Chapter 3: Reasons
Anti-Litigation Charm
I don't own the Grangers, Snape, or any other aspect of JK Rowling's creation. 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.
Lupin brought Teddy with him to dinner the next night, at Hermione's suggestion. Instantly, Mrs. Granger began to dote on the boy, cooing and giggling over him almost to the exclusion of her other dinner companions. Everyone regarded this with kindly amusement, although Hermione sometimes noticed a far-away, pained look in Remus' eyes as he watched her mother play with his little boy. Remus asked after the Granger's dentistry practice, and they made small talk about recent news in the Muggle world as dinner began.
"So," Hermione prompted during a lull in the conversation, "have you found a job, Remus?"
Her parents leaned forward, excitement evident in their eyes. They had taken very kindly to the werewolf, and while they weren't in a position to understand how hard his life was, they realized that this could be a major milestone for the man.
"As a matter of fact, I have," he responded, flashing one of the brightest smiles that had graced his face since Tonks' death. "I haven't signed all the papers yet, but next week, I'll be working for Flourish and Blotts – the old man that's been in charge of orders and purchasing for the last half-century or so has apparently gone a bit daffy of late," he explained.
"That's brilliant!" enthused Hermione, and her parents echoed the sentiment.
"You should talk about setting up a special-order business," said Mr. Granger, "as a sort of liason with Muggle booksellers. Nuts like Arthur Weasley would love getting to read different Muggle books. Our Hermione says that there's a lot that magic – especially Potions, I think – has in common with Muggle science."
Lupin looked thoughtful. "It would never do great business," he said with a slow smile, "but it would certainly be interesting – and convenient, if only for a niche market."
They talked about the various application of Muggle books to wizarding life – Lupin expressed a joking interest in all the books of werewolf lore that would be opened up to him – for the remainder of the evening. As Hermione's parents were cleaning up the kitchen, she shifted to talk of her approaching confrontation with Snape.
"You said he'll be over in the next few days?" Hermione tried to sound casual, but she was sure that Lupin would know how anxious about her last chance for a convenient Potions apprenticeship.
"Monday, he's coming by in the early afternoon – two o'clock or not much later, I'd guess." Teddy was entertaining himself by changing the tone of his skin every time Lupin bounced him on one knee. Both adults were watching the little boy.
"Has he started speaking yet?" Hermione asked, smiling as Teddy's skin tone turned from a deep mahogany to a startling white.
Lupin looked up in confusion. "Who – Severus?"
"Oh, no – Teddy," clarified Hermione with a chuckle.
"Oh, he mumbles a bit to himself, Arabella says it's closer to Gobbledygook than the King's," he responded, looking fondly at his skin-changing son. He stopped bouncing his knee, and Teddy laid back almost immediately, his eyes already drooping with drowsiness. "He's managed a few words, but he's mostly the silent type. From what I'm told, that may be a Lupin family trait."
Remus excused himself, picking the baby up carefully and making his way into the kitchen to thank the Grangers for their hospitality, and Hermione escorted him to the backyard so he could Apparate.
"Until Monday, Hermione," he said before disappearing.
Monday morning found Hermione much calmer than she had been before her meeting with Arth Eagleton. This fact amused her greatly: almost any of her fellow Hogwarts students would surely tell her that, of the two encounters, this was the one with the highest possibility of getting her hexed. But she knew Professor Snape, even if she didn't know how he'd react. After six years of classes with him, facing him was no longer daunting. She was, surely, nervous about the thought of having to re-approach the whole situation if he turned down her request, but she found that she felt much better if she didn't admit that as a possibility to begin with.
Just after two, she stepped through the Floo to Grimmauld Place, where she found Lupin waiting for her in the parlour. He greeted her with a cup of tea.
"Severus has already made his way into the library," he said.
Despite her earlier resolve, nerves were starting to creep over Hermione. She fidgeted anxiously with the handle of her teacup.
"Right," she said eventually, standing up and placing her cup on its saucer, untouched "thank you for the tea, Remus – I'll be back."
Lupin raised his cup in a silent toast as she made her way from the room.
Severus Snape did not look up as Hermione entered the room. He seemed to be engrossed in a large text, with almost a dozen other tomes scattered around the table.
Hermione stood and watched him, trying to weigh the value of disturbing him while he was reading against the possibility that she might well be standing there all afternoon if she waited for him to acknowledge her.
As she stood and waited, Hermione observed her former Professor.
Hermione hadn't seen him – aside from a single photo from the day he removed himself from St. Mungo's care – since he had woken up from his coma-like sleep. She had gone frequently, along with Remus, occasionally Harry, and (surprisingly) Neville to visit Snape while he'd been unconscious, but Lupin was one of a very few people willing to visit the man once he'd awoken.
For Hermione's part, it wasn't that she was scared of him – that had ended after her third year, after Snape had risked – and sustained – great personal and physical injury to come rescue herself, Harry, and Ron from the danger he considered them to be in from Sirius Black and Lupin on the night of a full moon. From that point on, even if she didn't like him very much (and, in fact, she liked him very little indeed for the majority of their fourth year), she had trusted him. No matter how much he might complain about Harry Potter, no matter how many points he might deduct and how unfair he might seem, Hermione understood that he was willing to go to great lengths to protect his students.
So it wasn't fear – for a while, it had been respect. She couldn't imagine that her former Professor, as proud as he was, would appreciate a bunch of former students coming in to gawk at him while he lay helpless. It had been easy to stay away during the tail end of the school year, as her N.E.W.T.s were keeping her tremendously busy, and by the time life had calmed down enough for her to even consider whether or not she wanted to go out of her way to see the man again, he'd been back in his own home – which had sufficiently deterred Hermione (and, as far as she knew, everyone else save for Lupin) from having any thought of visiting him.
In contrast to how he had looked as he lay, still bandaged about the neck, in the hospital, the Potions Master was looking very well indeed, she noted. It was harder to make a comparison to how he'd looked before the Final Battle, however. Although he seemed even thinner (she didn't know how that was possible), with harsher lines on his face and dark rings under his eyes, he still had a more wholesome air about him – his skin, though pale, had lost its sallow tinge; his hair, though still long and lank, had for the moment given up its greasy sheen. Hermione idly wondered if that had to do with being out of the dungeon and the daily effects of the vapours from a classroom full of potions – many of which were not properly brewed. She noticed that he wore a higher collar than he had in her school days, but she could still see the marks of Nagini's attack over the top of his collar, livid red against his usual pallor.
When, at length, it became obvious that the man was not going to oblige her by looking up from his book, Hermione steeled herself to catch his attention.
"You look well," she said, unable to think of a better way to open the conversation.
Snape did not bother to pause in his reading. "As well as can be expected."
Hermione pressed on, determined to be heard. "How have you been keeping yourself?"
"Busy."
She seated herself, staring at the man before her. "Have you ever taken an apprentice?" she asked eventually.
This time, Snape did stop reading, though he still did not raise his eyes. "No," he responded curtly, and his eyes resumed their perusal of the page before him.
"Would you consider taking one?"
"That would depend on a great many factors."
Hermione paused, unsure of how best to continue.
"Miss Granger," Snape drawled, still refusing to look up from his text, although one eyebrow was arched eloquently, "You have all the subtlety of your House – that is to say, none. Say what you mean to say and be done."
Startled, Hermione responded automatically. "I was hoping to become your apprentice, sir."
At this, Snape did look up, though his expression was inscrutable. "My apprentice," he affirmed, with the air of one talking to a person of dubious intelligence.
"Well, yes sir."
"What an unusual request. Why?"
"I'd like a Mastery in Potions," Hermione began to explain.
"Surely you have done your homework, Miss Granger. There are other Potions Masters, even in Britain."
"You're…well, you're the only Potions Master that I know," Hermione continued hesitantly. She wasn't sure that she fancied telling Professor Snape that he was quite literally her last option – although, a tiny part of her spoke up, he might take it as a kindness that she tried to not burden him with herself.
"A glowing recommendation, I'm sure," Snape responded curtly, his eyes returning to his book. "However, as it's hardly necessary to know your Master beforehand, I hardly see the relevance."
"You're the only Potions Master I trust, then," Hermione tried, her voice weak.
"The rigorous standards for Mastery do not change from Master to Master," said Snape, and Hermione hoped that he was being deliberately obtuse.
"That's not the trust I was thinking of."
"You trust me," Snape repeated blankly. It was a statement, a confirmation – not a question. His voice was as level as ever, but the slightest of raises in his eyebrows suggested faint surprise. "You are aware, no doubt, of some of the less savory choices I have made?"
"Choices you made when you were sixteen or seventeen," Hermione said, nodding. "When I was sixteen, I was convinced I wanted to be a housewife, a curse-breaker, and an Arithmancer, all in turns. Harry was sure he wanted nothing more than to be an Auror, and Malfoy was certain that he had no choice but to be a Death Eater – in fact, most of Slytherin thought the same thing. I'm sure that the situation wasn't all that different twenty and thirty years ago, was it?"
Snape shook his head almost imperceptibly, his jaw muscles working as if he was trying to say something. He looked up once again. Hermione, her piece said, was perfectly happy to wait him out. At length, Snape gave up. "A housewife?" he asked, and though his voice was bland, there was a glint of humor in his eyes.
Hermione laughed, startled at his query. She had been expecting something much less innocuous. "I'm not quite sure what I was thinking," she admitted. "I think it was just an expression of my need for stability."
"Your teenage years were not kind," Snape responded, and Hermione was shocked by the gentleness of his tone.
"That just leaves me free to enjoy my future," she said with a shrug, as if to suggest that facing down Voldemort was simply the normal purgatory of pubescence.
Snape said nothing for quite some time, but began gathering the books on the table into a stack and searching the shelves to add a few more tomes. His face bore an expression of utmost concentration as he opened a small satchel and began loading it with books that would never have fit inside without the benefit of magic. This task complete, he shrunk the satchel, deposited it in his pocked, and turned to exit. Hermione watched him with a growing anxiety, sure that her last real hope was going to be crushed without even the benefit of being expressly turned down.
As he strode towards the corridor leading away from the library, Snape paused, not bothering to turn to face her.
"Have Lupin bring you the next time he visits," he said blandly. "Make sure you have an excellent reason."
With that, he left.
After Snape's abrupt departure, Hermione rehashed the encounter with Lupin.
"I'm not sure that I can say that went well," she said after her recounting. "I mean, he didn't say no, but he hardly seemed happy with the prospect."
"You were expecting him to be keen on the idea, were you?" Remus asked with a twitch of his lips that betrayed his amusement at the idea.
"Well, maybe not," Hermione admitted, returning his half-smile.
"I, for one, think that this was a pretty favorable start," said Lupin. "If he didn't dismiss you out of hand, the battle's halfway won. Now, I'm going to see him Thursday, we'll leave from here just after lunch. I'd suggest that you, missy, go and work on a list of reasons why he ought to take you as an apprentice." With a wink, he sent her on her way.
Hermione wasn't sure exactly what she had been expecting of the visits that Lupin paid to Snape, but no vague ideas that she might have held came close to the encounter that Thursday. The two men sat in a small, book-lined parlour and played chess. Remus kept up a string of decidedly one-sided small talk. Snape hardly appeared to listen, making the barest effort in his responses. He also hardly looked at the chess-board, flicking a glance at it just long enough to order a piece to move, never seeming to deliberate, unlike Lupin who seemed to take his time pondering every possible scenario before moving each chessman.
Hermione noted that, while Lupin's white chessmen were very vocal, often giving him advice and pleading not to be sent to their demise, Snape's chessmen were almost silent, only occasionally offering their opinion of things – and they were, of course, always ignored.
Neither Remus nor Snape made any effort to draw Hermione into the conversation, which was fine by her – she walked about the room, minutely inspecting each on the shelves that seemed to make up the very walls of the place, being quite careful to touch nothing. She wondered if she would find bookshelves behind the furniture itself, were she to move it out of the way.
Snape's library was fascinating. Hermione found herself hoping that even if he refused to allow her to apprentice with him, he might be persuaded to grant her access to his bookshelves. One of the walls was devoted almost wholly to Arithmancy, Astrology, and runic alphabets; it also contained some books on magical and mundane history, which filled up the entire wall joining it, and the third wall she could see held books, journals, and parchments all apparently on magical theory. She couldn't make too close inspection of the wall against which her two former professors sat, but from what she could tell, it was comprised of texts about different branches of wand-based magic, as well as some more magical theory.
This lead Hermione to believe, with a sudden sense of awe and envy, that this was not all of Severus Snape's library. This room, filled as it was from floor to ceiling with shelves, littered as it was with stacks of books in corners and on tables, couldn't house all of the literature the man had collected over his life thus far.
Hermione suddenly had a new-found appreciation for Snape.
Though the books made it glorious, the parlour was far from welcoming. The shelves left no room for pictures or paintings on the wall and there were no personal effects to be seen in the room. The furnishings were threadbare at best, and the unlit fireplace was nearly black with age and a build-up of soot. There was a large window in the same wall as the front door, bordered by dark, thick curtains and leant the appearance of great age by the warped, cloudy nature of the glass. Light passing through it was tinted amber, which made the room feel older than it already looked.
As she was finishing her inspection of the titles along the shelves, Remus was check-mated for the third time that morning, and seemed to feel that this was his cue to leave. He gathered up his chessmen and, standing, thanked Snape for his hospitality. Hermione only suppressed her amusement at the notion of Snape being hospitable only through great dint of effort.
"Enjoy your day, Severus. Hermione, I'm sure I'll see you soon; Harry has asked me to invite you to dinner on Friday, as usual." With a smile and a wave, Lupin strode to the front door leaving Hermione, feeling quite wrong-footed, alone with Snape.
Idly, Snape began carefully returning his chessmen to their appropriate positions, pulling a set of white pieces out of a bag and ordering them to their spots as well.
"I was wondering if you'd given my request any thought," Hermione said once the silence had become unbearable.
"I believe I told you," Snape said silkily, although his voice still seemed weaker than it had ever been at Hogwarts, "to have an excellent reason why I should consider your request."
"Surely you, of all people, would know that knowledge is its own reason and reward, Professor," Hermione said.
"I am no longer your Professor, Miss Granger," said Snape, casually side-stepping her statement.
Hermione considered the implications of what Snape had said. She couldn't think for a moment that he was suggesting that she call him 'Severus,' but what did that leave her? She would never be so informal as to call him 'Snape,' and 'Mr. Snape' sounded…well, it sounded quite ludicrous, to her ears. What did he expect, for her to simply call him 'sir' for the rest of their acquaintance?
Before she could voice her confusion, Snape added, "As I say, I am no longer your professor, although I am still a Potions Master…" in a drawl, smirking in evident amusement at the expression of shock that lit Hermione's face as the meaning of his words dawned on her. She felt her cheeks colouring at the thought of Master Snape. That sounded even more ridiculous than the notion of addressing him as Mr. Snape.
"However," he added, almost regretfully, "I suppose that 'Professor' will have to do."
Hermione almost let out a sigh of relief – but caught herself at the last moment. It never occurred to her that he might have been joking – although she would have considered nothing else, had it come from Harry, Ron or – well, anybody.
"To pursue knowledge for knowledge's sake is the height of folly," he said by way of rebuttal to her earlier statement. Hermione cocked her head at him questioningly.
"Seek knowledge because it is useful to you, because it is necessary to you, because it will enrich you or aid you. Knowledge for knowledge's sake is stagnant and pointless. One should not know a fact simply to know it – rather, because knowing it gives one a sort of power."
Hermione said nothing, because the only thing to say would have been to agree with him. She made a mental note to be more careful in her word choice around this man – he was too quick to jump on poorly-thought-out phrases and use them as excuses to trap her into something she did not mean. For the time being, she simply nodded.
Snape took in her nod with a disinterested glance.
"Whenever you return, Miss Granger," he said with a dismissing flick of his fingers, "make sure you have an excellent reason."
With that, the man stood and walked from the room, leaving a dumbfounded Hermione staring after him. For a moment, she considered following after him and pressing her request, but she knew that it would be fruitless, so she resigned herself to play by whatever bizarre rules Snape seemed to be following.
Hermione beat Harry and Ron to Grimmauld Place on Friday afternoon, helping Remus prepare dinner as she shared the extraordinarily brief exchange she'd had with the Potions Master, and her frustrations over it.
"I didn't expect him to make it easy, but…I need some sort of sign as to what he's thinking," she explained at last. "I'm not used to having my words picked apart and turned about. He's just using it to keep me off-balance."
"Of course he is," agreed Lupin. "I hope you won't take offense, Hermione, but you're not exactly used to people who challenge you – even your classes at Hogwarts couldn't be entirely up to the level that you need, because not all of your classmates have the same capacity for understanding, the same thirst for knowledge. In a way, I think that merely proves the point that an apprenticeship with him would do very well for you."
As Lupin spoke, Harry and Ron had appeared in the kitchen doorway, apparently having just got in from the Ministry.
"Apprenticeship with who?" Ron asked, grinning good-naturedly in greeting. "You finally found a bloke smart enough to see a good opportunity when he sees it?"
At that moment, Lupin quite suddenly dropped a pot he was washing, causing a distracting clatter and spraying hot, foamy water everywhere.
Hermione had her wand in hand, waving it to Vanish the mess. "You two should get out of those robes," she said, grateful for an opportunity to ignore Ron's question, "supper looks like it's almost ready."
Harry, wary of the dangerous waters the conversation had almost entered, charged off to comply, and Ron followed.
"Thanks," Hermione told Remus quietly. "I don't know how to talk to him about Professor Snape."
"However you manage it," he responded with a knowing look, "You'd best do it soon."
By the time the boys were back downstairs, now in casual Muggle wear, Lupin had dinner plates heaped with food on the table.
"Remus," Harry said, gulping his pumpkin juice after a particularly overlarge bite of roast chicken, "I don't know what I'll do if you ever leave. This is the best meal you've made yet!"
It was something of a running joke, because almost every supper that Lupin served was declared by Harry to be 'the best meal' he'd ever had. To his credit, Harry insisted that he'd meant it every time.
"You put house elves to shame, mate," added Ron fervently.
Lupin waved his hand to both acknowledge and dismiss their praise, and Ron used the momentary silence as an opportunity to launch into yet another round of tales about Auror training. Hermione noticed Harry looking distinctly uncomfortable as Ron talked, and decided that she'd have to make a point, soon, of discovering why. Lately, Harry had been dropping hints about not being as chuffed with the prospect of a career in the Aurory as Ron was, but he hadn't yet expressed any real, solid dissatisfaction. She set those puzzlements aside for the time being, focusing her attention on Ron's stories.
Tales of the Aurory and Ministry lasted the companions through dessert, and then Remus was finally able to break the news of his impending job to Harry and Ron, who were both delighted with the news.
"Good thing Hermione isn't after a job like that," Ron joked, "seeing as how she'd never make it out of the shop with her wages."
Hermione blushed at the joke – and admitted that it was likely true.
"That's really great, Remus," Harry said, leaning forward earnestly, joy shining in his bright green eyes. "I'm so glad someone's had the good sense to understand what a marvelous worker you are."
"Yes, but there are two nights a month they don't seem eager for me to be working," Lupin said with lazy good-nature, sitting back and clasping his hands over his stomach. "It's actually why I'm starting in the coming week, as opposed to this week," he added, sounding not the least bit upset about this.
"Good on them," Harry said. "Soon they'll be so pleased to have such a great worker, they won't even think about the fact that you're – well, that you've got a little problem."
Lupin smiled.
"So – Hermione, who did you say you were talking to about apprenticing?" Ron asked, apparently just remembering that the conversation had been derailed earlier.
Hermione, Harry, and Remus all fidgeted slightly in their seats, not meeting each others' eyes.
There seemed to be no way to ease into it, at least not from where Hermione was standing. So, with typical Gryffindor bravery – foolishness, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Snape's corrected – she plunged in.
"Professor Snape – Now, Ron," she said, holding up forestalling hand, as Ron's mouth had just gaped open and anger had sparked in his eyes, "I know you're not fond of him, but he is a great –"
Ron cut her off. "Not fond of him?" he blustered. "Not fond of him? Hermione! You hate him, why would you –"
"No, you hate him, Ron." It was Hermione's turn to interrupt. "You hate him. I see him as an incredibly brilliant and loyal, if uncomfortably proud and tetchy, teacher – who could teach me a lot and who also happens to be one of my last choices to pursue what I want to – unless you'd rather I move to America?"
This last question seemed to take the wind out of Ron's sails.
"I – well – of course not, Hermione – it's just – he's Snape," he trailed off lamely.
Hermione sat back, her arms crossed. Lupin and Harry were exchanging wary looks, unsure of whether or not Ron's explosive temper had already blown over.
"Has he agreed?" Ron demanded suddenly.
"Not – not yet, but he hasn't said no, either."
"Bit of a miracle, really," Harry said lightly, "Good thing you didn't have me around while trying to ask – he'd have probably hexed your ears off."
Lupin gave a half-hearted chuckle.
"I don't like it. He's probably using you somehow."
"Honestly, Ron! If there's any using being done, it's me that's doing it – I'm using him for knowledge, using him for potion-making experience! It's not like he sought me out for some plot," she growled.
"Yeah, but how do you know he didn't force your hand, eh? He could have tracked all your letters to other Masters and made sure you got the response he wanted – could've made you think you had to go to him! I bet he might have even gotten to that Engleberry prick –"
Ron would have trailed on, oblivious to the cold, warning looks being directed at him by Lupin and Harry, but Hermione raised her hand – and her voice – once again.
"It's Eagleton, Ronald , and listen to yourself! You sound like you're back in first year, thinking that Professor Snape's broken into Gringotts and stolen the sorcerer's stone, like you think he's some big bogeyman who wants nothing more than to ruin Harry's life again." She smacked her hand down onto the table, making all three of her companions start. "Honestly," she breathed, glaring at Ron.
Ron shook his head stubbornly. "I don't like it," he insisted, and then he stood up. "I'm going back to the flat. Harry, Remus – try to talk some sense into her."
In the silence followed, Hermione took several deep breaths, calming herself. Ron had done it again – "you hate him," when she'd said nothing of the sort, when she'd defended him year after year against the slander that Harry and Ron threw about.
"Hermione," Harry began carefully
"- Don't you dare try to 'talk sense' to me, Harry James Potter," Hermione warned.
As if her words had released some hidden lever, the tension in the air seeped into nothing, and the three friends were suddenly laughing.
Two days later, equipped with what she hoped would count as an 'excellent reason,' Hermione returned to the house at Spinner's End. After knocking, she was left to fidget for almost three minutes before the door was opened, with Snape peering at her for a moment before opening the door more fully.
As she stepped in, Hermione said, "I was the top of my class, and I kept Neville from causing Merling-knows-how-many explosions over the years. Harry and Ron, too," she added as an afterthought. "I'm competent – and more than competent. All the invigilators for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s commented on the quality of my potions-making."
Snape's face was unreadable. "So you say," he responded, but gave no indication of whether this counted, for him, as an excellent reason to take her as an apprentice.
He gestured abruptly for her to sit, and she did so – although he remained standing. Without meeting her eyes, but instead walking to the mantle above his fireplace, Snape asked, "If you were to become an apprentice, what would your expectations be?"
"To learn as much as I can about potion-making, sir," Hermione said frankly, surprised by the question. Hope began to stir in her chest, as she wondered – could this mean…?
"Is that all?" Snape asked, his sneer evident in his voice although she could not see his face to confirm it.
"Well, yes sir," she said. "I've no real need of a job in the next three years – the normal term of apprenticeship for a Potions Mastery – so I'd have no limits on the time spent in studies or in the lab."
Snape turned around to find that the girl's eyes had gone wide and dreamy as she finished this statement. Apparently, he noted, the idea of spending the whole day reading and learning was a sort of ecstasy for her.
He could understand that.
Snape turned around again. "Return in two days," he said, and just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, he added, "be sure to have an excellent reason."
Snapping her jaw shut, Hermione strode to the door and made to open it – but stilled her hand at the last moment. With an air of forced calm, she turned to look at the man's back.
"Thank you for at least considering my request," she said. While she wasn't actually feeling grateful at that moment, she did understand that he could very easily have dismissed her request, and the fact that he was telling her to come back bode well.
When he made no response, she continued on her way out the door.
"I would be useful. Any potions I made could be sold by you for profit, you'd have three years' worth of perfectly prepared ingredients and flawless assistance," Hermione announced as soon as Snape had opened the door the next time they met. The words were proud, but she knew – hoped – that they were justified.
As usual, Snape's face gave no reflection of whatever he may have thought of her idea of an excellent reason.
Instead, he once again gestured for her to seat herself, then flicked his fingers in what might have passed for an invitation for her to help herself to the tea service on the small table beside her seat.
When he sat, it was on the opposite side of the room – though as small as his parlour was, it was no great distance.
"You have never given the impression that you were particularly fond of this subject – just the homework," he said without preamble.
"-You thought I liked the homework?" asked an incredulous Hermione.
"What else was one to think," sneered Snape, "When you insisted upon adding nearly half again the requisite length to every assignment – unless it was a form of unflattering narcissism?"
Hermione had no retort, her pride stung by his assessments of her efforts. True, in her early years at Hogwarts she had gone out of her way to add extra onto each assignment – to prove that she was capable, to prove that she belonged in the magical world.
She had hoped, foolishly as it later turned out, that the magical world would be a place where an over-eager bookworm like herself might find more kindred spirits. The world of witchcraft and wizardry had saved her from the teasing she'd endured because of unexplainable coincidences that seemed to occur around her, and she had hoped that it might also save her from the social stigma of being too in-love with knowledge. Many times, especially in her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione had found herself wishing that the Sorting Hat had gone with Ravenclaw, which it had so strongly been considering.
However, with the passage of time and her steadily increasing self-assurance and maturity, she'd begun to add to her papers for the joy of knowledge, using her homework assignments as fuel to urge her on to new subjects and ideas. She had never felt like she needed to write more than the required length, and had (a rare time or two) turned in only what had been asked of her. This statement on Snape's part was, therefore, more than a little unfair – not that she'd ever tell him that.
"Whether or not I liked homework is beside the point," she said at last. "Did I ever give the impression of disliking Potions?"
"No," Snape responded simply, although she imagined that she could almost hear him thinking 'just the teacher, apparently.'
"However," he continued, "one rarely pursues a Mastery in a subject for which one feels merely no particular 'dislike.'"
Hermione fumed silently, galled by the way she allowed herself to be caught out in her words so easily.
"I enjoy potion-making immensely," she said primly. "Especially as it has so many ties to other branches of magic."
Professor Snape's face was impassive as she finished her tea. He stood, picking up the tea service and turning to leave the room. Pausing, he said, "Return at this same time next week."
Hermione's heart sank as he continued, "Make sure you have an excellent reason."
"I'll do your cooking, your cleaning – anything in payment. If you wanted to set up a small apothecary business, I'd run your orders and take care of the more mundane potions for you."
It was a little desperate, but Hermione had been hard-pressed to come up with any other ideas.
Snape didn't even bother to let her in the house, just told her to come back when she had an excellent reason.
"Miss Granger," Snape said before she could do more than open her mouth as she stood on his doorstep a few days later, "I do not wish to hear yet another reason why you would make a good apprentice – having been your teacher for six long years, I am aware of what you consider to be your sterling qualities. What I wish to hear is why youwish to apprentice – with me – in Potions."
Hermione gaped at her former professor.
"Why would I need to prove that I want this?" she asked, clearly befuddled. "I wouldn't be asking - wouldn't be coming back day after day and week after week – if it wasn't what I wanted."
Snape made no immediate response, simply held out a roll of parchment.
"Complete this," he ordered, "and return tomorrow. Make sure you have an excellent reason."
And with that, the door was closed, and Hermione left staring in incredulity at the door, irritation and confusion warring for dominance. Being left on the stoop two meetings in a row did not bode well, she thought darkly.
With a turn of her heel, she Apparated – to Grimmauld Place, rather than her parents' house. It always seemed bizarre to study magic in her parents' familiar, mundane house, she felt.
The parchment had a smaller sheaf attached to it, bearing brief instructions in Snape's distinctively angular writing.
Miss Granger, the note read, Answer these questions without resorting to your precious library – I wish to understand how much you know, not well you can cross-reference the genius of others.
Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione answered the questions – about the properties of various liquid bases and common solutions – quickly. She returned to her parents' before Lupin could get back from his work – she wasn't sure how to answer any questions he might have about how her attempts at securing an apprenticeship were progressing. She did, however, leave a note informing Remus that all was well, she hoped his new job was proving worthwhile and satisfying, and that she'd likely be stopping by sometime in the evening next week.
The door swung open as soon as Hermione knocked the next morning. Although she couldn't see Professor Snape, she heard his voice quite clearly.
"Come to the lab – down the hall and to the left."
She followed these clipped instructions, finding a set of stairs that lead down into what looked like a miniaturized version of the potions lab at Hogwarts – stone walls and floors lit with the same torches with two large worktables.
Unlike the lab at Hogwarts, however, Snape's personal lab was in pristine condition, every surface gleaming cleanly, and had none of the clutter that ruled the Hogwarts classrooms. Along one wall there was a long row of sinks and faucets; along another was a single counter with two high stools next to it; the third wall held one clock and, in a double-row beneath it, ten timers. The fourth wall held three doors – the one through which Hermione had entered, one leading to the store room, and a third that opened into what appeared to be a study of some sort – Hermione could see a large table and an overflowing set of shelves.
The Potions Master was stirring a cauldron, so intent on his task that Hermione was unsure at first if he was even aware of her. She stepped closer to his workbench.
"Prepare those," he said without looking up.
Hermione looked about the surface. Those appeared to be small piles of aconite and juniper bark. Leaning closer, she peered into the cauldron Snape was standing over, catching a glimpse of the frothing liquid inside.
"Now, Miss Granger."
Hermione picked up the pewter knife that was lying next to the stack of aconite and began slicing it quickly and neatly. Soon, that task done, she slide the pile nearer to Snape's cauldron and began grinding the juniper bark with a mortar and pestle. As she ground the bark, Snape was adding the aconite.
"Timer one, thirty-one seconds," Snape said suddenly, and Hermione was quite confused until she saw the first timer on the wall set itself for that amount of time.
As he stirred in the last of the aconite, Snape added, "Now," and the timer began to wind down. Still stirring, he crooked one finger to beckon Hermione closer.
He gave no order, but Hermione nodded as if he had, scooping all of the bark into a ready pile, holding her mortar ready to push the small load into the cauldron.
The timer gave a soft chime – Hermione realized it would probably serve the delicate process of potions making poorly to have some nerve-wracking buzzer go off – and Hermione had all of the bark added by the time the tone had ended.
Pursing his lips, Snape made a noise in the back of his throat, half-way between a hum and a grunt. Hermione thought she was justified in considering it to be a sound of approval. After all, she told herself smugly, she had just identified a potion she'd never actually seen prepared before – Wolfsbane – and had therefore known how to prepare the ingredients without being told, as well as recognizing which step Professor Snape had been on and how to continue the process.
She watched as Snape stirred feverishly for a few more minutes while the flames below the cauldron tapered off and were extinguished entirely.
He stopped very suddenly, and began to bottle the potion while his used instruments flew over to the sink, which filled itself obligingly with hot, foamy water
Under sudden initiative – and not rightly knowing what else to do with herself – Hermione began washing the tools. Snape appeared beside her a moment later, one hand holding an old cloth, the other extended , waiting for her to hand him the something.
As they cleaned up the lab, Snape quizzed her on various aspects of the Wolfsbane potion and its preparation.
When the lab was properly restored, he handed her the bottled potion and a roll of parchment.
"Take the potion to Lupin, tell him that it's for one of his mongrel charity cases and that he'll receive his own soon enough," he instructed curtly. "Return to me with that parchment completed and an exact understanding of how to prepare a Dreamless Sleep potion."
He made as if to leave, and then turned slowly back to face her.
"Your reason, Miss Granger?" he asked coolly.
"Even if you never said a word to me," Hermione said promptly, "your library could teach me more than a half-dozen other Potions Masters'. And even if you didn't let me read a single book," she added, "working with you would teach me more than hundreds of hours in the lab on my own."
Snape turned once again to the door. "When you come back, Miss Granger," he said as he ascended the staircase, "make sure you have an excellent reason."
August gave way to September, and Hermione, after sparing a pang of nostalgia at the sad reality of not attending Hogwarts, began to enjoy the pace of her life. She was beginning to meet a few times a week with Snape who, while always curt and often dismissive and repressive, had not yet said 'no.' He would either brew with her or simply test her knowledge – on anything and everything that could be remotely related to potions – and he would almost always send her home with a small roll of parchment, more often than not with the sneering reminder to not consult her dear Oracles for the answers – that regurgitated knowledge did neither of them any good. His parting words were always a warning to return only with an "excellent reason." As time went by, Hermione occasionally did not come prepared with a reason, especially when she noticed that he stopped asking for a reason and instead let her volunteer it on her own.
Hermione found herself enjoying the sessions, no matter how terse, insulting, or dismissive of her efforts Snape might be. He answered her questions at a length and level that he'd never indulged in as her Professor, which she suspected had a great deal to do with the fact that he did not have to worry about keeping an entire classroom occupied.
As a force of habit, Hermione would occasionally mention personal anecdotes in conversation, or talk about her family, friends, or past. Professor Snape seemed almost entirely unaware that she was speaking in these circumstances, rarely responding and never sharing anything remotely personal in return. Rather than dissuade her, Hermione found that this stirred sort of sympathy for the man – a man so tightly closeted that she imagined it'd be difficult for him to show even the tiniest part of himself.
She traveled to Ron's flat once or twice a week for dinner with her two best friends. Ron continued to insist that Snape was up to no good, but he was much quieter and more placid in his grumblings now, and some nights forgot to be indignant about it altogether. After splitting the week between her parents and her friends, Hermione usually spent almost the entire weekend at Grimmauld Place, where the four companions were becoming more and more frequently joined by other Order members and friends. There were times when the sadness of the losses everyone had suffered still pierced her to the quick – she still couldn't look at George without feeling like she'd been slapped in the face - , but all signs pointed to everyone starting to look towards the future, rather than simply trying to survive the immediate present.
Hermione entered the lab one day to find Snape slaving over a pile of stag beetles, preparing them for use in a potion. Without looking at her, he pointed at a pile of lacewing flies, which she took as an indication that she should be preparing them.
"Strip and save the wings," he ordered, "and make a paste of the rest."
Obediently, Hermione set to work. From what she'd heard, this was very much like a typical detention for Snape's least-favorite miscreats – only this time, Snape was willingly subjecting himself to it as well.
"Professor," she asked, hercuriosity stirred by this thought, "why not do this with magic?"
Without pausing in his efforts, Snape replied, "For the same reason that one does not charm ingredients to add themselves, and the same reason that self-stirring cauldrons always produce inferior potions."
This was, as far as Hermione could tell, was no reason at all. With a puzzled frown, she let the subject drop, deciding it was time to share her 'excellent reason' for the day – weak as some of them were, she was rather proud that she'd managed to come up with as many as she had.
"You always seem so sure of yourself, so in-control. I want that."
His face frozen in his customary impassive expression, Snape handed her a glass jar in which to store her lacewing flies, holding a hand out for the paste she'd made. When their efforts were tidily packed away, he handed her another roll of parchment. "Return tomorrow," he said, and headed into his study. "With an excellent reason," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Stung a little by his total lack of response to her statement, Hermione didn't bother looking at the parchment when she returned home. She had faithfully fulfilled every assignment he'd given her – and faithfully refrained from consulting her books – and she knew that she would complete this one as well, but she had no intention of jumping to obey him just then.
"He's impossible, Crookshanks," she told her squash-faced cat, who had taken to greeting her every time she returned from the Professor's house, as if knowing that the man tended to irk Hermione.
Dinner came and went before Hermione conceded defeat to the voice of her younger self, nagging her to complete her homework before going to bed. The voice even used a few quotes from one of those little planners she'd provided Harry and Ron with. Smiling at memories that felt like they belonged in another life time, Hermione gave in and spent the evening working on her assignment.
A/N - Snape's finally come into the scene!
Thank you so much to everyone who has read and subscribed! Please review! I'm really anxious to hear people's thoughts on how the story's progressing, among other things. (What did you think of Snape? I'm trying to keep him from going ooc unless it's absolutely necessary). I'd love to hear your thoughts - thank you so much!
Next update should come over the weekend. Cheers!
