2. FORMALITIES

It was 7:59 and Hermione ran down the staircase to the dungeons. She couldn't be sure why she was making such an effort to arrive on time but Severus had requested they meet at 8:00am sharp and she was determined to do so. She dashed down the corridor and swung into the potions classroom with only seconds to spare. She steadied herself on the door frame as she fought to catch her breath.

"Late again, Granger?" Snape said, his hooked nose lost in a book.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Professor, but I'm on time"

Snape glanced to the Victorian clock on the brick wall and sneered.
"I see."

He slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the desk.
"Take a seat."

Hermione did as she was bid. Something about the way Snape held himself told Hermione that he was in a particularly foul mood. She did not fancy getting on the wrong side of Severus Snape this morning. She was not yet fully conscious, and not prepared to enter a dangerous battle of wills without a cup of coffee first. Snape handed her a cauldron and traced the handle with a long finger.

"It's oily" he said, coolly "you did not clean it correctly."

"I'll clean it now, Sir."

"A quick Turgeo would surely suffice?"

She nodded, but still she took the cauldron to the sink. Snape looked at her and raised one eyebrow, while simultaneously dropping the other one.

"What? No spiky quip today, Granger? No saucy retort? I am disappointed."

"I'm not in the mood."

"Why?"

Snape looked as though this question had surprised him as much as it had Hermione. She considered her answer carefully.

"I didn't sleep well" she said "and... I've been thinking a lot, about... about the past."

"If you have trouble sleeping, then brew yourself a Sleeping Draught. We did go over it just a week ago, you do recall? You weren't entirely useless at it. As for the past, I hear that dwelling does not do. Not that I would know, I dwell often and intensely."

"Me too", Hermione said.

Snape glared at her, and for a fraction of a second, she thought she saw his edges soften.
"I thought we might begin to go over flora today" he said, his eyes razor sharp again. "Plants, herbs, fungi?"

"Sure."

"Tell me Granger, what are the main properties of wormwood?"

"Hang on" she said, rummaging through her bag "I made notes on this last night."

"You made notes?"

Hermione couldn't tell if she had impressed him or if he was mocking her and she had hardly the energy to care which. She had woken in the small hours, panicked and sweaty; another dream - nightmare really - flashing images from the last battle and unconsciously created new ones of the battle still to come. She put her hand in front of her mouth and tried to stifle a yawn. 8am was certainly too early to be in the potions classroom, yet Snape had wanted to get an hour in before first classes.

"Am I keeping you awake, Granger?"

"Well... yes."

"Excellent. Now, follow me to the storeroom."

Hermione's legs began moving before she was entirely sure where she was going.

"I will hand you an ingredient; you will first identify it, then tell me its properties. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Snape handed her a sprig of Lavender.
"Lavender" she said. "Healing. Calming."

He passed her a green bottle.
"Flobberworm Mucus. For thickening and healing."

He threw a round stone, that she caught with both hands, drawing them into her chest.
"That's a bezoar" she said "used for antidotes, cures and healing..."

Hermione looked at him.
"Sir, they all have healing properties..."

"Firstly, stop it with this 'sir' nonsense, as you have so kindly reminded me I am no longer your teacher and yes, they do", he said, solemnly. "I imagine that you will be required to make a lot of healing draughts over the next year. You may also find it important that you learn to tailor them to suit the patient's needs. We do not know what will be faced with."

Hermione's mouth opened and again came a yawn.

"However if that is of no interest to you then you can-"

"No, Sir- I mean Snape. Snape?"

"What?"

"What should I call you if not Sir or Professor?"

His face was either irritable or in its relaxed state, Hermione never knew which was which.

"Snape will suffice. Now wake up, Granger, and take these and brew for me a healing potion... that is, if you are capable?"

"I don't know of any potion that uses all of these ingredients."

"Nor do I. Create one."

"I've told you, I don't want to create-"

"And I've told you Miss Granger, that you must learn to. Now hurry it up!"

Hermione growled under her breath.
"I can't."

"You can. And you must. You will need to perfect your potion craft. If you wish to succeed that is."

"Of course I want to succeed!"

"Then prove it. Make me a healing draught with all of these ingredients. I do not expect you to create a masterpiece in one sitting. You are simply not good enough."

Hermione hated the way that he spoke to her. She was the brightest damn witch of her age; she just didn't want to use magic as much as she had. That did not make her any less able to.

"Can you not do that?"

"Do what?" he snipped.

"Talk to me like I am an idiot. I am not an idiot."

"My apologies, Granger. I did not mean to cause offence. I assumed that you had a thicker skin. I did not realise I needed to mollycoddle you."

"Oh don't start!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and he caught her doing so. There was a trace of a smile on his lips, she noticed, before realising that it had been, in fact, a smirk. She had thought, in that moment, that she had pleased him - not because she was a good student (like the old Hermione) but because she had stood up to him (as the new Hermione).

"Pack your shit up and get out of here" he said coolly, as it approached 9am.

"Snape..." she said with a voice thick with smugness, and a smirk to match his own. "... It is you who should pack up and leave. I have a class due in five minutes in this classroom. As do you, in yours."

He locked his eyes on hers and then finally, conceded.

"Same time next week, Granger."

Their next meeting was hardly any better.

"Granger, are you being deliberately obtuse to annoy me or are you simply incapable?" Snape drawled, while he absentmindedly flipped through the pages of his old copy of Advanced Potion-Making. She met his eyes with defiance.

"I'm more than capable. Maybe you're just not explaining it correctly?"

"Brightest witch of her age, they call you. I didn't expect to have to dumb down the theory for you. Tell me-" he said, snapping the book closed, "would you like me to use smaller words? Or perhaps I should draw you a little picture?"

"Oh, piss off, Snape!" she flared. "If you don't want to teach me then you should have Slughorn do it."

"What a brilliant suggestion, Granger. Why did I not think of it before?"

"So he's busy, huh? Maybe he could teach me tomor-"

"Horace plans to help you develop a potential syllabus tomorrow. Since it seems that I am the only person interested in making sure you are actually fit to teach it, I hoped that today we would continue work on your actual potion training."

"But I learned all of this at school. I can brew Polyjuice with my eyes closed."

"You're quite right, you did learn this at school - you learned to NEWTS level - but soon you will be expected to teach NEWT students, so excuse me if I think that you could hone your skill a little better. As for your ability to brew Polyjuice, I am well aware of your antics in your second year. As impressive, preposterous, and need I say reckless as they were, I would like to see you brew it for myself and see that you understand the process completely."

'Impressive?' she thought, and caught the corners of her lips twitch. She stopped herself before they curved into a smile.

"Fine, I-"

"And, Granger, when I say 'completely', I mean that you must not only know how to brew but you must also understand why."

"You said that before. I didn't understand it then, either. What do you mean?"

"I mean that every ingredient serves a purpose. You know the properties of Fluxweed but can you tell me why we use it? Or why it must be picked at the full moon? Can you tell me why, when infused with lacewing flies, it becomes-"

"Okay!" she said, sharply, throwing her hands into the air. "No! No, I can't."

"Then you know how to brew and not why. When you understand every complex and critical aspect of potion making; then and only then, will you be ready to teach it. Until you are ready and able to create your own potions-"

"You're right, I'm sorry."

Snape's eyebrows drew together and Hermione readied herself for the sarcastic retort that didn't come. The harsh lines of his face softened.

"Don't apologise, Granger. Just work at it. You haven't had to learn this yet, but you will need to learn it and so I am trying to teach you."

"How did you learn?"

"Me? Well, I suppose from Slughorn, who took a special interest in me. Then I read everything I could on the subject and I practiced dusk 'til dawn. And of course..." he paused for a moment, considering, before continuing, "... The - err - Dark Lord gave me some of his insights."

Hermione blanched and nodded

"You say you read on the subject. Which book? I learn better that way."

"There are many books; I could recommend a couple, if that is what would benefit you? I will get an elf to send them to your quarters. You should read them thoroughly and quickly-"

"That's the only way I know how to read."

"And I expect you to make notes..."

"Of course!"

"Right. Well then. I guess we're done here for now. You may leave."

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She gathered her things - parchments, quills and books - into her bag and left the room.

One Year Earlier
June 13th 2000
The Burrow

Hermione sat in the dark of Ron's bedroom in The Burrow, as she had most days for the last two months. It was midday, and the sun scorched, but Hermione had spelled the curtains months ago, so that they were like the black-out blinds she'd had at her parents' house. If she could have spelled the sun to disappear, she would have done that too, just so she didn't have to hear the carrying sound of joy coming from outside. Ron, Ginny and Harry were often in the gardens, practicing their quidditch skills. For the boys, it was just an opportunity to keep sharp and enjoy themselves, but for Ginny, who had been selected to play for the Holyhead Harpies Under 21s, it was a training session.

She heard Ron on the stairs - she always knew which Weasley was coming to check on her - and quickly rushed to her feet, pulled the curtains open and allowed a burst of light to shine into the room. She threw herself back on to the bed.

"Hermione, why don't you come and join us? It's a nice day outside, which you would know if you hadn't had the curtains closed all day... you think I haven't noticed?"

"I'm fine."

"You are not fine", Ron sniped. "You've been up here all morning. You've been up here all bloody week! You really need to sort out your priorities."

Hermione snapped upright.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean" he said, with his back straight and his body tense, "that you're not doing anybody any favours shut up in this room. You're not taking care of yourself. You've not eaten properly for weeks; Mum's going mental. You won't do your magic- that's not like you, Hermione and I can't remember the last time I saw you read a book. You're not exactly helping The Order either. You know we're supposed to-"

"'Carry on as usual'" Hermione drawled "yes, I do remember Ronald. However I'm sorry if I don't want to pretend that everything is as it was."

Ron shifted and perched on the end of the bed where Hermione lay.

"Listen, babe. I know you've been through a lot of shit recently - we all have - but if you keep yourself locked away you're never going to get any better."

"How would you know? You have hardly reacted to any of this. You and Harry and Ginny, you're all happy to act like nothing has happened. Like we haven't lost so much."

"I've lost my brothers!" Ron hissed "... in case you've forgotten."

"Have you forgotten?"

Ron's eyes flew open and his jaw tightened.

"Oh wow! Do you hear yourself?" he snarled. "You're doing my head in, Hermione. I can't take much more of this. It's time you got your act together. We need Hermione, not whatever ghoul has taken over your body. I miss the girl you were before."

She was not the girl she was before, he was right. She never would be again. It had been two years since the First Battle of Hogwarts had ended. Afterwards, she had tried, as Dumbledore requested, to go back to her usual life. Except that the war wasn't won, so she couldn't go back to her parents who were, regretfully, much safer where they were in Australia. And so she threw herself into her relationship with Ron. She had mothered him, essentially, while the whole family grieved for Fred. Molly had stopped cooking and cleaning, and so it was left to Ginny and Hermione to fill that role. It was unfortunate that Molly had raised such lazy boys, who expected a woman to pick up after them all the time, as she had done throughout their childhood. Ron was impossible for a few weeks, yet Hermione found a sick pleasure in taking care of him. She did always have a soft spot for someone in need. If not Sirius or Hagrid, then the house elves. Her new project was Ron.

She had done everything for him. She kept him fed, watered, clean, dressed and healthy. When he started to perk up, Hermione had been excited to return to a semblance of normality in their relationship. However, by this time, Ron had become entirely reliant on her. He didn't pick up after himself, he didn't help with any of the housework - he was a 1950s husband and she was his doting wife. Except it was the 90s and they weren't even married. At first she expressed her irritation at having to, essentially, care for him like a child, but it would always end in an argument, or in tears - his usually. He was still fragile. This was no way to begin a relationship - in the bud of grief. Eventually, Hermione had learned to hold her tongue. She did what he needed her to do. She was who he needed her to be. He needed a mother, a friend, a caretaker, a girlfriend, a woman to bear his children, and a whore. She was expected to put meals on his table during the day, and be a passive vessel- a means to his orgasm - at night. The final straw had come one night in early March.

"Hermione, what's for dinner?" he asked, expectantly.

He looked at her in the same way he used to look at his mother. She took a deep breath and counted to three silently in her head.

"I don't know Ronald, why don't you go see what there is? Perhaps you could make us something to eat tonight."

He shrugged.

"But I'm useless" he whined. "Whatever you make will be so much better."

"Perhaps if you learnt to cook?"

"Do you want toast? Dad's got a muggle toaster around here somewhere. I think all you have to do is put bread in it-"

"Yes Ronald, thank you for the lesson in how to use the most basic appliance..."

Ron rolled his eyes and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"Basic for you, maybe. By, the way... are you going to be this crabby all the time?"

"For the next seven months or so, I assume, yes."

"Brilliant" he said, in that sardonic tone that he had so perfected over the years "just what a grieving man needs... more grief."

"Oh piss off, Ron, it's been almost two years. I know that's not a long time in the greater scheme of things, but it's long enough that you should be starting to look after yourself - to help run the house. Your Mum and Dad are at Grimmauld Place, and you've seen the place, it's sparkling top to bottom. And Arthur helps to keep it that way, you know?"

"They use spells, Hermione. Like you should. It's not my fault that you want to do everything the muggle way. It's not my fault that you hardly use your magic anymore. It's like you're turning into a fucking squib."

Hermione's face flashed crimson.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me" he said with a confidence he had real nerve exuding "ever since the battle, you've been running around here like a bloody muggle. It's like you're afraid of magic!"

"Aren't you? Are you not terrified by what it can do - by what it has cost us?"

"No!" he yelled "I'm not because I'm not mental"

Hermione slammed the mug she was holding onto the table and made for the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" he called but she did not turn back to answer.

It had been three months since that last altercation. Three months since she had lost the last thing she had held on to. There had been no arguments since. The worst had happened - and time had stopped. Yet the sun kept rising each morning and spitting its light through the window to remind her that the world continued without her. At her absolute bleakest, Hermione had considered ending it all. She wasn't proud of it, but she had lost too much. The last thing to go, she realised, was her sense of self. She had given up too much for this man-child who demanded all of her attention and her affection, without ever giving any in return. She had loved him, unconditionally and still he did not appreciate her. She had broken, she knew it. Ron wasn't wrong, she had stopped using her magic. Not because she couldn't, although she felt it waning every day, but because, like he'd said, she was frightened by it. Magic had taken her friends and loved ones. It had taken Fred, Sirius and Viktor; it had taken her teachers- Professor Sprout, Madam Hooch and Grubbly-Plank. Magic had taken her parents' memories; it had snatched her family from her. It had taken something from her - something fundamental - something of her soul. It had taken a part of herself that she could not bear to be without. Not only that, but magic had destroyed Hogwarts. Worst of all, magic had made Voldemort.

As she lay on the bed, with Ron at her feet, she came to a conclusion that she had been avoiding drawing for months. She and Ron were over. Their relationship had stagnated. They were hardly friends, let alone lovers. She felt a surge of sadness, yet she did not cry. Her face was all but expressionless as she sat up in the bed and faced Ron.

"This isn't working, is it?" she asked, softly.

"What isn't?"

"Us, Ron. We're not working anymore as a couple."

Ron's eyebrows raised, and his mouth fell open into a disbelieving 'o'.

"I'm sorry, I just don't think we-"

"There is no 'we' Hermione", Ron snapped. "We would be working fine, if you were working. You are the one who has stopped putting effort in. You are the one shut up in this room like a hermit all day every day. It is you who is ruining this relationship, Hermione, not me."

Hermione looked at him incredulously.

"Wow, Ron. Tell me how you really feel" - her voice dripped with sarcasm.

This was too much for Ron it seemed.

"Oh fuck you, Hermione... do you even care about me at all?"

"Yes I do" she snipped "you know damn well I do. I ran myself ragged trying to look after you and then, one day-"

"One day everything was different, right? Something just snapped in your head? Like I said... mental. You've lost it Hermione. You don't leave the house, you don't wash, you don't look after yourself, you don't use magic..."

"You're right, Ron. Something changed. Let us not pretend we don't know exactly what changed... What we lost... How can you even..."

"And that was awful" he said, putting his hand on her leg; she pulled it away. "It was horrible, but Hermione, it's been three months. You need to start moving on."

"How?" she asked, as her voice cracked. "How the hell do you ever get over something like that? I could have died. How have you... how do you go on like everything's okay?"

"Because we have to" Ron said, stiffly "we can't afford to fall apart."

"Too late" Hermione said "we have already fallen apart..."

"Are you ending this?"

Ron's voice, as he asked this most pivotal of questions was steady and unemotional. It was that that prompted Hermione to give an honest answer.

"I am formalising the end of our relationship, yes... but we both know it's been over for a while. We're not happy. I can't make you happy anymore. I can hardly make myself happy. We don't work. I still... I still love you-"

"Don't!" Ron snapped "Don't bother. You can leave."

"I'm sorry-"

"I want you gone by tonight."

"Ron?"

"And don't come back!"