CHAPTER 4

As she stepped out of her apartment the next morning, and climbed into the elevator that began to slowly glide down the six floors to the lobby, Hermione found herself examining her reflection in the mirror. She had put a lot of thought into what she wore that day; anxious to wipe Snape's mind clear of her appearance the last time they had met, and simultaneously impress him with her professionalism and competance, it had taken her a while to find the outfit that rightly blended formality with- well, with prettiness, she thought, a little lamely.

She had finally settled on fitted black trousers, and a white linen shirt with a crisp collar that fell gracefully to her waist. She had scraped the regal mess that was her hair into a chignon, and clipped back any loose strands, making a note to make an appointment with her parlor to her dye her roots. She wore patent leather heels, dangerously black, and somewhat excrutiating. As she stepped out of the lobby and onto the street, she wondered whether flats may not have been a better option.

The day was bracingly cold, a stiff wind teasing about the edges of buildings and catching at her bare neck. Shrugging on the black jacket she had been holding draped across an arm, she tucked her hands into the pockets and walked quickly down the road. At the corner was a small, ramshackle red telephone booth with colorfully worded graffiti scrawled across its panes. Stepping into it, Hermione closed the door. Pinned to the instrument was a little note that was visible onto to witches and wizards.

Apparition Point 98

Hearing the door snick behind her, Hermione reached into her pocket for her wand, and quickly apparated to Hogsmeade.

She had aimed for The Three Broomsticks, because she planned to pick up a cup of coffee and smoke a cigarette before heading to Hogwarts. Rosmerta, who was huddled behind the counter despite the early hour of the morning, smiled brightly when she pushed open the door to the little pub and stepped inside.

'Hullo, Hermione,' she said, standing up and hugging her over the counter. 'I haven't had you here in ages, have I? You look wonderful.'

'You do too,' Hermione said admiringly, glancing down at the lady's shiny red dress and heels. Although it had been years since she had first met Rosmerta, the woman hadn't seemed to have aged in the least. Her blonde hair was still as shiny and demurely curling, and the pert tilt of her nose and the tightness of cheeks wasn't marred with any lines. Hermione ordered a cup of coffee on the go, and then lit a cigarette as Rosmerta bustled about getting it ready.

'I didn't think I'd ever see you this side again,' said Rosmerta, as she held a paper cup under a faucet and pointed her wand desicively at it. A stream of hot, black coffee immediately began to drain into the cup. 'How are Harry and- what's his name? The Weasley boy?'

'Ron,' Hermione supplied, suppressing the flash of amusement that she felt when she imagined Ron's indignancy at this social blunder. 'They're both fine. Harry's just about to complete his Auror training, and Ron's interning with Lawyer Blakely.'

'They've done well for themselves,' Rosmerta said affectionately, fixing a plastic lid on the cup and sticking a spoon into it. 'It's been- what- four years since you graduated from Hogwarts?'

Hermione nodded, surprised at the older lady's memory. 'That's right.'

'And what brings you to this part of the world?' asked Rosmerta, ducking down to pick up some packets of sugar. She frowned, and then added, 'Two packets, wasn't it?'

Hermione nodded gratefully and said, 'Well, I've been training for my Apprentice Audition.'

Rosmerta raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 'Not bad,' she said, nodding in an impressed fashion. 'That's one of the highest levels of academia. Did you get selected?'

Hermione nodded, a little proudly. 'That's why I'm here.' she said. 'Professor Snape selected me.'

At this, both of Rosmerta's eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared behind her blonde bangs. 'Professor Snape?' she echoed. 'You mean- Severus Snape? Hermione, that's brilliant!'

'Well,' said Hermione, shrugging modestly.

'No- I mean it,' said Rosmerta, sliding the coffee across the counter. 'He's one of the best Potions Masters in England. I'm sure you could learn a lot from him. Besides,' she added, in an offhand way, that Hermione had come to associate with the despatchment of high-quality gossip. 'You can also keep an eye on him, you know.'

Hermione frowned, as she lifted the plastic lid of her cup and stirred her coffee. 'Keep an eye on him?' she asked, puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

Rosmerta's face lit up. Hermione wasn't surprised. She had always loved spilling a few beans here and there.

'Well,' she said, leaning in a conspiratory fashion over the counter, and cupping her chin in her hand. 'The word on the street is that Professor Snape's getting into some pretty dangerous research. We had a couple of Ministry workers here a few weeks back, and I hear that they were hear to inspect his work. They were even mentioning that it might be detrimental to his health, and that- well, that he was taking quite a few hefty risks.'

Hermione frowned. 'Really?' she asked, a little doubtfully. 'This is the first I'm hearing of this.'

Rosmerta shrugged. 'Well, it's not something that's worth going public, is it. I don't think the Ministry's even very sure about what Professor Snape's working on. I wish I could have pumped something out of the Ministry workers, but as it was, I was simply lurking behind their table and trying to hear what they were talking about,' she added, a little ruefully.

Hermione smiled. 'Well,' she said, bracingly. 'I'm sure it can't be too bad. Snape isn't dumb, after all. I'll find out pretty soon anyway.'

'Of course you will,' Rosmerta said, cheerfully. She grinned, and added, 'You will let me know, won't you?'

'Of course I will,' said Hermione, with an equally brilliant smile.

Over my dead body.

The wind caught her afresh as she stepped out of the Three Broomsticks, and began to wind her way up the tortuous path that led to the Hogwarts gates. She found herself wishing that she had thought to bring a scarf. Not to mention that the towering heels were already beginning to feel like they were slowly filling with her blood.

She shook her head, and sighed, taking a swig of coffee and lighting another cigarette. Although she didn't want to admit it, Rosmerta's news was a little disconcerting. Snape might not be stupid, she mused, but he certainly was ambitious, and had little regard for Ministry protocol. And besides, no matter how much she despised Rosmerta's gossip-monging ways, she had to admit that the woman had an unerring knack for digging out the truth.

Even it it meant that within the next few days, the truth was spread across the streets like butter.

But could there be any truth in these rumors, she wondered, as the path she was following twisted sharply upwards and a splinter of pain rocketed up her ankle. She winced. It seemed- well, unlikely, she conceded, but at the same time not impossible. How like Snape it would be to research and brew a potentially destructive potion, and deem the Ministry idiots for prohibiting it.

But if that were true- and she wasn't saying it was- where exactly did that leave her?

She grasped idly at the button of her jacket and fiddled with it as she trekked up the path. If Snape was twisting Ministry protocol like a noodle, and she was his Apprentice, wouldn't that put her in a potentially dangerous situation? She shuddered as she pictured her career tumbling around her like shards of glass just because Snape had got a little pushy. That definitely wasn't what she wanted.

But then- what did she want?

The answer, she realized, to that was brilliantly clear. She wanted to work with Snape.

Their talk, the other day, in the Meeting Room had had a profound impact on her, causing her to see the snarky old man in a way she had never imagined before. And she wouldn't lie to herself- she knew, that if she applied herself properly, there was a lot she could learn from him. But having said that, was it worth risking her entire career?

Stop it, she chided herself. You haven't even heard about his research yet. Are you honestly going to let Rosmerta of all people steer you away from a potentially brilliant Potions Master?

But if she were right?

Hermione sighed, as the painfully familiar wrought-iron gates swung into view behind pine boughs. The castle loomed brilliantly behind it, looking fresh and expectant in the early morning light, as though welcoming her back after four long years. A wave of relaxation poured through her shoulders, and she almost stopped noticing the pain in he ankles.

It was like being home again.

I'll ask him about his research, she decided. And then I'll decide whether I want to sign the bond, or not.

The corridor to the dungeons hadn't changed in the least.

Hermione remembered traversing the narrow, stony passage ways during her years as a student. Those trips had always been accompanied by a pallor of despondency, directly related to the hour or two of time she would have to spend in Snape's company. Now, however, her surroundings didn't seem quite so ominous. For the first time, she noticed the array of torches, carved in some sort of magical wood with engravings of fruits and berries that were fixed on the walls, and lit with small, controlled flames. They cast a comfortable glow on the stone, widening in little circles with each step she took. She wondered if Snape personally lit and extinguished those torches every morning and evening, or if they were allowed to burn throughout.

She had wanted to stop and meet Professor McGonagall before heading to Snape's office, but a glance at her watch told her she had less than five minutes to get there, and she didn't want to push her punctuality this time. She made a mental note to see Professor McGonagall after her meeting with Snape and headed down to the dungeons. Now, she walked slowly down them, a hand pressed to the wall to feel the coolness of the stone in her fingertips. She had always remembered the dungeons as being cold, but now they felt significantly warmer than the air outside.

Her hand bumped into an uneven surface, and she stopped to face the door that led to her old Potions classroom. The door was arched on the top, made of heavy oak, and set with a pattern of iron nails that had rusted slightly, and felt rough and bracing. Hermione knew that Snape's office was further down the corridor, but suddenly, she felt an indistinct urge to open the door and peek at the room- only for a second. She was strangely curious to see if her perception of the classroom had changed as much as that of the dungeons themselves.

Besides, she reminded herself, glancing at her watch, she had a minute or so left to meet Snape anyway.

Making up her mind, she pushed open the door, and was instantly hit with a deep, cloying smell, and a little puff of steam. The air about her was dry, and the sudden onset of humidity was alarming. She sucked in her breath, and then exhaled slowly, before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

Although the classroom was devoid of students, three cauldrons sat on Snape's desk, each of them indicating their presence in different ways. The first one had a portable stove with a fire set under it, and was emitting a steady column of mauve steam. The steam had arced at the ceiling and slowly filled the entire classroom. Hermione felt the roof of her mouth go dry after mere seconds of stepping into it.

The second cauldron was steaming as well, although there was no fire. This cauldron, however, seemed to be less hot than the first one, as the wisps of steam that sifted from its surface were feeble and almost colorless, looking merely like small disturbances in the air. Hermione tiptoed past chairs and tables, and caught a strong whiff of the potion. No doubt, the sickly, cloying smell was coming from the second cauldron.

She made her way up to the desk. The first cauldron, she saw, was bubbling violently. The potion inside it was a rich color that could be violet, although it seemed to have a bit too much red in it to be called exactly that. The steam that was pouring from it was suffocating, and Hermione gagged the minute she stuck her head over it. Drawing back, she drew in some fresh- well, relatively fresh- air, and then peeked at the second cauldron.

This one seemed to be a more subdued version of the first. The color of the potion was a little deeper, and a little bluer than the first, resulting in a rich purple. It boiled slowly and contemplatively, without the rigorous fervor of the first one. The steam rose from its surface in little wisps, and dissipated ruminatively into the air. The smell, however, was unmistakeable. There was something alarming about the smell. If it had been a little more moderate, it would have been pleasant, but as it was, it was overhwelming and not a little aggressive. Hermione pictured dozens of roses being sugared and boiled in syrup, but somehow, even that didn't seem to come close.

Shaking her head, she turned to the third cauldron.

This cauldron had no fire lit in it. She could tell that the potion was deathly cold, because little drops of condensation had formed on its surface. The potion inside was still. Leaning over, she could catch no smell or steam. It's surface was shiny, and flat, a deep mauve color that looked odd inside the rusted iron cauldron.

Hermione frowned as she contemplated the third cauldron. For some reason, she was sorely tempted to stick her finger into it. She wasn't stupid though. Even if her own common sense (and she had plenty of that, she reminded herself, a little smugly) hadn't prevailed, the look on Snape's face if he caught her stopped her dead in her tracks. Instead, she turned her attention to the little table that had been set up near the desk, that was supposed to contain ingredients and tools.

The first thing she caught sight of was a small knife. It's handle seemed to be made of ivory, carved intricately into a whirwild of small designs and textures. It's blade was smelted in pure silver, shining confidently in the dim dungeon life.

The blade seemed to be faintly stained with blood.

But that could be blood from anything, she reminded herself. Perhaps he had used it to carve out a goat's stomach and pull out a bezoar.

Next to the knife was a little cup, also made of silver. It was also filled, about half-way up with blood.

Hermione felt a little chill shoot up her spine. Rosmerta's words, which had only disconcerted her earlier, now weighed like a heavy load on her shoulders. She lit the tip of her wand and held it to the cup, trying to determine if the blood was too light (meaning it was drawn from an animal) or too fluid (an entity-spirit).

It wasn't, though.

She turned her attention to the item beside the cup of blood.

'You seem to be absorbed, Miss Granger.'

Hermione startled so violently that her wand slipped from her hand. For an agonising moment, she thought it would fall onto the tray, and into the cup of blood, but as she watched, it rolled off the edge of the tray and clattered to the ground. Without bending to pick it up, she whirled around, and saw that Snape had entered the classroom and was leaning against the door.

His expression was faintly amused, but there was something in the rigidity of his stance, and the set of his mouth that instantly alarmed Hermione. He was dressed in his usual black robes, and they draped over his tall figure and fell to the ground with a grace that suddenly seemed intimidating. She swallowed nervously as he uncrossed the arms that had been folded across his chest, and took a step forward.

'I seem to remember asking you to arrive at my office,' he said, quietly. 'Or was my letter worded ambiguously?'

He dangled the opening in front of her, raising an eyebrow. Hermione did not reply, and he added a little sigh.

'Strange, Granger,' he said, beginning to walk up to the front of the classroom. 'I always thought you were quick on the uptake.'

'I-' she paused, and swallowed again, uncomfortable aware of the steam that was pouring from the cauldrons onto the back of her neck. 'I just wanted to have a look.' she finished finally, somewhat lamely.

Snape raised a accursed eyebrow. 'I won't pretend to be surprised that you don't have any scruples considering spying,' he said, comfortably. 'Why did you come in here?'

She shrugged. 'I haven't seen this classroom in over four years.' she said. 'I wanted to see if it had changed.'

Snape moved to his desk, and leaned back against it, once more crossing his arms over his chest.

'And has it?' he inquired.

Hermione frowned. 'Honestly,' she admitted, 'I hadn't noticed. I was too busy- well, too busy-'

'Eyeing my potions?' suggested Snape.

Hermione said something indistinct.

Shaking his head slightly, Snape circled his desk and sat down on the chair. Hermione was forcibly reminded of all the classes that she had sat in the front row, waving her arms about in a futile attempt to garner some of his attention. He looked much more like she remembered here, in his own dungeons. His hair, which had always been unkempt, hung around his face in a shiny, shaggy fashion that did nothing to soften the deathly pallor of his skin. His neck was long, and if she looked carefully, she could catch sight of a spidery formation of pale green veins under the surface.

Despite all that, however, his eyes seemed to have changed a little. They seemed warmer, somehow, more approachable, and more than a little humorous- although things that Snape found humorous were generally treated with caution in the wizarding world. The expression he was surveying her with now was nothing short of amused.

'Well,' he said, the beginnings of a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. 'Aren't you going to pick your wand up?'

With a little start, Hermione realized that her wand was still lying on the floor behind her. Without taking her eyes off Snape's face, she bent her knees and groped behind her with her hand. As her fingers closed over the thin wood, and she felt the little spark that she associated with her own magic signature sparkle through them, she picked up the wand with relief and straightened herself.

'Now,' said Snape, 'If you'll follow me back to my office, which was, in fact, where this meeting was scheduled, we can start talking about our agreement. I'm sure, Miss Granger, that you have a lot of- questions.'

Smirking a little at this last word, he turned around and strode out of the classroom.

Author's Note: Well? It seemed a little fragmented when I wrote it, but hopefully it'll all make sense the next chapter. Thanks to all the people who reviewed =)

Snape *melt*