Hermione was startled awake by the soft but persistent knock at her door. With a tired sigh, she set the pillow aside, rubbing her eyes as she rose from the bed. Glancing down, she noticed her robes, now wrinkled and askew, a stark reminder of her hasty exit from Hogwarts. She grimaced but moved toward the door, bracing herself for another house-elf visit.
As she pulled open the door, however, she froze. Standing in the doorway, his familiar green eyes filled with concern, was Harry. He still wore his work robes, slightly rumpled from a long day, but his focus was entirely on her. Without a word, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace, his arms encircling her as if he could shield her from whatever had brought her here.
"Are you okay, Hermione?" Harry's voice was gentle but edged with worry as he held her close, his chin resting atop her head. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, his protective instincts on high alert. "Luffy told me you'd come back from Hogwarts and locked yourself in your room for hours."
A knot formed in Hermione's throat, and she fought to keep her voice steady, drawing comfort from his familiar warmth. "I just… I couldn't stay there any longer," she whispered, her voice trembling. The memories of her argument with Snape, the venom in his words, and the crushing realization that she had left everything behind—all of it washed over her again, threatening to unravel her resolve.
Harry gently pulled back, holding her shoulders as his emerald-green eyes met hers, full of concern. But beneath his worry, she could see the shift, his kind expression hardening as he scanned her face, piecing together the remnants of her pain.
"What did that git do?" he demanded, his voice laced with barely restrained anger, his jaw clenched tightly. She could see his hands form fists as he stood there, the protectiveness he'd always shown toward her flaring up with intensity.
For a moment, Hermione hesitated, the painful memories still fresh and raw. But Harry's unwavering gaze encouraged her, and she finally allowed herself to speak. "He—he just… he was relentless, Harry," she began, her voice shaking. "Every mistake I made, every little oversight, he dissected as if I'd ruined everything. Nothing I did was ever good enough, and today… today was just too much."
Harry's grip on her shoulders tightened ever so slightly as he listened, his eyes darkening with fury. "You don't deserve to be treated like that," he said fiercely. "You've always given your all, Hermione. That greasy git has no right to tear you down just because he's miserable himself."
Hermione slumped back against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face set in frustration. "But now I have no job," she said, her voice tinged with anger and regret. "That apprenticeship was all I wanted, Harry. I was learning so much, really pushing myself—and I just threw it all away. Maybe I shouldn't have let his words get to me like that. Maybe I overreacted." Her eyes flickered with the doubt that had been gnawing at her since she'd left.
Harry studied her, concern shadowing his gaze as he took in her obvious distress. "You don't seriously believe that, do you?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm. "Hermione, Snape's a master at getting under people's skin, and he knows exactly what to say to make you feel worthless. But that doesn't mean you are."
Hermione clenched her fists, feeling a pang of frustration with herself. "I know, but I keep thinking… what if he was right? What if I was careless? Maybe I could've tried harder, pushed through. That apprenticeship meant everything to me, Harry. I spent months preparing, weeks studying every little detail so I'd be ready, and now—now it's all gone because I couldn't handle one argument." Her voice broke, her disappointment in herself clear.
"Hey," Harry said, stepping closer, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "Don't start second-guessing yourself because of him. I know how much that job meant to you. But the fact that you stood up for yourself when it got unbearable—that took courage, Hermione. And just because you left doesn't mean everything's over. There are other ways to continue your training, other places that would be lucky to have you. But you shouldn't be anywhere that makes you doubt yourself like this."
Hermione looked away, her expression torn. "But… Snape's the best. As awful as he can be, he's brilliant, and he was teaching me things no one else would." She sighed deeply. "I'm just worried I've ruined the only chance I had."
Harry placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Look, maybe this wasn't the right path after all," he said, a spark of hope in his voice. "Or maybe it's just a detour. Either way, you have options, Hermione. And whatever happens, you're not facing it alone."
Hermione swallowed hard, keeping her gaze averted as she fought to keep the truth from spilling out. She could never tell Harry—he'd never understand, and even if he tried, he'd likely be horrified. Because the truth was, no matter how much she'd grown frustrated with Snape, she missed him more than the job. Despite all of the biting criticisms and impossible demands, there was a side to him she'd glimpsed in the quiet moments they'd shared, a side of him she'd come to care for deeply.
The weight of her feelings hit her all over again, feelings she could barely admit to herself, let alone anyone else. She could still feel the warmth of his rare, unguarded moments, the surprising gentleness he'd shown her when they were alone, and the sparks in his eyes when he'd let his guard down, even if only briefly. She'd learned to see past the cold exterior, and somewhere along the way, she'd fallen for the man beneath. Even now, she could still feel his presence lingering around her as if he were standing there in the room.
As Harry continued his reassuring words, she struggled to keep her face neutral, her heart aching with the knowledge of what she'd lost. Because for her, it wasn't just an apprenticeship she'd walked away from—it was every stolen moment, every whispered word, every careful touch that had gone beyond anything she'd ever felt before. She had done things with him, things that surprised her and made her feel alive, like she'd unlocked a part of herself she hadn't known was there. There was a spark with him, something she couldn't easily explain, and she knew a simple argument wouldn't make those feelings just disappear.
But here, with Harry by her side, her best friend who saw the world in terms of right and wrong, she couldn't bring herself to admit any of it. Instead, she forced a nod, the mask slipping over her expression, concealing the turmoil beneath. If Harry sensed the depth of her heartbreak, he didn't press, and for now, she was grateful. This secret was hers to bear alone.
In the days that followed, Hermione tried to go through the motions of life at Grimmauld Place, maintaining a calm and collected appearance. She forced herself to read, to research, to act as if everything were fine. But each evening, once she was alone, her composure crumbled. She cried in silence, muffling her sobs against her pillow, longing for the stone corridors of Hogwarts, the familiar scent of potion ingredients, and the thrill of learning from Severus—the greatest Potions Master alive.
She knew returning would only cause more pain, but that knowledge didn't erase the ache. Her mind wandered constantly, replaying scenes of their work together. She missed their banter, the satisfaction of mastering a potion under his demanding eye, and even his occasional smirk when she got something just right. She'd lost more than an apprenticeship; she'd lost something she couldn't even put into words.
When Ron finally returned from his game against the Irish, he crashed into the house with his usual boisterous energy, his obliviousness as grating as it was comforting. He noticed her quietness only briefly before diving straight into his own thoughts.
"I told you it wouldn't work out, Hermione," he said, his tone sharp but well-meaning, as if hoping to knock some sense into her. "You're better off without him. Snape's the last person you'd want to work under."
Hermione clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to snap back. Her friends had always been vocal about their disapproval, warning her that working with Snape would be difficult, if not impossible. But their words hadn't dimmed her desire to prove herself, to learn from the best, or to understand him on a level few others ever had.
She masked her irritation, unwilling to show Ron how deeply his comments affected her. He didn't know what it had been like, the quiet moments where Severus had let down his guard just enough for her to see a glimpse of the man beneath the bitter exterior. He couldn't understand the connection she'd felt with him, a bond rooted in respect and curiosity, and maybe something even deeper.
With a stiff smile, she nodded, unwilling to ignite an argument but acutely aware of the hollow emptiness in her chest. As Ron went on, the emptiness only grew, and she found herself longing for the solitude of her room, where she could grieve without judgment.
Having Ron back in the house only intensified Hermione's frustration. Though months had passed since their breakup, he seemed unfazed by the time and distance, still trying to win her back with every chance he got. The easygoing camaraderie they'd once shared was now strained, a reminder of the complications and tensions that had driven them apart in the first place. Their relationship had unraveled quickly, leaving both of them with unspoken wounds, but while she had accepted its end, Ron clung stubbornly to the idea of reconciliation.
Every lingering glance, every offhand compliment, and every attempt to remind her of their shared past wore on her nerves. His persistence felt suffocating, especially now when her heart was already raw and aching from the collapse of her apprenticeship and the tangled emotions it left her with. It seemed Ron was determined to rekindle a spark that Hermione knew had long since faded, and his obliviousness to her feelings only stoked the embers of her anger.
Their conversations were polite but tense, each exchange underscored by his hopeful attempts and her resistance. She wished he would see the subtle cues she left—her distant responses, her downcast gaze—but he remained as determined as ever. The dynamic between them, once comfortable and filled with mutual respect, now felt like a weight pressing down on her. With every step he took toward her, her sense of loneliness grew deeper, a painful reminder of the emotional wounds still fresh from her time with Snape.
Ron's unwavering resolve to mend what was broken only served to remind her of all the things she had lost: her dream of becoming a Potions master, her connection with Severus, and now, even her peace in her own home. Every attempt Ron made to bring them closer pushed her further away, her frustration simmering under the surface as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The hollow ache in her chest grew, and she realized that, more than ever, she needed to find a way to reclaim her life on her own terms—without looking back.