Do people put a disclaimer at the beginning of every chapter? Tiresome. However, once again, the characters and recognizable settings do not belong to me, but to JK Rowling. The rest is more or less mine. I won't profit off of any of it, except in personal satisfaction.
Chapter 3: Home Again
Snape sat, ignoring the potion that, bubbling unnoticed, was turning from the (correct) translucent red to a thick brown muck the consistency of burnt chocolate. What had possessed him to hide from the Granger girl in the first place, then allow himself to be drawn into an idiotic discussion over blue robes (insufferable Malkin woman!) and then, in a high bad temper, to unload his frustration in a verbal assault on her?
He dropped his head onto the lab counter and groaned. He'd practically terrorized her in school, and he now tried to behave in a way to his old students that, if it was not conciliatory, at least hinted that he was not evil personified. But yesterday he had probably cemented that image in her mind.
And really, she hadn't been a bad student. Over eager? Yes. Too vain of her own knowledge? Yes. But careful, meticulous, exact? If only all his students were so disciplined, he wouldn't have to worry about his teaching lab being destroyed on a daily basis. It was too bad he'd had to hide all appreciation of her skill; he had little doubt that he had killed whatever real interest she had in Potions as a field of study. By the last year he had taught her she followed the book with minute precision, and despite her increasing jealousy over Potter's success (my success; he was using my book), she had never once deviated from the text.
At that point she was just trying to avoid criticism. If she had experimented she would have opened herself up to it. And to be honest, I would have criticized her, but….
His throat closed as he thought of what she might have achieved in Potions if she had been willing to stray from the conventional path. Then he wrenched his mind back to his work, and took a breath.
The taste of smoke as he inhaled caught his attention, and he jumped up and snatched the cauldron off the fire, not even bothering to find his heat-resistant glove. Cursing and blowing on his burned palm, he gave the cauldron a look that would have sent the most reckless student cowering back, but it was only a cauldron and remained unmoved. Snape found his jar of burn salve and spread some across his palm, watching in relief and satisfaction as the blisters and redness disappeared slowly. He considered the potion (now more like coal than anything else—he was glad he hadn't left his wand in it) and if it was worth gouging out to save the cauldron. Probably; it was his best cauldron. He half-heartedly tried 'scourgify,' but, not unexpectedly, it didn't even knick the potion. With a sigh, he transfigured a nearby brewing rod into a chisel, and got to work.
He worked silently, chipping away, until a resounding knock echoed against his door. Barely pausing in his work, he grabbed his wand and wordlessly opened the door to his visitor.
"Severus, what are you doing down here? Did you know you missed dinner? Again?" Pomona Sprout looked indignant from the doorway. "You can't not eat, you know. You're a growing boy."
Snape smirked up at his mentor briefly, but it faded into a troubled expression, and he went back to glumly chipping at the potion.
"Out with it, Snape."
He looked sourly back up at Pomona.
"If it is not moderately obvious, I have attempted to ruin my best cauldron, and I am now trying to salvage it."
"What, Snapey? When have you ever let a potion get away from you? Something serious must be on your mind. Tell me all about it, or I'll take you out to the garden and sweat it out of you turning the soil over in the pea patch. And all the first years will be out there planting for next fall, so it's a big job."
"Pomona, if you call me that one more time, I am going to slip a potion in your glass at breakfast. It won't be pleasant."
"Oh, good, you'll be at breakfast then. You really can't afford to skip meals all the time," her face relaxed a little, "but really, Severus, what's on your mind?"
He flung the chisel down and swung around to face her. "Nothing of consequence. I ran into Granger—literally—in Madam Malkin's, and managed to verbally belittle her. I believe I suggested she had learned nothing since her student years, and implied that what she knew then was limited."
"Hermione Granger? I thought she'd sworn off magic and run to play muggle. Why's she back?"
Snape flinched and hissed at the older woman, "Considering what promises you held me to those first two years, you're being disgustingly flippant about Granger's…prolonged absence."
"She was never my responsibility, Severus."
"Neither was I."
"Just because I chose to deal with you doesn't mean I'm going to choose to deal with anyone else. You are still quite enough trouble for me, and I'm old and tired and my back hurts. Someone else can take her on, if they are inclined to. And I still want to know why she's back."
Snape favored her with an icy look. "I thought I'd made it clear that we didn't have a polite social chat about our lives."
"Oh, come. You didn't have a chance to listen in? Malkin is always chattering away. Surely she got something out of the girl."
Snape picked up his blunted chisel, examined its rapidly dulling edge, and starting gouging at the potion again. "Pomona, you have no delicacy. Are you really suggesting that I would lower myself to eavesdrop on a personal conversation?"
"Come off it, Snape. You were a spy for seventeen years; of course you eavesdrop. What'd you hear?"
Snape smiled in acknowledged defeat. "She's going to Harry's wedding. I don't know if she is only making an exception for him, or if she has finally stopped having nightmares."
Pomona snorted. "You just said you didn't have a chat about your lives; how do you know what she ran away from."
"I taught her for seven years. She was—is—very intelligent, but she was one of the most tender-hearted creatures I've ever come across in my years of teaching. She ran away because of what she'd seen—or more likely what she'd done."
"Severus! I believe you feel something for her."
"Pity, Sprout, and I assure you that would condemn me in her eyes more than anything else I could feel—but she will never know about it."
"Well, you'll see her at the wedding. You can apologize to her for your temper—if you think it'll do any good—or you can avoid her and likely you'll never see her again. But whatever you decide, don't start forgetting meals again. I don't want to find you in a state of collapse; two of my Venomous Tentaculae are quite attached to you now. It would be disagreeable to try to attach them to someone else."
"Especially for your new victim, Pomona," replied Snape with a grin. "I'll see you at breakfast."
OOOOOOO
Hermione woke up feeling cheerful. Her abrupt shifts of mood still disconcerted her—hadn't she spent most of the week after meeting the Weasleys crying?—but she was thankful that she felt good.
I know why I feel good…I've made a decision. But I'm doing it again. No, this isn't running away. Everything else was. This is running back.
On her table were unopened packets containing information on job opportunities, research opportunities, more school opportunities. They had been piling up since before she graduated, but she had put them aside until she had more time to pay proper attention to them. Then she had ignored them when the letter from Molly arrived. She had ignored them after seeing the Weasleys. She was ignoring them now. No, she wasn't. Hermione went out to the kitchen, gathered all the envelopes up, shuffled them into an even neater pile, took them to her filing cabinet and placed them in the back of a drawer.
I'm taking the summer off. I'm going to Harry and Ginny's wedding, and after that I'm going to face what I ran away from. I'll never be a doctor if, the first time someone under my care dies, I go all to pieces. And that is what will happen. I ought to have known it. I have known it. Only…how am I supposed to go about it?
She looked around her neat kitchen, vaguely hoping an answer would present itself. She was surprised when a sharp tapping at the window drew her attention.
"What?! Oh! Look, I told you last time I can't open that window. Bedroom."
Harry's owl tipped off the narrow perch and flapped over to Hermione's bedroom, where she ran to open the window.
Hector flew in and landed on her chair, looking annoyed.
"It's not my fault you didn't remember about the window. I'd think you would have," said Hermione amusedly.
Hector glared, but stuck out his leg for her to untie the parchment. She did, and then set it down and bent over a paper bag to rummage for something.
"I was at Diagon Alley recently, and…," she triumphantly held out several small nuggets to the bird, "I bought some owl treats. Even though I wasn't really expecting you. I think."
Taking the treats carefully, Hector eyed the tangle-haired girl with appreciation. He hopped gently on the back of her chair, but made no move to leave.
"Erm… Are you ready to go?" Hermioned asked.
Hector didn't move.
"I guess not..."
Suddenly understanding, she snatched the message and unrolled it.
Hermione—
We're pleased you'll be able to come to our wedding. Even if I don't understand why you left, I know it may not be easy for you; don't think I don't appreciate it. But Dad told me how hard it was for you to talk to them, and how hard it was for them to listen, so if you're really only coming to talk to Harry, come now so you can get it over with before our wedding. Please? You're welcome to stay with Mum and Dad—I already asked.
Ginny
Here then was the first part of the answer to her question. She had known instinctively that, if she went to the wedding, she should speak first with the Weasleys; she should also not burden Harry on the day of his wedding with her questions.
She considered Ginny's letter. She must have worried what would happen if I just showed up. And rightly. But her letter is kind, and she's offered a solution, at least to her problem—and it might help mine, too.
Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards Ginny, and sat down to write her immediately.
Ginny—
Thanks for your note. I have been hoping to talk with Harry—and you, too—about some things. Of course you are right that I shouldn't do this on the day of your wedding. If your Mum and Dad don't mind, I'll come out day after tomorrow.
Hermione
PS—Actually, I don't quite know how I'll arrive. I won't Apparate; I'd prefer to arrive by my own means, but it might not be possible. Do you think there is a way I could get a temporary hook-up to the Floo network?
Hermione sat back with the note, to Hector's discontent, and considered her travel. She didn't trust magic, and anyway, she hadn't a wand. The trip by bus, with her luggage, was not appealing. The Floo was magic, but she couldn't splinch herself by accident, at least.
The worst I could do is sneeze on the way, and end up somewhere odd. I guess it's unlikely enough to be safe, though.
Satisfied, she rolled it up, gave Hector another treat and attached the paper to his leg. With a soft hoot, the big bird launched himself out of her window.
OOOOOOO
"Mum!" yelled Ginny, hurrying from her room, "Mum, Hermione's coming day after tomorrow."
She dashed into the kitchen with a grin, where Mrs. Weasley was casually supervising the knives, which were peeling potatoes. The scraped potatoes were dropping themselves into a pot of water boiling on the stove, splashing scalding water everywhere.
"Lovely," said Molly, "Here, skin these onions."
Ginny grimaced, but picked up the onions, muttering a charm to keep her eyes from burning, and began to break off the papery outer skin.
"She needs a Floo connection to get here. Do you think Dad can set it up? He did once before for Harry."
"You'll have to ask him, and he'll have to set it up with the ministry. Put the onions in this pan. I'm glad Hermione is coming. She looked tense when we met her. She needs to get out and have some fun."
Ginny looked skeptical. "Maybe she was tense because she finally got up the nerve to talk to you." She gave her Mum a glance. "You know she wants to talk to Harry and me while she's here. That's why she's coming early; so she can get it over before the wedding. She should have done this years ago; she never should have left. What did she get sorted into Gryffindor for if she was just going to run away when things got rough?"
Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows snapped together. "You can hardly judge her; what would you have done if Harry died in front of you, and there was nothing you could do to help? And things got rough before she ever thought of leaving, if half of what you and Harry say can be trusted."
Ginny looked slightly ashamed, but only shrugged. "I still don't think she should have left. What good did it do her?"
"If she has the courage to come back to us now, then it did plenty of good. She couldn't have stayed in the muggle world forever. I'm just glad she decided to come back before she found out the hard way."
"She's only coming for the wedding. That's not 'back,' Mum."
The older red-headed witch checked the potatoes, and didn't reply for a moment. Then she looked up and said, "Well, she needs to come back."
OOOOOOO
The note said to expect Ginny and Arthur at 2:00 pm. The Floo connection had been approved without a problem.
Hermione considered her clothes and her luggage. If she was going to stay at the Weasley's for a week and a half, then she needed a fair amount of clothing, and then, for her time after that, if she could do what she hoped to…. Her small tote was too small. In fact, her larger bag was probably too small. Neat stacks of clothing sat on her bed and floor, and she mentally arranged and rearranged them in her bags.
Giving up in disgust, Hermione went to her main closet, dragged out her step-ladder, and retrieved her old trunk from her school days. Dusting it off carefully, she opened it and put all the clothes in it, folding her new dress robes delicately over the top. Then she added two more pairs of shoes, silently admonishing herself for unnecessary excess, and closed the lid.
She walked through her flat, straightening photos, putting away items neatly into drawers or baskets, and wiping dust off window sills. Satisfied that everything was in order, she sat down with a book to wait for the Weasleys.
At five minutes til two, Hermione's smallish fireplace began to glow greenly, and she looked up from her book to see Ginny ducking under her mantle into the room. Hermione jumped up from her chair and went to greet her and Arthur, as he maneuvered through the tight space.
Ginny was looking around with careful disinterest, although as Hermione approached she smiled and waved her arm at the tidy room. "I see you learned some organizational skills out in the muggle world. I guess it's easier to learn when you can't banish or summon things with a wave."
Hermione winced slightly, but then laughed. "I can't help it any more. Everything always has to be in order for my area of work. Now it's habit."
She shook Arthur's hand in welcome as she finished speaking, and then, flustered, hugged Ginny a little awkwardly, who returned the greeting, also awkwardly. Arthur, however, had moved over to the lamp and was examining the switch.
"Is this the sort that you twist or depress to turn the light on?" he asked, pushing gently at it. He was gratified when the bulb lit up brilliantly, and turned back to Hermione and Ginny beaming and blinking. "Ahh, I see. A lovely example."
Ginny smiled tolerantly at her father, but turned to Hermione and said, "Come on. Let's get your things before he decides to look at every piece of muggle invention in here."
Laughing, she and Hermione walked over to the trunk. Ginny looked at the trunk, with the symbols for Hogwarts and Gryffindor emblazoned across the lid, and gave Hermione a questioning glance.
Hermione looked a little uncomfortable, but merely said, "My clothes fit better in this than my other bags. I haven't traveled enough to need anything big…."
Ginny just nodded and helped her pick it up. "I hope it fits through your fireplace okay. It's kind of a squeeze. Oh well, I guess if we fit through, it will, too. But it isn't quite as flexible as I am."
Hermione started to giggle as she thought about the trunk flexing its sides to squeeze through the fireplace. Ginny began laughing also, and the two girls exchanged their first real smile. Ginny suddenly felt that Hermione might still be a good friend, despite having run off seven years ago, and Hermione felt a sudden lightness when she realized that the stiffness around Ginny's eyes had disappeared.
Arthur had pulled a battered paper bag out of his pocket, and offered it to Hermione.
"You first," he said, "Molly's waiting for you. We'll be right behind you."
"Just don't burn my apartment down after I leave," replied Hermione, still giggling slightly. She took a pinch of the green powder and threw it on the flames. Once they turned green, she stepped into them, calling out, "The Burrow!" and she began to spin.
She stepped out into the Weasley's parlour, and Molly was there waiting.
"Welcome home, Hermione," she said, stepping forward with a smile.
OOOOOOO
A/N: Two kind betas have agreed to start helping me unmuddle this story. Whether it is muddled (yet) to the reader is unclear to me; what is clear is that it is very mixed up in my own mind. I was hoping to wait to post this chapter until after I had discussed things further with them. However, I was sent off to a work conference for a week (which is constituted not only of attending meetings all day, but also of mingling in the evenings--so disrupting to my extracurricular activities, like making outlines to share with my new betas) and now I feel I've delayed too much, so I'm going to go ahead and post this. Anyway, even if I have to completely rework my first chapters, three will not be so much more work than two.