Hermione heard his nasal tones before she even saw his face.
It had been her first day of potions class. He was grumbling under his breath to a Slytherin student she didn't recognize, frown as grim and sullen as she remembered. She wished she had chosen a different seat because it soon became apparent that the four-student wide distance between her and a familiar potions professor was not adequate given the ferocity of his unpleasantness—a characteristic not softened by youth.
No—this Severus Snape was every bit as surly and disagreeable as he had been as her professor twenty years in the future.
It had been difficult to reconcile how a man who had been so cruel to them as a professor could be so dedicated to fighting for their side—but then she saw the memories. Snape was a man who had been bitter, but devoted, right until his end. He had loved Lily Evans and lost her, first to James Potter, and then to death, and had spent the next two decades repenting—albeit in his own ways.
The present Snape was not that man. This Snape had not yet made that ultimate mistake, the final nail in the Potter's coffins, by informing Voldemort about the Potter's connection to the prophecy. He was a teenager whose bitterness, fresh and deep from the consequences from his own actions, was setting him down the path of pureblood supremacy.
He was also rivaling Umbridge for the most insufferable person she'd ever come across.
"You're doing it wrong." He huffed at his potions partner and grabbed the vial from the other Slytherin's hand. "A drop every thirty seconds, not every ten."
The other Slytherin shook his head and backed away from the cauldron while Snape continued muttering. "Why did I even agree to be partners? You're about as useful as a wet log."
"Ouch. Keep it up, Severus, and I'll have to knock our potion onto the floor."
Snape glared at his potions partner. "I don't care that you don't care about your potions grade. Just stay out of the way, Rosier."
Hermione stilled. Rosier. She hadn't recognized the face, but she knew the name. A loyal Death Eater who had fought until his bitter end, taking a chunk of Alastor Moody's nose with him.
It was wishful thinking to think that the only future Death Eaters she would come across would be Snape and Regulus Black. How would she have felt standing there two years ago in potions, if she had known Draco Malfoy had taken the mark? Hermione had not believed Harry at the time because she was naive, and thought that since they were still children, maybe they would be saved from having to do the unforgivable.
Hermione balled her fists up against her robes and dug her fingernails into her palms.
How many times had she done the unforgivable?
How many more times would she do it?
She did not consider herself a fighter, not in the way Harry was, and yet the sensation that washed over her felt familiar. The anxiety that normally sat, blanketing her back and shoulders faded away as she focused on the back of Rosier's head. She felt herself grip onto her wand.
"Miss Granger, let's see what you've been cooking up!"
Her head jerked away from Rosier. It was Professor Slughorn.
Rosier hasn't done anything yet. He's just a student. What in Merlin's name were you going to do?
As Professor Slughorn walked over to peer into her cauldron, Hermione found that she couldn't answer that question.
"What an excellent concoction!" He gave her a grin. "I was a bit nervous because you didn't have a partner, but you're doing just fine. Good work."
"Thank you, professor."
It had been jarring to recognize some of the Hogwarts professors. They thought she was quiet, studious, a loner, and slightly odd—something she was certain would be explained away when they met her again in 1991, if they remembered her at all. She had wanted to confide about her situation with Professor McGonagall, at least, but the Ministry official had been adamant about keeping the information limited, which Hermione knew was the right decision—her overwhelming loneliness aside.
"Now where did you study before this? You've got a knack for it."
"All over, professor. I moved around quite a lot."
"Ah, I see—and your parents did what, exactly?"
A few students around her quieted, no doubt taking advantage of their professor's propensity for chattiness to eavesdrop and learn more about the new student.
"Uh…they were dentists. Sort of akin to healers."
"Amazing! Muggle healers!" Professor Slughorn beamed at her. Someone snorted behind her. It might have been Rosier.
"They must have been so proud of you to have taken such care with your education."
"Yes, they did." She lifted her chin. "Like a lot of Muggles, they really valued it."
"Wonderful, I'll be expecting great things from you." He nodded at her and moved along down the aisle to look at other students' cauldrons.
"Muggle healers?" She heard Rosier mutter under his breath. "I'm surprised they can even read."
Hermione gripped her ladle and started stirring her cauldron. Her fingers were tight around the iron. She did not trust herself not to grasp her wand if her hands were free.
What am I doing?
It wasn't even the worst comment she had ever heard. She had been subject to more than a few abuses growing up and had mostly—save for a flying fist—ignored them.
It seemed that barely anything changed in the twenty years between the present and her time. It would take a second war for people to see how much horror blood prejudice could inflict on their society, how systemic and structural it was, and how it was wielded like a scythe to divide and conquer. It was easy to think that the brutal finality of Voldemort's death would be the end of it all, but if prejudice, even hidden away, would be left to fester, there would always be a man hungry for power, ready to exploit it.
It had been hard to think about the future when they were on the run, busy thinking about where the next horcrux would be. Now, here, she was thinking of nothing else but it.
What of the world after, when she got back?
Would it remain as broken as it was?
Would she?
Hermione kept her distance from the students and faculty of Hogwarts. However, not wanting to be caught off guard by the appearance of another soon-to-be Death Eater, she observed the Slytherins and soon learned that along with Regulus Black, Snape, and Rosier, there was Mulciber and Avery, who had not yet graduated like she had initially thought. Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery all circled each other, with Snape either floating around them or by himself, but Regulus didn't seem to interact with them at all, choosing instead to sit alone or with his Quidditch teammates.
Regulus Black was hard to figure out. Some days he ignored everyone, burying himself behind a book and shrugging off the attention. Other days, he hovered in the thick of it. Quick and cool, he could deftly walk in and out of any situation. There was no question of his belonging wherever he ended up that day—whether it was in the middle of the Slytherin Quidditch team or on the edges of the library.
That was the privilege of being pureblood royalty, Hermione supposed.
He had not gone out of his way to interact with her since their run-in over the table in the library. Though, she would admit, the younger Black brother hadn't ignored her either. There was a 'watch it' when he almost bowled into her in the hallway; a 'heads up' when he ran past to chase after an escaped snitch; and a simple nod when they locked eyes in the library. He—sitting at her favorite table again. She—annoyed. Again.
It probably was not good to be on the radar of a future Death Eater—even if he did turn out to be one of the good ones—but Regulus Black hadn't done enough of anything to warrant any drastic action from her yet.
Hermione could not necessarily say the same for his brother or his friends. After their first DADA class together, Lily and the Marauders waved her down in the Great Hall.
"Hey, Hermione!" Lily exclaimed from her seat as Hermione walked past the Gryffindor table.
"Oh, hi—" Hermione slowed her stride and swept her eyes over the Marauders. Sirius nodded at her, mouth full while Remus and James waved hello. Pettigrew, upon meeting her gaze, immediately dropped his eyes to his plate.
"Wicked arm you got there. You kicked Prewett's arse." James grinned at her.
"Um—"
"Where'd you learn to duel like that?" Remus inquired.
"Well—"
"What spell did you use for that trick with the ceiling?" Sirius interjected, mouth still full.
"Uh—"
"Good Godric, everyone. Let her get a word in." Lily shot her a grin. "Sit with us for breakfast and tell us all of your secrets?"
Merlin. "No! Uh—" Hermione tried to look apologetic. How many times would she have to turn down an invitation before they would stop reaching out? "Sorry, it's just that I only meant to grab something to go. I have to go back to the library."
"Oh, okay." Lily gave her a smile, but Hermione could tell she was disappointed. Lily was the kind of person who laid out all her emotions on her face—she wasn't interested in hiding them. Hermione knew she was like that as well and she wondered if what the Gryffindors saw on her face when she looked at them was the reason they wouldn't leave her alone—because when she looked at them, she saw her best friends.
"We'll see you at the Quidditch game, though? We're rooting for Ravenclaw, of course."
"Maybe...I haven't decided yet." She said quickly. "Sorry, I've really got to go. Bye!" Hermione waved goodbye and hustled over to an empty section of the Ravenclaw table. She sat down, back towards the Gryffindor table, and opened a book.
Sirius dropped a half-eaten piece of toast back on his place and glanced at the Ravenclaw table. "I feel like she doesn't like us."
Lily fiddled with her empty mug. "I think she's just shy."
"Maybe she thinks we're annoying," Remus said.
"Maybe she just thinks you're annoying. Ow—" James yelped as an elbow jabbed into his side.
Remus grumbled. "She did change seats from the one next to mine in Arithmancy."
Sirius chimed in. "Well, she turned me down when I invited to our party at the start of the semester" and Peter added, "She doesn't even talk to me".
"No, it's me." Lily rested her chin on her hands and grimaced. "I came on too strong the first week. Practically begged her to be my friend. She ran away from me then."
"Aw, Lils." James wrapped an arm around Lily. "Don't feel bad. You just have a big heart." She cracked a smile and squeezed his hand.
"It's just...it can't be easy starting a new school as a seventh year. It doesn't seem like she hangs out with anyone."
Remus picked up his coffee cup and glanced over at the Ravenclaw, thoughtful. "We can't force her to be friends with us. Either she likes us or she doesn't."
"We should probably just give up," Peter said, and Lily frowned.
"Well," Sirius jumped in. "Speaking of Ravenclaw—how do we think next week's match is going to turn out?"
"I haven't gotten a chance to scope out Slytherin's practices yet, but I think they might get knocked out early this year—I'm calling it."
Sirius cackled. "James, you say that every year."
"And every year what I say gets closer and closer to the truth."
"Slytherin made the finals last year."
"And they were screwed before they even got onto the pitch."
"Because one chaser ended up flying like a wet mop?" Remus scoffed. "Sure—it's not like they've got six other players. You have to admit, Sirius's brother is a good seeker."
"And a prick."
James exchanged a glance with the rest of the table. "How's it going with your brother there, Pads?"
Sirius sighed. "Still will barely talk to me—my parent's influence, no doubt—if I even spot him at all. I have no idea what he does all day except quidditch."
"I saw him in the library the other day," Peter offered.
Remus chuckled. "That's why you haven't seen him anywhere. When's the last time you set foot in the library?"
"Shove off—" Sirius threw a piece of toast in his direction, which Remus expertly dodged.
"He was sitting near Hermione," Peter added. "I think at one point they were actually talking."
"Oh, that's weird. Reg usually won't talk to someone unless he's known them for years and even then, he'll barely string together a string of words."
"You make it sound like he's mute," replied Lily.
"Selectively so, it seems. At least in my presence."
The table was silent for a moment as the group chewed through their breakfast.
"Hufflepuff's throwing the party at the end of the month."
Remus cracked his knuckles on the table. "Alright, who owes me a fiver?"
"Bollocks," Sirius shook his head. "I really thought they were going to skip hosting this year."
"Because Lily knocked over all of their plants last time?" Remus sniggered.
"I knocked over one plant and only because I tripped over someone's shoe. Who takes off their shoes at a party?"
"It was James who took out the rest of the plants," Peter quipped.
"That's right, Pete." Lily narrowed her stare at James. "What was your excuse?"
"I had a cold!" James exclaimed. "My balance was already off."
"Did you ever replace their fig leaf tree?"
"Of course."
"Prongs is nothing if not a gentleman," Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "Who wants to guess how many plants he'll knock over this time?"
James groaned while the rest of the table jumped into frenzied discussion.
"Three plants."
"Two but one of them will be their giant cactus."
"One ceiling one and then he'll fall asleep on a couch."
"Sod off, all of you," James said, and the table laughed.