Chapter 1: Decisions

Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm

I don't own Hermione, Lupin, the Aurory, or any other aspect of JK Rowling's creation. Anything that you recognize is hers, or a variation thereof. I shall try my best to give credit where credit is due in every way possible.
Also, Snape isn't really around for this chapter (or the next), but he'll get in there soon.
Be warned: this chapter has a lot of exposition, as I'm trying to bridge the gap between the (non-epilogue) ending of DH and the start of this setting.

The tower rooms that were traditionally the Headmaster or Headmistress' chambers had changed, and in many ways the addition of the portrait of Albus Dumbledore was the least significant of the alterations (although that was, in and of itself, no small difference). The majority of the knickknacks and gadgets that Dumbledore had kept around in such great quantity had disappeared, for one thing. Two small tables remained, holding the little devices of which Dumbledore had been so fond, but the rest had been stored away. A few extra chairs occupied some of the newly freed space, and the desk had been moved so as to create the illusion that the room was not so glaringly empty, but the effect was half-hearted at best: the room had lost something, much like the castle and all its inhabitants had lost something. That knowledge was lessened, however, by the soft glow of afternoon light through the high windows, as well as the soft snoring of all the portraits' inhabitants. If Hermione concentrated very carefully on her tea and her former teacher, it was almost possible to pretend that things would all return to normal very soon.

"I think teaching is where I'm headed, for now. It may not be what I do forever – I'd really like to be part of the Ministry at some point, and continue my work with S.P.E.W. or something similar – but I also don't want to be grounded in the Ministry my whole life." Hermione stated, and as this was the third week in a row that she'd said the same thing, it seemed like something of a surety now. "I guess that school is what I'm best at, so why should I ever really leave it?" She grinned at her former professor. "But then, I don't think I'm ready to return to school so immediately. I feel really young to be teaching yet, and I think I'd like to have a Mastery to my credit before I start."

McGonagall smiled. "You certainly wouldn't need a Mastery to convince me of your abilities, my dear," she said with mock censure. "But I can see how it could be wise to take a year or two for advanced studies before returning to the castle."

"I don't know what I'd want to study, really," Hermione admitted shyly. She took a sip of tea as she pondered her options. "The thought of dedicating myself to a single subject is a little intimidating – not that I'd get tired of it, of course, but just…I don't want to limit myself."

"Nor should you," McGonagall agreed warmly. "In most cases, it's unusual for a Mastery to focus on one subject to the exclusion of others – it would lead to a certain shortsightedness in the community, don't you think? But I'd suggest you take your time to think about what it is you'd like to put the most emphasis on, and then turn your thoughts to who you'd like to apprentice with."

"I'll do that," Hermione said slowly, already starting to mull over her possibilities.

"The choice is nothing you need to rush into," McGonagall said, waving away the tea service and waiting for Hermione to finish her cup, "and it can be tricky to back out of an apprenticeship if you find yourself having second thoughts." With that, she let the matter drop, and the two women talked idly until, with thanks and fond well-wishes, Hermione departed.

The question of her apprenticeship plagued Hermione in the following days as she turned over arguments for each of a half-dozen subjects in her head. McGonagall herself would have been Hermione's first choice for apprenticing under, but she couldn't see how taking on an apprentice would fit in the busy schedule of a Headmistress, so she didn't even bother with asking – the same held true for all the other professors at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron weren't helpful as sounding boards; neither could understand the idea of more years of academia, and urged her instead to join the Magical Law Enforcement. Finding them useless, she turned instead to Remus Lupin for advice.

Lupin and Harry shared the house at twelve Grimmauld Place, although Harry spent most of the week with Ron as they worked late into the night and rose early to head to the office each day. When Hermione arrived to talk to Lupin, the house was deserted. She set about making tea, and had barely had time to curl up with one of the ancient books from the Black family library before she heard the pop of Lupin's arrival. "Hello, Remus!" she called, "I'm in the sitting room."

"Hermione!" the older man greeted her with a warm smile. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I was with Severus, and…" he trailed off a little uncertainly.

Despite the spy's widely acknowledge innocence, many people still held an intense dislike for Severus Snape. Lupin, convinced that he owed Snape a debt of gratitude after all the years that Snape had been brewing the Wolfsbane potion – not to mention all the years he'd spied for the Order – spent more time with the recuperating man than anyone else seemed willing to. Harry had told Hermione that Lupin made visits to Snape's home at least once a week – although Lupin rarely told Harry how those visits went. As Lupin was a reminder of the torments of Snape's teenaged years, Hermione couldn't imagine that Snape was thrilled to see him – but maybe something had changed, she reasoned.

"How is he?" she asked timidly, and Lupin relaxed, evidently glad that she did not share Ron's revulsion to even the mention of the ex-Death Eater. Hermione had never felt as ungraciously towards the man as her two best friends and had even come to respect him before he had apparently murdered Dumbledore, and Harry had (grudgingly) come to tolerate the idea that Snape was a human being rather than a plotting scumbag, but Ron categorically refused to admit that Snape was anything but the evil, greasy git of the dungeons.

"Better every day," he said cheerfully. "He was in his garden when I arrived. Just sitting, but he walked back into the house almost unaided. Said the healing process should speed up to where he's fit as a fiddle in another few weeks." As Hermione grinned, Lupin smiled in response. "So maybe those weren't his exact words," he allowed after a beat, "but he does seem satisfied with his recovery, now that he's away from St. Mungo's."

Hermione nodded, remembering the headlines that had been splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet three months previously, when Snape had stormed – as best as a weak, injured man could storm – out of St. Mungo's, declaring himself 'perfectly capable of recuperating without the incompetent bumbling of ill-prepared, noisome busybodies.' Lupin had confided to Harry that Snape had spent the next week and a half after his display of temper totally bedridden, too weak to lift a spoon.

Severus Snape had been confined in St. Mungo's just after the Final Battle, when the newly-appeared portrait of Albus Dumbledore suggested to the beleaguered survivors that somebody check the Shrieking Shack to see if Snape was, in fact, quite dead. To everyone's great surprise, he was not – although it was a near thing. After Harry's protestations of Snape's innocence, the badly injured man was taken to St. Mungo's, though very few people held any real hope for his recovery. Despite Harry's impressive defense of the spy, most people had settled so comfortably into the habit of hating Snape that it made them a bit uncomfortable to suddenly feel beholden to him, so most folk chose not to – on top of which was the inescapable severity of the man's wounds. Nagini was no more poisonous than any other snake – but one advantage she had was that she was a truly huge snake, and fangs that size didn't need any poison at all to be entirely lethal. Slowly but surely, however, Dumbledore's killer and staunchest supporter had recovered. Within days of his return to consciousness, Lupin had been pleased to inform him that the Wizengamot had met during his 'indisposition' and, upon seeing the memories that Dumbledore had left behind and hearing the testimony of the Boy Who Lived, decided to find Snape not guilty. The former Potions Master had not at that point recovered the power of speech, but had instead looked at Lupin with a sort of wild incredulity in his eyes. After that, his progress had increased rapidly, until he could no longer stand the ministrations of the mediwizards and left in a huff.

"Anyway, my dear," Lupin continued, "what is it you're here for? It's the middle of the week, I can't say I'm expecting Harry back until Friday, so you might try Ron's if…" he paused as Hermione interrupted the suggestion with a shake of her head.

"I came looking to talk to you," she said. "I think I've decided to get my Mastery before I do anything else, and then I'm likely to teach for at least a few years."

"Splendid!" said Lupin. "I'm glad you've set a course for yourself. Hogwarts will, of course, be lucky to have such a gifted witch as yourself on its faculty."

Hermione blushed at Lupin's praise. "The only problem is that I'm not sure what it is I want to study most," she explained. "I've talked with McGonagall, and she's agreed that I'm likely advanced enough to teach any of several subjects, but I do want to have a Mastery before I go back to Hogwarts. I've been helping Harry, Ron, Lavander, and Parvati for years in Transfiguration and Charms, and Professors Babbling and Vector said they thought I could teach Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, but I'm just not sure what I want."

Lupin shook his head in mock horror. "What a dilemma," he said with false commiseration. Hermione batted a hand at him, smiling.

"If I were you,"' Lupin said after a moment's thought, "I'd be looking for the area with the greatest interaction with other branches of magic. Arithmancy is a wonderful subject, but its only truly close ties are with Astronomy and Divination – and I never much imagined that those would be your preferred subjects," Lupin teased.

"Do you know, I rather think you're right," Hermione responded with a sly smile. "The Headmistress also told me I should be very sure about what I pick. Not because I'll lose interested – it's just that I've been very used to being able to take a hand in almost everything that interested me at Hogwarts, but it's not quite so easy to pick up a second Mastery without severely delaying my career."

Lupin nodded thoughtfully.

"I think I might look for a Potions Master," she added a little hesitantly. "Potions has got so many connections to other studies of magic," she explained, her words growing more sure, "Herbology, obviously – but healing, too, and there are potions that mimic the effects of different charms and transfiguring spells. There are so many spells that are strengthened by potions, or used in conjunction with them – it'd be really interesting, to learn more about all of that. It seems like it might be a nice way to cover so many different subjects."

Lupin nodded thoughtfully. "I'm told – I wouldn't know much for myself, I'm pretty graceless when it comes to brewing – that Potions gives a physical form to magical theory, that to have an understanding of the potion-making process is to have an understanding of the cycle of magic."

Hermione imagined that she knew who had described Potions in this way to Lupin – Snape tended to wax eloquent on his favorite subjects.

"I know you've received excellent marks in the class and your exams," Lupin added after a moment, "but I don't believe I've ever heard you talk about it with any particular fervor."

"Well, honestly," Hermione responded to the unasked question, "can you imagine anyone really talking about enjoying Potions around Harry and Ron? For them, it's bad enough that I enjoy studying at all, but to actually say that I like the subject, let alone the class, would've caused some sort of panic that I was being coerced by Slytherins."

"I suppose it might have, at that. Still, a Potions Mastery might be an excellent idea. It is, as you say, connected with many other branches of study, and there's certain to never be a lack of employment opportunities. Potions is much more practical than, say, Charms, at least as far as finding a job is concerned. Not to mention," Lupin added, "Hogwarts will be in need of a Potions Master – Mistress –" he amended with a smile "soon. Horace Slughorn's agreed to teach for another year for Minerva, and she might wrangle an additional year on top of that, but he's bent on enjoying his retirement."

"I hadn't thought of that," Hermione admitted, "but that's excellent. But who could I study under - there aren't many Potions Masters in the UK, are there?"

"Five – well, four now I suppose," Lupin said. "McKweon, I think his name was, got tangled up in business with some Death Eaters. I don't suppose you'd fancy studying in Azkaban."

"Not hardly," agreed Hermione. "Well!" she said brightly, standing to her feet and heading toward the fireplace, "Thank you very much for your help. I'll have to think on it a bit more, but I think that may be the solution."

Lupin smiled as he lit a small fire for her use. "I'm sure you'll make a good choice," he said, holding out the little pot of Floo powder. "Will you be over this weekend?"

"Of course," Hermione said, taking a pinch of powder, "I'll see you soon."

Talking with Lupin turned out to be the best guidance Hermione received. She broached the matter with her parents, but there was no way for them to help guide her down the proper path, and they mostly voiced empty reassurances that Hermione had always been a bright girl with a good head on her shoulders, and would do well no matter what she chose. When she met with Headmistress McGonagall that Friday, the kindly old woman seemed pleased with Hermione's tentative solution – and especially pleased with the thought of a new and fully-capable Potions professor. Hermione left that meeting full of resolve, and sat down immediately to write out letters to the UK Potions Masters (the ones who weren't in Azkaban).

The letters to her potential Masters caused Hermione no end of agony, as she wrote and re-wrote drafts to these formidable intellects that she had never met. The thought of approaching almost any of her former teachers requesting an apprenticeship had caused her no anxiety at all, and in fact the prospect seemed more appealing the more she worried over how best to present herself. In the end, it was with no small amount of consternation that she walked into Diagon Alley's owl post office and sent the three letters on their way.

She walked around Diagon Alley for a while, trying to divert her mind from the question of her apprenticeship. It was calming to watch the hustle and bustle of the magical world up and down the familiar street. During and immediately after the war, it had been so quiet and haunted – it was refreshing to see that life had returned to Diagon Alley, and that thought cheered her immensely. On top of that, it was the weekend, and Harry and Ron were expecting her to supper. Remus, it turned out, was a dab hand at cooking – a skill which Hermione sadly guessed was due to being discouraged from frequenting public restaurants for most of his life. That sad fact did nothing to tamper her enjoyment of his meals, however, and weekends at Grimmauld Place were fast becoming the highlight of Hermione's weeks. She picked up a few new books to occupy her mind while waiting for replies, and headed over to spend time with her friends.

Relaxing with a delicious meal, Hermione was content to listen and laugh as Ron regaled the table with stories of Auror training, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "Most of the other trainees don't know about Harry's Invisibility Cloak – or didn't, up 'til now –" he said, his voice thick through the pudding that he was shoveling in, heedless of manners, "you should've seen the look on Reggy's face when Harry turned up behind him! I was only Disillusioned, so he kind of had an eye on where I was – charmed a water hose so he could see where I was displacing water, see, and so he thought he had me pinned down pretty good, cast a detection charm around the room, but of course we know that those don't really affect Harry's Cloak, now do they? So Reggy's crowing, he's so proud of himself, only just as he's about to Stun me…"

Ron trailed off into laughter. Remus caught Hermione's eye and gave her a wink; she rolled her eyes in return. Ron loved nothing more than to share every minute of training with anyone who would listen – and while the stories were, often as not, very amusing, it was a little wearing to hear the tales every time she saw the boys. Reggy, she guessed from Ron's stories, was not overly bright – if Ron was to be believed, he was caught out in almost all their practical exercises by simple tricks. Harry had expressed concern over how long he'd last in the program, a concern which Ron seemed entirely unaffected by.

"So, Hermione," Lupin said after a comfortable silence, waving his hand to send the dishes into the kitchen, where they began cleaning themselves, "have you made up your mind?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, smiling nervously. "In fact I sent off three letters just this morning to the local Potions Masters."

"Excellent!" Lupin said, making to stand up from the table, "Let me get some butterbeer, and we'll drink to your good luck."

Ron ignored Lupin's words. "Hermione, you didn't tell us that you'd settled on Potions – hadn't really even heard you mention it more than a time or two. What changed?"

Hermione shrugged, repeating the reasons that she and Remus had hashed out on her previous visit.

"You'll be brilliant," Harry said, happy that his friend had figured out what she wanted.

After the war, it had been such a simple decision for Ron and himself, and for most of their year – people who had parents' footsteps to follow in, or a life-long interest to pursue, but for Hermione… Harry knew that she was too careful to plunge into anything, and suspected that she'd taken her NEWT year at Hogwarts as much to give herself time to consider her options as to have the satisfaction of receiving an Outstanding in all nine of her NEWT-level subjects.

In some ways, Harry envied her decision to take time to think about her possible futures. From his fourth year on, the desire to be an Auror had burned within him, but now, with barely more than six months to go in his training, Harry felt burdened by his choice. He was no longer certain that he could dedicate his life to catching dark wizards. Indeed, the defeat of Voldemort had started to seem like more than enough of that sort of thing – a future full of hunting down the Malfoys, Macnairs, and Lestranges of the world seemed unbelievably wearying. Harry was determined to stick out his training, but hoped more each day that some other viable option would present itself to him.

"And it'll prove that not all Potions Masters are 'greasy gits,'" Lupin added with a smile.

"Still – Potions!" Ron insisted, shaking his head in apparent bafflement. "Never thought one of us would go down that road, eh? Hated it, we all did."

Hermione didn't bother to correct the assumption. Ron thought that since he and Harry had hated potions, she must have, too – but then, Ron assumed the same of Astronomy and History of Magic. Through the long years of their friendship, Hermione had been able to overlook the vaguely possessive air with which Ron seemed to regard her, unconsciously imposing his own likes and dislikes on her.

That possessiveness had lead to tension in the summer after Voldemort's defeat. During the Final Battle, Hermione had been so caught up in emotions, so scared and thrilled, that kissing Ron had seemed like the thing to do – the only problem being that Ron assumed that it had cemented whatever unspoken tensions ran between them. All summer long he'd been acting as if they were in an established relationship – a relationship that, Hermione admitted to herself, she would probably not have minded – if only she'd had any say in the matter. As it was, Hermione found the years of Ron's little presumptions threatening to overwhelm her. When she'd first aired the thought of going back to Hogwarts, Ron had flat-out denied the possibility – not only for himself, but for her as well.

"We'd never planned on going back," he had said, "we've got all we want, don't we?"

In the end, her return to Hogwarts had been precisely the distance she needed from Ron, and she told him that she didn't know if the effort necessary for a relationship crossing from London to Hogwarts was really something that they needed, with him going into the fast and furious training for Aurors, and her studying for NEWTs. He had agreed readily enough, and in the months that followed, their friendship had flourished where the so-called relationship had threatened to choke it out altogether.

Given the tempestuous nature of their friendship (and how could it be anything but tempestuous, when it had begun because of Ron's unkind words and a shared triumph over a mountain troll?) Hermione had been shocked by the seeming grace with which they went back to being a trio of best friends without the complications of a possible relationship – although part of her didn't want to close the door entirely. If Ron grew up a bit, she thought, their love might mature as well.

It was July now, and Hermione had been home from Hogwarts for a month with nary a word from Ron about rekindling the relationship. Hermione was grateful for this, as much for personal reasons as because it allowed her to spend more time with her parents. She, with the help and guidance of Professor McGonagall, had retrieved them from Australia and restored their memories over the Christmas holidays. The beleaguered couple had had months on their own to come to grips with the life they had been plunged into afresh before Hermione came home to live with them. McGonagall had insisted that it was better this way, and time had proved her right.

Hermione had told her parents only that the spell she was performing would help protect them, not that she was going to be completely reinventing their lives. The Grangers felt a little betrayed by this action on her part, and her assurances that it was the only way to really ensure their safety fell, by and large, on deaf ears.

"I thought the whole point of this war you're fighting," Hermione's mother had said on the first night of her restored memories, "was that some wizards would deny Muggles like us any choice in our lives. How is what you did any better?"

The words had stung, and Hermione had fled in tears. In the months of her spring term at Hogwarts, she had kept up a stream of cordial letters, and her parents' ire had cooled by the time she returned for the summer. Hermione's guilt over her machinations of her parents was driven out by the joy of living with them, the knowledge that her questionable actions had had the desired results – her parents were safe and whole.

"I think it's great," Harry told Ron, bringing Hermione out of her memories as Remus got butterbeer and passed bottles around. "If only so that Hogwarts gets a fair Potions professor for a time." Harry may have more or less forgiven Snape for many things, but he couldn't forget the many injudicious detentions and point losses that Gryffindors in general – and Harry in specific – had faced throughout the years.

Remus did not respond to Harry's comment, as he had learned that it was safer to just agree to disagree with his two younger companions when it came to the erstwhile Potions Master. He looked at Hermione a little curiously, though, as if he wished to ask her something.

"Well," he said brightly, his expression suddenly clearing, "here's to your hopeful future, Hermione. May it hold more than you can dream."

"Cheers," Harry and Hermione chimed in happily, while Ron worked to clear his bottle in the most rapid fashion possible.

It was many more hours before Hermione returned by Floo to her parents' house, and it was with great confidence and happiness that she went to sleep, daring to hope that the next day might bring her an answer to the owls she'd sent out.

Sunday was not, however, destined to be her lucky day: after the morning delivery of the Sunday Prophet, Hermione saw neither beak nor tail feather of any owls, and passed the day in quiet reflection and reading.

One letter was, however, returned just two days later. In it, Adair Pickhills, a rather aloof man with a supercilious air, from what she'd heard, informed her quite brusquely that he had no intention of taking on an apprentice, and if he did it would hardly be a girl as young as her – Potions was a serious undertaking, not to be trifled with by children.

The rejection stung Hermione. Is there anyone of our generation, she thought angrily, who is really a child anymore? She thought of the look on the littlest Creevey's face at the sight of his dead brother, thought of Ginny's haunted eyes whenever she thought of Fred, thought of little Teddy Lupin, growing up without a mother. She then wondered if tracking down Horcruxes was the sort of thing that Pickhills expected of children – or living on the run for most of a year, or facing Voldemort and his followers. As a rule, Hermione did not rest on the laurels of the achievements that she and Ron had aided Harry in (unlike the boys, she thought with a touch of asperity, remembering how ecstatic they had both been to jump straight into the Aurory without the need of their NEWTs), but she had hoped, uncharacteristically, that their exploits would at least have lent a certain validity to her requests of the Potions Masters.

Hermione consoled herself. There were, after all, two more prospective Masters to hear from – and if she was honest with herself, she could always search for Masters on the Continent, although she hoped that she wouldn't need to.

That didn't stop her from needing company to distract her from her peevish thoughts that night – she found out from Remus that Harry and Ron had an afternoon's respite from training and would be eating at Grimmauld Place, so she once again found herself discussing her hopeful Potions apprenticeship over dinner with her friends.

"Any response to those letters?" Harry asked once Ron had finished sharing the tales of their latest exploits.

"Oh, yes," Hermione answered, heat flushing her face as she remembered Pickhills' dismissal. "I've had one reply – Adair Pickhills saying that silly little girls oughtn't mess with a science and art as refined and serious as Potion-making." She grimaced, and was gratified to see the darkened faces of her friends.

"I'll hex him if you like," Ron offered. "What was that about Potions Masters not being stuck-up gits, Remus?"

Lupin shook his head at Ron's words – the two couldn't reach any sort of agreement or understanding where Severus Snape was concerned. "Severus might not be terribly nice," Lupin said, "but you might show a little more understanding through someone who has been dealt such a raw hand."

Ron scoffed a bit at this, but apparently felt that it was more important to continue shoveling food in his mouth than to argue the point with Remus.

It was a week before Hermione heard a response to another of her letters. Quora Rossini, an Italian witch who had taken up residence in Wales, had sent a very polite missive, thanking Hermione for her interest. In it she wished Hermione the best of luck with her studies, commented that it was a shame that McKweon had been sent to prison, as he'd been looking for an apprentice, and said that it was with extreme regret that she admitted she wasn't looking for an apprentice. She was preparing to be married, and the two-year honeymoon she had planned in America would ill benefit an apprentice. Rossini noted that, in two years time, if Hermione was still in need of her apprenticeship, she would be more than delighted to guide her down the delicate path of potioneering.

Distressed though she was over the lack of result from two of her three letters, Hermione was gratified by the tone of Rossini's refusal. It was a balm for the resentment that Pickhills' letter had stirred in her. If she ended up needing to Master in something else, Hermione thought that it maybe wouldn't be so bad to come back to the idea of an apprenticeship with Rossini in a few years' time. However, her original plan had not yet failed: it was with supreme optimism that Hermione waited for her third response, refusing to acknowledge any thought of failure.

Another week passed, and despite her firm intentions, Hermione began to worry. Twice she tried to pay Lupin a weekday visit, to soothe her fears or discuss other options, but the house was empty. The third time that she appeared in the parlour of Grimmauld Place, she decided to wait it out. Once again, she chose a book from the Black family library, and waited patiently.

So absorbed in her reading was she, that Remus had Apparated, walked into the kitchen, sat down across from her, and called her name twice before Hermione looked up.

"It isn't quite comforting to know that I can't compete with the writings of a long-dead historian," Remus said with a laugh at the shocked expression on Hermione's face upon finding out that she had company.

"Theorist," Hermione corrected absently, "but don't let it hurt you." Carefully marking her place in the book, Hermione offered him some tea.

The two sat companionably for a while, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. With her parents out of the house every day at their practice, days could be lonely for Hermione – and, she imagined, quite lonely for Remus as well, if he was turning to Snape for company.

"Where's Teddy?" Hermione asked, suddenly aware that she hadn't seen the baby in quite some time.

"Oh, Arabella Figg takes care of him most afternoons, and whenever I'm visiting Severus," Lupin said, shifting a bit uncomfortably.

Hermione realized, with a pang of annoyance at her own startling lack of tact, that it was likely terribly painful for Lupin to spend too much time with little Teddy, who was a Metamorphmagus like his mother. Remus had only recently come out of the mourning that had begun on the night of the Final Battle; the night of Nymphadora Lupin's death.

"That's kind of her," Hermione said hesitantly.

"She says it almost makes up for never having any of her own," Lupin responded with a bleak smile. Although Hermione would never say it to the wounded man, she found that somehow poetic – a son who'd never know his mother, and a woman who'd never known the joy of children, finding comfort in each other. It was the way of life for wizarding Britain in the vacuum left by those who had died fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"But what brings you here?" Lupin asked after a moment of staring at the dregs in his cup, making an effort to look cheerful.

Hermione suddenly felt incredibly selfish, and no longer felt the desire to talk about her worries over her apprenticeship. Instead, she patted Lupin's arm a little awkwardly, before refreshing both of their tea. "Just checking on you," she said, her voice intentionally light. "I came by a time or two earlier in the week and didn't find you – wanted to make sure everything was well."

It wasn't quite a lie, really, and Remus seemed to take it at face value, giving her a true smile. "Thank you," he said simply. "I've been out seeking work. There's a great deal more tolerance towards werewolves now, for some reason." \

He winked at her, both of them knowing full well that one of Shacklebolt's firsts acts as elected Minister had been to repeal some of the restrictions on werewolves. He had told Lupin that he'd liked to have repealed all of them, but there were those like Fenrir Greyback's followers who would have taken advantage of such sudden leniency.

"But that's wonderful!" exclaimed Hermione. "Good on you – what sort of job are you looking for?"

"Do you know, I'm not feeling tremendously picky," Remus said. The smile still lingered in his face and eyes, but Hermione knew what he meant: after years of being denied any and all employment, save for a few lucky, ill-paying jobs here and there and a one-year stint at Hogwarts, Lupin didn't care what job he had, so long as it paid decent wages and wasn't demeaning. Hermione remembered, with a pang of indignation at the injustices of the world, that at some point a few of the taverns in Diagon Ally had hired Lupin on to do sweeping and cleaning – with a daily meal of table-scraps for his pay.

They chatted amiably about his prospects and the state of the wizarding community, and once they'd entirely emptied out the teapot, Hermione bid him a fond farewell.

Despite the fact that they never mentioned the question of her apprenticeship, Hermione's visit to Lupin had done precisely what she had hoped – it had allayed her fears. When she returned to her parents' for dinner, it was with a very light heart.

That light heart was made even more buoyant the next morning when the post arrived. A beautiful owl brought an ornately decorated envelope, bearing an elaborate crest surrounding the letters A and E. With a start, Hermione realized that this must be from the third of her hopeful Masters – Arth Eagleton, who lived in the Western Isles.

"Help yourself," Hermione told the owl absently, pushing the remainder of her plate toward it. The owl gave her a regal look before deigning to snap up some dry toast.

Hands trembling and heart pounding erratically, Hermione opened the envelope.

Dear Miss Granger, the ornate script read

It was with great pleasure that I received your request for an apprenticeship. The O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores that you sent along look very promising – it is pleasing to know that a young witch so talented is eager to join the elite ranks of Master Potionmakers. I am amenable to taking on an apprentice, and yet refuse to do so without having met face-to-face. The bonds between an apprentice and master being what they are, it is hardly sensible to sign a contract without a slight idea of to whom it is we will be binding ourselves. If you are agreeable, then, please feel free to call upon me between the hours of ten and eleven tomorrow morning. Simply Flooing to "The Eagle's Nest" will bring you to the proper location.[1]

My owl awaits your response.

Warmest Regards,
Arth Eagleton

For a moment, Hermione could neither breathe nor blink, hardly able to fathom her luck. After a frozen moment, she dashed madly to her desk to pen a quick response. Affirming their appointment, she tied her hasty missive to the leg of the owl, who took off into the morning air. Following its flight with her eyes, Hermione was sure the world had never looked so lovely.

Cheered by the prospects of what tomorrow might bring, Hermione sent word to Remus by way of a modified banishing charm. For someone who didn't have an owl, it was a very convenient little charm, but Hermione wished she had a way to check to see if her notes actually landed in their intended location. She sent a similar note to Ron's flat, although she resigned herself to the fact that, given the level of untidiness that Ron had always shown, it was unlikely that he would ever take note of her missive. Her news shared, Hermione set about cleaning and straightening the house, keeping her hands occupied as her mind raced ahead into the future.

When her parents returned that evening, it was to a joyous daughter and a hot meal. She had kept them up to date in regards to her plans for the future, but it was only now that she had a confirmed appointment to talk about an apprenticeship that she really went in-depth about her hopes concerning a Potions Mastery. Her parents were supportive, as she knew they would be, but unable to show any real enthusiasm for what she was talking about.

To a certain degree, that made sense to Hermione. Despite her best efforts to explain, Mr. and Mrs. Granger didn't have any practical grasp on what potion-making was all about, and it was beyond them as to how it could support their daughter financially. For all that they had been through and learned about the wizarding world, Hermione was aware that her parents still saw magic as being relatively insubstantial, and she knew that they questioned the wisdom of supporting herself in the magical world, rather than finding some "real-world" job. She could not change their minds about that in one night's conversation, though, so she didn't allow her spirits to be dampened when her parents could not match her excitement.

All too soon, her parents were saying goodnight and heading to bed, leaving Hermione alone with her nerves and excitement. Regardless of her fervent desire to make a good impression the next morning – or perhaps because of it – the night was slow and largely sleepless for Hermione. When dawn curled its golden rays between the gaps in her curtains, she gave up, rising to shower and prepare breakfast for her parents. They wished her luck as they headed out the door, leaving Hermione quite alone and quite unsure of how best to pass the time before she was due to arrive at the Eagle's Nest.

In times like these, Hermione rather resented the ease of magic. Were she a Muggle, she would have at least the car ride to kill some of her time – but with Floo travel being almost instantaneous, there wasn't even the distraction of transit to ease the wait.

As ten o'clock drew nearer, Hermione became increasingly grateful that she'd told Eagleton to expect her promptly at ten. After a quick inspection to make sure that she looked as well put-together as possible, Hermione threw some Floor powder into the fire, calling out "The Eagle's Nest!" with an authority that she certainly didn't feel.

[1] – Although I'm not sure that there's a canon answer for how close one has to be for Floo travel to work, I'm going to say that, on a landmass as relatively small as the European Continent, anywhere in the UK is going to be connected. This is supported by the fact that characters Floo travel Hogwarts to the Burrow (OotP), and Harry uses Hogwarts' fire to Floo Grimmauld Place to search for Sirius (OotP). This also makes sense since the Floo Network is Ministry-regulated, and a single Ministry for Magic seems to preside over the whole of the UK.

A/N - So that's chapter one handled! For the next month, I'll hopefully be updating one to two times a week. This is one of the busier parts of the year for me, but at least weekly updates are certain.