Chapter 1: Decisions

Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm

I don't own Hermione, Lupin, the Aurory, or any other aspect of JK Rowling's creation. I am happier this way, because, really, who wants to be the wealthiest woman in Britain? Geez. Anything that you recognize is hers, or a variation thereof. I shall try my best to give credit where credit is due in every way possible.
I'm hoping for weekly-ish updates (read: I'll post each chapter as soon as it's done, which I am hoping will be no more than a week between postings). I've never done a fic like this before (I've never done a fic like anything before), so critiques and suggestions are more than welcome – in fact, they'd be greatly appreciated.
Also, Snape isn't really around for this chapter (or the next), but he'll get in there soon. I'm horrible at writing Ron, which is why he won't probably factor too much into the story, but Harry will be around for a while, as will Lupin. I'll likely be taking a liberty or five with Snape's character – he actually doesn't speak much in the books, and he's been through such dramatic (life-ending, one could say) changes between the books and this story, that I'm trying not to feel too terrible if he's a little tiny bit ooc. He's still gonna be a snarky git, though – so don't worry that he'll be a charming gentleman from the word 'go' – or ever.
Be warned: this chapter has a lot of exposition, as I'm trying to bridge the gap between the (non-epilogue) ending of DH and the start of this setting.

"I think teaching is where I'm headed, for now. It may not be what I do forever – I'd really like to be part of the Ministry at some point, and continue my work with S.P.E.W. or something similar – but I also don't want to be grounded into the Ministry for my whole life." Hermione stated, and as this was the third week in a row that she'd said the same thing, it seemed like something of a surety now. "I guess that school is what I'm best at, so why should I ever really leave it?" She grinned at her former professor. "But I don't think I'm ready to return to school so immediately. I feel really young to be teaching yet, and I think I'd like to have a Mastery to my credit before I start teaching."

McGonagall smiled. "You certainly wouldn't need a Mastery to convince me of your abilities, my dear," she said with mock censure. "But I can see how it could be wise to take a year or two for advanced studies before returning to the castle."

"I don't know what I'd want to study, really," Hermione admitted shyly. "The thought of dedicating myself to a single subject is a little intimidating – not that I'd get tired of it, of course, but just…I don't want to limit myself."

"Nor should you," McGonagall agreed warmly. "In most cases, it's unusual for a Mastery to focus on one subject to the exclusion of others – it would lead to a certain shortsightedness in the community, don't you think? But I'd suggest you take your time to think about what it is you'd like to put the most emphasis on, and then turn your thoughts to who you'd like to apprentice with."

"I'll do that," Hermione said slowly, already starting to mull over her possibilities.

The question of her apprenticeship plagued Hermione in the following days as she turned over arguments for each of a half-dozen subjects in her head. McGonagall herself would have been Hermione's first choice for apprenticing under, but she couldn't see how taking on an apprentice would fit in the busy schedule of a Headmistress, so she didn't even ask. Harry and Ron weren't helpful as sounding boards; both couldn't understand the idea of more years of academia, and urged her instead to join the Magical Law Enforcement. Finding them useless, she turned instead to Remus Lupin for advice.

Lupin and Harry shared the house at twelve Grimmauld Place, although Harry spent most of the week with Ron as they worked late into the night and rose early to head to the office each day. When Hermione arrived to talk to Lupin, the house was deserted. She set about making tea, and had barely had time to curl up with one of the ancient books from the Black family library before she heard the pop of Lupin's arrival. "Hello, Remus!" she called, "I'm in the sitting room."

"Hermione!" the older man greeted her with a warm smile. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I was with Severus, and…" he trailed off.

Despite the spy's widely acknowledge innocence, many people still held an intense dislike for Severus Snape. Lupin, convinced that he owed Snape a debt of gratitude after all the years that Snape had been brewing the Wolfsbane potion – not to mention all the years he'd spied for the Order – spent more time with the recuperating man than anyone else seemed willing to. Harry had told Hermione that Lupin made visits to Snape's new home at least once a week – although Lupin rarely told Harry how those visits went. As Lupin was a reminder of the torments of Snape's teenaged years, Hermione couldn't imagine that Snape was thrilled to see him – but maybe something had changed, she reasoned.

"How is he?" she asked timidly, and Lupin relaxed, evidently glad that she did not share Ron's revulsion to even the mention of the ex-Death Eater.

"Better every day," he said cheerfully. "He was in his garden when I arrived. Just sitting, but he walked back into the house almost unaided. Said the healing process should speed up to where he's fit as a fiddle in another few weeks." As Hermione grinned, Lupin smiled in response. "So maybe those weren't his exact words," he allowed, "but he does seem satisfied with his recovery, now that he's away from St. Mungo's."

Hermione nodded, remembering the headlines that had been splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet three months previously, when Snape had stormed – as best as a weak, injured man could storm – out of St. Mungo's, declaring himself 'perfectly capable of recuperating without the incompetent bumbling of ill-prepared, noisome busybodies.' Lupin had confided to Harry that Snape had spent the next week and a half after his display of temper totally bedridden, too weak to lift a spoon.

"Anyway, my dear," Lupin continued, "what is it you're here for? It's the middle of the week, I can't say I'm expecting Harry back until Friday, so you might try Ron's if…" he paused as Hermione interrupted the suggestion with a shake of her head.

"I came looking to talk to you," she said. "I think I've decided to get my Mastery before I do anything else, and then I'm likely to teach for at least a few years."

"Splendid!" said Lupin. "I'm glad you've set a course for yourself. Hogwarts will, of course, be lucky to have such a gifted witch as yourself on its faculty."

Hermione blushed at Lupin's praise. "The only problem is that I'm not sure what it is I want to study most," she explained. "I've talked with McGonagall, and she's agreed that I'm likely advanced enough to teach any of several subjects, but I do want to have a Mastery before I go back to Hogwarts. I've been helping Harry, Ron, Lavander, and Parvati for years in Transfiguration and Charms, and Professors Babbling and Vector said they thought I could teach Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, but I'm just not sure what I want."

Lupin shook his head in mock horror. "What a dilemma," he said with false commiseration. Hermione batted a hand at him, smiling.

"If I were you,"' Lupin said after a moment's thought, "I'd be looking for the area with the greatest interaction with other branches of magic. Arithmancy is a wonderful subject, but its only truly close ties are with Astronomy and Divination – and I never much imagined that those would be your preferred subjects," Lupin teased.

"I think I might look for a Potions Master," she assented a little hesitantly. "Potions has got so many connections to other studies of magic," she explained, warming up to the subject, "Herbology, obviously – but healing, too, and there are potions that mimic the effects of different charms and transfiguring spells. There are so many spells that are strengthened by potions, or used in conjunction with them – it'd be really interesting, to learn more about all of that. It seems like it might be a nice way to cover so many different subjects."

Lupin nodded thoughtfully. "I'm told – I wouldn't know much for myself, I'm pretty graceless when it comes to brewing – that Potions gives a physical form to magical theory, that to have an understanding of the potion-making process is to have an understanding of the cycle of magic."

Hermione imagined that she knew who had described Potions in this way to Lupin – Snape tended to wax eloquent on his favorite subjects.

"Not to mention," Lupin added, "Hogwarts will be in need of a Potions Master – Mistress –" he amended with a smile "soon. Horace Slughorn's agreed to teach for another year for Minerva, and she might wrangle an additional year on top of that, but he's bent on enjoying his retirement."

"I hadn't thought of that," Hermione admitted, "but that's excellent. But there aren't many Potions Masters in the UK, are there?"

"Five – well, four now I suppose," Lupin said. "McKweon, I think his name was, got tangled up in business with some Death Eaters. I don't suppose you'd fancy studying in Azkaban."

"Not hardly," agreed Hermione. "Well!" she said brightly, standing to her feet and heading toward the door, "Thank you very much for your help. I'll go now to send letters to the other Potions Masters – the ones that aren't in prison."

"If you need a reference…" offered Lupin, also rising and seeing her to the door. "I'm sure you've a host of teachers who would be willing, and I am happy to count myself among them."

Hermione laid an appreciative on her friend's arm, giving him a warm smile before stepping briskly out the door, turning on her heel, and Disapparating.

The letters to her potential Masters caused Hermione no end of agony, as she wrote and re-wrote drafts to these formidable intellects that she had never met. The thought of approaching almost any of her former teachers requesting an apprenticeship had caused her no anxiety at all, and in fact the prospect seemed more appealing the more she worried over how best to present herself. In the end, it was with no small amount of consternation that she walked into Diagon Alley's owl post office and sent her letters on their way.

One letter was returned after only two days. In it, Adair Pickhills informed her quite brusquely that he had no intention of taking on an apprentice, and if he did it would hardly be a girl as young as her – Potions was a serious undertaking, not to be trifled with by children.

The rejection stung Hermione. Is there anyone of our generation, she thought angrily, who is really a child anymore? She thought of the look on the littlest Creevey's face at the sight of his dead brother, thought of Ginny's haunted eyes whenever she thought of Fred, thought of little Teddy Lupin, growing up without a mother. She then wondered if tracking down Horcruxes was the sort of thing that Pickhills expected of children – or living on the run for most of a year, or facing Voldemort and his followers. As a rule, Hermione did not rest on the laurels of the achievements that she and Ron had aided Harry in (unlike the boys, she thought with a touch of asperity, remembering how ecstatic they had both been to jump straight into the Aurory without the need of their NEWTs), but she had hoped, uncharacteristically, that their exploits would at least have lent a certain validity to her requests of the Potions Masters.

Hermione consoled herself. There were, after all, two more prospective Masters to hear from – and if she was honest with herself, she could always search for Masters on the Continent, although she hoped that she wouldn't need to. On top of that, it was the weekend, and Harry and Ron were expecting her to supper. Remus, it turned out, was a dab hand at cooking – a skill which Hermione sadly guessed was due to being discouraged from frequenting public restaurants for most of his life.

Relaxing after a delicious meal, Hermione was content to listen and laugh as Ron regaled the table with stories of Auror training, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "Most of the other trainees don't know about Harry's Invisibility Cloak – or didn't, up 'til now –" he said, his voice thick through the pudding that he was shoveling in, heedless of manners, "you should've seen the look on Reggy's face when Harry turned up behind him! I was only Disillusioned, so he kind of had an eye on where I was – charmed a water hose so he could see where I was displacing water, see, and so he thought he had me pinned down pretty good, cast a detection charm around the room, but of course we know that those don't really affect Harry's Cloak, now do they? So Reggy's crowing, he's so proud of himself, only just as he's about to Stun me…"

Ron trailed off into laughter. Remus caught Hermione's eye and gave her a wink; she rolled her eyes in return. Ron loved nothing more than to share every minute of training with anyone who would listen – and while the stories were, often as not, very amusing, it was a little wearing to hear the tales every time she saw the boys. Reggy, she guessed from Ron's stories, was not overly bright – if Ron was to be believed, he was caught out in almost all their practical exercises by simple tricks. Harry had expressed concern over how long he'd last in the program, a concern which Ron seemed entirely unaffected by.

"So, Hermione," Lupin said after a comfortable silence, waving his hand to send the dishes into the kitchen, where they began cleaning themselves, "Did you send off those letters?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione answered, heat flushing her face as she remembered Pickhills' dismissal. "And I got a response already – Adair Pickhills saying that silly little girls oughtn't mess with a science and art as refined and serious as Potion-making." She grimaced, and was gratified to see the darkened faces of her friends.

"I'll hex him if you like," Ron offered. "I wonder if all Potions Masters are stuck-up gits, yeah?"

Lupin shook his head at Ron's words – the two couldn't reach any sort of agreement or understanding where Severus Snape was concerned. "Severus might not be terribly nice," Lupin said, "but you might show a little more understanding through someone who has been dealt such a raw hand."

Ron ignored Lupin's words. "Hermione, you didn't tell us that you'd settled on Potions – hadn't really even heard you mention it more than a time or two. What changed?"

Hermione shrugged, repeating the reasons that she and Remus had hashed out on her previous visit.

"You'll be brilliant," Harry said, happy that his friend had figured out what she wanted.

After the war, it had been such a simple decision for Ron and himself, and for most of their year – people who had parents' footsteps to follow in, or a life-long interest to pursue, but for Hermione… Harry knew that she was too careful to plunge into anything, and suspected that she'd taken her NEWT year at Hogwarts as much to give herself time to consider her options as to have the satisfaction of receiving an Outstanding in all nine of her NEWT-level subjects.

In some ways, Harry envied her decision to take time to think about her possible futures. From his fourth year on, the desire to be an Auror had burned within him, but now, with barely more than six months to go in his training, Harry felt burdened by his choice. He was no longer certain that he could dedicate his life to catching dark wizards. Indeed, the defeat of Voldemort had started to seem like more than enough of that sort of thing – a future full of hunting down the Malfoys, Macnairs, and Lestranges of the world seemed unbelievably wearying. Harry was determined to stick out his training, but hoped more each day that some other viable option would present itself to him.

"And it'll prove that not all Potions Masters are 'stuck-up gits,'" Lupin added with a smile.

"Still – Potions!" Ron insisted, shaking his head in apparent bafflement. "Never thought one of us would go down that road, eh? Hated it, we all did."

Hermione didn't bother to correct the assumption. Ron thought that since he and Harry had hated potions, she must have, too – but then, Ron assumed the same of Astronomy and History of Magic. Through the long years of their friendship, Hermione had been able to overlook the vaguely possessive air with which Ron seemed to regard her, unconsciously imposing his own likes and dislikes on her.

That possessiveness had lead to tension in the summer after Voldemort's defeat. During the Final Battle, Hermione had been so caught up in emotions, so scared and thrilled, that kissing Ron had seemed like the thing to do – the only problem being that Ron assumed that it had cemented whatever unspoken tensions ran between them. All summer long he'd been acting as if they were in an established relationship – a relationship that, Hermione admitted to herself, she would probably not have minded – if only she'd had any say in the matter. As it was, Hermione found the years of Ron's little presumptions threatening to overwhelm her. When she'd first aired the thought of going back to Hogwarts, Ron had flat-out denied the possibility – not only for himself, but for her as well.

"We'd never planned on going back," he had said, "we've got all we want, don't we?"

In the end, her return to Hogwarts had been precisely the distance she needed from Ron, and she told him that she didn't know if the effort necessary for a relationship crossing from London to Hogwarts was really something that they needed, with him going into the fast and furious training for Aurors, and her studying for NEWTs. He had agreed readily enough, and in the months that followed, their friendship had flourished where the so-called relationship had threatened to choke it out altogether.

Given the tempestuous nature of their friendship (and how could it be anything but tempestuous, when it had begun because of Ron's unkind words and a shared triumph over a mountain troll?) Hermione had been shocked by the seeming grace with which they went back to being a trio of best friends without the complications of a possible relationship – although part of her didn't want to close the door entirely. If Ron grew up a bit, she thought, their love might mature as well.

It was July now, and Hermione had been home from Hogwarts for a month with nary a word from Ron about rekindling the relationship. Hermione was grateful for this, as much for personal reasons as because it allowed her to spend more time with her parents. She, with the help and guidance of Professor McGonagall, had retrieved them from Australia and restored their memories over the Christmas holidays. The beleaguered couple had had months on their own to come to grips with the life they had been plunged into afresh before Hermione came home to live with them. McGonagall had insisted that it was better this way, and time had proved her right.

Hermione had told her parents only that the spell she was performing would help protect them, not that she was going to be completely reinventing their lives. The Grangers felt a little betrayed by this action on her part, and her assurances that it was the only way to really ensure their safety fell, by and large, on deaf ears.

"I thought the whole point of this war you're fighting," Hermione's mother had said on the first night of her restored memories, "was that some wizards would deny Muggles like us any choice in our lives. How is what you did any better?"

The words had stung, and Hermione had fled in tears. In the months of her spring term at Hogwarts, she had kept up a stream of cordial letters, and her parents' ire had cooled by the time she returned for the summer. Hermione's guilt over her machinations of her parents was driven out by the joy of living with them, the knowledge that her questionable actions had had the desired results – her parents were safe and whole.

It was a week before Hermione heard a response to another of her letters. Quora Rossini, an Italian witch who had taken up residence in Wales, had sent a very polite missive, thanking Hermione for her interest. In it she wished Hermione the best of luck with her studies, commented that it was a shame that McKweon had been sent to prison, as he'd been looking for an apprentice, and said that it was with extreme regret that she admitted she wasn't looking for an apprentice. She was preparing to be married, and the two-year honeymoon she had planned in America would ill benefit an apprentice. Rossini noted that, in two years time, if Hermione was still in need of her apprenticeship, she would be more than delighted to guide her down the delicate path of potioneering.

Distressed though she was over the lack of result from two of her three letters, Hermione was gratified by the tone of Rossini's refusal. It was a balm for the resentment that Pickhills' letter had stirred in her. With supreme optimism, Hermione waited for her third response, refusing to acknowledge any thought of failure.

Another week passed, and despite her firm intentions, Hermione began to worry. Twice she tried to pay Lupin a visit, to soothe her fears or discuss other options, but the house was empty. The third time that she appeared in the parlour of Grimmauld Place, she decided to wait it out. Once again, she chose a book from the Black family library, and waited patiently.

So absorbed in her reading was she, that Remus had Apparated, walked into the kitchen, sat down across from her, and called her name twice before Hermione looked up.

"It isn't quite comforting to know that I can't compete with the writings of a long-dead historian," Remus said with a laugh at the shocked expression on Hermione's face upon finding out that she had company.

"Don't let it hurt you," Hermione said briskly, and she offered him some tea.

The two sat companionably for a while, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. With her parents out of the house every day at their practice, days could be lonely for Hermione – and, she imagined, quite lonely for Remus as well, if he was turning to Snape for company.

"Where's Teddy?" Hermione asked, suddenly aware that she hadn't seen the baby in quite some time.

"Oh, Arabella Figg takes care of him most afternoons, and whenever I'm visiting Severus," Lupin said, shifting a bit uncomfortably.

Hermione realized, with a pang of annoyance at her own startling lack of tact, that it was likely terribly painful for Lupin to spend too much time with little Teddy, who was a Metamorphmagus like his mother. Remus had only recently come out of the mourning that had begun on the night of the Final Battle; the night of Nymphadora Lupin's death.

"That's kind of her," Hermione said hesitantly.

"She says it almost makes up for never having any of her own," Lupin responded with a bleak smile. Although Hermione would never say it, she found that somehow poetic – a son who'd never know his mother, and a woman who'd never known the joy of children, finding comfort in each other. It was the way of life for wizarding Britain in the vacuum left by those who had died fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"But what brings you here?" Lupin asked after a moment of staring at the dregs in his cup.

Hermione suddenly felt incredibly selfish, and no longer felt the desire to talk about her worries over her apprenticeship. Instead, she patted Lupin's arm a little awkwardly, before refreshing both of their tea. "Just checking on you," she said, her voice intentionally light. "I came by a time or two earlier in the week and didn't find you – wanted to make sure everything was well."

It wasn't quite a lie, really, and Remus seemed to take it at face value, giving her a true smile. "Thank you," he said simply. "I've been out seeking work. There's a great deal more tolerance towards werewolves now, for some reason." \

He winked at her, both of them knowing full well that one of Shacklebolt's firsts acts as elected Minister had been to repeal some of the restrictions on werewolves. He had told Lupin that he'd liked to have repealed all of them, but there were those like Fenrir Greyback's followers who would have taken advantage of such sudden leniency.

"But that's wonderful!" exclaimed Hermione. "Good for you – what sort of job are you looking for?"

Despite the fact that they never mentioned the question of her apprenticeship, Hermione's visit to Lupin had done precisely what she had hoped – it had allayed her fears. When she returned to her parents' for dinner, it was with a very light heart.

That light heart was made even more buoyant the next morning when the post arrived. A beautiful owl brought an ornately decorated envelope, bearing an elaborate crest surrounding the letters A and E. With a start, Hermione realized that this must be from the third of her hopeful Masters – Arth Eagleton, who lived in the Western Isles.

"Help yourself," Hermione told the owl absently, pushing the remainder of her plate toward it. The owl gave her a regal look before deigning to snap up some dry toast.

Hands trembling and heart pounding erratically, Hermione opened the envelope.

Dear Miss Granger, the ornate script read

It was with great pleasure that I received your request for an apprenticeship. The O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores that you sent along look very promising – it is pleasing to know that a young witch so talented is eager to join the elite ranks of Master Potionmakers. I am amenable to taking on an apprentice, and yet refuse to do so without having met face-to-face. The bonds between an apprentice and master being what they are, it is hardly sensible to sign a contract without a slight idea of to whom it is we will be binding ourselves. If you are agreeable, then, please feel free to call upon me between the hours of ten and eleven tomorrow morning. Simply Flooing to "The Eagle's Nest" will bring you to the proper location.[1]

My owl awaits your response.

Warmest Regards,
Arth Eagleton

For a moment, Hermione could neither breathe nor blink, hardly able to fathom her luck. After a frozen moment, she dashed madly to her desk to pen a quick response. Affirming their appointment, she tied her hasty missive to the leg of the owl, who took off into the morning air. Following its flight with her eyes, Hermione was sure the world had never looked so lovely.

Despite her fervent desire to make a good impression the next morning – or perhaps because of it – the night was slow and sleepless for Hermione. When dawn curled its golden rays between the gaps in her curtains, she gave up, rising to shower and prepare breakfast for her parents. They wished her luck as they headed out the door, leaving Hermione quite alone and quite unsure of how best to pass the time before she was due to arrive at the Eagle's Nest.

In times like these, Hermione rather resented the ease of magic. Were she a Muggle, she would have at least the car ride to kill some of her time – but with Floo travel being almost instantaneous, there wasn't even the distraction of transit to ease the wait.

As ten o'clock drew nearer, Hermione became increasingly grateful that she'd told Eagleton to expect her promptly at ten. After a quick inspection to make sure that she looked as well put-together as possible, Hermione threw some Floor powder into the fire, calling out "The Eagle's Nest!" with an authority that she certainly didn't feel.

[1] – Although I'm not sure that there's a canon answer for how close one has to be for Floo travel to work, I'm going to say that, on a landmass as relatively small as the European Continent, anywhere in the UK is going to be connected. This is supported by the fact that characters Floo travel Hogwarts to the Burrow(OotP), and Harry uses Hogwarts' fire to Floo Grimmauld Place to search for Sirius (OotP). This also makes sense since the Floo Network is Ministry-regulated, and a single Ministry for Magic seems to preside over the whole of the UK.

A/N - hoping to update Saturday, still. Cheers!