Summary:
Hermione speaks with Master Flume; her discovery may just be a theoretical flash in the pan. Zabini and Snape chafe at being in the dark, due to her uncertainty. The healing process continues to be agonizingly slow for the potions master, and he begins to have more than a cursory awareness of Hermione's charms.
Beta read thanks to Tanguera!
Blaise started wondering where Hermione was. The desk she had claimed, in their shared sitting room turned strategic base, carried only a neat pile of ignored missives from Potter and Weasels to be burned. She brewed her shift, attended her classes, ate quickly with Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, visited Snape then disappeared. The planner still updated with a barrage of notes, completed items, and tasks to be delegated. However, Hermione's physical presence was absent from the habitual position at Blaise's side. Theo, finally fed up with his surliness, drawled out, "Are you a wizard or not? Use that Point-Me- spell." Then cursed at his pocket watch, already running down a staircase as his wand started trilling. Blaise was distinctly less graceful in his exit, stomping in the direction his wand pointed towards the library.
Hermione was ready to pull out her hair. For the first time in her entire Hogwarts memory, Madam Pince had revealed no knowledge of a particular subject in what was left of the library. With a sniff, the vulture-like woman had informed Hermione that 276 out of 300 household related volumes had survived the general destruction of past school years and the war. The dilapidated charred remains of books considered harmless or worthless by Death Eaters, Order and D.A. alike. Gilderoy Lockhart's books remained untouched with a slight whiff of smoke. A few of the books Hermione flipped through had embedded splinters from exploded shelves. Clearly, Madam Pince was strained in confirming that her previously glorious and precious library was a fraction of the catalogue from unchecked filching and rampant spell damage.
Hermione was sitting on a three-legged stool at a sorry-looking table. The tabletop was black on one side from proximity to heat, a corner had been sliced off and someone had stuck on a spell-stretched baluster of an entirely different wood. But it was the least wobbly table of the three and a half left. She eyed the wildly waving plume of Madam Pince's quill. The librarian had clearly recovered after freezing in unmitigated shock when Hermione had asked her to put together four lists: needed repairs, essential but missing books, required equipment and supplies, and valuable rare volumes to be replaced. The Gryffindor shook her head, term had already started and only now had she realized her former sanctuary had been defiled. Although, their brewing team had primarily consulted the texts available in the classroom, from their personal collections or the headmaster's office. The budget would be miniscule for library restoration, she would have to start being creative with the funds, but the students wouldn't be greatly affected with their books already provided. Hermione flipped through the spell copied parchments, in two weeks she had only found two candy recipes out of 276 volumes labelled household related, one offhand mention in an arithmancy booklet, four footnotes in outdated herbology guides, and two references to the same recipe in a missing restricted grimoire. Her appointment with Ambrosius Flume was in two hours, and all she had were scraps of information, two measly recipes and a scant several hours shadowing Neefa in the kitchens.
A scrape of chair legs and Blaise swung his legs up onto the table, he levelled his gaze at her with crossed arms.
"Spill Hermione." His counterpart grimaced and started arranging papers and books of dessert recipes.
"I have a personal project Blaise. I'm just not sure if it will pan out." She carefully tucked away her sheaf of parchment detailing her three research proposals. Blaise nodded.
"Yes and that's great. How long will we be on the back burner until you're satisfied it's 'panned' out?" Blaise watched Granger draw herself up with indignation.
"I haven't neglected any of my responsibilities!"
"No, but you're not all there, Severus asked me about your health." The potions master was usually chipper after a good journal bashing with his faithful scribe Hermione, and was rightly concerned when she nodded off in the middle of a page.
"Soon Blaise, I promise. I must be off now." Blaise drew back, his expression soured further. "It's not a brush off, I have to meet someone about this. And you know I wouldn't entertain something frivolous." She chewed her lip as of about to say more, then turned and marched decidedly away. Zabini watched her gait before contemplating what to say to Snape or Theo.
Ambrosius Flume's smooth scalp gleamed under the brightly shining sconces of his upstairs office. The window overlooked the street from above Honeydukes Sweetshop, the students and Hogsmeade residents a sea of colour. Hermione noted all this clinically as she felt sweat droplets slowly roll down her back. They had only just been seated and already she was trying to regulate her breathing.
"Please explain your interest in candy making Ms. Granger. I don't often warrant any interest from students except for the price of Jelly Slugs. Your request for a meeting was… lacking in detail."
Hermione inhaled. "Well Sir. I have asked Neefa about learning candy making from her, and Neefa refused until I spoke with you. I assume the recipes are secret for proprietary reasons." Hermione exhaled. She had managed not to ramble like a fool. Flume surely was an excellent poker player, his face revealed nothing. She pulled out the sheaf of parchment paper from her bag. Flume took the parchments with a skeptical frown, and Hermione tried to not flinch as cold sweat droplets continued to roll down. "I haven't had much luck in finding past research corroborating my theories. Though the Hogwarts library is in need of repair, I have only found two recipes since I wrote to you." Three proposals exchanged hands, carefully mapping out how candy making would theoretically affect multiple potion stabilization, long acting time release, and amplification.
Flume fingers flipped through the tables of arithmancy calculations neatly lined up with potion ingredients, his frown remained. The close examination of her notations reminded Hermione that the man before her was a Slug Club alumnus, he understood her postulations as an adept potioneer before his chosen profession. His large fingers with curious dye spots, presumably from adding the riot of colours expected in sweets, had barely flipped passed the halfway mark of her second proposal before he set the handful down.
He pulled out his wand from a sleeve pocket and viciously flicked. The walls, ceiling and floor glowed blue to confirm the presence of the anti-eavesdropping spell he had cast as they entered. The man slowly leaned back into his seat as he resheathed the wand, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. The lack of emotion was about to drive her spare.
"My dear, the reason for the lack of information is both business and practicality. Practical as amateurs of candy-making at this level end up poisoned or blown up, which is wise on your part to consult me. Secrecy is vital to this business as recipes are our livelihood, and corporate espionage is rampant." A soft chop of one hand onto the parchment pile. Hermione jumped, his voice still dangerously soft and controlled. "Count yourself lucky. You have shown your proposals to me and not someone with a less ethical standpoint. Like potions patents, they would have merely kicked you out and taken your brilliance for their own. Now answer me sincerely. Are you willing to enter candy-making as a career or as a mere interest?"
Hermione gaped. The thought never occurred of her work possibly being stolen. She had unwittingly treated Ambrosius Flume, the kind candyman, as one of her professors, not as the shrewd businessman in front of her. She gathered up her composure and sat up straight.
"Sir. I want to be part of progress, as we rebuild it is exceedingly vital to move forward. From what I have learned from Neefa, candy-making is my opportunity to do so." Hermione cursed her antiperspirant, one of the last muggle products she used, it was clearly not up to the task. She waited nervously as Ambrosius continued to contemplate her. Hermione desperately wished she had a giant coffee mug to hide her face behind.
Flume's chair squeaked as he leaned over to open a drawer, and pull out a stack of paperwork. He placed the first page out in front of her and slowly went down point by point, speaking faster than Hermione had ever heard from him before.
"This is what I offer, and you may take the next hour to decide. An Unbreakable Vow of Secrecy for the content of work you accomplish here as my apprentice, your NEWTs will overlap with your first year of a four-year apprenticeship with me. You will not publish, but submit patents. You may collect royalties and 35% of profit, IF Honeydukes exclusively markets and distributes your product during your apprenticeship, and one year after. You will be paid a base salary of 600 galleons a year as part-time, 1600 full-time with regular increments every six months based on performance. Headmistress McGonagall and staff will be notified. Unless you deem them trustworthy and discreet, it is expected you avoid speaking of your activities to acquaintances. You may simply indicate you have found part-time employment if questioned. Neefa will collect you on all Saturdays and Sunday mornings unless notified. You may work extra hours past the required 15 at 15 sickles an hour."
Hermione's mouth dropped open as she read through the thick contract. She had intended to shadow the candy maker, learn a few recipes, not to gain an offer of employment. The ultimate goal was a chance at an apprenticeship after her NEWT year, not necessarily during her NEWT year.
"S-sir. This is exceedingly generous." Apprenticeships typically excluded patent ownership and profit cut was offered primarily to established Masters for a pittance, apprentices worked like dogs until achieving mastery. The pages also indicated that her room and board were provided after her last term at Hogwarts. Hermione's fingers trembled as she signed her name.
Flume's mouth curled into a smirk reminiscent of a potions professor. "My dear, these –" he brandished the sheaf of proposals "– are the keys to an empire. I need to make sure you return, once you reach mastery. Neefa approves of you, if I had a son I would demand marriage."
Severus was tired of waiting. Where was that girl? While Blaise had assured him that Hermione was indeed well, he was of the adage "seeing is believing". He had grown accustomed to hearing her voice echo his thoughts on the potion journals their owl subscription brought. She was a valuable asset in recording and sending back their mutual criticism. The publisher had started a weekly review column, primarily featuring their regular critical correspondence, keeping the name Severus Snape current with accumulating publications.
He examined his still weak limbs and derisively thought it typical, the only physical contact with a lovely and intelligent woman was while trapped in a mute shell. Their communication restricted to the spelled typewriter keyboard, it was a relief from frustrating limbo when the potion fog finally lifted enough to use his Legilimens ability. It was difficult to argue via marquee text, especially with idiots that disregarded common sense, and he could now push his meaning into their thick skulls.
There was rapid steps. Ah finally. Snape typed ?
"Sorry Sir, I just got back from Hogsmeade. I - hang on." Hermione's wand flicked a blue anti-eavesdropping spell around the stool she perched on and his cot. "I have accepted an apprenticeship with Master Ambrosius Flume. I asked him if it was alright to show you my contract summary. But that's why I have been so distracted lately. I've been working on a personal project that morphed into this." SHOW ME.
Severus knew Flume, he was a sharp businessman with the guise of candy floss. Snape's dark eyes read the sheet Hermione held up for his perusal. "I know that I should have considered it for a longer length of time but he insisted I had only an hour to consider. With what I've read of other apprenticeship terms, it's quite reasonable." Snape narrowed his eyes. He couldn't have read that right. This was beyond anything he himself had been offered. GOOD TERMS. Hermione smiled brightly at him. Severus didn't dwell on the warmth in his chest or the twitch of his groin. NEWT QUICK MORE LAB. "Yes, I agree, I would also better concentrate once my NEWT work is done."
They continued to discuss the new development in the most general terms: challenges, balancing classes, and so on. It was a strange comfortable conversation of typed shorthand, her quiet babble and the occasional shared memory of Severus' own apprenticeship. Hermione slowly exercised his limbs with a firm and gentle touch. By the end of it, Severus was panting against the chest ache of a newly matured left lung, and mentally swearing at himself. His cock was ignoring the inability of the rest of his body. The scent of her hair was intoxicating. He registered little else as his muscles spasmed, watching her expressive features and breathing her scent, while she read through the latest imbecilic attempt in improving a fertility draught.