Chapter 5: The First Day
Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm
Everything that you think you recognize; you do. This entire story is based of the works of the inimitable JK Rowling, who I respect more than I can properly put into words. Without her, Snape wouldn't exist – and mine would be a sad and lonely world.
My heartfelt thanks to those of you who have reviewed, subscribed, and favorite-d thus far – you keep reviewing, and I'll keep writing. (Okay, okay – I'll keep writing regardless, in all honesty, but I feel like less of a loser if there are people writing back.)
And, with that, let's get on with the story! Cheers!
When Hermione awoke the next morning, it was from dreams in which Professor Snape – the towering, menacing dungeons master she remembered from her first year at Hogwarts – demanded to know why she had wasted his time by forming an apprenticeship when she was incapable of brewing even the most basic of potions, after she had somehow managed to melt a cauldron without fire.
Despite the fact that these were, in truth, just dreams, they left Hermione in a very poor way.
She toyed briefly with the idea of Flooing over to Ron's flat, but she couldn't discuss her silly fears in any venue where Ron might overhear her – she refused to give him the satisfaction. She then thought of talking to Lupin as an alternative, but after everything the man had done to encourage and help her on the road to this apprenticeship, she felt that it would be highly ungracious to turn his ear with her angst.
And so it was that she ended up talking to Crookshanks, her most faithful confidante and pragmatic adviser, as she went about preparing for the day.
"I don't know what I was thinking, Crooks," she told the cat frankly, "The last two months were pleasant enough – at least, he wasn't being actively horrible – but I just know that I'll ruin something or displease him somehow, and he'll regret ever agreeing to this!"
In lieu of a response, Crookshanks simply butted his head against her leg before hopping onto her bed, curling himself into a careless pile of fur.
As she dressed, Hermione noted that the new robes had been an excellent idea. It was very hard to feel like a bumbling, erring student when she was out of the robes she most associated with that awkward phase of life. With these more suitable robes, she looked the part of a potions apprentice, which she dearly hoped would make it easier to act the part.
Despite the slight ease in her worries, Hermione was unable to face the prospect of eating. Faced as she was with the start of an entirely new sort of schooling experience with a man that she knew from experience to be extraordinarily critical, she was bemused to find herself suffering from first-day-of-school nerves as well as last-moments-before-a-final-exam nerves. It was a disconcerting combination, but she did her level best to push her anxieties into the rear of her mind.
Wrestling for control of her thoughts sparked an idea in Hermione: three years was an awfully long time to study only potion-making, and if what McGonagall had said about most apprenticeships being fairly general, she would have plenty of opportunity to study Occlumency. Although she wasn't thrilled, after hearing Harry's recounting of his lessons with Snape, of handing the man access to her most private or painful memories, the allure of understanding the art of controlling her own mind and emotions could hardly fail to appeal to her.
As Hermione thought of Snape's library and curriculum vitae, the enormity of the research and study opportunities with which she was faced dawned upon her for the first time. Despite having known that she'd be studying a great deal of diverse material, despite having seen the extensive library that the man had at his command, the vastness of the possibilities had never truly occurred to Hermione.
Faced with such an exciting prospect – three years of uninterrupted, unimpaired learning! - it was inevitable that Hermione's attitude improved significantly. Even if she still was not comfortable with the thought of food, she was in a significantly better frame of mind as she finished her preparations.
When she knocked on the door at Spinner's End a short while later, it opened automatically once again, and she let herself in. Making her way to the study, Hermione was fairly certain that she heard sounds of activity in the laboratory down-stairs, but she was unwilling to investigate without being invited down, as she still felt very much an intruder in this private man's home.
Of course, the presence of so many leather-bound, aged books left the entire house smelling like a library, which Hermione found comforting. Surrounded as she was by the familiar sights and scents of old books and stacks of parchment, it was hard to feel entirely out of place.
Before she had time to really lose herself in a perusal of the books that covered the walls of this room, Snape was walking into the room, nodding curtly in greeting.
"Good morning, sir," Hermione said as cheerfully as she could, firmly telling herself that she was not worried, because nothing could possibly go wrong, "How are you?"
"As well as ever, Miss Granger," he said in a neutral tone, not bothering to inquire about her own health.
"I trust you brought your notebooks?" he asked – and Hermione was pleasantly surprised that his tone was, if not actually pleasant, at least not cruel or demeaning. It almost sounded like he actually did trust her to be adequately prepared.
She held out the notebooks in answer, and he nodded again.
"Very well," he said, and Hermione told herself that that was startlingly close to a commendation. Maybe this wouldn't be such a harsh apprenticeship after all.
"The next two weeks," Snape said abruptly, "will be spent in instilling proper habits of thought, work, and study."
Hermione nodded absently, wondering why he hadn't been trying to 'instill proper habits' in the nearly two months prior to a formal apprenticeship.
"Begin by writing out the properties of abalone flesh, as well as potions it is used in – grouped by type –, its notable synergies with other ingredients, and methods of preparation. Write each list from your own knowledge, and after I have checked it over you may then take refuge in your books to fill in any gaps. When you have finished with abalone flesh, move on to abalone shells. When both lists are complete – checked, a second time, by myself, you will come to the laboratory." These commands were delivered without inflection – indeed, Snape wasn't even looking at her. Hermione was struck by the urge to check around the room to make sure that there was no one else he could be talking to.
"Sir, do you want me to write the lists out by hand, or may I give dictation?"
Snape met her eyes, and she saw what she hoped was an approving look, before he resumed his indifferent expression. "This is not a classroom, and you are not being punished, Miss Granger. Take your notes however you best see fit – you know whether it will do you a disservice to use a magical shortcut far better than I."
Hermione was grateful that Snape took this approach. She could complete her lists much more efficiently and neatly if she wasn't hand-writing everything.
"This notebook," Snape said, laying one long, delicate finger on the item in question, "will hold, by the time you are through with it, a compendium of mundane and magical potions ingredients, as well as their uses and properties. You are to have this – as well as your other journals – with you at all times. Do not keep them in that ridiculous handbag of yours; I will not allow time to be wasted as you rummage around in the dratted thing every time you need to reference your own notes. Create a book-bag, a coin-purse, anything – but it is to be only for your own note-keeping materials, do I make myself quite clear?"
"Yes, sir," said Hermione, wondering gloomily if Snape would ever give her his approval. As if you need his approval, she reproved herself silently, when you've already got his instruction. You can be mollycoddled elsewhere; you're here to learn.
With a sharp nod, Snape swept from the room. Pulling a Dicto-quill – Harry's graduation gift to her - out of her bag, Hermione sat down – grateful, as she did so, that her new robes did not strangle her as her old, loose ones had if she sat down too quickly. She dipped her quill once in ink and then balanced the tip on the second clean page in her notebook.
"Abalone – Flesh," she said clearly, closing her eyes to concentrate. "Properties..."
Hermione leaned back as she spoke, opening her eyes occasionally to follow the movements of the quill. It did not take very long to create the lists that Snape had demanded, but Hermione felt like it was a grueling process. She was not used to the stone-cold recall of facts – rather, when information was needed, it was her wont to go to books, no matter how well she thought she might know the information. It was always comforting, somehow, to be able to read the information, to know that she was missing nothing that the author himself had not missed, that her mind was not skewing or miss-representing any little fact. So to pull up a reasonably complete definition of a potions ingredient entirely from her own memory was a peculiar feat – Hermione felt strangely accomplished.
Turning the page, she re-balanced her pen, and repeated the process of defining the properties, uses, and synergies of abalone shells.
When she was, after re-reading her lists in hopes that some missed fact would pop out at her, reasonably certain that she had written down everything she could possibly be expected to know about abalone shells and flesh, Hermione took the notebook into Snape's lab, where he was reading in the side study, his head bent over a particularly huge, aged text. Her new master seemed so engrossed in what he was reading that Hermione was hesitant to interrupt him. She waited patiently as he read, and only when he lifted a hand to turn the page did she clear her throat to catch his attention.
At her sound, Snape looked up sharply, a suspicious look in his narrowed eyes. As he caught sight of her, his suddenly tense frame relaxed – there's a first time for everything, Hermione noted with amusement, Professor Snape, relaxing at the sight of me. How many years will it be before some of the suspicious nature that kept him alive during the war starts to fade?
"I've finished the lists as best I can, sir," she said, holding out her notebook for inspection.
Wordlessly, Snape read through it, his face entirely passive as his eyes scanned down the pages.
"Double-check your notes against any books you might have – or those which you may find in the study. You've left the potion Somnium and the Scintillating Solution off of the list of notable uses of the abalone shell, specifically – make sure you include it," he instructed, returning his attention to the book before him.
As he leaned forward in concentration a curtain of hair swept forward, effectively hiding his face. Hermione felt as if she could stand there for as long as his attention was fixed on the book, and that he would take no notice of her until he had finished whatever reading he had set out to do. The Professor had apparently perfected the art of tuning people out – given the state of constant chaos in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione had made wonderful progress in that area, and she found herself a little wrong-footed by being on the receiving end of such treatment.
When given the choice between returning to her parents' to retrieve her own books or getting to explore another facet of Snape's library, Hermione's way forward was clear: she returned to the study, where she quickly began scanning the shelves in search for a text that would help her. If she took a little longer than was necessary to find Beaumont Majoribanks' Encyclopedia of Coast-Dwelling Creatures, if her gaze lingered over-long on the back-issues of Potion Faire, and if her fingers strayed treacherously towards the spines of several ancient books, she told herself that she was merely being thorough in her search for the best resources.
Setting the Encyclopedia down with great care, she leafed through the ancient, care-worn pages, wondering if Snape owned any books that were new.
At length, after comparing her own notes scrupulously to those in the book, adding the potions that Snape had suggested, and making what other small corrections seemed best, Hermione felt she'd acquitted herself as thoroughly as possible. Feeling rather pleased – and making careful mental note of what properties and potions she had not thought to put on the list originally, in case the knowledge should come in handy – she headed back down to the down-stairs study.
Professor Snape appeared, once again, to be completely oblivious to her presence, so Hermione set her notes down on the table in a bid for his attention.
Without a word, the man turned to survey her additions, frowning thoughtfully. He nodded, closing the notebook and sliding it back toward her. Since this action was accompanied by no scathing remark or demand that she re-check her facts, Hermione took that to be a sign of approval.
"Time to turn your focus to practical laboratory work," he instructed, standing and beckoning for her to follow him into the lab proper.
"What potion am I to be brewing today, sir?"
"None. Your education and skill will be re-built from the ground up. That begins with the preparation of ingredients."
This caught Hermione off-guard. "I – what?"
Snape let out an exasperated sigh. Holding out an abalone shell in one hand and a stone mortar and pestle in the other, he instructed her, in clipped tones, to grind it.
Years of conditioned response to Snape's orders given in that tone kicked in, and Hermione meekly obeyed.
"Unacceptable," Snape said as he took the tools from Hermione's grasp, and with a few deft movements, he had reduced the abalone to a perfectly homogenous pile of glittering dust.
"Each ingredient must be perfectly prepared, and this preparation must be consistent in everything you do."
Taking a new abalone shell, he lay it in the mortar.
"Watch carefully," he instructed. He delivered a series of sharp, precise jabs at the shell, moving slowly so that Hermione could follow his movements. When the shell had been reduced to a series of fairly even shards, he paused.
"Broken," he said, and he set to work again, this time with a more controlled rocking movement, stopping after only a few passes.
"Crushed," he said, allowing her a moment to observe the small flakes of shell.
Now he repeated the motions he had first shown Hermione, leaving the shell once again as nothing more than a pile of dust. "Ground," he said.
As she watched him, Hermione wondered if she would ever gain his self-assuredness, the fluid grace of his movements. Lupin's appraisal of her master's skill came to mind, and she quite agreed with his assessment.
Snape was looking at her now, apparently awaiting a sign that she had grasped his demonstration. She nodded belatedly, and Snape turned the mortar and pestle to her, along with a new shell.
"Now," he said in a bored tone, "break it."
Hermione complied, trying to mimic his movements. The shards were not quite perfect, she thought, but they were close.
Snape turned the mortar over, creating a small pile on the work table's surface. He replaced the broken shell with a fresh one.
"Again, properly," he said.
Again, Hermione came close to the precision of Snape's movements – but not close enough.
After once again creating a small pile on the table top, Snape lifted a huge, bulging sack of abalone shells, setting it with a dull clatter on the table. Hermione's eyes widened even as her heart sank.
"You will break each of these into perfect shards," he said. "Keep them all in separate piles. I will check on your progress, and once you have satisfactorily broken them, you will progress to crushing them. If I discover," he added in a menacing tone, "that you are not pursuing this task with the entirety of your considerable concentration, I will be severely...displeased."
Setting her shoulders and lifting her chin in determination, Hermione nodded, wordlessly picking up the first of what appeared to be almost a hundred shells. She was set on not rising to his bait: she told herself that her professor would not hear her complain, would not see her look discouraged.
She brought the pestle down onto the first shell, pleased to see it crack and splinter in much the same way as the shell that Snape had attacked. Apparently satisfied that Hermione would do as she was bid, the man turned his back to her and vanished through the door leading to the little study, leaving Hermione alone in the lab with a tremendous amount of abalone shells to break. Hermione allowed herself to wonder what potion he was planning on brewing, that he would use her to prepare such a large quantity of ingredients. How do you know it's not just for your own good? a part of her that Hermione had always thought of as her inner Hufflepuff asked. He's a Slytherin, she reminded that part, finishing her first shell and dumping it into a neat pile near the two that Snape had generated, it wouldn't be like him to be anything but self-serving.
Of course, a different, sneaky little voice reminded her, you did offer essential servitude to him, trying to convince him to take you on. Besides, your technique does need improving..
Hermione recalled Snape's statement from the day before about 'working toward the betterment of her skills.' She supposed that this was the sort of thing that he'd been referring to.
Crushing abalone shells certainly wasn't glamorous, like brewing a particularly tricky draught, and it wasn't rewarding in the same way that studying and research was – but it was necessary, it was part of the process, and it would hopefully help her to be a better potioneer in the long run.
Coming to this acceptance significantly improved Hermione's frame of mind, and it was with a smile – and great care – that she continued to pursue her task.
As she tipped her mortar out to create the twenty-sixth pile, Snape came out of the study to watch her movements. He observed her in silence as she broke the twenty-seventh shell, and as she deposited it in a new pile, he sorted through the shards, sifting the pile through his fingers. Hermione, watching his face for signs of approval, saw him purse his lips – but it was not a displeased expression, merely a pensive one. Without diverting his gaze from the shells, he simply said "Continue, Miss Granger."
With a grin, Hermione did as she was told.
Snape could be as curt as he liked, but she knew he was pleased.
As Hermione worked her way through the bag of shells, covering the table with orderly piles of broken shells, Snape had begun brewing something at the other work-table. Although he seemed absorbed in his work, he periodically looked over to monitor her progress.
After almost an hour, Hermione broke the last shell, unable to keep a victorious smile off her face as she created the last pile.
Noticing the pause in her labor, the Potions Master walked over, Summoning two glass jars as he surveyed the neat piles.
"Put half of your crushed shells into this jar," he said, setting one down on the work bench, and beginning to scoop some of the broken shells into the jar still in his hand, "and leave the other half in piles to be inspected and then ground."
"Yes sir," Hermione replied as he swept roughly a third of the shells into his jar and moved toward the storeroom. Resolutely, she scooped the first pile of shards into the mortar, mimicking the rocking movements that Snape had showed her.
Time-consuming as the work was, it was not difficult. After getting comfortable with the motion of the pestle – and seeing Snape's nod of approval at her efforts – Hermione felt more comfortable to look around the room, watching the professor work on his potion.
"What potion is that, sir?" she asked, unable to recognize it by the ingredients that he was putting in.
"It is none yet," he said, remaining bent over the cauldron, apparently watching it quite closely.
"What potion will it be, then?"
The pause that followed made Hermione wonder if Snape had heard her at all, so clearly absorbed in observing the potion was he. A smaller part of her worried that he was simply refusing to answer her question, which suggested that she was in for a long, silent journey.
"A strengthening potion," he finally said.
"I've never seen a Strengthening Serum made with rose hips," Hermione commented, sealing the jar with half of her crushed abalone shells and continuing to form small piles of the rest.
Seeing that she was done with the jar, Snape moved over to take it into the storeroom, returning with another empty jar. "When you have finished crushing all the shells, begin to grind them – and collect the powder in this."
She nodded, and he moved back to observing his potion as he answered her unspoken question, "This is not a Strengthening Serum, specifically. It is a variant to be used by bed-ridden patients, to work against the atrophy of muscles and the wasting of the body."
"I've never heard of it," Hermione said, curiosity evident in her tone.
Snape spared a moment from his cauldron to cast her a withering look. "Of course you have not, Miss Granger. It has not been invented yet."
No response suggested itself to Hermione, so she quietly returned her attention to the work of crushing the remaining shells. As she moved to begin grinding them, Snape began to speak again.
"Given the intended use of the potion, why would rose hips be included, Miss Granger?"
She tilted the first mound of ground abalone dust into the jar as she thought about the answer. "Rose hips promote calmness and drowsiness, which I suppose would be helpful to give to people who are trying to recuperate. They're full of the Vitamin C, as well, which naturally promotes the immune system. Do wizards subscribe to the idea of Muggle vitamins and nutrients?" she asked, unsure of how closely Muggle science was matched by wizarding science.
"As with most things born of the Muggle world," Snape said drily, making notes as he peered into the cauldron, "there is a greatly...divided...response. Those of us who are not predisposed to view Muggles as incapable of intelligent thought accept, for the most part, that Muggles have the right idea of associating certain similarities to an inherent, shared aspect of different plants and minerals – Muggles are simply limited in the breadth of their ideas. For example, wizarding science understands that powdered moonstone and rose hips both promote emotional balance and calm, but there is no notion of that being a 'vitamin' that is shared by the stone and the plant. They simply have similar basic properties, which is why one can often times be substituted for the other in certain recipes. Why," he asked, throwing another glance in her direction, "do you suppose it is that rose hips are being used in this case, as opposed to powdered moonstone?"
"Moonstone is inherently magical," Hermione responded promptly, "whereas rose hips are not. I imagine that they're being used, then, because there's not as much chance that they'll interfere with any other potions that a patient might be taking, or spell effects they might be under."
Snape nodded, adding more ingredients to the cauldron and apparently forgetting about Hermione's existence.
The abalone shells were finally all ground, to Hermione's great pleasure, and so she tilted the last palm-full into the jar, sealing it decisively.
"Come stir this, counter-clockwise, while I put those away," Snape said after turning the flames beneath his cauldron down so the potion could simmer. "Be gentle about it."
There was, Hermione, decided as she took hold of the stirring rod, nothing quite so intimidating as being left in charge of a completely unfamiliar potion that your new master was developing.
"How long have you been developing this?" she called after him, stirring quite carefully.
"Not yet a month," Snape said as he returned and plucked the stirring rod from her grasp, looking at one of the timers on the wall and adding a clockwise stir, "although it has been a preoccupation of mine for..quite some time."
It didn't take a great deal of cleverness for Hermione to understand that his experience in the St. Mungo's hospital had likely provided the impetus for this experiment. She watched as Snape finished stirring the cauldron, decanting it and marking the vial with a date and recipe version.
"How are you testing it?" she asked as she trailed him out of the lab and up the stairs into the parlour.
"St. Mungo's is full of bed-ridden patients, is it not?" he asked acerbically, throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and sticking his hand into the flames. He withdrew his hand and stood up.
"When you return tomorrow, I expect your notebook to have lists of the properties, uses, and synergies of the Abyssinian shrivelfig, and you will have an essay about the primary function of abalone shells, with a great deal of emphasis placed upon its role in both the Scintillating Solution and Somnium," he said, fixing her with a dark look. "Although I do not expect you to linger here," he sneered, "you may remain for as long as you require to make use of my library."
"How long do you want the essay to be, sir?" Hermione asked, grateful that he was apparently leaving her to her own devices for the time being – she was beginning to grow very hungry indeed after missing breakfast, and the thought of sitting down to lunch with this man was a little more than she could yet bear.
"As long as it needs to be and no longer," he said impatiently. "You are a school-girl no more, Miss Granger, and as such you will need to exercise a great deal more initiative and self-guidance than you are apparently used to." Snape turned from her in a clear dismissal, and Hermione wondered if this mercurial side of Severus Snape was really all that better than when he had simply been consistently ill-tempered at Hogwarts. A time or two during the day, he had been – not nice, certainly – but neutral and cordial toward her, but it always seemed to be followed by his usual bad grace.
However, she could voice none of these thoughts, so she simply said "Yes, sir," and decided that the time to leave was now. She could always, she hoped, come back during the afternoon if she needed to avail herself of the library.
As she returned home, Hermione hoped that she soon would be familiar enough with her master that she might actually be allowed to eat – if not with him, at least at his home. After seven years of communal meals, and eating at the overcrowded kitchen at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow most of the time she was away from Hogwarts, it was very peculiar to be eating alone. Everybody in her life worked during the day, so lunch times were a very lonely occasion, graced only occasionally by Crookshanks, when he was feeling lucky enough to try to beg for some table scraps.
The solitude of the early afternoon abated a little when a little owl started tapping at the window as Hermione sat in her room, dictating notes on the potions that the shrivelfig was most famously used in. The tiny owl ruffled its tawny feathers as she removed its burden, giving Crookshanks a deeply mistrustful look. Crookshanks, for his part, seemed to have decided that the little bird was not worth his effort: after giving it a lazy yawn (menacingly showing off his pointed teeth), he curled up and pointedly ignored the visitor.
The envelope held a note from Harry.
Hermione,
Hope the first real day of your apprenticeship is going well. Can you tell if Snape – yeah, I know, "it's Professor Snape, Harry" - is going to have you working on weekends? Only, Ron, Remus, and I were thinking that, since this next Sunday is the nineteenth, we might do something for your birthday – Ron suggested a day trip somewhere, maybe. What do you reckon are the chances we can steal you away from him already? We don't want to take up your dinner, since I know that's when your parents are about (how are they doing?), but you know we've got to do something.
Let us know,
Harry.
This note cheered Hermione remarkably. She hadn't quite forgotten that her birthday was fast approaching, but neither had she been really looking forward to any plans for it. The date was so close to the start of school that it had often passed fairly unnoticed while they were at Hogwarts, although Harry had kept up a pretty good track record of remembering before dinner was over on the day of. It was nice to think that the fact that they had not only remembered, but were making plans ahead of time, was a sign of maturity, although Hermione had a suspicion that it might have something to do with Harry's association with Remus. Either way, it was a thoughtful gesture.
Since she was planning to return to Spinner's End soon to do a touch of research anyway, it would hopefully be a simple enough thing to find out Snape's plan for the weekend, so Hermione decided to hold off on sending a response to Harry until she could actually answer his question.
"Thank you," she told the bird politely, gesturing for it to be on its way out the window again, "but I won't be needing your services."
Looking gravely offended, the little bird exited, and Hermione sat back in satisfaction, finishing her notes on the shrivelfig and collecting what books she thought might be helpful for the essay on abalone shells as she prepared to return to Snape's house.
Sounds of activity in the lab suggested that Snape was still at work over one potion or another, and as Hermione saw no need to disturb him, she settled quietly into the study. Pulling out her Dicto-Quill, she resumed working on the abalone essay while searching through the shelves for further resources.
It was hours before she was done, but Hermione was pleased. The essay, she felt, was short and to the point – most of her time had been spent in simply reading through the various books she had pulled down, purely for her own pleasure. She regretfully pushed the books to one side, giving her parchment a final read-through before rolling it up and sealing it.
It was only when she stretched and began replacing the different source books she'd used that Hermione was struck by how late it really was. She had returned to the study at half two, and it was nearly eight in the evening – and she had heard no sign in the entire stretch of time that Snape had ever left the lab. She had never really had so much time uninterrupted while at Hogwarts, or during summers at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place – it was an odd sensation, to have been able to work for so many hours at a time without being distracted or waylaid. Hermione found that she quite liked it, and then found herself wondering how peculiar it was that she would find a kindred spirit – in matters of reading and studying, at least – in Severus Snape, of all people. I wonder how long we both would have worked, she wondered idly, if I hadn't finished my essay when I had? The idea that, with no external interference, she and Snape might find themselves totally devoted to their pursuits at all hours of the day, regardless of health or schedule, was amusing – and intriguing. This apprenticeship might be more opportune than she'd thought.
Feeling her own pangs of hunger, and knowing that it was unlikely that Snape had stopped for lunch at all, Hermione debated the value of bringing the man food. She did have a certain duty to him, after all, and she hoped that if she treated him with enough respect and care, he might begin to drop his acerbic facade, or at least tone it down.
Suiting action to thought, she made her way to the front step and Apparated from there to a small take-away place near her parents' home, where she ordered two shepherd's pies, wishing that she'd paid more attention to what Snape tended to eat while at Hogwarts. Really, after sharing two or three meals a day with the castle's inhabitants for seven years – even if it was from across the room – she'd have thought she might have noticed what they ate at some point.
Still, the pies were likely a safe bet with any good Englishman, she hoped, making her way once again to Spinner's End.
She could still hear Snape in the laboratory, and she hesitantly made her way down to join him. It was as if she'd never left: he was bent over a cauldron, scribbling notes as he peered at the bubbling liquid, a neat stack of ingredients on the table beside him. She stood in the doorway for a long moment, unsure of how best to alert him to her presence.
Before she had a chance to screw up her courage, Snape was turning from his cauldron, blinking at her in apparent confusion, a frown twisting his lips.
"What is this?" he asked, throwing an inquisitive scowl at the plates of shepherd's pie in her hands.
"I brought dinner," Hermione said, lifting one plate vaguely. "I was sure you hadn't eaten in at least as long as I, and I know that I'm hungry..." she trailed off lamely, suddenly certain that she'd done the wrong thing.
"Tell me, Miss Granger, when was the last time that it was acceptable to bring food into a potions laboratory?"
Oh. He was worried about safety protocol? Hermione thought this a bit rich, given that it was evident that he kept his lab in pristine condition and the plates had never left her hand which made contamination either way seem highly improbable.
"I'm sorry," she said coolly, at a loss for any further response.
Snape swept closer after turning the flames off under his cauldron and casting a stasis charm on the work station.
"This was unnecessary," he informed her brusquely, but he gestured for her to precede him up the stairway, guiding her down the hall and into the kitchen.
"It was just as simple to get food for two people as for one," she responded primly, wondering if he would take the act of kindness better if she down-played it.
"As you say," he said, with another frown, before accepting the plate that she was offering. While Hermione's method of eating was nowhere near as filled with unholy gusto as Ron's, she felt like an ill-mannered heathen in comparison to Snape's dainty manner. Although he was not picking at it needlessly, he cut it scrupulously into almost miniscule bites, eating at a pace which Hermione was sure would keep him at the table until midnight.
"I was wondering what the schedule of the next two weeks was going to look like," Hermione ventured, reminded suddenly of Harry's plans for her birthday.
"Already trying to find ways out of your duties, my apprentice?" Snape asked with a sneer.
"No, sir," Hermione said frankly, "I'm actually trying to find a way to not shirk my lessons. It's my birthday this Sunday, you see, and Harry -" she instantly regretted mentioning her friend by name, as Snape's face darkened with a scowl " -, Ron, and Remus were trying to plan something, only I want to be sure not to miss anything."
Snape stood up from the table, and for a moment Hermione wondered if her request had so annoyed him – until he retrieved two glasses and a pitcher of water before returning to the table, where he leveled an even stare at her. She noticed that he did not fill her glass, simply his own.
"I did inform you, did I not, that free time would be an infrequent luxury?"
"You did, sir."
Snape continued to frown a moment longer, and Hermione waited, trying not to look too anxious. She would be just as happy to celebrate on another night, and was half-wishing she could take back the request if it was going to make Snape think that she didn't value the apprenticeship.
"You know sir, never mind, I-"
"No no, Miss Granger," Snape said evenly. "Your Sunday afternoon – this time 'round, at least – shall be your own."
Hermione, struck by the good fortune of Snape's apparent grace, came near to gaping at the man in front of her.
"...And I hope it is an enjoyable one, for you will have very little time with your friends once these two weeks have gone by."
Hermione was still gaping at her master, although now it was in apprehension of the ominous tone of Snape's words.
"What...what will change after two weeks, sir?"
"I will be away on a journey of sorts. The country's climate being what it currently is, politically, I think it will benefit me to spend a good deal of my near future abroad."
"Abroad?" Hermione asked, her voice a squeak of surprise.
"For possibly as much as a year." There was no emotion in Snape's voice or face as he said this – he could have been discussing the weather, or the number of stones in the floor of his laboratory, for all the interest he showed.
"A year, Professor?" Hermione repeated, coming very close to incredulous.
"Tut tut, Miss Granger," the man responded, Vanishing his half-eated pie and its plate with a wave of his hand, "Less than two days into the apprenticeship, and you already find cause to question my judgment? Where is that vaunted Gryffindor steadfastness? Where the manic dedication?"
"It's...that is..." Hermione could think of no satisfying way to respond to Snape. She stood, giving a jerky nod of her head. "I'll be taking my leave for the evening, Professor," she said. "You'll find my notes and my essay already prepared in the study."
Without waiting for a response, Hermione walked to the front door, where she Apparated directly to Grimmauld Place.
A very startled Remus and Teddy Lupin looked up at her at the sound of her Apparation.
"That...man," she said with great feeling – unable to bring herself, even now, to use any explicitly derogatory name for Snape - "has up and decided to take a holiday! Goodness knows how long out of the country, on a whim of his!"
Lupin stared at her blankly for a moment before the meaning of her words sank in.
"Severus is going abroad?" he asked, "I hope he's taking you with him."
"Of – of course he is," she said quickly, although she remembered with a slight panicky feeling that he had never actually specified that she would be accompanying him, simply that she would have very little free time. "He couldn't leave me, could he? It'd be a violation of his contract, I'm sure of it."
"I do not think it would be simple for a Master to leave their apprentice behind, no," Lupin responded, "I had just thought, from your behavior, that it was something more alarming than learning that you're to be leaving the Isles. Is that really so bad?"
He picked Teddy out of the boy's chair, moving into the sitting room with Hermione trailing after.
"I suppose it isn't," Hermione admitted, "but to just decide it for me like that, and with so little notice, it was just...rather shocking, I suppose," she finished, feeling suddenly very foolish for having reacted as strongly as she did.
"It's his right as your instructor, Hermione," Lupin chided her gently. "And, considering who it is we're talking about, I should be counting myself lucky that I had two whole weeks of notice, were I you."
This gentle tease was enough to replace Hermione's frown with a wan smile.
"I guess I am lucky, at that," she agreed. "And even if he's really...high-handed about things, I honestly think that this apprenticeship is going to work out really well, some how. He's so obviously competent in his subject, I can't help but respect him for it and want to learn from it. I'm only hoping that he'll be a little more...human, really, as time goes on."
"It is a long time since Severus has had someone against whom he did not need to guard himself," Remus said with a note of regret in his voice. "He has spent three of the last four years lying to one of the most powerfully evil wizards of magical history; he's spent most of his adult life being manipulated by Dumbledore and abhorred by students; and he's only recently been regarded with anything other than deepest mistrust by the wizarding community at large. Before that he was the unfavored runt of our year at Hogwarts, escaping from the castle only to find himself trapped in the home of a father who hated his very existence. I do not think that being human is something he's had a chance to practice much."
Hermione nodded.
"He's an excellent Potions Master and a powerful wizard. Focus on what good he can do you and maybe, in time, he'll benefit from what good you can do him," Remus added, rocking the visibly sleepy Teddy in his arms.
"Don't let Ron hear you talking like that," Hermione said with a smile. "He'll think that Snape's recruited you for some nefarious plot."
"I've been found out!" said Remus with mock dismay. "There goes the whole plan."
"Thank you, Remus," Hermione said as the man stood up, apparently heading to put Teddy to sleep. "I guess this new arrangement will just take some getting used to."
"If there's anyone who's proven themselves capable of adapting to anything, Hermione, it's you," the man said solemnly. "Good night."
As Hermione sank into her pillows a short while later, she allowed Crookshanks to curl up on top of her, sinking her fingers into his ginger fur with a sigh of relaxation.
"It was a long day, Crooks," she told the cat sleepily, "maybe tomorrow will be better." As dreams crept over her, Hermione found herself wondering if it was a House trait for Slytherins to be so exhausting to deal with.
A/N - there you have it. It's been a bit of a jam-packed week, but it's not yet Saturday, so I feel pretty good. I'm trying to do enough writing in the next few days to get ahead of the chapter schedule so I'm not always so worried about getting chapters up.
This story's up to more than a thousand hits from more than five-hundred individual viewers from more than 30 different countries. That's pretty cool in and of itself, guys - THANK YOU ALL. Now, please review, my dears.
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