Return

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters found within this story and none of the places. The only thing I own is the writing itself.

Chapter Two: Return

“Wonderful,” Hermione spat, her voice laden with sarcasm. “Just lovely.” She threw herself backwards onto her new bed, shifting slightly once she had landed to make herself more comfortable. She allowed her eyes to slide closed with a sigh and sought the calm she knew was within her mind. It was very much unlike her normally phlegmatic personality, this outburst of annoyance and anger at so small a thing.

“Deep breaths,” she whispered to herself, unconsciously falling into the meditative pattern she’d developed over the last seven years. As much as she did not believe in the reliability of anything even slightly related to Divination, she found this ancient ritual worked more along the lines of a mental purification than the spiritual one it was intended to precipitate. Merlin knows I need something to clean up my mind, the young woman thought to herself, considering how fast things have been moving. Hard to believe it was only two months ago that I was still a ‘lowly apprentice’.

Rather than allow herself to laze about and get nothing done, the bushy-haired brunette hoisted herself off the comfortable bed and set out to re-explore the ancient castle and its grounds. She padded softly through the halls on cat-quiet feet, every nerve in her body attuned to the air currents around her. That was something she had learned during her apprenticeship: the importance of knowing one’s surroundings---when one was casting a spell especially, but at all times in general. She hardly even noticed that she was doing it any more; it had become such an ingrained skill.

She wended her way down from the upper levels until she was pausing at the door to the dungeons, hesitant to cross the threshold. Silly, she told herself, confronting her deeply buried fears. Snape’s not here, that’s why you were upset; he can’t very well pounce on you and deduct house points! You’re a professor now; he will not have control of you even when he does return. Her fear subsided slightly, she slipped through the wide doorway--hugging against the jamb as tightly as she could--and stepped down the stairs nervously.

Memories rose from the depths of her mind like scraps of mist from a damp roadway on a cool summer’s morn; flashing before her eyes, presenting her with images of times long past. Flickers of Potions classes; black robed students with blackened metal cauldrons mixing ingredients at the direction of the black robed professor. Red, gold, green and silver flashing from ties and crests, brief sightings of other colours midst the student body. Snape’s colours were unrelieved, black and pale flesh from head to toe.

With an almost physical shake, Hermione pulled herself back to reality. As her consciousness returned to her body, she realized that she was shaking and covered in sweat. Leaning against the wall, she forcibly slowed her breathing and pulled herself back into her usual calm. In the air went, passing down her trachea, through the bronchi and bronchioles, finally ending up in her alveoli, where the surrounding blood vessels brought their loads of cells to exchange waste gasses for oxygen. Out again, pushing with a slight bit more force now, seeking escape from the tightly confining lungs.

Her body returned to its natural state, the young professor continued down the dim hallway, one hand touching the slightly damp wall as though to reassure her that it was still there. Her fingers found the rough and uneven spots, exploring them in lieu of her eyes, which were fixed firmly on the ground in front of her. Slowly, she descended, each step forward lowering the floor by another millimetre or so. She bypassed many empty rooms, ignoring them in favour of her final destination. At last, she looked up at a familiar door--the one to the Potions classroom.

She pushed the heavy oak door open just far enough to permit her access and slipped through, closing the portal again once she was fully inside the large room. She slit her eyes slightly despite the fact that there wasn’t a particularly large amount of light in the room. As a matter of fact, there was a notable absence of light, the lack of windows leaving illumination up to candles. Said candles were not in evidence now, as it was summer, and there would be no need to cast light upon an empty classroom.

Looking around at the walls that she remembered so clearly, Hermione noticed a door that she had not ever entered during her years as a student. Walking up to it, she examined it closely with both fingers and eyes, noting that it was similar to the classroom door in grain, texture and wood. Testing the handle, she was slightly surprised to feel it give under her hand, retracting the bolt from its former niche. She opened the door cautiously, well aware that she was more than likely outside of her rightful boundaries but unable to quash her natural curiosity.

The room she entered was austere, furnished mainly with dark wood and dark green velour. She went over to examine the large desk placed prominently in the middle of the room, running fingertips over the finely carved ornamentation on the sides. She did not recognize the wood--not surprising, really--but judging by its texture, it was a difficult wood to work.

“Ironwood, Miss Granger,” a familiar cold voice told her almost dispassionately. She whirled to be confronted with the face of her ex-Potions professor as his likeness glowered at her from a life-sized painting. “Muggles can barely work it; it takes the most expert of wizard carvers all of their skill to create a piece such as that.” He nodded at the desk, and Hermione noticed the faintest traces of a humourless smile hovering about his thin mouth. “One of the few bits of my inheritance I’ve chosen to keep around me in my every day life.” Suddenly, his face closed in, and he glared at her.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing in my office, Miss Granger? I do recall that you have left the school and therefore have no business here.” He glared at her, as though he expected that to scare her away. Perhaps he does, she reflected.

“As a matter of fact, Professor Snape, I do have business here,” she replied calmly, enjoying the brief flicker of surprise that crossed his face. He was clearly not used to having students, even former students, speak back to him. “You see, I’m the new Transfiguration professor, and as such, I need to know what you will be teaching your students. I believe most teachers keep their course syllabus in their offices.” She arched one eyebrow in challenge, disregarding for the moment that she was speaking to a portrait. “As well, I have a few questions I must ask your flesh-and-blood counterpart. I don’t suppose you know where he is?”

A/N: It has been brought to my attention that there is another story by the same title as this one by cocoachristy. They are, obviously, not the same story nor do they have the same plot line, as far as I am aware. I'm very sorry if I have confused anyone due to the title.