Love Him in My Absence
Chapter 1: Did You Just Hire Me?
Potions Assistant required for full time position. Demanding work. Experience a must. Serious applicants only. Leave CV with shopkeeper.
Hermione read the small flyer several times before glancing around her at the many vials, jars, and bottles filled with expensive ingredients. She had been to several apothecaries today, and it was the first time she had seen this particular sign. Many of the other advertisements were posted in nearly all of the shops she visited, but none of them grabbed her attention quite like this one had. It was written in block letters on a crisp piece of stark white parchment.
After the defeat of Voldemort she had spent three years working as an apprentice for a renowned charms expert at Beauxbatons. She performed so well that she was permitted to take over his lower level classes and she spent an additional two years teaching. Eventually, she was offered a position as a professor at the school, but after only a few minutes of serious consideration she had turned it down, and instead accepted a job at the Ministry of Magic working with Arthur Weasley. It was an attempt to stay close to her friends and the life to which she was accustomed. At the time, it had seemed like the proper thing to do, but after only a few months of working there, she had begun to fall into boredom and had started dabbling with experimental potions in her free time.
At first it was a mere hobby that consumed no more than an hour or two every other day in her rented flat. Now she was spending nearly all of her free time conducting potions research and development in her own makeshift laboratory that had taken over most of the kitchen. She devoured every academic potions journal available and even submitted three articles herself, two of which were accepted and published under her pseudonym, Jane Wharton. Her work wasn't ground-breaking, but it was unique. She had no formal training in the art with the exception of what she had learned while attending Hogwarts. Her perspective was a fresh one and welcomed by some, but not all, of the experts who organized and published the journals each quarter.
After the second paper was accepted Hermione realized that she had gotten it all wrong. Her heart had never truly been in charms, but in potions. It was just far less intimidating to request a recommendation letter from Professor Flitwick than Professor Snape. Garnering an apprenticeship to a potions master without such a letter was unheard of in the magical world. Her only recourse at the moment was to work her way into the field from the bottom up because she refused to use her status as Harry Potter's friend to her advantage. She had noticed that apothecaries would allow independent potion makers to advertise for assistants in the shops. This was the obvious place to start: work for a potion maker and perhaps he could apprentice her or recommend her to a Potions Master.
While she didn't mind performing the grunt work, she did not want to end up in an assembly line of potion-making. It would defeat her purpose to find herself in a position where she was a nameless, faceless robot who stirred a cauldron eight hours a day. She wanted a challenge and she wanted to learn more. The thirst for knowledge had never waned over the years, not even a little, and the small piece of parchment had intrigued her. Demanding work, huh? I happen to love work of that sort.
The only thing that deterred her was the lack of a contact. The brief note had instructed her to leave a résumé with the shop owner, yet it was fairly obvious that he wasn't the one asking for an assistant.
"Excuse me?" Hermione's voice was soft, but carried well enough in the silent shop.
The shopkeeper glanced up from his copy of the Daily Prophet.
"This sign here," she said, "Is there a specific person I should contact by owl?"
The old man grunted and sniffed slightly. "Just leave your information with me and he'll be in contact with you if he's interested."
Hermione frowned. Why the secrecy? Everyone else left a name to contact via owl. Why not this one as well?
After a moment's hesitation, she pulled a single sheet from her coat and handed it to the shopkeeper. He eyed the carefully printed information. She had used a charmed quill to copy the résumé several times over in case she felt the need to apply to several different potion makers. They were all still in her pocket, save this one.
"I'll pass this on to him."
Hermione gave him a prim nod. "Thank you. I would appreciate that."
She was beginning to become desperate. The job at the Ministry was particularly numbing and Arthur Weasley's unending and pure glee over examining Muggle objects was wearing on her nerves. She had always thought of him as a second father, but even children could become exasperated with their parents at times.
It had been nearly two weeks since she had given her résumé to the proprietor of the small apothecary, and hope of finally obtaining a job to alleviate her extreme intellectual boredom was dwindling. Perhaps I should have used my real name on the résumé. Surely Hermione Granger would have at least ensured me an owl from the potions maker.
Hermione wrapped up her workday and slipped out of the office five minutes early. She planned on spending the evening at home with Crookshanks and a good book, preferably a Muggle one, to take her mind off the wizarding world and her desire to delve into the art of potions without so much as an advisor on the subject.
The owl tapped on her kitchen window as she was fixing a quick dinner. She didn't see Hedwig's remarkable white feathers, so she assumed it wasn't Harry sending her an update on his Quidditch career. It was a good thing, too, because she hardly thought she could handle him prattling on and on about the subject. She lifted the window and allowed the owl entrance. He pecked at a loaf of bread on the counter while Hermione carefully untied the unfamiliar envelope from his leg. Just as she pulled the string free, the owl extended his wings and jumped toward the open window. Moments later he was gone from sight.
Hermione glanced over the envelope as she sat down at the small table in her kitchen. It was devoid of any sort of identifying mark or emblem. Despite her severe curiosity over the contents, she had the presence of mind to cast a simple spell to detect possible danger. The letter was just that: a letter. There was no evil lurking within. Carefully, she tore the end of the envelope open and slid the parchment out.
Miss Wharton,
You résumé offered no previous experience in potions with the exception of your required schooling. While I have my doubts as to your abilities because of this, I would prefer to conduct a brief interview before making a final decision. I am available Friday at noon. If this is acceptable, please notify me as soon as possible, and we shall meet at The Four Winds Café.
S. Jonas
Hermione read the letter at least three times before pushing a cauldron out of the way so she could place it flat on the tabletop. S. Jonas certainly didn't seem like a very nice person, but she had found that many accomplished potions masters were reclusive and disliked interaction. This Mr. Jonas seemed no different. Anything had to be better than spending another month working for the Ministry, and this was her first promising lead, as long as she could convince him that she was competent enough to brew potions.
Pulling out a new piece of parchment and a new quill as well, she wrote a brief response to confirm that she would be happy to meet him. She didn't have an owl to send the reply, but the Ministry had several, and no one would notice if she commandeered one for a small personal errand the following morning.
The Four Winds Café was across the street from the apothecary where she had found the advertisement. It was just this side of being one of the more upscale wizarding establishments, but was affordable enough for a Ministry lackey like her to frequent once in a while. The decor was tasteful and the walls, artwork, linens, and window dressing were all various shades of blue. The dark wood tables and chairs blended well with the color scheme. Hermione had perched herself on one of the barstools while she waited for him to arrive.
Her finger traced the patterns the blue flecks created in the bright white marble slab that was the bar top. Her tall glass of water was quickly gathering beads of condensation. She was nervous and couldn't seem to still her hands from busying themselves when she faintly heard the soft chime of the bell that indicated someone had entered. Moments later, she felt the air move behind her as someone walked by.
The gentleman behind the bar looked over her shoulder and nodded. "Sir."
"Samuel. I'll be at my usual table. I'm expecting a guest - Miss Jane Wharton. Send her to me when she arrives."
Hermione's heart stopped. She knew that voice, knew it extremely well actually. She had chosen the name Jane Wharton by glancing at her bookshelf one evening and picking a first and last name from the many titles. It only took her a moment to drop the clues into place. Severus Snape was using a fake name as well. S. Jonas.
She hesitantly turned on the stool and watched his back as he strode toward the furthest table from the door. He took the seat facing the front of the restaurant, with his back to the wall, and pulled out a folded journal that had been tucked under his arm. His eyes hadn't even glanced her way. She could leave now if she wanted to, but that would mean going back to her job at the Ministry, and another week of Arthur Weasley asking her to explain the use of a video cassette was sure to drive her off the deep end.
Apparently Professor Snape was her alternative, though she didn't think that her old professor was going to receive her very well at all when she introduced herself. While she had changed over the years, the physical difference was minimal from her final year at Hogwarts.
With a steadying breath and a smile at the gentleman behind the bar, she stood and walked over to Snape's table. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the potions journal in his hands. He looked no better than he had at the height of the war against Voldemort. Those were stressful times and they made everyone look worse for the wear. However, the changes in Snape's current appearance weren't very noticeable; his hair was slightly longer, but not by more than an inch, and it still looked heavy, hanging down the sides of his face like a curtain. His skin was still pale and his clothes were the same as they had always been - layered, formal, and black.
She stopped just a foot from the table and waited for him to acknowledge her.
"You should have told me you were sitting at the bar when I spoke to Samuel, Miss Wharton," he said without looking up.
Hermione swallowed her nerves. "I apologize, Professor. Your presence took me by surprise. I expected to meet Mr. Jonas here."
Snape's gaze snapped up so fast that she nearly took a step back. His dark eyes locked with hers for a brief moment before averting and returning to the journal. "Miss Granger, I was unaware that you would be in need of a pseudonym when your rightful name would garner you any position you desired."
"I prefer to obtain things on my own merits, not my history as one of Harry Potter's friends," Hermione responded, lifting her chin just the slightest bit.
Snape closed the journal and raised his eyes again, settling on a spot just over her shoulder. "Yes. Well, Miss Granger, it seems that we've both been mistaken, and as such I believe you can find your own way to the door."
"Excuse me?"
Snape swept his eyes back to meet her own and raised his brows in question.
Hermione cleared her throat and barreled on. "I was under the impression that you were looking for an assistant, sir. I applied for the position. I apologize for not giving you my actual name, but I did not want special treatment."
He snorted under his breath and flicked the potions journal open again.
She focused on his long fingers curled over the creased parchment. "As you're well aware, I received high marks each year in Potions. I've also been spending my free time experimenting and brushing up on my skills."
"Do you mean to say you are still considering this?"
"This? Working as your assistant? Of course," Hermione said. "I promise to work extremely hard and I believe myself to be qualified for the position despite my lack of formal training beyond Hogwarts."
Snape tossed the journal onto the table. "Really, Miss Granger, I hardly think this is a feasible arrangement."
"Why?" Desperation was beginning to rise in her. He seemed indifferent to her presence and seemed to consider the possibility of employing her a joke.
"You're an insufferable know-it-all who I could barely tolerate while I was being paid to do so. It seems to me a far-fetched idea that I would pay you for your deplorable company and questionable assistance."
Hermione felt her face burn, and her fingers clenched tightly into fists at her sides. "You know as well as I do that I'm completely capable of assisting you. I excelled at Potions even though you would never admit it. As for my know-it-all qualities, you can't judge a twenty-three-year-old by her actions when she was twelve."
"Respect, Miss Granger," Snape reminded her.
"Can't you just pretend that I'm not Hermione Granger?"
He didn't reply for a long moment, but his eyes remained on the swirls of the wooden tabletop. She held her breath, waiting for a response. "Very well," he finally said. "You may have a seat and we'll discuss your misguided confidence in your skills."
She jerked the chair away from the table and stiffly sat down. Why does he have to be such a contemptible prat all the time? One would think that he'd get over himself once the war ended, but he's just as much the bat of the dungeons now than ever before.
"I insist on the best," Snape said, interrupting her thoughts. "You'll work long hours and I trust I don't have to remind you that I'm not the easiest person to work for."
"Yes, sir."
"You will follow my instructions without deviation and will keep that mouth of yours closed. I don't want to be inundated with countless questions every minute of every day."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir."
Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a white card with black lettering. He held it between his index and middle fingers. "You work for me only as long as I will tolerate you," he said before tossing the card onto the table in front of her. "The address," was all he offered as explanation. "Be there tomorrow at seven in the morning, ready to work."
He abruptly stood and gathered his robes about himself. A long-fingered hand snatched the journal from the table and neatly tucked it under his right arm.
"Did you just hire me?" Things were going far too fast for Hermione to follow.
"Consider it an audition."
"I thought you didn't believe me capable of brewing your potions," she challenged.
An odd combination of a smirk and a scowl curled his lips. "I never was one for giving compliments and praise, Miss Granger. Seven o'clock sharp." He turned and walked toward the door before briefly turning back to her. "And do tie that mess you call hair back before you arrive."