A LIBERAL DOSE

This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.

A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers, especially Dazzleberry.

Apparition was Hermione's favourite form of transport, without the soot of flooing or the dizzying acrophobia of flying a broom. As for flying on a thestral – don't even ask!

It was a nuisance not being able to Apparate directly into Hogwarts though. She wasn't sure how far out the anti-Apparition wards stretched. Unwilling to risk splinching by bouncing off them, she'd chosen to apparate to Hogsmeade and walk up the well-remembered path from there.

As she strolled, Hermione mulled over her mother's advice, "A liberal dose of humble pie," and her own instant prediction; "He'll only grind it in my face!" A moment later, her ears had heard what her mouth had said, sending her into a fit of somewhat hysterical laughter. The thought of Professor Snape in a food fight, smashing custard cream pies into repentant faces, was just too ludicrous.

She wasn't laughing now. She was on her way to once again apologise to the sourest, most unforgiving grudge-holder she'd ever met and, no matter how much she pondered, she couldn't think of any words that might placate him. She'd rather be facing an angry Hippogriff.

She reached the castle's front doors with twenty minutes to spare. Filch let her in, with much grumbling for the inconvenience, then she crept down staircases and along corridors till she stood in front of Snape's office. She took a deep breath and knocked.

"Enter." Even through the door he sounded furious.

She gulped and fixed her mind on that image of a food-fighting Snape with custard cream pie in each hand. It gave her courage to push open the door and stand just inside.

"Professor Snape?"

Once again, he was writing at his desk. He glanced up scowling. Custard cream Snape wavered and dissolved into acid-and-vitriol Snape. She gulped again.

"You wished to speak to me, Miss Granger?" He didn't invite her to sit down.

She edged further in, her hands sweaty and trembling.

"Professor, I just want to say at the outset that I was wrong and I apologise."

Cold, black eyes looked her over with the same distaste he normally kept for Neville's melted cauldrons.

"Indeed?" he sneered. "Was it necessary to impose on my time and patience to tell me something that could just as well have been written in a letter?"

"I thought a personal apology was in order. I was inexcusably rude and disrespectful and I'd like to make amends."

Now he was looking at her with the lip-curl he usually reserved for Neville after a cauldron-melting disaster.

"I believe I've already made it quite clear that I do not desire your company. Your apology is accepted and now you may leave."

Prudence suggested immediate obedience. Gryffindors are not prudent. She took another few steps in a rush.

"Please give me a chance to make things right with you," she begged.

"What is the cause of this obsession with gaining my approval?" he hissed, tightlipped with exasperation. "Do you imagine I've ever lost one moment's sleep over your very evident mistrust of me?"

"I did trust you!"

He raised an eyebrow as he toyed with his quill.

"And yet you waltzed into the Dark Lord's trap two years ago. Not only didn't you inform me, as the last Order member available, but, even after you watched me receive the news, you thought me either too stupid or too incompetent to deal with it. Or did you think me a traitor?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. There wasn't much she could say, but she said it anyhow.

"We were too worried to think straight."

"Trust does not require thinking straight – or indeed thinking at all," he pointed out.

She flushed and hung her head; at once sorry that she'd pinned her hair in a bun. She'd wanted to look grown-up but she felt naked without her bushy mop to hide behind, especially when he gave her that look of repulsion.

"I was always telling the boys that you were trustworthy," she declared in a small, unsteady voice. "I reminded them over and over that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have employed you if he didn't trust you."

He snorted.

"An argument which might make more sense if he hadn't also employed a string of Defense teachers who were all either incompetent or dark," he sniped.

"Professor Lupin wasn't incompetent or dark!"

"He was both. Werewolves are included in Defence texts for a reason. You three were extremely fortunate not to be bitten that night."

She remembered how he'd always complained about Lupin's disorganisation and low expectations every full moon when he taught Lupin's classes. It would be tactful not to argue. Gryffindors prized loyalty above tact.

"But, Professor -"

The ice in his eyes froze the words on her lips.

"I have already pointed out to you that the proper way to address me now you've graduated is Master. You might like to correct that before prating again about trust and respect. You consistently disrespected me in the classroom and you continue to do so every time we meet."

"I've always respected you," she protested, thinking of all the times that she'd scolded her friends for leaving off his title.

"Respect is not consistent with open defiance, Miss Granger. Nor with stealing, hexing or general disobedience. I was far too lenient with you always."

Her jaw dropped. For a moment, she was speechless.

"You were lenient? I can't believe you said that," she squeaked.

"And I note your belief in your respect with equal incredulity. Think back, Miss Granger. Was it not a rule that, unless specifically requested to work together, students were required to work alone? Did you not consistently violate that rule, despite being repeatedly instructed not to assist Mr. Longbottom?"

"Yes, but -"

"But? Who was the teacher, you or me?"

"You, sir, but -"

"Did you ever stop to think that I might have sound pedagogic reasons for that rule? How was he supposed to learn with you doing all his thinking for him?"

"But he was so scared of you, especially after you threatened to poison his toad."

He gave a nasty smile.

"His toad? Tell me, have you ever taken your cat to class with you?"

"Of course not."

"Would you say that pets belong in classrooms?"

"It was only a toad. It fitted in his pocket," she excused.

"And yet I seem to recall seeing it out of his pocket. You are aware how potentially dangerous Potions is. Would you say distractions belong in a Potions classroom?"

He still hadn't invited her to sit and she didn't dare without permission. She shuffled her feet.

"Did he learn his lesson, Miss Granger?" Fierce, dark eyes glared into hers. She glared back.

"Malfoy throwing ingredients into our cauldrons was more dangerous and you never punished him!"

He slammed his empty hand on the desk. She jumped.

"Are you aware of any occasions when Gryffindors deliberately made Potions explode?"

A guilty blush mantled her cheeks and she hung her head. She knew what he was referring to, the time Harry threw fireworks into the swelling solution so she could pinch items from his office.

"Yes, sir."

"Did I see who was responsible? Was I able to punish the culprit?"

"No, sir."

"And the difference between the two situations was?"

"None, sir."

"None, exactly. I should have failed you for cheating."

Her head jerked up to stare.

"Cheating?" she echoed. She'd always refused to help Harry and Ron with their homework when they asked. Well, almost always.

"Yes, cheating. The act of assisting someone to gain extra marks through dishonestly passing off another's work as his own."

She sagged. Neville. She'd helped him every class. His Hermione-assisted Potions had garnered much better marks than he ever could have achieved on his own.

"Oh. I never thought of it that way."

"Perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. Should I have explained in simpler language?" His smooth silky voice was perfectly suited for the delivery of insults.

She put her hands on his desk and leaned over it. If she couldn't sit down, at least she could try for some eye contact.

"I'm sorry, all right? I apologised before and I apologise again now. Won't you ever just let it go?" Of course he wouldn't. He was still holding twenty-year-old grudges against Harry.

"You requested an explanation and I gave you one. Now if you'd please leave."

Swallowing hard, she shook her head.

"You've given me a lot to think about, but, however badly I behaved, I was a child!" The words rushed out with passionate, desperate conviction. "Just a child, rebelling against a parent-figure because rebelling is one of the silly things kids do. And at some level, I did it because I knew it was safe, that you were safe! And if that isn't trust, what is?"

Professor Snape looked her over. Her eyes were bright and damp, her chest heaving a little, her hair beginning to come down.

Why was the Gryffindor emblem a lion when a bull in a china shop would have been so much more appropriate? Headless, heedless head-butting Gryffindors! He sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was a thread of truth in her appeal. He'd been judging her childhood behaviour by adult standards. It was a habit of his. Yet she was that cheeky chatterbox child no longer and she was trying to change.

"Very well, Miss Granger. Sit down and we'll attempt to start again," he conceded.

She gaped and smiled and couldn't stop. In a moment, she was sitting on the chair, leaning forward, her face bright and eager.

"Thank you, I'll try to do better this time."

"Have you decided what line of work to pursue? You were so concerned about my report that perhaps you are planning to apprentice to a Potioneer?" he began.

"I'm not sure. I do enjoy brewing when I'm not waiting for you to reprimand me." She flashed him a rueful smile. "But I don't know that I'd want to do nothing else for the rest of my life. I've always had trouble narrowing down my interests. Perhaps you'd be willing to advise me?"

"Didn't Professor McGonagall give you career advice in fifth year?"

"Yes, but you have more practical experience in the field."

"You do realise the first year of a Potions apprenticeship you'll do little more than the tedious preparatory work, like disemboweling toads and pickling rats' brains?" he smirked.

"Just like an extended detention," she mused. "Is that why you give out those sort of jobs as detentions, to teach us what to expect? Or just to save the bother of training an apprentice?"

"The main purpose of any punishment is to teach a disciplinary lesson. Delegating the drudgework is merely a side benefit. It frees me for more complex tasks."

"Like Wolfsbane. I'd love to learn how to do that." Her brown eyes sparkled with eager pleading.

"Then you'd better choose a Master who knows how."

"You could teach me if you were willing," she suggested.

"I don't take apprentices, not even ones who call me by my correct title." His tone was crushing. "Perhaps you'd like to explain why you refuse."

She chewed her lower lip and gave a helpless shrug.

"I don't think I should say. It will only make you angry."

And you think your refusal will make me less so?"

She stared at the floor, at the jars of pickled creatures on the high shelf behind him, at the quill in his hand, at the dusty fireplace.

Licking her lips she muttered, "Maybe. It's just –I can't help wondering – I mean - Every time you say that -"

"Get on with it."

She took a deep breath and gabbled, "When you went to a Death Eater meeting, who called who Master? I'm sorry."

His eyes flashed as his lips thinned almost to vanishing point. Gryffindors! Reckless tactless fearless Gryffindors! He glared at her penitent bent head and considered. He could either throw her out or change the subject and it was clear which course she was expecting him to take. Perversely he chose the other.

"I imagine you've begun to receive offers by now?"

She followed his lead with relief.

"Inquiries, yes. I had my first interview with the Potioneer at St Mungo's yesterday."

"No doubt he gave you all the approval you've ever wanted," he jibed with a thin smile.

"Yes, but I didn't want it from him!" She blushed and added, "It's just that – He just doesn't seem very sensible."

He stared at her in silence for a while. It was pleasant to watch her fidget and flush and hunt for words that wouldn't come. He'd endured her forthrightness for seven years, but apparently, at last, he'd silenced her.

"Jumping to conclusions again?" he jeered at last.

"I can't help being a Gryffindor, I suppose." She wondered if she should tell him. Maybe not. She wouldn't dare use the words "poor dear Severus" in his hearing. But – She made a face.

"He told me you wouldn't hurt a fly." She shrugged.

"Brainless booby," he muttered, then looked into her eyes and added with callous deliberation, "I hurt many hundreds as target practice in my teens till I graduated to human victims." That would teach her to bring up his Death Eater past. And if that was too candid for her to cope with? Too bad for her. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the cauldron.

She lifted her chin. He wanted to fight dirty, did he? Very well then. She pasted a sweet smile on her face.

"He told me I just needed to read you right. According to him, the translation of your recommendation was, I quote, 'If I wasn't such a curmudgeon, I'd apprentice you myself.' "

Black eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, spitting out each word with slow deliberate menace.

"Don't push your luck."

"No sir." She looked down, then timidly up at him. "I know you won't apprentice me, but maybe I could help you? Brew Skele-Gro or Pepper-Up or anything else you might need before school starts?"

"If you really wish to serve detention, I'm sure Filch would be happy for your services, Miss Granger. There's less to do during the holidays, but I'm sure with encouragement," or without it, "he could think up something adequately repulsive. Would you like me to ask?"

She shuddered at his anticipatory smirk.

"You've done enough favours for me, sir, thank you very much." She jumped up as she spoke and began sidling to the door. "I couldn't expect you to do any more."

"But this one would be my pleasure, I assure you," he purred.

Hermione abandoned her original intention of seeking out any of the other professors for a confidential chat. She had a feeling it would be safer not to linger. He might not be able to give her a detention, but he could find other ways of making her sorry she'd stayed.