Hermione yawned lazily, stretching in her bed under the warm summer sunshine. She grinned across the room at Ginny who, similarly lazy, gave her a smile before snuggling into her own covers. The peace was quickly evaporated, though.

The door crashed open, and Ron pulled the covers off Hermione, shouting his good morning far too enthusiastically for her liking. She threw a pillow at him, accurate despite her half-closed eyes, and had the satisfaction of seeing him tumble sideways onto Ginny. Ginny pushed him off with an unintelligible grumble, and he made a resounding thump as he hit the floor.

Undeterred, he picked himself up, and shook Hermione's shoulder, laughing at her disgruntled expression. She pushed his arm away, pressing her face into her remaining pillow.

'Go 'way,' she complained indistinctly as he sat on the bed, bouncing her curled up figure off the mattress.

'Come on, 'Mione,' he pleaded. 'It's eleven o'clock, for Pete's sake.'

She rolled over, sticking her tongue out at him as he tried to catch her on the way past. He sighed.

'Look, there's a reason for you to get up,' he told her, sensing her interest. 'He's about six foot eight, has black greasy hair, doesn't like the sunlight, and is sitting in the kitchen at this very minute!'

Hermione sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.

'Severus is here?' she asked breathlessly.

Ron, amused by her sudden wakefulness, nodded, grinning. She pushed him out of the way, scrambling off the bed.

'For heaven's sake, Ron, why didn't you tell me?'

'I just did,' he protested.

Hermione gave him a Look, turning away to rummage through a chest of drawers.

'Go downstairs and tell him I'll be down as soon as I can,' she told him, ushering her friend out of the door. 'And don't make any jokes about me and mornings.'

Ron looked affronted.

'Why not?'

'Please, Ron, I'm trying to make a good impression here.'

Ron snorted.

'If you wanted to make a good impression, you'd have been awake when he got here,' he muttered, then saw the look on her face. 'Alright, alright, I'm going.'

Hermione pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, dragging a brush mercilessly through her tangled curls and shoving them up into a ponytail. She spared an envious glance for Ginny's mop of red hair peeking out from under the bedclothes, and left the room, walking down to the kitchen.

Severus Snape was sitting at the kitchen table in his usual black ensemble, drinking tea and chatting comfortably with Molly and Charlie. He didn't seem at all disgruntled at having to wait for her to get up.

Charlie looked up as Hermione shuffled in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

'And here she is,' he announced. 'Good morning sunshine!'

Hermione made a face at him, accepting the cup of coffee Molly pushed into her hands with relief. Snape nodded to her as she sat at the table, still trying to clear the sleepy fog from her head.

'Good morning, Hermione,' he said softly, clamping down on his mind, which was trying to tell him how adorable she looked having just got up. Ron, despite instructions to the contrary, had informed him that Hermione was not good with mornings, and that he had had to fight her to get her out of bed. Snape couldn't help thinking what it would be like to sleep beside Hermione and have to force her to wake up.

She smiled at him, obviously aware of how sleepy she looked.

'Morning.'

He seemed in a fairly good mood, a state that brightened his countenance, though she doubted he knew it. If he did, he would have made the extra effort to look forbidding. Molly presented Hermione with toast, insisting that she ate it.

'I don't care if Severus is here to see you, you can eat that while he talks, young lady,' she admonished when Hermione tried to protest.

Charlie snorted into his tea, standing when he saw the glare his mother aimed at him.

'I'll . . . I'll just go and help Ron,' he said, and hurried outside.

Hermione looked confused.

'I don't know what you said to him, Hermione, but after getting you up, Ron went straight outside and started de-gnoming the garden,' Molly said disbelievingly. 'I've never known him do that before.'

Snape snorted, the closest he'd come to laughter in years.

'It would appear that his remarks to me on returning from Hermione's side were not the best chosen,' he suggested, his suspicions confirmed as Hermione's eyes narrowed.

'Why?' she asked. 'What did he say?'

'Nothing of any significant interest,' he assured her. 'However, I am here to speak with you. Do you recall informing me of your application to Avalon, and the stipulations they stated?'

Hermione nodded, gulping down toast under Molly's watchful eye. Snape swallowed a smile at the sight of her listening intently whilst eating as fast as she could. If she wasn't careful, she'd get hiccups.

'I am here to offer you a year's apprenticeship with me, at Hogwarts,' he said bluntly.

Hermione froze, mid-chew. Realising how ridiculous she looked, she quickly finished her mouthful.

'Why?' she blurted out. 'May I ask?'

Snape inclined his head to her. He should have known she wouldn't take his offer on faith. Still, he wasn't inclined to reveal Dumbledore's meddling on her behalf. He had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate it at all.

'Because you are an exceptionally talented young woman, Hermione, and I feel I have a great deal I can give you. Academically, that is.'

Hermione nodded, obviously stunned by his offer. A whole year with Snape, a whole year to bind him to her. It could work. And of course, she'd be working with the highest ranking Potions Master in Britain. She'd easily win her Potions Mistress degree, and could work on settling her private life at the same time.

'I'd be honoured to accept an apprenticeship with you, Severus,' she said, sounding awe-struck. 'What would be involved?'

Snape heaved a secret sigh of relief.

'You would be required to work on several advanced potions with me,' he told her, 'and a research project of your own. Would I be right in thinking that you intend to teach after attaining your degree?'

'Yes, that's what I'd like.'

He nodded.

'In which case, I would like you to take a few of my classes. Probably a couple in each year, to get a sense of the range of areas you would have to cover.'

Hermione was overjoyed. She would have experience of teaching as well. This was looking more and more like a brilliant opportunity that she couldn't afford to miss.

'When do we start?'

*~*~*

Snape watched as the first Potions class of the year filed in silently. They were first-years, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and absolutely terrified of him already. As it should be really. He glanced to his left. Hermione was sitting quietly in the corner, smiling at the frightened students. He suppressed an amused smile. Once they'd had a taste of his teaching, Hermione would be an idol to these naive children.

He launched into his first-years speech, ignoring the terror that intensified on their faces as he described the things he could teach them. His eyes swept over them, identifying the Neville Longbottoms and Hermione Grangers of this new year. Not many of either, he decided, relieved. Sneering at the front row, he selected one particularly scared looking girl and asked,

'Miss Bawtree, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

She gazed up at him in mute shock and fear. He could see her shaking, and felt slightly ashamed of himself.

'You don't know?' he asked brutally.

She shook her head, stammering,

'N-no, s-s-sir.'

He levelled his gaze at her, his dark eyes unreadable, and watched as she squirmed under his scrutiny. Hermione watched this with interest, wondering why he did it to these children. The memory of his doing to her class was still painfully sharp in her mind. Snape stood abruptly and turned to her, gesturing for her to stand.

'This is my apprentice, Miss Granger. She will be assisting me in lessons. Miss Bawtree, you will speak with her after the lesson is over to find the answer to my question. Is that quite clear?'

The frightened little girl nodded hurriedly, glancing at Hermione. Hermione winked at her, grinning infectiously. Snape ignored the nervous smile that appeared in response on the girl's face, and launched into the lesson, fully aware that the entire class were suddenly very attached to Hermione.

*~*~*

Snape glanced up as the final class of the day scrambled to get as far away from him as possible. Ginny Weasley had stopped to speak with Hermione, something he was glad of. At least she would have someone to go to, should he infuriate her too much. He was well aware that she did not agree with his teaching methods.

Ginny looked her friend over.

'No visible signs of damage,' she murmured, making Hermione laugh.

'Stop it,' Hermione told her. 'He's really not that bad.'

Ginny snorted, not unlike her brother.

'I'll believe it when I see it,' she promised. 'I'd better run or Helen'll think I've got detention again. See ya!'

Snape watched from lowered eyes as Hermione wandered about the classroom, instinctively tidying until he was prepared to give her an order.

'You don't approve of my methods.'

It wasn't a question. Hermione looked up, startled to find black eyes on her, glittering with unknown emotion. Snape sat perfectly still, and she knew he was trying to intimidate her, the way he had the students before. Instead of being cowed, however, she marched right up to his desk, forcing him to look up at her.

'No, Professor, I don't,' she told him. 'I don't see the need to intimidate and frighten children.'

'Really? Tell me something, Hermione. Do you recall an incident in your sixth year, involving an Inflammatus potion?'

Hermione blushed suddenly, looking down at her hands as she remembered the catastrophe in acute detail. Neville had melted the bottom out of his cauldron, predictably enough, spilling his badly made potion all over the desk. Hermione had leapt up, dragging the hapless boy away from the spillage as Snape quickly cleared it away, his face like thunder, before it could destroy the desk and flagstones. Snape watched her quietly.

'You all moved away from the cauldron as I recall, and let me deal with it, yes?'

She nodded, knowing suddenly that she was out-thought.

'Would you have done that if you were not so frightened of the fearful Potions Master?'

'No, Professor.'

Snape nodded himself.

'No,' he repeated, 'you would have charged in and been severely injured yourselves. The way I teach, Hermione, ensures the very minimum of accidents. Much as my students would like to believe I enjoy it, I don't. I am this way because if I am not, there would be far less of them at the end of each year. Do you understand?' he said gently.

Hermione nodded.

'Yes, Professor.'

'Of course,' Snape added, 'fear of my wrath also induces the best Potions results in Europe, but a man can hardly complain about that, can he?'

Hermione laughed at his smug expression. He smiled at her, safe in the knowledge that there were no students around to see it.

'And my name is Severus, Hermione. Stop calling me Professor.'

She grimaced and bit her lip.

'Sorry.'

Snape stood, stretching slightly, and made his way to his work room, gesturing for her to follow. Once there, he laid out a series of ingredients.

'Make a potion,' was the instruction. 'Use all the ingredients.'

Hermione stared at the tabletop, her quick mind already dredging through the encyclopaedia of knowledge she had stored up there. After a few moment's quiet thought, she moved forwards, ready to begin work.

Snape watched her carefully, impressed by her logical methods. He could see his own influence on her as she selected implements and a cauldron, laying them out neatly. As always, as he watched her, his thoughts turned to how he could win her. Dumbledore had even begun offering him advice, all of which was completely impractical and some of it downright ridiculous. Snape was determined to win her on his terms, even if it took the rest of his life.

Hermione was acutely aware of his intense scrutiny, concentrating on her work. He'd laid out the components of a rare potion used to cure cancer in the wizarding world, and it was only by luck that she'd recognised half the ingredients. The recipe was duly dredged up from the depths of her photographic memory, and she worked steadily, trying to ignore the heat his penetrating gaze sent through her body.

At one point he came forward, taking her hand in his to aid in the stirring.

'You mustn't stir too quickly, Hermione, otherwise the potion will curdle,' he told her, breathing in the grassy scent of her hair. She was fighting to contain her body's reaction to his chest pressed against her back, barely hearing his admonishment through the sudden haze of desire that surged through her. When he stepped away, her disappointment was edged with relief. How was she going to keep at this with him so close all the time?