The morning of the conference came around sooner than Hermione anticipated. Her attention had been rather diverted the past few days by the article published in the Bulgarian equivalent to the Daily Prophet, which had subsequently been picked up by several major international outlets. It seemed anyone and everyone was interested in Viktor Krum's personal life, given that any developments could have an outsized effect on his performance during the Cup.

Of course, she had been initially upset by the implication that she could be negatively impacting him, but he had assured her that that was not the case—rather the opposite. Still, she promised herself that she would make doubly sure to try and be as supportive as she could.

Her new notoriety brought with it the unpleasant side effect of side-long glances when she was out and about, along with a sudden influx of mail. A lot of it was unpleasant, and when she mentioned it to Mistress Lazarov, the dark haired witch had told her that it would be taken care of. A few days later, someone the team employed for issues like this had come by and instituted a mail ward, and she hadn't seen any letters since.

With that rather… interesting development, she felt it only natural that the conference had crept up on her. Honestly, even without all of the ruckus that the article had caused, it likely would've crept up on her regardless simply because there was so much going on. She was still studying and learning and doing so much more than she ever thought she could while the team was training harder than ever for the semifinals. That, coupled with the Festival of Blessings, the imminent Ball (gulp), and the...whatever with Sirius meant Hermione's days were one long blur.

Truthfully, the conference had snuck up on her, but when Madam Lazarov brought it up at the beginning of the week and Hermione asked about preparation, her mentor said none was needed on her end.

While that relieved her of work to be done, it failed to provide an outlet for the butterflies making themselves at home in her tummy. She took extra care with the professional robes that she and Clara had purchased earlier, making sure there wasn't a wrinkle in sight before she donned them. The sage green robes complemented her hair while the tan, tea length dress made her feel capable of facing anything she encountered head on.

An unfamiliar owl tapped at the kitchen window as she was eating breakfast, and she opened the latch and let it in. Quickly, she took the letter and fed it a bit of toast. Instead of waiting for her to read the letter, it flew off, tawny wings shining in the soft morning light.

Curiously, she examined the off-white parchment. The script on the front looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she knew it from.

My Dear Miss Granger,

It is so nice to hear from you. I hope you are having a pleasurable summer with Madam Lazarov? I have heard she can be somewhat stern at times, but Madam Pomfrey assures me she is well intentioned.

As for the letter you sent me, I hope to reassure you that all is well. While I can understand your hesitations and concerns, everything our mutual friend is doing is well within the bounds of what he and I have discussed. If you can continue to place your trust in me, my dear, I promise that I will not lead you wrong. Rest assured, our friend is making good progress using the tactics he has implemented, and I trust you not to stymie his efforts.

If, of course, you feel as though something else has occurred, do feel free to owl me again. My door, or in this case, my window, is always open to you.

AD

She finished reading the letter with a rising sense of disappointment. The only other person who was truly informed about what was going on seemed to think everything was going apace, but he wasn't here and she was. Surely Sirius's strange activities and increasingly abnormal behaviours indicated something was amiss?

But she had asked the only other person she could, and he had just discounted it in the letter, so perhaps it wasn't strange at all and she was merely imagining things? Perhaps she was seeing things that weren't there at all?

She bit her lip, unsure, and scanned the letter again. Her eyes snagged on the signature at the end, and she remembered in a flash of insight the letter addressed to Sirius she had found some time earlier about the strange music box Sirius had received and that she hadn't seen hide nor hair of since. Whatever had Dumbledore sent it to Sirius for, and why would neither of them talk to her directly and instead choose to talk around her?

She sighed in frustration, folding the letter back up before carefully casting an Incendio on it. There was no way Sirius could accidentally find it the way she had found his own letter if it no longer existed, after all.

The wizard in question was nowhere in sight, as was becoming typical—she wasn't even sure if he had returned the night before, in all honesty—so she left for the stadium without even telling him she was leaving the country for the day. Madam Lazarov had reassured her that she would be fine without telling him, and she trusted her.

"Ready to go?" the Healer asked her as soon as she stepped through the private floo in her office. She was busily gathering papers into a neat pile, and bound them together with a wave before shrinking them.

A moment later she slipped her hand into a pocket of her pale green robes (a colour that Hermione had never expected to see around the Healer, let alone see her wearing them), and drew out a flat metal disc. "Place your hand on this," she instructed, "and we'll be off in about...two minutes."

Hermione nodded, trying not to let her nerves show on her face. She must not have done a very good job because her mentor encouraged her, "It will be fine. You'll fit right in, I believe."

She nodded again, thinking for a moment about how far her relationship with Mistress Lazarov had come in so short a time for her to be encouraging her. For someone who had initially thought Hermione had been essentially a waste of time, the Healer was fairly spouting what equated to effusive praise. Feeling bolstered by the thought, she squared her shoulders just in time for the long, nasty portkey to Italy.

As she had when she initially portkeyed to Bulgaria at the start of the summer, Hermione stumbled and fell to her knees upon arriving. "I have got to work on that," she said ruefully, brushing off her robes and casting a quick Scourgify on them to get rid of any dirt or dust.

Mistress Lazarov shrugged a shoulder. "It's a matter of practice. Now, come, let us be off. I don't want to miss the first panel."

After checking in, the morning was an absolute whirlwind of panel after seminar after panel. Even though Hermione was far too much of a novice to understand a lot of the potions seminars happening, she was learning an absolutely incredible amount just by sheer dint of listening. A lot of what was being discussed was extremely technical, and at times Mistress Lazarov would lean over and whisper explanations to her or make connections between what they were hearing and their own work back in Bulgaria.

It felt overwhelming, but it also felt wonderful. Her brain had never felt so full as it did now, and she craved the feeling already.

"Thank you so much for taking me with you," she gushed in between sessions. "This is incredible. Simply wonderful. Are we going to Xiaozhang's session later? I saw on the posted sessions that he was going to talk about healing point blank Dark curses, and I thought it would be most interesting."

Mistress Lazarov nodded in response. "Yes, I had that one marked down as well. Now, tell me what you think about…" she trailed off, her eyes widening slightly at seeing something behind her. "Severus? What a pleasant surprise." Her tone, acerbic as always, made Hermione question the veracity of the statement even as she turned around.

Her jaw dropped as Professor Snape—Snape, of all people, greeted her Mistress politely by her first name before turning to lock his extremely piercing, dark eyes upon her. "Miss Granger."

"Professor Snape," she returned politely, though he had hardly ever been polite to her.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she was more shaken at the unexpected sight of him or at the fact he was dressed rather fashionably in a velvet green waistcoat and black cravat, his hair—which was longer than she'd ever seen it—tied into a neat, short queue at the nape of his neck. He looked rather...respectable, all things said.

Mistress Krasmira had not even lifted a brow at the interaction, and she merely began the conversation in her typical unflappable way. "Now that all the necessary pleasantries are over, I would like to tell you that you have positively squandered a most marvelous opportunity in Miss Granger here, Severus."

Severus? A marvelous opportunity? Hermione resisted the urge to goggle rather idiotically at the witch.

"Why," Madam Lazarov sniffed, "Miss Granger has been helping me brew quite difficult potions far beyond mere school book assignments almost since the first week. I simply fail to see why you would not have snapped her up for your own within the first year."

Hermione rather thought she knew, but none of the explanations were fit for polite society so she bit her tongue.

Professor Snape—no, she thought as she recalled her had gotten a Mastery, Master Snape—barely spared a look at her. "She is passable, I will admit, but nothing truly prodigious."

Mistress Lazarov crossed her arms. "And you've got a stick shoved up your arse," she retorted haughtily. Next to her, Hermione choked. "The girl was brewing Polyjuice in the girl's lavatory in her second year! I would be hard pressed to find a better example of an innate potions talent than that, not to mention her critical analyses of the works she has read. Have you not been reading her assignments that you set her? Have you not witnessed the leaps of intuition yourself?"

Looking like he was having a rotten tooth extracted, Snape ground out, "She has talent."

Hermione wished she could record the encounter for the boys. The exchange happening in front of her almost defied belief.

"It is far more than that and you know it. We have embarked upon a study of the Dark Arts and possible remedies for injuries sustained by them, and Apprentice Granger has acquitted herself admirably thus far."

"Has she?" Snape drawled, eyes glittering. "As an apprentice, I would dare say she had indeed." He returned his attention to her, and she stood up straighter, the better to face whatever he was about to unleash upon her.

"Apprentice Granger, I must offer my most…sincere congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione replied quietly. Even if the sentiment wasn't quite sincere, it was still the nicest thing he had said—and likely would ever say—to her.

"It's all well and good that you're offering congratulations, useless as those might be," Mistress Lazarov dismissed, "but what I would like to know is how you plan on changing your pedagogical approach to her now that she has demonstrated superior skills and aptitude outside of the classroom."

The Professor's mouth curled into its typical sneer. "I do not see the need for any outside tutelage, as you seem so keen on obtaining for her."

"You are just as stubborn now as you were when we apprenticed together, Severus Snape," Madam Lazarov snapped irritably. At that, Hermione truly reeled, the conversation twisting and turning with so many surprises she stopped trying to predict the next thing that would be revealed.

Although it could explain their similarities in garb when they were working, which she had noticed when she first started with Mistress Lazarov. Perhaps their master had required it of them, and it had become habit?

"Do me a favor and stop the posturing." Mistress Lazarov shrugged off his bad temperament. "We both know how this will end up. I will be writing to Dumbledore myself and lodging a formal request so she continues her studies apace. Given how early she has started, I don't see any issue with her completing her training within her last year at Hogwarts, perhaps even earlier if we manage the timing carefully."

She sniffed as she casually rewrote Hermione's entire scholastic future for the remainder of her time at Hogwarts and continued, "I will owl you with my expectations of her additional potions assignments. She has, of course, essentially completed her fifth and sixth form requirements, not to speak of the fourth form, by working with me. Obviously, she should have been removed from the traditional Potions settings as soon as it was discovered that she had brewed the Polyjuice, but there is no time better than now to remove her and set her in an independent practicum or to place her with the seventh years this year."

Her piercing eyes narrowed as she told Master Snape, "I will be frequently and rigorously checking in on her to ensure she is being taught to the level she is at."

"Are you quite finished handing out additional work for me?" He inquired, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Mistress Lazarov bared her teeth in what Hermione could be pressed to say was a smile. "If you aren't interested in teaching some of the brightest minds in the wizarding world, Severus, then why are you teaching at all?"

Professor Snape's hand briefly skimmed over his wrist as if he had an itch. Hermione repressed a shiver as he answered silkily, "Why, indeed?"

"I really don't think this is necessary," she felt compelled to interject, bracing herself for what would doubtlessly be an ensuing cutting remark from her Hogwarts professor. "I've been doing all right on my own, and I would so hate to impose on Professor—er, Master Snape's—time."

Not to mention that the thought of spending any time with him on her own, however academically valuable, made her shiver with dread.

Regarding her with some surprise and disapproval, Mistress Lazarov asked, "You would turn down individualized tutelage at my recommendation?"

Hermione swallowed, licked her lips. "I don't mean to be disrespectful—"

"Then don't say another word, unless it's 'Thank you Mistress', or if you're asked. I am doing this for you, Hermione, not for me."

Feeling duly chastised, Hermione resisted the urge to rub her toe in the ground like a small child and instead nodded.

"I will, of course, send you an owl to discuss terms of payment or negotiation of labour." Mistress Lazarov returned to the conversation at hand and Hermione's head shot up in alarm. Labour?

"I do assume that the labour will go towards stocking the infirmary's inventory," she went on blithely.

Hermione wilted a bit in relief. Stocking the infirmary was something she could do.

Snape nodded brusquely. "That will be sufficient. I will at times require her assistance for brewing other things that I will decide at my discretion without your clumsy and high-handed meddling." His tone was positively acidic.

Mistress Lazarov sighed. "I had forgotten what a sharp tongue you have. Either that or I willfully pushed it out of my mind. I agree upon your terms, and I expect reports from both of you regarding your progress on the matter. Now, with that settled, I would in fact like to discuss with you the most recent article you published in The Potioneer."

And just like she hadn't chained Hermione to her least-liked professor and completely reordered her academic expectations, Mistress Lazarov embarked on a rather spirited (and at times impolite) discussion with Master Snape, who returned her tone with what seemed to be almost glee, if Snape was a gleeful sort of man.

Hermione could hardly follow the conversation, but she was able to hear the biting witticisms and tongue lashings quite well enough to know to bite her tongue. Shortly after they began eviscerating each other over their opinions on how to use knotweed cut during the full moon, another Master garbed in a rather revolting shade of yellow joined the conversation, which left Hermione to silently watch three Masters spar with each other.

Truly, her inability to participate didn't particularly matter to her since she felt full to bursting just being around people who were so invested in arguing about knowledge and techniques while citing works during their discussions to back up their opinions. Content just to listen, she floated along with the tide of the conversation until the group broke up to attend the afternoon panels.

The conference finally wound up around six, leaving her exhausted but somehow buzzing with energy. Mistress Lazarov took one look at her and laughed, the sound surprisingly warm. "You remind me of myself after my first conference," she told her. "That look in your eyes...yes, it reminds me very much of myself."

"There's so much I don't know," Hermione breathed, "and I want to learn it all."

Still smiling, her mentor advised, "I would try and narrow your scope. After all, this was primarily a Potions conference, although there were some interesting Potions-based healing sessions as well. You can't know everything, Hermione, so I would advise you to carefully consider what you truly wish to apply yourself to."

Her voice turned shrewd. "Time-Turners cannot provide the long term solution for learning, as you well know, so you must do as us mortals do and be selective."

Hermione bit her lip. "I know," she responded. "I just wish I could…"

"But you can't. And you won't, or you shall suffer some very dire consequences indeed, from both me and from the Time-Turner itself. Now," she went on briskly, "we have yet to do our formal Master-Apprentice binding, and I would like to do so. We have discussed the finer points in the past, but to briefly review: you shall be my apprentice and agree to abide by my rules and standards regarding your training and learning until such point comes that I deem you truly proficient as a Healer.

"Throughout this time," the dark haired Healer continued, "I may direct you to others for formalized training in other topics or subjects I deem necessary, and I will require you to assist either me or them in recompense for their time. In addition to your studies, I may also require you to assist me in my research. This arrangement shall last no longer than three years, at which time we will revisit it. Does this still sound amenable to you?"

Amenable? It sounded wonderful. She was quick to agree, although she did ask, "And this shan't affect my time at Hogwarts? I can still go back?"

Madam Lazarov nodded at once. "You can, and you must. I will, as I mentioned to Severus, be altering some of your studies. I can't tell you more until I communicate with Headmaster Dumbledore and some of the other Professors, but I believe you will be taken out of some of your classes and given individual instruction since you are far advanced beyond your years."

"That sounds fine with me. Really, I'm truly grateful, Mistress Lazarov," she fairly bubbled. "I promise I will try my best."

Mistress Lazarov fixed her with a gimlet stare. "You had better." Her serious mein broke as she gave a rare smile. "I think we will get on well, Hermione. And while Mistress Lazarov is well and good in formal situations, I think three years of it will be tiring. So please, if you permit, I think that the two of us had best dispense with the formalities in private."

She swallowed. "You mean…"

"Yes, you may call me Krasmira, but only when we are alone. Otherwise, it is Mistress Lazarov, as to be called otherwise by my apprentice is considered disrespectful."

Readily, she agreed, and she and Mistress Lazarov—Mistress Krasmira—Krasmira(!) approached a witch the Healer knew and had them witness their binding, which took place by a nice fountain with a statue of a unicorn playing amongst the water.

They held each other's forearms, and a conjured cloth was wrapped around them. A long intonation and a flash of light later, and the job was done, a scroll with the terms appearing next to them. Krasmira grabbed it, duplicated it, and put one copy in her robes while handing the other to her.

"Well, my apprentice in truth," she told Hermione, "I would say that wasn't bad for a day's work, hm? Shall we return home? The portkey is set for us to leave soon, I believe."

Hermione nodded and reached out to touch the disc. A handful of minutes later, she was back in Bulgaria with a light heart, a full mind, and a scroll declaring her a bound apprentice to Krasmira Lazarov, the Brightest Healer of all Europe.

In this moment, she felt as if things couldn't get any better.

Notes

A note on Hermione's age. I got a lot of comments on Hermione's age last chapter. The article said she was 13. When I wrote this, I originally intended that as an error on behalf of the article's author. However, I understand that was confusing and have since corrected it to 14. However, with the Time-Turner, and how close it is to Hermione's birthday (only a few months), Hermione is comfortably into her 15th year. Hope this clears things up.

Maintenance. Additionally, I'm doing some basic fic maintenance. The summary has been updated as I gear up for Goblet of Fire to better fit a larger plot past the summer. I have also removed most of the past AN's for a better reading experience.