The Prodigal Alumna's Return

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews. They mean so much to me!

To my dear betas Subversa and Keladry...you are amazing!

Chapter 4- The Prodigal Alumna's Return

Hermione arrived at Hogwarts the Saturday morning before the beginning of the fall term, trepidation having firmly implanted itself into her mind and vocalizing itself in every waking thought surfacing in her head.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea to write to Snape, after Draco left the bookshop. True, she had taken much of the evening following Draco's reentrance into her life to think about what the pure-blood had said before sending her owl, but there had been little rational thought that had crossed her mind. As a matter of fact, thinking about Draco had only ever served to agitate her to such an extent that she started making horribly rash decisions.

Hermione was extremely concerned for this reason alone. None of her past decisions made in the irrationality of the moment had turned out exceptionally well. Yes, she, Harry and Ron all seemed to have a force guarding them that always made their forays into stupidity turn out well and often times left them smelling like roses, but Hermione was quite certain that force would not follow her into the classroom under Snape's direction.

Maybe she should not have accepted? After all, she had never really wanted to teach in the first place. And she would be damned if she ended up like Snape: a bitter, lonely person who seemingly had only taken his original tenure as Potions master to obtain pleasure from belittling the progeny of his former tormentors.

She did worry, though, about things completely unrelated to working for someone she had despised for most of her years at school.

Would she remember everything she needed to while teaching classes? Could she even teach the subject adequately? How would she be able to command the attention of an entire class when she had not even been able to control Ron and Harry when she needed to? Would she turn to her bossy, opinionated side that believed anyone whose views differed from hers, however logical, was wrong and completely mental? Would her past catch up with her? Would she make any friends amongst the staff? Could she, in good conscience, teach the children she considered her own nieces and nephews without favoritism? And would she really be able to judge children like Atticus Malfoy fairly, even though she had threatened otherwise?

Most importantly, would she be able to be as effective an educator as Snape had been without ending up cynical and cruel?

Indeed, there were so many unanswerable questions that she barely had enough brain power left over to contemplate her lesson plans. As it was, she had never made a lesson plan before. Hell, she hadn't even taught a class before! There had been one time while at Glastonbury that she had been made chief laboratory assistant, and she had done some paper and potion grading for her mentor-professor, but that had been the extent of her training in the classroom. Yes, she had some fine examples of teachers in her background after whom to model herself; she even had some horrible ones she had no desire to emulate, but that really didn't make any difference to Hermione. She knew all too well that without practical experience, she was pretty much dead in the water.

There was no doubt about it: Hermione Granger, normally confident Gryffindor, was terrified.

At least Hogwarts was as she remembered it; the castle was warm and welcoming, instantly making her feel as though she was home, and this was the only place in the world she wanted to be. On the other hand, the high-ceilinged corridors were a little too quiet for her liking, but then again, Hermione reminded herself, she had never been to the school when there weren't students present. She was sure everything would be back to "normal" once the term started; it was merely something else she would have to become accustomed to, especially when the winter and summer hols came around.

She had not seen anyone yet but a few house-elves; Snape had not deigned to welcome her.

Winky had been dispatched to help Hermione with her things and to find her rooms. The squeaky little house-elf had also been instructed to give her a folded piece of parchment. Apparently, she had also been instructed to refuse to leave before insisting that Hermione allow her to have food and tea sent to the room. Hermione had declined the offer, disappointing Winky to such an extent that the little elf started to sniffle, making it clear that she thought Hermione was displeased with her. Taking pity on the creature, Hermione had rolled her eyes and asked for sandwiches and tea. Winky's ears had perked up immediately, and she snapped her fingers eagerly, two overflowing trays of libations appearing on the sideboard. The elf had given her a toothless smile and disappeared.

At least the elderly Winky had forgotten Hermione's earlier attempts at freeing the house-elves from servitude. The last thing she needed were house-elves scared to come around her for fear of being given clothes, especially since Dobby was now helping out at the Potters a few days a week...for pay, of course...and would not be able to help Harry Potter's frizzy-haired friend.

Hermione sighed heavily to herself and looked around the living area of her rooms, located directly below the Gryffindor common room, in an effort to orient herself with what might be the setting for the rest of her adult life. It was nothing to shout about, surely, with boring stone walls, basic furniture and a large hearth to one side of the front room. There was a small, modernized kitchen and dinette close to the entrance, but clearly there would not be enough space to cook and serve a decent meal for entertaining purposes. Moving back to the bedroom, Hermione was met with even more basic wooden furniture. Dominating the room was a bed far more luxurious than the four-poster she'd slept in as a student: it was a king-sized sleigh bed, stained a dark mahogany. Intricate woodwork showed a pride of lions about the footboard; a large lion's head, replete with magnificently bushy mane, graced the center of the headboard.

How very Gryffindor, Hermione decided.

An ancient-looking mattress rested on top of the springs; essential bed clothes in shades of crimson and gold were folded and resting on a nightstand. There would be a great number of transfigurations and charms performed over the next few weeks to make these chambers more livable and more to her own personal tastes, but Hermione supposed it wasn't too horrible.

After all, you could be in the dungeons.

Supposing these chambers had once been Godric Gryffindor's and had since been passed to each Gryffindor head, she decided she should send silent gratitude to Gryffindor for having the largesse to create such an amazing bathing sanctuary...better than any prefects' or Head Girl's bath. It reminded her of those Roman baths she had seen while on holiday with her family in Italy: open and airy, meant for a relaxing retreat instead of a perfunctory scrub under pelting water. Over the large whirlpool-like bath was a charmed ceiling to mimic blue skies with fluffy white clouds, casting fake, muted sunlight around the room.

If there was one personal enjoyment Hermione indulged in, it was a nice, long hot bath after a trying day. She had a very distinct feeling she would have a lot of those days to come and was glad for the addition.

Hermione made her way back out of the room to find that the three owls she had sent earlier with bundles of shrunken belongings, mainly her books, had arrived and were tapping anxiously at the glass-paned casement in the living room. After letting the barn owls in, she offered them some of the food Winky had Summoned and placed the tiny boxes with the other things she had brought, to be sorted out later. Dipping her hand into her pocket, her fingers skimmed the rough, folded parchment Winky had given her. Pulling out the parchment, Hermione broke the wax seal and read the short note written in spiky black letters:

Miss Granger,

S. Snape

She pursed her lips together into a thin line, letting out a short, indignant grunt. If he needed her so horribly, he should have been there at the gates to welcome her.

He should be here to carry my bloody bags for me!

Leaving the door to her chambers unwarded...there was little chance of anything sprouting legs and walking off, or being damaged...her mind had again thoroughly immersed itself in renewed trepidation over her position. This was not discounting the mixture of indifferent exasperation that had entered her thoughts as well, for not being thought important enough to garner Snape's utmost attention upon her arrival. He had told her to be here at this time. Why couldn't he have scheduled his appointment for later, after he had dealt with her?

Before she knew it, she had worked her way down to the dungeons, heading straight for what would be her classroom in two days. Given her choice, she would prefer one of the rooms with large windows overlooking the grounds on one of the upper floors. She was not thrilled to have to use this room in the cold, clammy dungeons for her classes, but any decent potions maker knew that temperature and moisture control were pertinent to effective ingredients and most potion brewing. Trying the door handle, she found it unlocked and unwarded, the ancient hinges groaning loudly with the weight of the wood as it swung to reveal the empty room.

The room had not changed much since she had been a student; Snape's personal effects had been removed from the room, but otherwise, everything seemed exactly as she remembered it at her last class of seventh year. The workbench Neville had used for five years was blackened with repeated mistakes that magic could no longer fix nor hide. The faint evidence of a cauldron meltdown that Hermione remembered well was to the left of the room where Malfoy and his cronies used to sit. The room as just as dank and depressing as she remembered. With any luck, she would endeavor to make the classroom, if not the class itself, a tad more enjoyable.

She moved slowly through the classroom, glimpses of Potions classes past materializing in front of her for brief moments.

Herself, sitting quietly and watching a simmering cauldron, every so often leaning over to whisper a quick instruction to Neville.

Draco and his cronies jeering at everyone. Snape moving lithely through the tables, coming to stand over and berate her for helping Neville even after he had told her not to.

She smiled ruefully to herself, thinking of Neville's crippling fear whenever Snape was in sight. The Greasy Git had never frightened her. Infuriated her, sure, but she had never felt particularly terrified of the man. That was, perhaps, a reason why she disregarded Snape's orders pertaining to assisting Neville. He could threaten her with detention all he wanted, but it was not going to change her mind about helping the poor boy.

Yet, Hermione reminded herself, Snape had never actually given her a detention for helping Neville, even when it was glaringly obvious that was what she was doing on various occasions. As a matter of fact, she had only ever lost a handful of house points for disobeying. Had he just been keeping up appearances, threatening her? Had she been a bit of teacher's pet to the Potions master, even if it was in an odd, twisted way?

Running her fingers along the well-worn wood of the lectern Snape had stood at and lectured from during his classes, she let out a low sigh. Could she really be here, preparing to teach a class in two days? Was she really going to stand in Snape's spot and pray to any deity that would listen that she would make it out alive?

"It is rather difficult to Floo someone when they are not in their rooms."

The sarcasm-laden voice startled her enough to exclaim a panicked profanity, even as she identified the speaker. She pivoted quickly to find Snape leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest.

"Why would I sit in my rooms, waiting for you to decide to Floo, when I have other things to see?" she asked, the adrenaline in her veins making her cross. "I don't spend my time waiting on people. There's no point."

"My, that is rather cynical of you."

"I'm not a Hufflepuff," she said and closed the distance between them. "So, now that you have deemed it appropriate to find me, please, let's not beat around the bush."

Snape raised a defiant brow. "I left a note for Winky to give to you."

"She did give it me. But I'm rather annoyed at the thought that I should be left waiting at your beck and call after I told you exactly what time I would arrive. Isn't it considered poor manners to not be..."

"Miss Granger," he responded tersely, "I assure you that I had planned to be here for your arrival, but I was called away to Hogsmeade at the last minute. It was important, and I could not delay the meeting. Now, I believe we should start our meeting with some rules, however difficult they may be for you to follow."

Am I out of line for saying what I did?

Hermione bit her tongue to keep her ire from boiling over. He could have a decent excuse, but he would never tell her. Whatever he had been doing wasn't her business, after all, and all she would ever know was that it was a last minute meeting. According to him, everything was on a need-to-know basis, and she obviously did not need to know. It clashed horribly with her Gryffindor tendencies to lay everything out on the table.

"The most important rule you must remember is that I am your superior, and as I expected respect from you as a student, I also expect it from the teachers working for me."

Hermione barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Had he ever had her respect when she was his student? She had never really respected him until after all was said and done. Only then had she understood everything that he had gone through for the Order and Harry's cause.

"I thought I was working for the Ministry, sir," she said, knowing she was being overly petulant, but she was not in the most charitable of moods at the moment. Her anxiety over the whole teaching ordeal seemed to be manifesting itself in this new way – being snippy towards her superior.

He sneered. "It would also behoove you to remember that you are an adult and not a student any longer," he said. "Act your age."

It was amazing how something that simple, coming from his mouth in such a vitriolic way, could still sting her. She could have been out of line. After all, it was her decision to come. As much as she wanted to take her frustration out on him for not meeting her, she had better give him the benefit of the doubt, if only in hopes of maintaining a peaceful working relationship in days to come. She was older and should know better.

For the first time in a long time, she actually felt like apologizing to the man, but she could not make herself say the words.

Apparently, a look of regret had surfaced on her face; as his eyes flicked in her direction again, he gave a curt nod. Snape motioned to the empty room, continuing, "As you must know, you will be teaching classes down here. Everything was left as you remember it in the class storeroom, so it should not be difficult to find what you need. Since it has taken so long to find a suitable replacement for myself, I have ordered supplies based on my lesson plans. If you need anything more, you may place an order through me to be approved. The Ministry keeps close watch on how money is spent, now that the Board of Governors has been replaced with the Department of Magical Education."

"I don't think I'll need much," she said. "I'm using your lesson plans."

"And how did you come by those?" he asked, seemingly interested that she had offered that information freely.

Hermione did roll her eyes, this time. "I took notes every day about what we did. Sixth and seventh year were a little more nebulous since we had the fine... teaching... of Horace Slughorn."

Snape smirked. "He was a capable-enough instructor, but he could have been amazing if he had not paid so much attention to his Club."

"I agree," she said. "I hated that. I don't think I even got in on my own merits; I'm certain being associated with Harry helped."

"I must inquire, though, why you have not developed your own lesson plans?"

The moment of truth. Hermione hesitated.

The question was not one of sneering incredulity, but merely one that served to gather information for future knowledge. It was his right to know, after all, why his new Potions mistress did not know how to develop a lesson plan. If she did not know how to do that, then how would she be able to teach a class?

Hermione did wonder at his tone of voice, though. Even in the bookshop, he had behaved in a much more approachable manner than he had ever done as her professor, or during those last days of the war. Sure, he still had his sardonic mind...hopefully he would never lose that, as she would admit she liked such sarcasm to a point...but there was still that feeling that he was constantly teetering between sadistic bastard and venerable war hero and Headmaster.

Her grouchiness not a few minutes before hadn't even set him off. He gave fair warning she was getting close, yes, but cheek like that in the past would have earned her such a berating from his sharp tongue.

I wonder what would make him snap now?

A sweet face came to Hermione's mind. Was this Thea's influence?

"As interesting as I am sure your thoughts are, would it be an inconvenience to quit daydreaming?"

Hermione felt a blush rise from the demure collar of her robes to her cheeks. "Sorry, Professor. I, erm, have never taught a class before."

"You went to university and never once were an apprentice or professor's aide?" he asked.

"I helped in the lab and did some grading," she explained, "but I never taught."

He considered her for a moment before asking his next question. "Why did you go all the way to your master's, then, if you did not want to teach? The only reason for a master qualification in anything is to become an educator."

She smiled ruefully. "I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. After Hogwarts and the war, I had absolutely no desire to go into Auror training with Harry and Ron. Other possibilities were open, but I decided to continue my education because that was what I was good at, and I didn't need to make a decision about anything. My Arithmancy mastery fell into my lap because I took so many extra courses. I almost planned for a Dark Arts mastery, because that was the one subject I never did perfectly in and wanted to master, but I ended up in Potions. To make a long story short, I went through school and university until I got to the point that there was just no more."

"You put yourself through the stress of the Glastonbury master's programs, with no intention to put them to any use?"

"Well, I did the medi-witch thing and considered graduating to Healer, but I couldn't handle very difficult tasks. Keeping a brave face with blood pouring everywhere isn't my strong suit. I ended up in the laboratory, eventually... but I don't think you want to know this."

Hermione had never seen Severus Snape look worried before. "Have you kept up with the latest discoveries and your knowledge on the subject? If you have not, then you must tell me now. I may need to find someone..."

Perhaps the pressure of proving himself as Headmaster after everything he had done and been through in the past was getting to him, so Hermione interrupted, "Professor Snape, I assure you that I read periodicals and brew regularly. Mostly for household potions like Pepperup for Harry's or Ron's families, but I do some experimenting as well." Hermione met his dark eyes, waiting to see some flicker of relief. It never showed, but his apprehension had faded.

"Very well," said he, pushing away from the door and deeper into the classroom, bidding her to follow.

Hermione struggled to catch up with him and stay in stride with his longer legs. "You don't need to worry. You're hiring what you thought you were. I just haven't been active in the Potions scene."

"Teaching, while a...er...noble profession, is not an easy profession," he remarked as they turned the corner and stopped abruptly in front of a closed door.

"Really? I always thought all that sadistic bastard stuff when I was a student was just a show," she joked.

He turned to her, his thin lips flattened into a straight line, threatening to change to a sneer.

"I'm only kidding, Professor," she said, exasperated at his sudden turn of demeanor.

So any mention of the past will get your hackles up.

"I'm just saying that with all the pressure you were under, carrying on a duplicitous life and teaching, it showed in your teaching style," she added.

"Miss Granger, while I am flattered you believe you know me, you certainly do not know me."

Okay?

Hermione raised a curious brow. "You were such a horrible man before, but you've definitely changed now."

"You're either very brave or very foolish to admit that to my face," he remarked.

"Neither, I think. I'm stating a fact. Since we last spoke ten years ago, you have changed quite a lot," she replied.

She had absolutely no idea why she was telling him all this; Snape was not a man who inspired confidences. He gave her a discerning look and frowned slightly, as though he were disappointed that he had changed so much.

Not dwelling on it, he turned to open the door in front of them and bring down the wards. "I am sure you are well aware as to how this room is organized, seeing as boomslang skin and lacewing flies are rather spread apart."

"You still remember that after all these years?"

"It was the only time a student ever made it out of the room and back in time without being caught red-handed," he said. "Were you the one who thought to use a firework?"

"No, I left the diversion up to Ron and Harry," she replied, not really having the luxury of denying anything at this point.

"It explains the lack of thought that went into it," he said thoughtfully, but quickly diverted her attention to the storeroom once more.

Hermione looked into the small room, walls lined with shelves and hundreds of Potions ingredients that ranged from the basic and harmless to the rare and caustic.

She paused and glanced back at him again. "But isn't this your personal storeroom?"

"It is the Potions instructor's storeroom. I have removed any rare and precious materials that I have come by on my own," he said. "I would ask that I still have access to this storeroom, as I do brew on occasion."

Hermione nodded. Could she really have said no?

They continued on the tour of the office and private lab; Snape drawled on about her duties as Deputy Headmistress. She would be the liaison between the staff and him, as well as in charge of scheduling things such as curfew patrols. After about twenty minutes of him rattling off her duties, Hermione decided that her position as Deputy would be to do anything Severus Snape did not wish to do himself. Not that she minded terribly; she had already figured out that much.

As far as her duties as Head of House were concerned, they would be few and rather simple to do; handing out punishments would not be all that difficult.

Their meeting ended an hour later just outside the staff lounge with a few curt nods and thank yous. Feeling no more confident about the start of classes on Monday, and even a little more confused about a few things pertaining to a Hogwarts professor's life, Hermione trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower and into her chambers with one thought:

What in Circe's name had she gotten herself into?

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"...either very brave or very foolish..." was shamelessly stolen out of the lips of Movie!Lucius!Jason Isaacs.