It was in the library one day that Harry, Neville, and Ron approached Hermione, with caged and mixed expressions on their faces.
"Hermione, we'd like your help with something," Neville told her.
Hermione regarded them curiously.
"I can certainly try," she said. "What do you need help with?"
Harry took a deep breath.
"We want to learn about Alchemy," he told her. "What do you know about it?"
Hermione stared at them.
"Alchemy?" she said. "I- nearly nothing, really, only the legends in the Muggle world. You mean Alchemy is real?" Her mind whirled with the implications. "I never knew! Let's get started at once!"
She darted to the card catalogue, pulling several cards and leading the small group off into the stacks, Ron scowling all the way. Soon, they all had books; Harry, Great Alchemists Throughout the Ages, Neville Who's Who and What's What of Alchemy, and Ron So You Want to Be an Alchemist. Hermione had claimed An Introduction to Alchemy and Basic Alchemic Principles for herself, and she immediately began reading.
The book was fascinating. Alchemy seemed to be a combination of transfiguration with rituals, ancient runes, and arithmancy to alter the molecular structure of things. Hermione found it deeply interesting and quickly lost herself in the book.
It was just before curfew when she looked up and realized that not only had the sun gone, but so had her friends. Their books had been left strewn across the table, and Hermione rolled her eyes to herself.
"Clearly not that interested in Alchemy," she muttered, shelving their books before checking out her own.
It became quickly apparent to Hermione that Alchemy was not something she was going to be any good at until she had at least a couple years of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes under her belt, so it was with reluctance that she returned the Alchemy primer. Instead, she went back to the ritual books she'd checked out (and kept renewing, to Madam Pince's irritation). Rituals were simpler, and they didn't require quite such precision as it seemed Alchemy would.
Classes were still interesting, and Hermione enjoyed proving herself to her teachers and classmates. She was careful to act ever the consummate Slytherin, using Snape as an example to model herself after – not demanding attention, but always knowing the answer and providing it when asked; smirking in pleasure instead of laughing outright; and insulting others in the most cutting way.
She kept most of the insults in her head or spoke them quietly, to Tracey or Blaise, who found them funny and would insult their peers along with her. It wasn't nice, but it was fun, and it seemed to be a Slytherin pastime to lord yourself over others as somehow better.
Time seemed to speed up for Hermione. Exams and the end of the year didn't seem all that far off, and Hermione began preparing. Harry and Neville had given her horrified looks when she offered to help them prepare a review schedule, so she'd gone to the Ravenclaws, all of whom wanted to compare theirs against hers. Together, they'd agreed upon set study and review sessions, and soon Hermione was meeting up with Terry, Mandy, Michael, and Anthony with regularity. She didn't seem to get much out of the study sessions – Hermione was doing much better at memorizing and remembering magic than she had been at Muggle school (though she hadn't been a slouch there, either!). It helped alleviate her anxiety about exams, though – she could just imagine the humiliation she'd feel if she failed her tests. She'd be the laughing stock of Slytherin!
It was one such study session that she was interrupted by a Slytherin prefect – Lysander Lestrange, if she remembered his name.
"Professor Snape needs to see you in his office immediately," he informed her. He looked around their little study group, and his lip curled. "Now."
"I know what 'immediately' means, thanks," Hermione shot back. She packed up her bag and offered her study group an apologetic look, while they offered her one of pity as she hurried off, the prefect walking alongside her.
"Do you know what this is about?" Hermione asked the prefect.
"No idea," Lestrange said shortly. He looked down on her, a faint sneer on his face. "There's a gentleman in there with him, though. Be careful not to embarrass our House in front of the public."
Hermione drew herself up and met his eyes with a haughty look.
"I know how to conduct myself properly," she informed him. "I shan't bring dishonor upon our house."
Lysander looked momentarily surprised, then cruelly amused.
"We'll see," he told her. His eyes glinted.
He knocked on the door, and shoved Hermione through none-too-politely at Snape's cry of "Enter!" Hermione stumbled but quickly righted herself, and turned to level a glare at Lysander, but he'd already gone, the door closed behind him. Withholding a sigh, Hermione turned to her Head of House.
"You summoned me, sir?"
Snape was standing, his arms folded. Next to him was a short, wiry man with great sprouts of white hair erupting from his head. Hermione tried not to stare, but it was hard – the man reminded her of an overly-thin Albert Einstein.
"Miss Granger, this is Cadmus Vitac," Snape told her. "He is here to examine you."
Hermione's eyes widened. "…examine?"
Cadmus gave Snape a skeptical look.
"This is the girl you spoke about?" he demanded. "She's barely a slip of a girl!"
"Shut up and just give her your test," Snape said impatiently. "You'll see yourself what I spoke of soon enough."
The man scowled at Snape but moved forward nonetheless.
"This is a test that I give potential employees, Miss Granger," he told her. "I will time you. There are three parts. You may begin."
Hermione took a seat and reached for her quill, confused to see two ink pots sitting next to it. She took the familiar black and began immediately, curious what kind of test this could be.
It became quickly apparent that this was a sort of grammar test. The test demanded she identify parts of speech, define what each was, and recognize each inside a sentence. Hermione found herself smiling after a short while as she cheerfully completed the quiz – it was like a review sheet from her English Language classes, and Hermione found herself almost having fun. After diagramming a sentence in the blank bottom of the parchment (for extra credit, she told herself), she set the first page aside and turned to the next.
This one was even more straightforward – a list of common phrases and idioms, and she had to mark which was correct. Hermione found herself hesitating over some of the more obscure Wizarding ones – was it "grumbling ghosts" or "grumbling goblins"? She did know "all of a sudden" over "all of the sudden", as well as "for all intents and purposes" over "for all intensive purposes". This test was harder, and Hermione had to leave a few blank (she'd rather admit what she didn't know than guess and get it wrong), and it was with slight trepidation that Hermione moved on to the last page.
This page was an essay, and the page instructed her to correct it. As Hermione saw the start of the essay lacking a capital letter, the meaning of the second inkpot came to her in a flash, and it was with a grin that Hermione inked her quill with red. She'd always wanted to do this, ever since getting her own papers marked in red back from her primary school teacher.
She tore the essay to pieces, catching every mistake she could, including correcting the spelling of words. She marked where it should be split into different paragraphs, and she caught all the comma splices. She found herself making revision notes as she went along editing the paper, notations of "source?" and "does not follow" in the margins of the page. By the time she had finished, the page was a veritable cacophony of red and black, and Hermione was pleased with herself. It looked almost as bad as one of Ron's essays handed back from Snape.
"Time."
Hermione blinked, having forgotten there were others in the room with her as she had entered a mental Test Mode. Flushing slightly, she handed her tests over.
She watched from her seat, somewhat apprehensive, as Mr. Vitac went over her parchments, his own quill inked in blue to correct her sheets. Snape seemed supremely nonplussed and unworried as her papers were graded – he was examining his nails at the moment, projecting complete boredom. Hermione felt a thrill as Vitac turned her first page aside without having made a single mark on it – that meant she'd scored a perfect.
He stopped at her blank answers on the second sheet, though.
"You don't know these?" he asked her.
"To be honest, sir, I've never heard these expressions before," she admitted. "If you wouldn't mind teaching me the proper idioms and their meanings before you go, I'm sure I'd be able to remember them from now on."
His white bushy eyebrows rose high.
"You've never heard them before?" he demanded.
"I only entered the wizarding world in September," Hermione said uncomfortably. "These aren't sayings my classmates use."
The man shot a sharp look at Snape, who held his hands out in a gesture. The man looked at her suspiciously, taking in the green and silver stripes of her tie, before continuing on.
When he got to her third page, Hermione saw pleasant surprise flash across his face.
"You know your editing marks," he murmured. "Excellent."
Hermione watched as he read down the paper, humming to himself in a low tone, before rolling up all three papers and tucking them into his robe, where they vanished. He stood, and Hermione saw that his aggressive suspicion seemed gone.
"Severus, you were absolutely right," he told him. "I haven't seen such perfect grammar in years."
Snape allowed himself to smirk, and the man turned to Hermione again.
"Miss Granger, Professor Snape has told me you are looking for summer employment," he told her. He offered her a smile that was toothy and cracked. "I would like to offer you a job."
"You would?" Hermione couldn't believe it.
"I would. I work at Lleuwlynn and Sewlyn, a small publishing house in Wizarding London. I read manuscripts, edit drafts, and publish books."
Hermione had to force herself not to hyperventilate with excitement, though she suspected her eyes had a mad gleam to them.
"If you accept, I will teach you the wizarding publishing process, as well as how magical books are printed and manufactured. Most of the time, you will be doing the scut work - second copy-edits, filing, that sort of thing."
"Oh yes, that's fine!" Hermione blurted. "I would love to come and work for you!"
Cadmus chuckled and exchanged a look with Snape.
"Eager girl," he commented. "I imagine you're a voracious reader?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Then we'll have to see about approving you for a company discount on our books as well." He gave her his odd, cracked smile again. "Now, a contract?"
"I will represent Miss Granger's interests in an employment discussion," Snape said, interjecting smoothly. Cadmus looked surprised, but he shrugged.
Hermione sat in stunned silence as they bickered over things like hours, rate, and official job duties. She was hardly able to believe it. An internship at a publishing house-!
When they had finished, she was to earn 9 sickles an hour, with every hour worked over 35 in a week paid at double the rate. She was to work weekdays from 9-5, with an hour for lunch each day. And the company would pay for her travel expenses – in this case, a work Portkey that would take her to and from work each day. Hermione had been in a daze of happiness when she signed her contract, not bothering to read over all the responsibilities. She was sure they'd teach her everything she'd need to do the first week, anyway.
When Cadmus Vitac had left, looking quite pleased, the door had scarcely closed before Hermione had flung herself across the room to hug Snape about the waist, to his shock.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you-!"
"Miss Granger! This is conduct most unbecoming of a Slytherin!"
Hermione didn't care, and she held on, grinning like a loon. With a resigned sigh, Snape relaxed, and lightly embraced her back.
"You are welcome, Miss Granger," he said, his voice long-suffering. "At least you are pleased."
"You couldn't have found something more perfect if you tried," Hermione said, pulling back and smiling up at him. "What made you think of it?"
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"Though you excel in your classes, you do not have many marketable skills yet, Miss Granger," he told her. "You only have a First Year's education, after all. But the one thing you do better than any other student is read. That, and write essays that are entirely too long."
Hermione laughed and beamed again, and Snape rolled his eyes.
"Get out of here now, before I'm sickened by your soppy smiles," he told her, handing her a copy of her employment contract. "Go inflict your emotion upon some other poor soul."
Hermione took the parchment and practically danced out of Snape's office, returning to her dorm in a daze of happiness. As she drifted down the corridor, she practically ran into Blaise and Draco, who were heading toward the common room as well.
"Hermione!" Blaise moved quickly and caught her, keeping her from falling. "Merlin, Hermione, be careful. What's got your head in the clouds?"
Hermione just smiled at him soppily for a minute, before pulling herself together a bit to properly respond.
"I'm just happy," she said decisively. "No particular reason."
Both Blaise and Draco raised their eyebrows and exchanged a glance at that one.
"Why? What are you two up to?" she asked. "It's almost curfew."
This time, the look exchanged was one of malicious glee.
"That oaf Hagrid's got a dragon in his hut," Draco said, his eyes glinting. "The egg just hatched."
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"A dragon?"