Hey look! Another chapter! Huzzah! This one is more reflective and internal monologue but do not fret! There is banter and more characters on the horizon. Dare I say a certain blonde is particularly present in the following chapter? Happy reading my lovelies and enjoy!

Lessons on Cauldrons & Companionship

Hermione was thankful that she reached her room without running into anyone. She felt unreasonably fatigued considering it was only midafternoon. After some consideration and as a reward for her completing her potions without more points being removed, she decided a nice soak in her tub was well deserved.

Don't misunderstand, the arrangement for potion brewing was actually something that Hermione very much enjoyed. Due to being far and away above her peers in many subjects, her professors had taken to setting aside separate times that she could practice advance work, discuss theoretical advancements with them, or assist them in the duties. For potions, this included assisting providing the potions to the infirmary.

This had been one of the most satisfying tasks thus far. Hermione eagerly took the chance to brew familiar potions. These were potions she was comfortable with enough that she could indulge in minor experimentation. It also provided the perfect opportunity for a bit of observation of a particularly surly professor.

When first introduced to the potion brewing tasks, she assumed she would be regulated to the private potion's lab attached to Professor Snape's office in order to be kept out of the way of classes. It was quite the opposite. She brewed in the back of the classroom to ensure his watchful eye as well as to assist him with students if the need ever arose. She would never verbalize it, but she was flattered that he considered her an asset to the classroom. Plus, she was thankful that with her brewing station set up in the back she was able to see Snape in his natural habitat.

His commanding presence was only emphasized by the hypnotic baritones in which he described each potion with precision. Yes, that tone could become poisonously cutting in a split second, but it was spurred by reasonable expectations of preparedness and attention to detail. His voice could also take on a seduction when he was passionately describing some intimate element of a potion or potion making. Hermione fondly recalled the awe that she was struck with while hanging onto each word like a siren's song in the very first lesson her first year.

Ever since that first interaction she found herself paying attention to him. It wavered in tone from defensive when thinking he was threatening her friends, to curious following his protective actions to the trio, to apprehensive when unsure of his alliances, to utter intrigue when compelled by his clear brilliance and knowledge of not only potions but other subjects before even reaching the age of forty.

She had hoped when she returned for her final year, she could become closer with him. He was someone who would be an intellectual equal that she could not only develop ideas with but spar with in debate. A possible connection was appealing not only because of the utter vault of knowledge his brilliant mind contained but because he was even more deeply immersed in the war than Hermione. She did not want to lament with him over his struggles of the war or any other such nonsense. From what she knew of his roles and experiences, he would understand the burdens with living as a post-war survivor.

Every day she tried to be strong and live the life that so many had fought for post-war, but she often found herself haunted by its shadows. Today was one of those days. Hermione found that following the war she had developed heightened focus on sensory input. Specifically, she could get caught up in something based specifically on one sense. She believed that this was a remnant of living on the run during the war. The trio had to be hyper aware of any possible threat at any time in order to survive. However now it often provided a bit of solace.

When she would focus on something her mind would be clear otherwise. It was restful in a way. Today she had been snared by the aromatic scents wafting off the potion to the point that she missed the point requiring a reduction in temperature and stirs.

This was not surprising since her sensory daydreaming often coincided with restless nights. Last night had been a turbulent night of flashing memories of that horrific night at Malfoy Manor. Hermione had hoped that as time progressed the nightmares would dissipate. Apparently, it had not yet been long enough.

She was not delusional in thinking that a closer bond between her and Snape would lead to therapeutic heart to hearts, but she felt his presence and knowing he understands the pains and suffering of the war would be in some way comforting and cathartic.

Hermione huffed at herself at the thought. She could only imagine his response if he knew of her curiosity of him. As the tub was running, she turned to the mirror and attempted her best impersonation of his trademark sneer. She just looked a bit like she needed to sneeze.

Adjusting her face back to its natural state she looked at her reflection. The figure before her was somehow so much the same yet so different than she had always looked.

Hair was the first to draw attention. Thick curls of warm brown hair framed her face and cascaded all the way to her waist. It was longer than it ever had been and because of the added weight it was less bushy and was rather defined by more distinct curls. The color was a warm brown shot through with lighter caramel tones even further highlighting her riotous curls.

Immediately following the war, she had been put on a strict regimen of nutrition supplements and potions to combat the malnourished state following the last year of war. Due to the increased dosage and frequency of taking them, Hermione's hair grew at an unprecedented rate. Thankfully, she had been cleared of needing to take them at the beginning of the school term otherwise she would soon resemble one of Hagrid's magical creatures or possibly Hagrid himself.

Like her mane, her eyes reflected back warm whiskey brown framed by long eyelashes. She would never admit it, but she had always been somewhat envious of her friend's striking eye colors. This was especially true of Luna's misty blue orbs and Harry's emerald green eyes that were striking even through his glasses.

As if to match, there was a smattering of light brown freckles across her nose and cheekbones. These barely contrasted to the warm glow of her skin tone. Thankfully these were the only spots on her face, and she had luckily never had issues with acne beyond the occasional stress pimple. Unsurprisingly they often coincided with exams or imminent death.

Beyond her face she was petite but slender. Thankfully this was in a graceful way rather than being due to emaciation from the war. Even with Hermione's delicate frame there were clear indications that she was not longer a child. Her frame, while slender, still had flared curves that were not so easily masked beneath her clothing.

Hermione's newfound curves provided the perfect excuse to use some of her money on new clothing, both wizarding and muggle. She was far from a fan of shopping, but the reinvention of her wardrobe felt somewhat like shedding skin. She no longer pulled out an article of clothing and was transported back to whatever struggle she was facing at the time. Additionally, she did not have to fear the reminder of something that was gifted by her parents with each morning of getting dressed.

Even with her new clothing, her style had not changed dramatically. She still favored comfortable jeans, shirts and sweaters but found that she was drawn to some tongue in cheek pieces as well. This was especially highlighted in her hand full of muggle t-shirts sporting magical references and one formal silk slip dress of various shades of copper that when one looked closely was actually composed of a snake skin pattern. Even with her new clothing it was still strange to note her more adult build when looking in the mirror.

This was not the most apparent difference in her body however. Her eyes drifted to the many scars littering her golden skin. Hermione tentatively ran her fingers over the somewhat jagged line horizontally across one side of her throat. Honestly the cut made by Bellatrix's blade had not hurt at the time due to her fading consciousness, but the scar was a reminder of that hellish day. The line on her neck was not hidden by a glamour but she had taken to pulling her tresses over it to avoid any looks or questions. Hermione had made peace enough with her scarring to not glamour it, but she was not quite ready to have it exposed for the world to see.

Noting that the bubbling of the filling tub had come to a stop she stripped her somewhat rumpled uniform from her frame. As Hermione's eyes drifted down, she noted the long purple slash across her chest. It spanned from just above her left breast and continued all the way to the base of her right hipbone. This scar had further encouraged her to stick to her higher neck t-shirts and blouses to ensure that its violet peak would not be exposed.

Sighing Hermione tilted her head to the side whilst biting her lower lip. This scar was something that would be a problem whenever she became more intimate with a partner. Granted there were not any current prospects to be concerned with but nevertheless she did not want her scar to be the defining trait of her body when nude.

Hermione's was painfully reminded of this concern when recalling one summer night where a snogging fest with Ron had become heating enough to remove her shirt. Even still in her shorts and bra he had stopped and looked upon her skin with a look of troubled concern. He of course was not judging her for the scar but he did not seem to be able to look past it either. That had been one of the last incidents that finalized their mutual decision to remain friends rather than anything remotely romantic.

Finally, her eye turned to the skin marring her forearm. The scrawled bigoted slur covered almost the entire length of her forearm extended nearly to her wrist. Did the hate-filled name have to have so many letters? She chuckling to herself remembering that the same thought had flitted across her frantic mind while the manic eyed witch had carved into her.

Once the war concluded she had tossed around the idea of concealing or covering it in some way. However, there was a perverse pleasure in knowing the scar was the solidary legacy left behind by the infamous, unstable witch.

The remaining scars were all afterthoughts that did not all hold negative connotations. Granted, yes, some were the product of various trials and challenged faced during the war, but some were entirely separate. There were random spots of burn scarring from that fateful day in Gringotts. However, considering that Harry and Ron were sporting them as well, they felt like a badge of achievement for all they had accomplished that day.

Hermione fondly looked at a scar across the side of her knee from when she was young and adamant that she no longer needed training wheels on her bike. Her eyes turned to the mark marring her right elbow from her first and last attempt to ride a broom from first year. It was a humbling experience to be reminded that not all things could be mastered by referring to the pages of a book.

Finally, she smirked when looking at the tiny faint scar across one knuckle. Hermione had earned it from her impulsive decision to punch Malfoy directly in his smug face their third year. She was downright proud of that one.

Turning away from vanity she poured in the bath oils and lowered the lights. Sinking into the frothy solace of the bath, Hermione deeply inhaled the scents of warm orange and cinnamon soaking her skin and hair. Feeling the tension seep from her muscles she determined that following the bath a warm cup of jasmine tea and comfortable clothes were just what the doctor ordered.