Her eyebrows knitted together, and she peered up at McGonagall with confused brown eyes.
McGonagall was a severe woman, graying auburn hair pulled tightly into a bun. She had sharp eyes that were often found narrowed at students causing mischief in the hallways. Few knew the gentleness they had the potential to hold. Hermione had experienced it only once – a few weeks ago, when Hermione hesitantly explained her reasons for not pursuing her master's degree in the same field as she had gotten her bachelor's.
Now, the older woman sighed, looking over thin lenses at her, though not unkindly. She spoke in a clipped brogue, giving the impression of someone who had a very tough life, but still managed grace.
"The dean is getting pressured from the board to accept more international students to the positions. There was one student who the board seemed to want to push on us. She was very well qualified for the role, and I couldn't deny them." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but McGonagall went on in an authoritative tone. "You come from an unusual background, as far as the English program is concerned. I hate to bring up bad memories, but not many students change directions completely when they go to pursue a higher degree," she eyed Hermione, speaking matter-of-factly. "You're very bright, and you will continue to be, not just in Professor Vector's classroom. We feel confident that you could be successful assisting this particular teacher."
It was a testament to Hermione's objection of this that she didn't even feel the warm glow of praise like she usually did. All she could think about, rather, was where this was leading.
She had chosen Brown for her master's for their excellent English program, and quickly found a confidant in Professor Septima Vector. She was looking forward to taking on the role of teaching assistant to the woman, a feeling of belonging settling over her when she finally left Septima's office the week prior. The world had seemed so much brighter – she couldn't help but smile all the way back to the apartment she shared with Ginny Weasley.
That feeling of belonging, so recent, now slipping through her fingers, just made Hermione more bitter.
She spoke slowly, her mind desperately trying to piece the news together. "I…won't be able to work with Se- Professor Vector," she began. "But I will still be an assistant?" McGonagall seemed relieved she understood, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her.
"Yes, Miss Granger. If you wish to – I think I can speak for all of my fellow faculty when I say we understand if you choose to not accept. That being said, it would be a great loss to the school. I personally believe you'll be a valuable resource in helping to teach our students, and a credit to us all. I am quite confident you'll do a superb job of it." The Scottish woman gave her a small smile now. Hermione minutely raised the corners of her mouth, looking away.
"Who," she took a deep breath, trying to focus. "Who will I be assisting? If I choose to accept," she added hastily. She thinks Minerva hides another smile, but her mind is turning too quickly to pay much attention.
"Are you familiar with anyone from the chemistry department?"
Hermione doesn't bother to hide her surprise. No, she wasn't familiar with the faculty – not here. Her bachelor's degree had been received in Chemical Biology, true, but she was pursuing a graduate degree in Literary Arts. Simple, safe, Literary Arts. She had no inclination to return to the science field – it brought too much else with it. She let McGonagall know as much.
"I realize the situation isn't ideal," Hermione barked out a mirthless laugh at this. "But my hands are tied. As it happens, one of our professors just…lost his own assistant, through an unfortunate turn of events. Regrettably, all of the other positions have been filled. If you still wish to TA, this is the only option."
McGonagall's words echoed in her head. She felt like she was a grain of sand being blown about the desert, nothing but wasteland around her, and with no way to stop. She was pulled back to reality when she heard a throat being cleared.
"Miss Granger, if you need some time to decide…"
"No, I just- "she mumbled. When she spoke again, her voice was clearer. "Who is the professor?" McGonagall definitely smiled this time, a shallow attempt at encouragement.
"Professor Severus Snape."
Ginerva Weasley looked horrorstruck. "Snape?" she asked, incredulous. "Severus Snape? The chemistry teacher? The greasy bat himself? H, you can't agree to this."
Hermione had known the younger girl since high school. Her brother Ron used to be one of her best friends, but she had never developed a close relationship with Ginny herself. They had fallen out of contact after graduation, as Ginny was just beginning her senior year when Hermione had left. The redhead was a senior in college now - Ginny had chosen Brown University for undergrad while Hermione had gone to Stanford. They had run into each other while Hermione was taking a tour of the school over the summer and caught up quickly, finding more common ground than they had as teenagers. As a result of Ginny's undergraduate studies, she was (apparently regrettably) familiar with the chemistry teacher in question.
Her roommate had been in the kitchen, listening to some pop siren go on about her favorite things, or rings for her bitches, or something to that effect when Hermione stumbled in the door, numb. Ginny, predictably, had been concerned, pouring the girl a half coffee mug of boxed red wine and leading her to a barstool.
Ginny patted her shoulder consolingly for a moment before she returned to the stir-fry on the stove, flicking back her blowout. Glancing back at Hermione periodically, she listened as the brunette had explained the days events to her friend. At the end, Ginny was incensed, her brown eyes flashing.
"How is any part of this situation fair? Just because some bitch decides that she all of a sudden wants to come study here doesn't mean that you have to give up your position. I mean, why not put her in Snape's classroom? Serves her right for being such a high brow cu-"
"Ginny," Hermione interrupted her wearily. "I get it. I mean, I understand it; I don't think it's right, either. But really, what's the worst that happens? The professor will probably just have me grading papers or teaching a lesson here or there. I don't have to switch my major. I need the money. It's not the end of the world." She rubbed her temple, willing the day to disappear. She held out her mug towards Ginny to put in the sink, but Ginny refilled it instead, nudging it back. "At least I still have a position. I thought Professor McGonagall was going to tell me I had lost it, somehow." Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile and – despite Hermione's hesitant look, topped the mug off, and then rolled her eyes.
"As if, golden girl. You're probably the smartest girl in our entire class, they wouldn't in a million years. Still, you're right – it could be worse. Even if that is hard to imagine…" She fake-shuddered. "Snape; I took his class back when I was a freshman. You know what he did?" Hermione looked up from contemplating her mug of Franzia. "There was a student who was sick – like, not hungover, actually sick. The kid –Cormac McLaggen, I think? – he came to Snape's class anyway, because Snape would have taken points off of him for not attending, the great grouchy ass. Anyway, the poor guy threw up on Snape's shoes. Couldn't help himself – he had the worst kind of flu. Snape had him suspended! I don't even know how he did it, but when he came back, he ended up failing Snape's class somehow. He wasn't a bad student before that! I think the bat just had it out for him."
Hermione took in all of this silently, staring blankly at the backsplash behind Ginny. The redhead began to realize her mistake.
"Not that he's all bad! I mean, he could be worse. Definitely worse. I passed his class!" She said, faux-cheerily; unconvincingly.
Hermione slumped in her chair, and Ginny refilled her mug again.
The morning did not meet Hermione well.
She woke to a too-loud alarm and attempted to focus her mind on the morning. She struggled to make her head meet where her body felt; McGonagall, sitting, talking, Snape, sitting, talking, drinking, oh, that explained it.
At least it's Saturday, she mused, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling. She could still hear Spotify outside in the living room; they clearly didn't remember to turn it off last night. It was playing Ed Sheeran and Hermione grimaced.
She pushed herself out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom and yanked a drawer open to get some ibuprofen. She made her way to the kitchen where she filled up a glass of water out of the tap and threw back the two small pills, switching off the speaker after.
Ginny stumbled out of her bedroom not much longer after that with shiny red hair sticking up every which way and a face a shade paler than usual. Hermione smiled through her own hangover.
"Morning," she supplied, gesturing towards the medicine she left on the counter. Ginny replied with something that might have been construed as a good morning if Hermione had listened very carefully.
Tossing back the pills and washing them down with orange juice, Ginny gave a small chuckle.
"What's got you laughing this morning?"
"Maybe in between mixing up concoctions with Snape you can come up with some kind of hangover cure." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I have no desire to go near any extra chemicals than I have to."
Ginny shrugged. "Maybe not. You might enjoy it, though. You have had a break from it all." She opened the cabinet, pulling down the bag of Columbian coffee, and frowned when it proved to be empty. "Boo."
Hermione sighed, thinking she could feel her headache coming back. "Gin, I don't want to talk about it. I gave it up for a reason, I won't go back to it. I can't," she added, sounding resigned. The younger girl held up her hands, and made a face that conveyed she would, in fact, leave it alone. She turned back towards the silver bag and frowned.
"I can run out. Cream and sugar?" Hermione got up off the stool and headed towards the bathroom.
"Yes, please, you're lovely."
Hermione showered and dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater. She started to look for a hair tie but forgot her mission quickly, smoothing her damp hair down with her hands and thinking it would dry quicker if it were left down. "I'll be back," she called behind her to the near-comatose Ginny, who had taken to doing her very best slug impression on the couch. She heard a muffled reply before she closed the door behind her.
The temperature had begun to drop, and it was a dreary September day. There were students everywhere; clingy parents hovering around some of the younger ones. They stood in small groups and the sight sent pangs of jealousy through her.
Her parents had been in Australia doing research for earlier detection of oral cancer. She had found this out her third year of college, her mother's powdery kiss alighting against her cheek.
"We'll be back before you know it, honey," she had said, her own honeyed-brown eyes staring into Hermione's. Her father had given her a supportive smile from over her mom's shoulder, and she could still feel the way her throat closed up. "You won't even have time to miss us! We're so proud of you, it sounds like you're having a great time in school."
Her mother pulled back, her father taking her place. He crushed her to him and she inhaled, smelling the scent of her father's cologne. "We love you, Hermione. Don't forget that. We'll be back soon." Hermione had nodded, and tears had threatened to spill over her eyelashes.
That had been nearly two years ago, and she still thought of them daily.
Shaking her head to rid herself of such sad thoughts so early in the morning, she stepped into the campus Starbucks. It was bustling with activity, and she just narrowly avoided being walked into by a tall boy with blonde hair, gesturing with one hand and clutching his paper cup with the other. Sending a glare at his back, she got into line and looked around the room, an angry voice catching her attention.
"Which part of extra-dry escaped you?" the voice all but growled, and surprised, Hermione sought the source.
A tall, thin man lingered by the drink pick-up counter; his black eyes fixed on one of the baristas. His equally dark eyebrows were furrowed in a scowl, slamming the white cup down on the bar. The barista mumbled something back, snatching the cup off the counter. His eyes narrowed with anger and he crossed his arms, apparently waiting.
Hermione couldn't look away. His raven-black hair was shoulder length, and he wore black pants topped with a crisp white button-down. A black jacket completed the ensemble. His paper-white skin lent him a monochromatic appearance, and she paused briefly to admire the elegance his expression took away from.
"Miss?" a far-away voice said, and she found herself back in reality.
"Sorry," she rushed out, stepping forward. "Um, one venti coffee, room for cream, and a grande cappuccino please." She paid by way of debit card, sneaking another glance at the dark figure as she waited for the payment to process. He looked impatient.
"You can take your card out now," the voice said, patiently, a contrast to the object of her attentions. She jumped a little and turned slightly pink, muttering another apology. The barista leaned in and spoke conspiratorially. "That's okay. He always draws a scene. Most of us are used to it, though."
Hermione looked up in alarm, seeing the barista for the first time. A lanky boy smiled back at her; his green eyes friendly. She smiled back, instinctively.
"Sorry again," she said, turning up her lips again, taking the steaming coffee from the young man. She berated herself for her inattention, walking over to stand a few feet away from the raging customer. She still watched him as she poured cream into Ginny's light roast, eventually ripping open a packet of sugar. It tore too quickly, and the granules scattered everywhere. She cursed softly to herself, using her hand to herd the particulates into a napkin. She focused her attention on the task and was startled when a pale hand reached nearly over her to grab a packet of sugar. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be in your wa-" she cut herself off, eyes widening when she realized whose hand it was so close to her.
The dark-haired man sneered at her from above, quickly stirring the sugar into his now-presumably-dryer cappuccino. An electric jolt ran through Hermione as she stared into the glittering, black abyss of his eyes.
"And yet, you are," he ground out, not sparing her another glance as he swept from the café, affixing the rest of the patrons with glares.
Hermione stood, stunned, napkin full of sugar in her closed fist. Realizing herself, she snapped back to attention, depositing the mess she made in the trash, and exited the establishment as well.
The nerve, she thought, briskly making her way back to her car. The nerve of some people, to treat people the way they did. Honestly, who did he think he was?
She shared her thoughts with Ginny, who looked marginally more awake when she entered the apartment. They moved to the small patio overlooking the street at their apartment, settling in worn metal chairs – a gift from Ginny's mother. She was still seething, her teeth grinding more furiously than ever; the result of a drive home long enough for the indignation to fester and settle within her.
Her companion looked amused. "So what? There was a douche at Starbucks. Why are you so upset?"
Hermione found she couldn't answer this question. She looked out over the cars passing instead, trying to calm herself.
"He just," she exhaled a pent-up breath. "He was just so mean, you know? Like we were scum of the earth or something. How dare we ruin his morning coffee?" Ginny was looking at her phone now and occasionally tapped the screen as she scrolled. She made a sympathetic noise. "I don't understand it. I guess it's not a big deal. It's whatever," she added, mostly for her own benefit. It was the last weekend before school started anew, her penultimate year of higher education. She would spend the next two days perusing her textbooks, drinking tea and definitely not thinking of her job on Monday or her encounter with the angry patron at the café.
And then she thought of the way his long fingers reached over her to pluck the white packet from its siblings, and she was angry all over again for a different reason.
The weekend passed easily, Ginny sprawled out on the couch until Sunday night, on a Netflix binge. Hermione sat on the ground in front of the sofa reading through her books, contented with the company. She now had a chemistry textbook open on her lap, mouthing familiar words silently as she read along. Ginny had asked if she wanted to accompany her to the campus bookstore to buy her own texts; Hermione hadn't needed much convincing. Her own copy of the book was miles away in town, hidden in a cardboard box, existing in the climate-controlled purgatory of a storage unit.
She found it hard to focus on her text now though, as the hours slipped by. Ginny was onto John Wick 2 and she only momentarily appreciated the handsome figure of Keanu Reeves. She was more focused on tomorrow – on the mysterious professor she had heard so much about from her roommate.
She couldn't help but wonder if he would be that bad, or if the past weekend has just been Ginny over-exaggerating. Stubbornly, she repeated her mantra in her head: it's only part time, he might not even want her to help that much – it will not be that bad. She wondered if she would think of this mantra ironically come this time next weekend.
"Gin," she started. The younger woman tore her eyes away from the television and looked at her blearily. "Is Professor Snape as bad as you make him out to be?"
Ginny snorted quietly, briefly returning her attention to Keanu. She sighed and paused the movie.
"Honestly? He's a dick. On his best days he's just mean; on his worst, he's an asshole." Ginny watched as her friend's face fell. "But," she went on, "he's pretty fair. He won't fail you unless you deserve it." Hermione looked a little relieved at that, but she scrunched her face up again.
"What about McLaggen? Did he deserve it?"
Ginny grimaced. "Well, Snape thought he deserved it, at least."
Hermione sighed heavily and returned to her textbook, still not managing to absorb the words. Ginny un-paused the movie.
It will not be that bad, she told herself, starting at the top of the page again.
Hermione woke with a start, dread settling into her bones almost immediately. She shut her alarm off and swung her legs over the twin mattress, staring at the wall ahead of her. She inhaled once and held it; exhaling resolve a moment later.
She dressed conservatively in a white blouse and jeans, a dark green cardigan over top. She dried her hair today, slicking the curls back into a half-up, half-down style that lent the appearance of style while still keeping her face free of flyaways. Passing a bleary-eyed Ginny in the kitchen, she poured a cup of coffee and left her apartment.
Her first class passed slowly; Hermione kept checking her watch, tapping her foot against the carpeted lecture hall floor. She took notes religiously, naturally, but she couldn't keep her mind from wandering to the professor she would be meeting the period after next. Would he be as mean as Ginny made him out to be? Would he be worse? What was Professor McGonagall thinking? Could she do this? Who was the man in the coffee shop?
The class ended, and she blinked, stunned. Gathering her things, she shook her head; where had the intrusive thoughts about the dark man came from? She thought about this walking to her next class, so engrossed that she didn't hear the heavy footfalls behind her.
"Hey," a masculine voice said, breathlessly. She looked around, her eyes finally landing on a dark-haired boy with vivid green eyes. She recognized him as the barista from the campus Starbucks.
"Oh, hey," she replied, smiling genuinely, if not a little confused. "I remember you." The boy gave her a lopsided smile.
"Hey, I'm Harry. You were in Starbucks the other day, right?" The boy had a sweet smile; unguarded; mischievous. Hermione couldn't look away from his eyes.
"Yeah, you work there, don't you? I'm Hermione. Granger," she added, a little late to seem smooth. The boy – Harry – still smiled at her.
"Harry Potter," he supplied, and held out a hand affably. She grasped it and marveled at how warm he was. "It's nice to meet you. Actually, meet you," he added.
"It's nice to meet you too. You're a student here, then?"
"Yeah. I was in your last class; we both have Flitwick."
Hermione looked sheepish. "Sorry, I didn't even notice. I guess I was too busy paying attention to the lecture," she tried to amend. Harry just shook his head, and a small smile still played on his lips.
"It's fine, really. I was sitting in the back, anyway. You wouldn't have seen me, sitting all the way in the front," he teased, falling into stride with her. "Where are you headed next?"
"Um, Trelawney." Harry grinned. "What?"
"I've heard about her. Supposed to be really odd – she doesn't even teach the material. Just goes off on tangents talking about gossip magazines." Hermione frowned.
"I like to give every professor a chance; rumors can be just that. Still, though, I hope that isn't the case."
Harry shrugged, grinning. He changed the subject to whether or not she likes Brown, and the two walked and talked amiably until they parted ways outside Trelawney's class, becoming fast friends.
The anxiety returned to Hermione when Trelawney dismissed her class, and she was relieved when she saw Harry outside. Noticing the expression on her face, he smiled. "Not thinking about whether or not the year of the pig really means you're destined for a gruesome death, I hope?" Hermione managed a smile through her nerves.
"No – no, I'm a TA. I'm meeting the professor for the first time this period." Harry looked at her, confused.
"You mean you haven't met with them before?"
"No, it was… an unusual situation." Her companion ran a hand through his messy hair, making a noise of surprise.
"Who is it?" He finally asked, just as Hermione thought to begin making her goodbyes.
"Professor Snape," she said quickly, already starting to turn away. "Thank you so much for ta-" She stopped when she saw Harry had halted, his green eyes widened in shock at her.
"WHAT?" He nearly shouted, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever forget the look of rage on his face. She wanted to analyze this; wanted to ask him why, but the fear of being late overrode her shock, and she found herself walking away, still speaking to him.
"I'm sorry, Harry, I have to go. Good luck! I'll see you in class!" She turned around once more to look at him, questioningly, but he had looked away now, his fists bunched up. She didn't understand.
She still thought about it walking down a quiet hallway, the bare white walls very reminiscent of a hospital. Sterile, clean, and lacking any warmth whatsoever. She hurried until she found a plaque designating a door as room 3094. She was early – good, she thought, it will give her time to hopefully introduce herself to the professor. She gently pushed down on the handle and let herself in.
The room was as equally bare as the rest of the hallway, lending no hints as to the personality of the professor within. Twelve black and white tables stood in the room, lined up 6 times in rows of 2. Two worn wooden desks adorned the front of the room, standing in front of a large whiteboard that covered the length of the wall. One had neat piles of paper stacked on it, a small black mug full of pens sitting in the left corner. The other was bare. She took a step towards the bare one, intent on setting her things down on it, when a door behind the other desk was flung open.
She only had time to spin around, gasping, before she's met with a flurry of dark fabric. Two glittering black eyes trapped her in place.
Her heart seized with fear and skipped a beat upon recognition.
"You," she breathed.
a/n: if you spot any errors, let me know! title from the 1975's settle down.