Hermione appeared at breakfast the next morning in anticipation of another stony silence. But, to her surprise, the Potions master greeted her with a sly smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye.

'Miss Granger,' he drawled, 'it has come to my attention that you have not been entirely honest with me.'

'Sir?'

He reached across the breakfast table and thrust his copy of The Daily Prophet into her hands.

'GRANGER GETS THE BOOT

Following a dramatic scene outside Ministry headquarters, Hermione Granger has been dismissed from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her dismissal was sanctioned after the twenty-nine-year-old war hero, and long-standing friend of Harry Potter, attacked one of her Ministry co-workers.

Unsuspecting Auror trainee, Guinevere Corselet, was on the receiving end of Granger's unwarranted Jelly-Legs jinx last Tuesday. Sources report that the war hero opened fire upon seeing Corselet walk arm-in-arm with her former partner, Ronald Weasley. But this is not the first time that the twenty-year-old apprentice has been subjected to Granger's rampant jealousy...'

'I was under the impression you had left of your own accord,' he said lightly.

Her mouth fell open as she skimmed through the article.

'It's not true!' she cried indignantly as she dropped onto the chair beside him. 'It's all rubbish conjured up by that...infernal journalist.'

The Daily Prophet had made its way among the students and faculty members and Hermione felt their curious stares burn into her skin. To her great relief, however, she noted that the Headmistress had tossed the Ministry's newspaper to the side. Instead, the former Gryffindor Head had propped the latest edition of Transfiguration Weekly against a jug of pumpkin juice to peruse while finishing her breakfast.

'As if I would be so petty as to jinx Ron's new girlfriend,' Hermione grumbled. 'That malicious, conniving –'

'One would presume you would be used to it by now...' Snape said snidely. 'I, for one, have grown extremely weary of seeing your face and lurid love life slapped across the front page of every paper.'

'I used to ignore all the gossip when I was at the Ministry,' she said with a heavy sigh. 'Kingsley knew it was all rot. But, now that I'm working here, if she continues to spout this...nonsense, it could jeopardise my job!'

'Wouldn't that be awful?' He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

'"Rumour has it that Granger has returned to Hogwarts to carry out a teaching assistantship under the tutelage of ex-Death Eater, turned double agent, Severus Snape",' Hermione read.

'Wonderful,' he interjected dryly. 'Your fame is catching. I really ought to keep my distance...'

'"How will parents react when they learn that the fiery-tempered young witch has been charged with responsibility of moulding young minds? Mrs Bagthela from Blickling expresses her concern over the appointment..."' she continued.

At that moment, a parliament of owls fluttered through the open door of the Great Hall and Hermione's heart sank as she watched four tawny owls soar towards her. Four thick piles of envelopes landed with a resounding thud on her empty breakfast plate.

Professor Snape glanced enquiringly at the bundle of letters.

'Fan mail,' Hermione muttered. The chair legs squeaked against the wooden flooring as she rose to her feet.

'Aren't you going to open it?' he jeered.

She grimaced as she recalled the last time she had opened letters from irate readers of The Daily Prophet.

'Not unless you have an antidote to Bubotuber pus.'

The morning passed without any catastrophes, which was primarily due to the fact that the first – and only – class of the day was not until three o'clock that afternoon.

'What is it?' Hermione asked, unable to keep the irritable tone from her voice, as she set up for the incoming O.W.L. students. She could feel his eyes follow her as she stormed about the classroom, assembling the Potions apparatus with unnecessary force.

'Careful with those phials,' he growled. 'If you acquire any more debt, you'll be working until you're ninety.'

Hermione muttered angrily as she summoned two dozen additional chairs for the fourth-year students.

'I hope your foul temper has abated since this morning,' he remarked with a taunting edge to his voice. 'I don't fancy being on the receiving end of your infamous Jelly-Legs jinx.'

Despite her former belief that she could do nothing to placate the Potions master, Hermione realised that Rita Skeeter's venom towards her seemed to give him an inordinate amount of pleasure. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but her counterstroke was swiftly interrupted by the sound of the bell.

'Wit-Sharpening Potion,' announced Professor Snape as the O.W.L. students entered the classroom, 'which many of you would greatly benefit from,' he added snidely. 'Turn to page thirty-four in your textbooks.'

Hermione racked her brain, but as ironic as it was, she could not recall having ever brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion before. She listened intently as the Potions master issued directions, however, her recollections from her fourth year were particularly hazy. It had been the year of the Triwizard Tournament and her memories of all she had learnt had been supplanted by those from the night of the final challenge.

As the students hurried to the store cupboard to gather scarab beetles and armadillo bile, Professor Snape marched towards her.

'You may go around the class and offer assistance,' he said stiffly. His black eyes were cold and unforgiving as he looked at her. 'Don't stand there giving them step-by-step instructions, that's what textbooks are for...and try not to break anything,' he muttered.

'Sir, I –' Panic began to rise in her throat as she glanced around at the sea of students. Snape ignored her and returned to his seat to mark the towering stack of papers on his desk. His lips curved into a deep frown as he scrawled fiercely and the tip of his nose brushed the parchment as he lowered his head over the unfortunate student's essay.

There was a shortage of mortars and pestles and the fourth-years were forced to share, resulting in chaos. One by one, hands shot into the air and the students called for help.

'Miss! How many slices of ginger root do we need to add?' asked one of the Ravenclaw students, raising her hand into her air.

'How finely do they need to be chopped?'

Hermione stuttered and stammered as she offered advice, using her problem solving and previous experience to guess the next logical step. She darted from one end of the classroom to the other, continuously wiping her brow with her sleeve.

'What colour should the potion be?' asked a Hufflepuff girl as she peered at her open textbook through thick glasses. 'It says dark orange in the textbook, but mine looks closer to yellow...'

'Add – add some more armadillo bile,' Hermione panted as she smoothed several sweaty strands of hair away from her face. In the stifling heat of the crowded classroom, her curls had grown even frizzier and out of control.

Sweat trickled down her forehead as she bustled around the desks to another group of students clamouring for her assistance.

'Miss! Can you help?'

Hermione hastened towards a boy draped in Hufflepuff robes. Thick, black smoke belched from his cauldron, engulfing the surrounding fourth-years, who erupted into loud coughing fits.

The green potion had began to curdle, emitting a strong odour along with the billowing black fug.

'Take it off the heat and give it a stir,' Hermione advised him as she glanced at the coagulating substance inside his cauldron. 'I'll go and get some powdered daisy roots...that should slow it down,' she added, struggling to keep the doubtful tone from her voice.

But before she reached the store cupboard, she heard the unmistakable bark of Professor Snape.

'Foolish boy! What did you do?'

'Well, sir,' he stammered. 'The potion started going th – thick and bubbly and dark...so I took it off the heat and –'

'Idiot! Removing the heat is only going to cause the potion to thicken and solidify.'

'Miss Granger told me to –'

Hermione blanched as Snape's head snapped upwards. She flinched at the look of disgust he cast in her direction.

'Ten points from Hufflepuff for this...atrocity,' he rasped as he glanced down at his cauldron. 'Clean it up without magic, Gibling!'

The boy did not say anything, but the scowl that he shot at Hermione spoke volumes.

'Sir?' A group of Ravenclaw girls raised their hands into the air.

Snape's robes billowed behind him as he flounced towards the Ravenclaw table.

'Our cauldrons have –'

Hermione craned her neck and spotted four gnarled black shapes lying upon the surface of the desk.

'– melted.'

His pale cheeks turned scarlet as he stared at the lumps of melted pewter.

'Fifty points from Ravenclaw,' he snarled. The lines around his eyes deepened as he examined the extent of the damage. 'Each.'

'Each?' they whimpered.

'But, sir –'

'That's two hundred points!'

'I am aware, Horgate,' he said menacingly. 'One more outburst and it'll be three hundred.'

The students stared at him with a combination of despair and resentment.

'Never in my life have I witnessed so much destruction as a result of careless stupidity,' he spat.

At that moment, the bell rang, signalling the students' freedom to pack up their things and head to the Great Hall for dinner.

'I did not give you my permission to go,' he shouted over the clangour of the bell as the fourth-years eagerly reached for their bags. 'You will stay until your desks are clear.'

The grumbling students emptied their potions into phials – with the exception of Gibling and a handful of other fourth-years who had failed to produce something of a pourable consistency – and placed them in racks beside the sink. None of them had managed to achieve the desired result.

Hermione made to sneak out of the room with the horde of pupils once they had been released, but before she could make her escape, the door slammed shut in front of her. Professor Snape stood behind her with his outstretched palm pressed against the door.

'Explain.'

'Sir,' she began feebly. 'I – I don't know. I was helping one student and then I turned round and there was smoke emitting from that boy's cauldron...and then –'

'So, you lost control of the class?'

Hermione gave him a helpless look.

'You know that there are far too many students for one teacher to handle!'

'Correction, Miss Granger, you are not a teacher. You are not even suitably qualified or experienced for the position you have been assigned.' Despite his terse tone, Hermione did not miss the triumphant smirk, which surfaced on his lips. 'You specifically asked me to be given more responsibility and this is the result,' he continued, gesturing to the melted cauldrons.

'It's not my fault!' she insisted. 'It's been almost sixteen years since my fourth year at school! How can you expect me to remember every exact step?'

'That is no excuse. It's not a particularly complex potion. Any blockhead with a shred of logic could figure out the exact brewing procedure.'

Her defence fell from her lips as she stared beseechingly at him. The hardened expression on his face did not waver and, if possible, his look of loathing seemed to intensify.

'I'm sorry,' she said finally, lowering her head. 'If there's anything that I can do –'

'Just get out of my sight, Miss Granger,' he snapped. 'I'm tired of your incompetence.'

'Hermione,' Neville called as he approached the High Table. 'Is Snape sitting here?' he asked, indicating to the chair on her right.

She shook her head as she stared at her dinner plate.

'I don't think he'll be joining us.'

'Great! Pomona's in Greenhouse Three talking to Professor Grubbly-Plank about the Mandrakes,' he explained as he sat down.

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile as she gave him a sidelong glance. To her alarm, his round face was marked by deep scratches and his left arm was strapped against his chest, wrapped in thick bandages. Yet despite his sorry state, he beamed at her.

'What on earth happened to you?' Hermione asked as her mouth fell agape in horror.

'The Whomping Willow,' Neville replied as he filled his plate. 'Pomona and I were out treating the tree for heart rot –'

'Heart rot?'

'A fungal disease that trees get,' he explained as he skewered a roast potato with his fork. 'Anyway, I got too close and it walloped me with one of its branches.'

'Merlin! Are you OK? Apart from the obvious...'

'Mangled arm and cracked ribs,' he said matter-of-factly. 'But I'll live.'

'You're lucky that was the worst of it,' she muttered darkly as she cast her mind back to her tussle with the vicious tree. 'How have your classes been?'

'Good!' Neville exclaimed with a genuine smile. 'The students are alright and Professor Sprout's been ever so nice to me. But you should have seen what happened yesterday – I made a right fool of myself.'

'What did you do?'

'We were showing the second-years how to re-pot Mandrakes,' he said through a mouthful of pie. 'Pomona let me demonstrate and I accidentally dropped my Mandrake on the floor. One of the students then tripped over the bloody thing – knocked his earmuffs askew – and then passed out from the sound of its cries! We had to rush him to the Hospital Wing, but thankfully it was just a baby Mandrake.'

'Oh, no!' Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. 'Did Professor Sprout go mental?'

'We laughed about it at dinner,' he said with a nonchalant shrug, 'and poor Jimmy Finnicks was released from the Hospital Wing this morning.'

'That's a relief,' murmured Hermione as she sat back in her chair. 'If I'd done that, Snape would have killed me. He's not far off it already.'

'What do you mean?'

Hermione groaned as she related the story of her afternoon mishap and the events of the day before.

'Honestly, Neville, I've never seen him so angry,' she said as she pressed her palm to her forehead as if she could push the embarrassing memory from her mind.

'But what does he expect? You've only been in the job for two days. You're bound to make mistakes.'

Hermione shrugged as she looked down at her plate. She pierced a row of four holes into the pastry with the prongs of her fork, but she could not bring herself to eat it.

'I – I saw Skeeter's article this morning,' said Neville hesitantly.

'To be honest, I'd forgotten all about it,' sighed Hermione as she laced her fingers through her hair. 'At least that's one advantage of today's accident.'

He gave her a sympathetic grimace.

'Cripes, I'd better get back to the greenhouse!' he cried as he glanced down at his battered watch.

Hermione looked at him enquiringly.

'Classes are over for the day.'

'Yeah, but Pomona wants to check on the Mandrakes and see how well they're sleeping at night,' replied Neville as he stood.

He stopped before leaving and awkwardly grasped her shoulder.

'Try not to let Snape get to you.'

Hermione smiled as she watched him amble between the Gryffindor and Slytherin table towards the door of the Great Hall.

With Neville gone, Hermione felt her bleak mood return as she played with the mangled slice of steak and kidney pie. She could not summon the energy to finish her dinner nor return to her chilly chambers.

Someone jogged her elbow as she stabbed her fork into the mound of mashed potato.

'Stop playing with your food,' growled Snape as he took his usual spot in the chair to her right. 'Eat it.'

'I'm not particularly hungry.'

'If you pass out, don't expect me to carry your malnourished body to the Hospital Wing,' he replied as he reached for the jug of elf-made wine. 'I do not need another burden on my hands.'

He gave her a pointed look as he filled his goblet to the brim. Hermione's knuckles turned pale as she gripped the fork.

'Well, maybe if you discussed your lesson plans with me in the first place, you wouldn't be burdened at all,' she snapped through gritted teeth.

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her.

'Most accomplished potioneers have a natural aptitude when it comes to potion-making,' he replied. 'Perhaps if you possessed a sliver of talent in the subject, I wouldn't be forced to replace half a dozen cauldrons.'

Hermione thought of Harry's old graffitied copy of Advanced Potion-Making and the instructions scribbled across the margins. The Prince had possessed a natural talent so much so that his methods gleaned greater success than those of the original author. He had been a constant source of jealousy and frustration for her throughout her sixth year and, to make matters worse, he now sat beside her as her colleague.

'You've no one to blame but yourself,' she said hotly. 'So far, you've left me to rely entirely on my own memory from when I last did these potions, which – as you've kindly reminded me – was over ten years ago.'

'And here I was, thinking that your memory skills were sublime,' he murmured into his cup. His eyes glittered as he looked at her. 'Apparently not.'

Hermione glowered at him as he replaced his cup on the table and began cutting his pie.

'Most potioneers use their intuition when brewing even the simplest of potions,' Snape continued. 'You should be able to concoct school-level potions standing on your head and I confess that your ineptitude is most alarming.'

'It's easy for you to say! You've had this job for decades – you know the syllabus inside out. I've been working in an entirely different domain for the past ten years so forgive me if I need a bit of extra assistance in familiarising myself with the coursework.'

He looked down at her as she spoke and Hermione watched the frown form on his lips.

'After all, I am here to help you,' she continued. 'Perhaps you could even let me help in planning some of your lessons or doing some of your marking. I used to help Harry and Ron by proofreading their essays before they were due.'

'Am I supposed to be impressed by this flagrant violation of school rules? Your previous acts of plagiarism and cheating do not constitute as relevant work experience,' he said with a scowl, 'and, as I've told you before, I do not need an assistant.'

'Look around you!' cried Hermione, gesturing to the four tables placed along the Great Hall. 'Look at how many students there are! Where would you be without my help?'

'I'd be several Galleons richer,' he replied bitterly. 'As it is, I now have to fork out for half a dozen pewter cauldrons and an entire year's worth of ingredients.'

Hermione felt her face turn scarlet as she lowered her gaze.

'I'll give you the gold –'

'It's not just the financial burden,' he retorted as his palm landed onto the table. 'Your clumsiness, your incompetence, your inexperience all factor in to the equation –'

Icy fingers squeezed her throat as she listened to his diatribe. Never had he admonished her so severely. Such treatment had always been reserved for Harry. During her school days, he had sneered at her textbook answers, but she had never been the subject of his venom. Hermione could not decipher what she had done to provoke so much loathing. It seemed unlikely that his anger could stem solely from the part that she played in his rescue.

As his furious remonstration continued, Hermione recalled the humdrum routine of working life at the Ministry. Her work in the Department of Law Enforcement had been easy, too easy, but she had never endured such contempt and disdain from her colleagues. At that moment, the constant tedium of life at the Ministry seemed preferable to the endless barrage of insults and jibes that the Potions master flung at her.

Her vision blurred as she focused on her plate while Snape's furious rant had not yet reached an end.

'You have flouted my rules inside my classroom, disobeying my commands, damaging school property not to mention –'

His voice pierced her ears, but in her mind, Hermione had started to visualise her return to the Ministry. She could count on Harry to be glad of her decision, but her own personal disappointment would be difficult to overcome.

Hermione smirked as she glanced upwards at the Gryffindor banner dangling above the maroon-clad students. Courage, resilience and determination were among the key traits of her former House. Abandoning her position was neither courageous nor brave, but she could not imagine a successful career working alongside the Potions master. Hermione was alarmingly aware of the fact that if she could not earn the respect of her colleagues, she would never win the respect of her students.

Rita Skeeter's article, however, had complicated matters. There would be no way to return to the Ministry without extensive investigation. Hermione knew that the scheming journalist's claims would have to be looked into and, even then, there was no guarantee that her job would be returned to her. Kingsley Shacklebolt, as Minister for Magic, paid no heed to idle gossip, but accusations of violence against another employee could not be taken lightly. Even as Minister, his actions were only permitted by leave of his council and advisers.

The fork fell to her plate with a loud clatter as she rose from the table.

'Where are you going?' Snape demanded.

'To my chambers,' she replied quietly.

'I have not finished.'

His words fell on deaf ears as Hermione turned her back on him and descended from the raised platform.

Her tears spotted the blank sheet of parchment and Hermione wiped her eyes impatiently with the back of her hand as she considered how to phrase her entreaty to her former employer. The thought of admitting defeat filled her with shame and disappointment, but the fleeting moment of pride she had experienced the day before could not redeem the endless vituperation from the Potions master.

She scrunched the damp parchment into a ball and threw it against the window and landed on the floor by her bed. Her only other option was to write to the Headmistress, but she knew only too well that her complaint to the previous Transfiguration teacher would fuel Snape's vendetta against her.

She was roused from her contemplation by the sound of gentle hooting. A grey owl, perched on the ledge outside her window, impatiently pecked at the glass pane until Hermione rose from her chair.

After struggling with the catch, she managed to wrangle the window open and the bird glided into the room, landing on the arm of a chair. With deft fingers, Hermione unravelled the tiny scroll of parchment bound to its proffered leg before the owl took flight and disappeared through the window into the night.

'At the behest of the Headmistress, I will acquiesce to your request. You will receive my timetable and lesson plans on the evening before classes begin. You will have one day to acquaint yourself with the work, which is more than sufficient.

SS'

On the back of the parchment, he had scrawled a class schedule for the following day. It was brief, but his note gave her enough information to prepare for the upcoming lessons.

Relief welled in her stomach as she reread his message. It was terse and evidently written in anger, judging by the spiky frantic scribble, but his acquiescence gave her hope.

She wondered briefly if he would respond to the Headmistress's involvement with increased resentment and bitterness towards her. But Hermione quickly shook the thought from her mind as she reached for her old school textbooks sitting on a dusty shelf above the fireplace.