"What precisely do you think you're doing?" Hermione turned, once again feeling regret for taking this job, to face her former Potions professor and current employer. Approximately three years ago, Severus Snape turned in his resignation to Hogwarts, all but flipped the new Headmaster the bird, and walked out. He'd had several complaints against him, despite being on his best behavior, simply because parents were concerned how his past would affect the welfare of their children. He'd had enough.
Not one month later, he rented a shop front in Diagon Alley, and opened an apothecary. Twoyears ago, to his horror, Hermione Granger turned in her application. Her knowledge and general adequacies for the job forced him to hire her.
Slowly, Hermione stood, rubbing her palms against her robe-clad thighs in irritation (and to keep from hexing him, but she told herself it was irritation.)
"What precisely does it look like I'm doing?" She bit back, and regretted it when his eyes flashed dangerously. She chewed her lip, but held his state.
"It looks as though you've rearranged my shelves to put the Muscle Crap Relief potions with the feminine hygiene products." It annoyed him thoroughly when she rolled her eyes as thought this should have been the most obvious thing in the world.
"Because it makes sense. Why wouldn't they be here? Women get cramps during...their time of the month."
"Runners get cramps after a 5K, as well, Miss Granger, which is exactly why I've put the potions with the other pain relief products."
"Yes. And I've left some there, as well." They stared each other down for several moments before Hermione finally relaxed her stance, her hands landing on her hips in exasperation. "Look. You've made me manager of your store so you don't have to worry about these things. Will you let me do my job?" With a sneer and a huff, he spun away from her dramatically and disappeared into his office, leaving Hermione to grin triumphantly and straighten the potions she'd repositioned.
Forty-five minutes later, when she was satisfied with the way her shelves look, her lifted herself to her feet, and winced when her knee gave a particularly nasty throb of pain and nearly gave out from under her. She caught herself quickly on the edge of the shelf and continued to her feet, rubbing the offending joint in annoyance. She made it back to the checkout counter and leaned against it. Only fifteen minutes before she was due to clock out. She intended to go home and take the longest, hottest bath of her life.
"Doing alright there, my love?" Hermione smiled at her coworker, a woman maybe ten years their boss's senior, and sweet as can be. She'd been hired as soon as he'd opened shop, but denied the manager position as she intended to retire within the next few years. Frannie brushed aside her greying hair, cropped short for easy managing, and adjusted her half-moon spectacles on her nose.
"I'm alright, yes." Hermione said, still rubbing her knee. Frannie's eyes strayed to her fingers, working the joint.
Four years prior, during the war between the Death Eaters lead by Voldemort, and the rest of the wizarding world, Hermione had been captured and tortured mercilessly by one of Voldemort's most sociopathic cronies, Bellatrix Lestrange. She cast Cruciatus for so long, Hermione was sure she would go mad. Finally, after what may have been hours, the curse stopped, but Hermione was left scarred by a hand-carved 'Mudblood' in her left forearm and a nasty aftereffect of the curse that had settled into her left knee and both shoulders. She supposed they weren't the worse things to walk away with from a war that killed children and adults alike.
She checked the clock. Ten more minutes. She straightened a few shelves, charmed a few price tags straight, and was just about the clock out when Severus chose that exact moment that her knee failed to step out of his office. He caught her lithely before she could hit the floor and righted her, snatching his hands back as though he could catch a disease if he touched her for too long.
"Would you like to tell me why I'm brewing these incredibly time-consuming potions for you if you're not going to take them?" Hermione straightened her robes and shoved her hair out of her face, shooting him a scathing glance.
"I do take them," she said, and when he raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, she held a hand up. "Sometimes the symptoms are a little more than the potion can handle. Now, if you don't mind, I want nothing more than to spend the rest of the night in my bathtub." She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow and motioned for her to follow him into the laboratory. Frannie eyed her curiously, and Hermione shrugged.
"Come with me," Severus said impatiently. He held the door open to the laboratory and followed her through, allowing the door to swing shut none-too-gracefully behind them. She halted before him, and he nearly collided with her. She turned to look at him expectantly, and upon further examination, he saw how truly exhausted she looked. He wondered offhandedly if she too had nightmares like he did. He certainly understood the exhaustion of chronic pain, being a man in his early middle ages.
"Am I working you too hard, Miss Granger?" He asked, and his voice held no malice. Hermione stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by his irregular tone.
"I beg your pardon?" She finally said, watching him carefully.
"Is the job too much for you? Is it too hard on you physically?"
"No, sir. Have I given any indication that it might be?" His eyes strayed to her knee, and he raised an eyebrow.
"You very nearly collapsed on the floor a moment ago. Does that not constitute suspicion that you may be over taxed?" Hermione sighed and sat gingerly on a stool by his work bench. She chewed her lip a moment and considered her words.
"It's not the job that is overtaxing. It's the pain. Sometimes it's more than I can handle. I apologize for my attitude."
"Are you sleeping?" His question caught her off guard. "Are you having...dreams?" She narrowed her eyes at him. She expected to be scolded for her tone and attitude toward him, but his voice sounded almost sympathetic. Slowly, she nodded her head.
"Yes, but how did you-"
"How I know is not important, Miss Granger, suffice it to say that I can tell the signs." He noticed her right hand rubbing her left forearm absently and scowled at her. "How bad is the pain, and how do the potions help?"
"On a scale of one to ten? Fifteen on a bad day, eight on a good one. The potions ease the pain slightly, and the joints don't swell as much as they would without them. It doesn't relieve it completely, though." She watched him nod and pass to a narrow door on the opposite wall. He disappeared behind it for a moment and she heard the clinking of glass and metal, and he emerged carrying three potions bottles. He handed the three to her, and seemed to calculate the words he would use next.
"Cease your use of your regular potions, and begin these in tomorrow. The first is a stronger pain remedy that targets the nerves specifically. Do not take this on an empty stomach, you will regret it." She nodded obediently while he raised an eyebrow. "The last two you may take this evening. The blue one is Dreamless Sleep. Now, I want you to be careful with these two potions-"
"They have a high rate of dependency, sir, I know."
"Yes, don't interrupt." He said sharply. She apologized softly. "The third one-" he paused and considered her a moment before crossing to his own desk and picking up a folded piece of parchment. He returned to her and held it out to her slowly, almost unsure if he should let her take it. She closed her hand around the parchment and looked at him curiously. "The last yellow vial I suggest you take before reading your mail this evening. Once you've done that, read this parchment." He looked uncomfortable and Hermione nearly asked why but held her tongue. She stood carefully, using her good leg as the main support. She almost jumped when she felt his hand on her elbow, steadying her. She was heading toward the door when she turned back to face him.
"Sir, what is the last potion?" He looked uncomfortable again.
"It's for nausea."
"Why would my mail cause nausea?"
"I'm not comfortable discussing it today. Go home." She shot him one last confused look before tucking the potions into her robes and opening the door to the laboratory. Frannie raised her eyebrows at her, and Hermione just shook her head.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Fran." The older woman smiled and nodded while Hermione grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder from the fireplace on the wall behind the register and stepped in. She spoke her destination quietly, distracted, and stepped out in the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
The smell of lamb and carrots immediately assaulted her nose and her stomach growled loudly. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Mister Weasley all turned to see her stepping from the hearth, brushing her robes off. She sat down next to Harry and accepted the cup of tea he offered to her. She sipped at it, staring at the knots in the wooden table.
"Work go okay?" Ron asked her. She looked up and smiled, nodding slowly. He still looked at her the way her used to, when they were seeing each other formally. He still looked at her with admiration and longing, and when he did, guilt gnawed at her core. Even though he agreed that they were better off as friends, he still looked at her that way.
"Yeah, it went fine. Just another day, I suppose. I've got different potions to try for the pain. Hey, have I got any mail?" Ginny nodded and slid two letters down the table to her. They were watching her closely as she lifted the first letter and set it aside. Junk mail from a witch's magazine begging for subscribers. She picked up the second letter and furrowed her brow at the official Ministry of Magic seal. Harry rested a hand on her arm, causing her to look up at him. He looked nervous.
"Before you open that, Hermione, you need to know that there are always options." She felt her breath quicken, suddenly terrified of what the envelope may contain. She placed the letter back on the table and unstoppered the yellow potion, swallowed it in one go, and set the vial aside.
"Hermione, what was that?" Ginny asked carefully.
"For nausea. Professor Snape suggested I take it before opening my mail. You all just confirmed the need." She lifted the letter and opened it slowly.
"Dear Miss Granger," she read aloud.
"We feel it necessary to inform you of a law intended to pass requiring all muggle born witches and wizards that are of age, or will be of age by September 1st, to marry a witch or wizard too of age no later than October 1st of this year, 2001." She felt her fingers shaking and was suddenly aware of the stillness in the room. Mrs. Weasley had stopped stirring the stew on the stove, and Mr. Weasley sat across from them with his teacup poised in front of him in midair. Her three friends watched her with caution as she continued to read.
"Due to the dramatic decrease in magical blood in the Pure Blood community, all mixed blood couples will be required to produce a child within the first year of marriage. Upon verification of the first-born child, the couple shall be awarded fifty-thousand gallions." Her voice had grown higher in pitch and she'd begun to truly shake. She yanked one trembling hand through her chaos of hair and willed herself to continue reading.
"Attached is a list of available suiters. You will note that the first list contains suiters within your immediate vicinity. The second list includes suiters further away. The lists are separate for your convenience." She pulled the second parchment from behind the first one and her eyes ran over it quickly. At the very top of the list were, of course, Harry and Ron. The next name from theirs was—she swallowed hard and suddenly realized the need for nausea relief—Severus Snape. The rest of the names were ones she recognized as either former Deatheaters or those she had never even given a thought. Most were names she'd never heard before. Hermione suddenly felt faint and dropped the parchments to lower her head into her hands.
"Hermione," She raised her head to look at Ron. Before he spoke again, she shook her head sadly.
"Ron...I-" She took a deep breath. "I can't marry you. You know it would never work out, and we would make each other miserable." He smiled sadly and reached across the table to pat her hand kindly. She did not miss the glare aimed at her by Mrs. Weasley
"No," he said with a smile. "I was going to ask what was on the parchment Snape gave you." She gasped and snatched it up from the table, having forgotten about it completely. She pressed her lips together, her eyebrows knitted into a line on her forehead, and unfolded the parchment. This time, she read silently to herself.
"To whom it may concern,
I, Severus Tobias Snape, formally offer my proposal of marriage to Miss Hermione Jean Granger." Hermione dropped the parchment and bolted for the kitchen door, desperate for the bathroom. Despite the potion, she felt sick rising in her throat and just barely made it to the toilet.
The five others left in the kitchen watched the door slam behind her, baffled. Harry reached over and grabbed up the parchment, blanching. He turned it toward the rest of them, allowing them to read it as well. Ron looked angry, while Ginny looked merely shocked. Mister and Missus Weasley gasped in unison.
Hermione leaned back from the toilet, resting her back against the bathtub. After a moment, she lifted herself from the floor, splashed her face with cold water, took several deep breaths and took the stairs back to the kitchen. She reentered with a determined face, flipped Severus' missive over and scribbled on the back. For a moment, she paused. But then she seemed to come to a hard decision and sent the letter through the Floo to the Apothecary.
"Hermione, what-?" Harry was shaking his head and watching her, confused.
"I accepted," she snapped, and left the kitchen again.