Translation by Jessinthedungeons.


Chapter 3 - Effects


The next few days passed uneventfully and still as hectic as they normally were. Mediwizards examined us, Aurors measured the power of our shields, and Minerva demanded new robes for all, which made us apparate to Diagon Alley to take measures with Madam Malkin. After every little bit of a morning, I worked; and, every night, I would walk through the woods with Hagrid or swim in the Black Lake, to relax. As soon as I got to my room, I would talk to Harry or any of my other friends.

Everyone wanted to know what Snape looked like these days, but I had nothing to tell them. The man observed everything we did and stayed all the training just watching. He did not speak or interact with any of us. This was disappointing to everyone who asked. He just stood there, motionless. His apathy was so bad.

Apart from the impassivity of my co-advisor, there was nothing to complain about. But in the morning the Ministry scheduled one of the individual photo-shoots — the photos they used of our faces as "the magic hope" — I knew something was going to go wrong.

The first thing that came out of the journalist's mouth was a misspoken "Hermionini" and even after correcting it, he kept saying it wrong; I felt like I was again at my fourth-year Yule ball, trying to teach Victor Krum to pronounce my first name. And when someone continually messes with your name, even after correcting them, it's a sign. In this case, a clear sign that this journalist is an idiot.

I tried to get away from him. Usually I would try to escape, but lately there were so many of them that it was impossible. The minute I spotted a group of television reporters at the location where the photographs were to be taken, my instinct stirred. No, no, no! I started my method of keeping myself away from their location as much as possible. I let them get the others first. The farthest group from the entrance approached Justin, another level 9. Thanks, Merlin! Then, I saw another group dive over Cho, and felt a ray of relief run through my stomach. Just another three meters and I'll get rid of them. My heart started beating faster and I was sure to keep my eyes forward. No eye contact. Two meters. Merlin, please, please, please!

— Granger!

Oh hell!

I looked and sighed with relief when the screaming reporter didn't have a camera with him. He was probably a blog author. I confirmed this when the first questions he asked me were normal: whether my magic level was the same; how the training was going; who I thought could be the greatest wizard among the new members. But just as he was finishing his last question, and I was preparing to answer it, I heard the reporters, whom I had ignored, start talking loudly.

And it is worth keeping recorded here, that there were no reporters or journalists waiting for us before an ordinary day of training, they would only appear on the eve of magical competitions with other schools, or before the Triwizard Tournament. That was how it had been in the previous times, before Severus Snape reappeared. The journalist's eyes glimpsed the area behind me as I spoke, looking and waiting for someone he could also interview. And from the look on his face when he saw his next target, I knew who had caught his eye.

Not even two seconds later, Snape passed, pushing away three journalists who were trying to get his attention to ask questions as they shoved their cameras and recording devices toward his face. He can stay away and be antisocial, but I can't?

The journalist asked me slowly:

— Do you keep in touch with the other members of the golden trio?

― Yes.

I swallowed it dry, forcing myself to hope that it wasn't going the way it seemed to go. And yet, I knew it was.

— Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, right?

― Yes.

The man's eyes swung back at me, so when he lowered his eyelids, I knew I was screwed up.

— You met at school... Did you take classes with Snape? Together?

I confirmed with my head in response. The less I talk, the less my chances of saying something compromising were.

― Obviously. — I answered.

— Interesting lessons? Any animosity between the Golden trio and Snape? — He insisted.

We were both well aware that he knew the answer. Idiot. But I am not a stupid person, and I was not going to let him make me look like one. Vector was setting aside a weekly schedule to guide us on how to speak in public. Of course it was the discipline where I never took a "exceeds expectations", but she taught me something that I never forgot: it is very important to keep the interview under control.

― Yes. The lessons of potions and defense against the Dark Arts were very interesting. And of course there was animosity, Harry Potter was in them.

The journalist's eyes twitched.

— -Snape was more than unpleasant in those classes... — He continued.

— We were on the verge of a magical war, right? — I stamped a smile on my face, giving him a look that said: "Yes, I know exactly what you're doing". — Professor Snape was demanding, because he knew what we would face. — I enlarged my smile more, Remembering not to break Minerva's rule about "keeping attention in training and not in Snape". ― I need to go now, do you have anything to ask about the training?

The reporter's eyes slid in the direction Snape had gone.

— We're done. Thanks.

— You're welcome.

I took a step back, straightened my backpack on my shoulder and began to walk towards the Quidditch pitch. I would still need to change into the new uniform, Minerva demanded that we wear it for those photos.

— Hermione, get your stuff! — Vector ordered.

I made my way to the place where Madame Malkin set up her tent with the uniforms arranged on hangers, waving to some students and teachers who were already tidy. There were only a few people under the cloth tent, two store employees handing out the uniforms, four of the new students and three professors. One of them was Snape.

— Morning. — I said when I went to the group in the tent.

A chorus of "Good Morning" echoed back, even from Madame Hooch, who clearly disliked me too much for me being a disaster on a broom. She was once again ready for Snape.

— Hermione? It's your turn, honey. I have your uniform right here. ― One of the women working behind the hangers called me, smiling.

Walking there, I smiled in gratitude and took the robes she handed me.

— Do I have to authorize anything? — I asked while she handed me a scroll.

— What is your shoe size? I can't tell if it's a five or six. — she said.

― Six. — I responded by tapping my wand on the area next to my name to authorize the debit from my account in Gringotts.

— Give me a second to find your socks. ― She turned her back on me and began to rummage through a drawer that floated behind her.

— Sir. Snape, I have for you a cloak size 32, does that sound right? ― The maid who was not busy asked, her tone of voice a little loud and breathless, and her eyes barely holding a glow of nervous excitement in them.

― Yes.

It was a simple answer, but I felt his tone straight between my shoulder blades. I remembered how much I liked that voice, which was both soft and deep. I could hear him talk about any topic for hours and would never get bored.

Hermione Granger, pull yourself together!

I swallowed dry, unable to overcome the fact that his voice was the same as before, but he sounded very different. Looking at him so closely, he really was more robust. His hair was still a black curtain that fell on the sides, but with one of the strands behind his ear, it was possible to see that the side of his head was shaved. And that was the most surreal thing I realized. But it wasn't the only one. He was without his usual robes, and the tip of a tattoo appeared under the folded sleeve of his shirt. And it wasn't even remotely the Dark Mark, it was something new. My chest twitched in curiosity.

— Here, Hermione, I got them. — Malkin's witch said, giving me a sealed package. — Holsters won't arrive until later this week.

— All right. Thank You, Sam.

Holding my clothes, I took another look at Snape, who had a stiff-spine posture and kept his attention forward. I struggled with the anxiety that was beginning to grow on my chest. My feet did not move, and my stupid eyes did not move either. The fact was that I didn't expect to be so close to this man again. After almost a minute there, awkwardly waiting for a word or a look, I realized that he was not going to give me anything. Even with me less than two meters away from him, he made a point of keeping his gaze directed to his front, lost in his own thoughts; perhaps he wanted to be left alone, or what was more likely: he did not want to waste his time talking to me.

This thought was like a direct death blow to my chest. I felt like a teenager again, who wanted his attention as my professor and he did not even notice that my arm was raised in the air. He was not going to notice me, it was very clear.

I'm not exactly like Dean, who befriends everyone, but I like to be friendly with people. However, obviously, Snape is not going to give me a chance anytime soon. As he has not given to anyone yet, at least not to any of the students. Then... It doesn't hurt at all, but my heart doesn't feel comforted either. With a quick glance at the man who was standing and oblivious to everything around him, I took my belongings and went to change. I didn't need Severus Snape to talk to me. I didn't need it before and I won't need it in the future.


If for a second I thought things were going to get less hectic as the days went by, and that Snape's presence at Hogwarts would slowly become old news, I was very mistaken. Every day, there were at least half a dozen reporters outside the gates or in the gardens, even in the village of Hogsmeade. Wherever we went, they would be there.

I tried to stay as far away from them as I could. Almost as much as I tried to stay away from my former potions professor. To be fair, he made it easy. He continued in the corner of the universe that he dug to hide inside, a small lonely corner that included only himself. Apparently only Minerva, Hooch and Vector had invitations from time to time. As for us, he just stood up and watched us; then moved a little to the side and continued to watch.

— I feel like we're on display at the London Zoo. — Dean whispered as we were enjoying a break after an arduous session of duels.

I looked at him with wide eyes. I don't think I was the only one who noticed the impassivity of our advisor.

— It really does. — I declared in a whisper.

He nodded, as if discouraged by this.

— He didn't say anything, Mione. I mean, isn't that weird? He used to be a bast... you know. — He bent his shoulders. — It's just weird.

— Very weird. — I agreed with him. — But we can't say anything.

Three novice witches sat at the bleachers just below where we were, and Dean and I looked at each other and interrupted the compromising conversation. I let go of the first thing that came to mind:

― Why do we train spells in the Quidditch pitch?

One of the witches smiled at us and the other two ignored us.

Dean bit his lip before responding:

― Why do you keep complaining about the training being here? We're not flying, you should at least be thankful for that.

— Yes, right, why should I be thankful if we have a whole castle at our disposal and we stay here, under the sun? — I argued.

― Haven't you read the material for History of Magic? - He questioned.

— Yeah? — I answered with a question.

Dean looked at me as if another head had grown next to mine.

— Chapter Eight says that magic is optimized by natural elements. — He explained as if he spoke the obvious.

— Yes, I know about the four elements.

— And that sunlight is one of the amplifying agents of power, did you skip it? ― He asked exasperatedly and finally realized that I had missed something important.

— What? No, I just... I didn't remember. — I finally admitted it.

Dean looked at me with concern. He was one of the few people who knew about the long-term effects I was having after the curses Bellatrix threw at me.

— Are you okay? — He whispered, so that the witches below would not hear.

I nodded and turned my gaze to the horizon. I took a deep breath, trying to prevent images of that night from invading my head.

— You will tell me if it happens again, right? — Dean held my hands between his and gave me such a worried look, that I could do nothing but pull him into a hug.

— Of course I will. I trust you, Dean.


― There is a rumor that you will join the official team of the Ministry soon, do you have anything to say about it?

It was the first official day of new training, after testing sessions, photos and reviews of everything we had already researched. In an impulse of goodwill, I had agreed to speak with one of the editors of The Daily Prophet. So far, two questions, it was going well. That still does not mean that I could talk about confidential matters. Be vague, Hermione. Do not confirm or deny anything. I could almost hear Vector whispering in my ear.

— I don't think so. I am necessary at the hospital, and I am busy with other priorities.

— Oh? — He raised an eyebrow. — Like what?

— I'm working with primary schools.

All of us, witches or wizards from level six onwards, had to exercise some activity in the magical world, after all, there were only a little more than a hundred wizards with full magical level. So we had to split up to supply all the strictly magical professions, such as healers, Aurors, potion makers, spell-breakers, oblivioners, and magic transport activators, which were basically the most important. The half-blood wizards took on the roles of herbologists, Quidditch players, magical creature handlers, broomstick and wands craftsmen, and any other function that did not require such a high level of magic to be exercised. To the now non-magical, the functions of researchers or assistants remained.

I was a healer at Saint Mungus when I wasn't busy with training at Hogwarts. And I loved it. Some people judged me for that choice. Everyone had assumed that I would be an auror, that this was my duty, as a "war heroine".

They didn't understand that I fought in a war because I was forced to. In the chaos that followed when everyone realized that the magic of a third of the wizarding world had disappeared, some people rebelled against my choice of profession. Everyone expected me to dive deep to find out the origin of this curse and fight it, and not for me to be on duty in a hospital.

I was called selfish, feigned, arrogant, and callous, more times than I could count. All because I was too traumatized, either by the hunt for the horcruxes, which earned me torture with the cruciatus curse and some injuries so severe ― which gave me side effects to this day, or by the fact that I lost my parents to a memory erasing spell. I could not stand any more fights, curses, or darkness. But no one understood that. Sometimes, not even myself.

Eventually, Minerva pulled me aside after a group of pure-bloods rioters had ambushed me in Diagon Alley. She said: "People will judge you no matter what you choose. Don't listen to what they have to say, because at the end of the day, you are the one who has to live with your choices and where they took you. No one will live your life for you.".

Most of the time it was easier said than done, but here I am. Madame Pomfrey put me under her wing and I worked very hard so that it had not been in vain. I was lucky enough to find something I liked and that I could work with.

The editor's eyebrows rose almost to the hairline.

— And how are the trainings going?

― Well. — I answered directly.

― How do you feel about the movement of some wizards who claim that Hogwarts should have got a mentor with better qualifications than Severus Snape? — He provoked.

— I think anyone can do what they want to do, as long as they care enough.

Maybe it was something bad to say, when Snape didn't really seem to care one bit about us, but the words were coming out of my mouth and I couldn't bring them back.

— Snape is notorious for wanting to work alone. — He argued with naturality. I just looked at him, but I didn't say a word. If there was a way to answer that, I didn't know how. — And he also killed the legendary wizard Albus Dumbledore.

At least this journalist was not pretending to have amnesia when talking about Snape's past, unlike the last one I met. But the aggressiveness of his statement finally made me react.

— At Dumbledore's own order. — I shrugged because it was the truth. — It is not unheard of for things like this to happen in a context of war. Now I really need to start my production of potions. — I politely answered before he had a chance to ask anything else.

— Thank you for your time. — The editor smiled as he reached out his hand to shake mine.

— No problem. Have a good day.

This guy had done bad enough with my humor and I walked out stomping hard towards the potions lab.


— What do you have? — Dean asked me as I stirred my Draught of Living Death potion.

I raised my hand to clean my upper lip and mouth. The humidity was terrible in the dungeons, no surprise, and the headache and tension I had this morning did not help at all; the conversation with the reporter still hammered my nerves.

— I'm fine. ― I answered him before completing ten more rotations counterclockwise.

He raised an eyebrow, his cheeks inflating as an incredulous smile crossed his face. Who was I trying to deceive? Regardless of being close friends for only three years, we had known each other for eleven. And these days, Dean knew me better than anyone.

— You know you can talk to me about anything. — He assured me.

I felt guilty that he was so nice about it, but still, I didn't want to talk about what troubled me.

— I'm fine.

— You're not okay. — Dean answered back.

— I'm fine. — I repeated, feeling the weight on my shoulders.

— Mione, you're not okay.

I sucked a breath when I completed the wand movements in the potion and let it cook.

— I'm really fine. — I insisted with a more emphatic voice.

He didn't believe me, for good reasons. I was really upset and angry. I just wanted to train my powers to cross them with the knowledge we were studying about ancient magic. And while I was doing that, I didn't want to see people dig up anything from my past or anyone else's. Why didn't they just get over that war four years ago and focus on what we were really doing now? We need to save the magic, for Merlin's sake! That should be more important than anything else.

But it was him. Snape's presence boosted everyone's interest in that dark past in which we fought. He had been a Death Eater and people did not learn to let that go, even if he didn't even show a reaction to them. With this thought, I accidentally look at where the silent professor is standing, arms crossed over his chest, looking at the bubbling cauldrons in front of us, with the same emotionless behavior he had been portraying since he arrived.

He bothered me, but I was also annoyed with myself for letting his attitude bother me so much. All I needed was to concentrate on finishing this batch of potions that I was supposed to take to my duty in Saint Mungus today in the afternoon.

I wasn't entirely surprised when Dean spoke again:

— You are pissed. And you only make this outraged face when someone annoys you a lot.

He was right. I took a deep breath and tried to relax my face, stretching my chin and mouth. Much of my tension made its way out of the muscles of my face.

— I told you. — Dean stressed and smiled gently at me when he saw my face relax. ― You looked like you were in the Triwizard of France, remember that?

How could I forget? One of the level eight witches had unleashed hell with Fiendfyre on me, and Winky, the elf who once belonged to Mr. Crouch, who was accompanying our entourage, stepped into the flames to rescue me. She did not come out unscathed and even today she had scars, although the little elf proudly flaunted them.

Before the return to Scotland, I cornered the Beauxbatons student in one of the women's toilets and left her hanging upside down in the air and vomiting slugs, with a silencing spell. She was only found three hours later by one of the ghosts.

— But I took revenge for Winky. — I answered with a little exhausted smile on my face.

— Who knew Hermione Granger was so vengeful? — Dean smiled, before raising an eyebrow. — Is it your sciatica that is bothering you? — he asked, looking around once again to make sure no one was close.

I wiped my face again and took a sip of water.

― A bit. — I answered sincerely because it was the truth.

Dean grimaced.

— Mione, you need to be careful.

This was the difference between Cho and Dean. Cho reportedly slapped me on the back and told me to put more strength in training. Dean worried. From now on he would keep an eye on me, and that was part of the reason I liked him so much. I wiped my face with the palm of my hand.

— I'm fine. — I said.

He looked at me critically before asking: — What else, Granger?

Dean wasn't going to leave me alone. I got closer to him, so he would be close enough to hear me.

— This morning, the reporter asked about Snape and the golden trio. — Frustration bubbled down my throat. ― I'm a little worried, you heard Minerva on the first day, it's not like I can expose the way he treated us.

My best friend let out a low whistle, completely aware of the situation.

― Yes. — I agreed, shuddering.

― Why don't they forget that? It's past.

I shrugged. Yes, it is.

— I don't know — I answered and he agreed with his head. ― I'm just a little grumpy about it, I guess.

— Take a deep breath. — He demanded easily. ― Only a single person is allowed to look like a serial killer while preparing a potion.

At the same time, our eyes turned to look at Cho. When we saw her, we smiled. Cho was amazing, but ... I could easily see her in a Dementor robe, sucking people's souls.

— Potions must be bottled. Everyone to the Quidditch pitch, we will train triple duels. — It was the voice of Professor Flitwick that cut through the muffled silence of the dungeons.

I must have finally smiled, because I heard Dean clearly mutter, "Sadistic" under his breath. I pushed the pain in my sciatic nerve away, Snape and the golden trio out of my head, and tapped Dean's shoulder before turning to get out of the potion's lab.

— Are you coming? ― I asked while smiling sarcastically at him, who sighed in response, before following me.

Flitwick put us in trios arranged in three different circuits. I went to the first group, it was thirty minutes of non-stop duels, throwing shields and attacking whenever we had an opportunity. If our opponents were shot down, we would form another trio. It ended with the blink of an eye, me, Dean and Justin formed the last trio standing. In the second round, we needed to fight using Transfiguration, it required mind control and skill to keep our objects attacking the opponent. Dean surprised me with a perfect Transfiguration of a goblet into a turd bomb that almost exploded on top of me, but the beater's stick I had used to attack Cho a minute earlier, batted it away. Then it was time to face the mini maze filled with puzzles and some creatures, I finished it in ten minutes. Such an achievement.

I waited another twenty minutes until, one by one, the others came out of the mini maze's hedge fence. I located Cho walking towards the shore of the lake and began to make my way towards her, ignoring Snape and Minerva who were nearby. As I passed the two, Minerva reached out to greet me.

— Did you use only your left hand in the Transfiguration? — She asked with an impressed tone showing in her voice and in her eyes an expression that combined pride and joy for the dones of her pupil.

I smiled at her. I worked a lot with my left-hand and now my spells were as perfect as those of my dominant hand. It was the result of hours and hours spent on weekends, training at home.

― Yes. — I answered, smiling.

— You were perfect. — She praised my performance.

— Thank you, Minerva.

I shook her hand one last time and honestly I'm not sure why I hesitated after that. What did I expect? Maybe a compliment from the man next to her? Or at least a glance, a tiny fraction of recognition? Anything would be cool.

My hesitation was, for a second, too long, enough for Minerva to look at Snape out of the corner of her eye, as if she was also waiting for him to say something. But no, those almost black eyes, like a dark lake, did not even look at me.

Embarrassment bled through my belly and my throat, specifically. It could have been the nerves of acid or just the blush on my cheeks that made strange the smile I forced on my face, which told Minerva that it was all right, I had just been ignored.

But I was boiling and dying a little inside. I was better than that, much better. Didn't he do the same thing to me in the past? Yes, he did, but since the end of the War I did not remember a single time that someone had looked past me, as if I did not exist. And I don't say that in a pretentious and vain way. Most people were friendly to me, and if they were shy about meeting a war heroine and a witch of power nine, they would at least look into my eyes before looking away. But this brute even saved the calories he could burn by turning his neck towards me.

Nothing, he did absolutely nothing.

I gave Minerva one last smile, a little tighter than the previous one, and another quick nod before walking towards Cho, the acid feeling further tightening the knot in my stomach.

— What's wrong, Hermione? — Cho asked in a cautious voice the minute I got to where she was waiting for me.

Was I that obvious?


Final Notes


Our heroine has some problems of her own to deal with, the result of that nasty torture in Deathly Hallows.

Did you like the professions? Who can imagine what is it like to live with some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as mere assistants in the Ministry? Yeah, it's terrible.

And thank you so much for the reviews on this story! Cheers!

Translation by Jessinthedungeons.