Part 3, Episodes 21-30

21. An Unexpected Shopping Trip

Hermione's mind was still in the dungeons with her cauldrons when she made her way to the seventh floor for her last lesson with Professor Flitwick before she would sit her NEWTs.

The thought of the exams stabbed into the pit of her stomach and made it lurch. But only a little. She'd been so scared of the OWLs. Why wasn't she in a complete panic now?

But she wasn't. Instead, she wondered about what to do with her latest brewing project.

oooOooo

In a flight of fancy she'd added the creation of a soothing bathing lotion to her list of projects. Which was actually Ginny's fault.

Because Ginny had bought a simple, no, rather a simply ridiculous Muggle foaming bath that contained thousands of tiny metallic golden hearts – which Ginny had charmed so that they created a whirlpool, tickling the skin of the bathers. Not that there weren't wizarding substances with the same effect, but the practical Ginny had discovered that buying Muggle was much cheaper. Being a deft hand at Charms, the young witch saw no reason to spend a Penny or a Knut more than she absolutely had to. Ginny had promised Hermione that what she did was perfectly legal and absolutely safe, since she enchanted the Muggle-made substances only her own personal use in the privacy of her own home. She'd only get in trouble if a Muggle with no clearance for the wizarding world came into contact with the results of her thriftiness.

'And I assure you, I have no intention of sharing my bathtub with an uninitiated Muggle,' Ginny had told her.

Even thinking about that tart reassurance made Hermione roll her eyes.

'I should hope not, Ginny,' Harry had commented, his cheeks colouring suspiciously.

Hermione groaned. Apparently Harry had been quite enchanted with Ginny's bathing solution.

No, she really did not need those images in her mind.

But the bathing incident had reminded her of what else you could brew potions. Creams, tonics, perfumes... and bathing lotions. Still unwilling to resort to stronger remedies, Hermione was on the lookout for something to keep nightmares away and fears at bay for purely selfish reasons. A good way to stay motivated, she mused.

The main ingredients for the Muggle recipe she'd picked as the basis for her new project were milk and a variety of essential oils (rose, jasmine, musk, ylang-ylang). Rose for calmness of mind and emotional stability, but without the sedative effects of a sleeping potion. Jasmine for invigorating effects that wouldn't make you hyper. Musk oil was best known as a powerful aphrodisiac, but it was also an amazing purifying agent. Ylang-Ylang, perhaps the most interesting substance among the lot, was just as ambiguous as musk. Not only an aphrodisiac, it would soothe an agitated heart and could even induce slightly euphoric moods.

Hermione wasn't too sure about musk and ylang-ylang in the mix – she'd probably want to substitute safer substances for them in the long run, maybe lavender and a bit of frankincense instead? – but as Muggle baths went, it was pleasant enough to start with. But... it just wasn't strong enough, magical enough, to combat her sleeplessness and her restlessness. Maybe mooncow milk instead of ordinary milk. But that stuff was expensive! She'd need a gallon to conduct enough experiments. Or if she used powdered unicorn horn instead of baking soda as a cleansing agent? Its purifying properties should be strong enough to replace the musk oil.

oooOooo

Suddenly Hermione found herself right in front of Professor Flitwick's office. When had the way from the dungeons to the seventh floor become so short? Normally it took ages to climb all those stairs. She knocked and entered the room. To her surprise, she found the diminutive professor dressed up for going out.

'Professor Flitwick?' she asked. Had she mixed up the time? Was she supposed to be elsewhere right now?

'No, no, Miss Granger – I haven't forgotten your lesson,' Professor Flitwick piped up. 'But it won't take place here. We're going to Diagon Alley, to visit Ollivander's today.'

Hermione frowned, but the professor smiled at her enthusiastically.

'It's time you got a second wand.'

'What?' Dumbstruck, Hermione could only gape at her teacher. Only the most powerful and adept witches and wizards could work with two wands. She knew that Dumbledore had had two wands. Flitwick, of course, could use two as well. She suspected that Snape probably could, too. But she? She was still practicing some of the more complicated one-handed swirls Flitwick was teaching her every night!

'Yes, Miss Granger. You will definitely need a second wand if you're going to be Severus Snape's apprentice. Do not look so frightened! We've not been practicing all those moves for nothing.' Flitwick beamed at her. 'I am sure that at the end of the summer not even Snape will have much to complain about when it comes to your wand skills.'

Practising all those moves ... Suddenly Hermione felt rather stupid. That was why Flitwick had insisted on training her to use her left hand. That was why some of the new patterns didn't make sense to her at all. They were only half a pattern! She'd need a second wand to complete the movements.

How devious of the little old man! That was positively Slytherin! To leave her in the dark like that, embarrassed by her lack of progress and her clumsiness ...

'Are you ready to Floo? I really don't fancy walking to the Apparition point in that kind of weather.'

Hermione glanced at the window. Heavy spring rains were pounding against the panes. She'd never noticed, spending her morning in the dungeons.

'Flooing is fine with me, Professor.'

Suddenly her stomach quivered giddily. A second wand. Oh my GOD, Professor Flitwick thinks I'm good enough to handle a second wand!

With a shaking hand, she picked up a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fire. 'Ollivander's, please,' she said with a firm voice. 'Diagon Alley.'

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oooOooo

22. Wandcraft

Coughing, Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace and stared. The narrow little shop had changed. The window sparkled in the sunlight of the spring afternoon. The hardwood floor gleamed with polish, filling the room with the scent of beeswax and vervain. There were new shelves, no longer dark with age, but bright new pinewood, reminding Hermione of IKEA, of all things. But the shelves were stacked from floor to ceiling with the very same slender boxes she remembered from her exhilarating first visit to this shop in the company of her parents and Professor McGonagall.

The long, dark desk was still there, as well, although deep scratches and soot-marks gouged the wood. And behind the desk was Mr Ollivander. The old man looked frail and thin. His wispy white hair reminded her of a fluffy cumulus cloud and his moon-like eyes were as disconcerting as ever.

'Miss Granger,' he said in a husky voice. 'I see you have come to choose your second wand.'

Ollivander gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. 'Vine suits you even better now. A shrub as sprightly as your hair, if I may say so. Good for binding spells. Enhancing the powers of the bearer, it carries the spark of inspiration. Did you know that grapevine is traditionally also connected with healing and fertility? Since the days of Dionysus vine has been greeted as the disperser of grief and sorrow. And not only its produce, but its wood, as well.'

Hermione cleared her throat, unsure of how to reply. But apparently the aged wizard did not expect a comment, because he turned to the fireplace, which flared green again, announcing the impending arrival of Professor Flitwick.

'And my dear Filius, of course. Ash and birch.'

The small wizard dusted off his robes and beamed at the other man. 'And still in perfect working condition, after seventy-nine years.'

'I expected no less.' Ollivander solemnly inclined his head.

'Now, Miss Granger. Please place your first wand on the desk,' he said softly and stepped to his desk. 'Would you like to try this? Cherry, and a hair from the coat of a Cerynaian hind. Use your left hand, please.'

But the wand remained quiescent. It didn't even prickle, when she gave it a cautious wave.

'Mistletoe with a griffin-feather, maybe?'

She managed to burn her own hand with it.

'Oh no, oh no. But don't worry – it always takes much longer to find a suitable second wand. After all, it has not only to complement your personality, but that of your first wand, too.'

After three hours of waving her left wrist in miniature flicks, trying out wand after wand, Hermione was getting sorely tired. As her initial elation was wearing off, doubts began to creep into her mind. Maybe Professor Flitwick had made a mistake, and she wasn't ready for a second wand? Maybe she would never be?

The wand that lay in front of her at the moment was longer than her first and more rigid. The wood had a reddish shimmer and just a few marks where twigs or branches had been. It looked rather handsome.

When she picked it up, her stomach tingled. When she waved it, a shiver raced down her spine. She opened her eyes. A pearly glow shone around the wand – and what was more, an answering sheen shimmered along her first wand where it lay on Ollivander's desk.

'Ah...' Ollivander sighed with satisfaction. 'Here we go. Yew, 16.535 433 071 inches, containing the feather of a sphinx. An interesting choice. A male second wand to match your female first. It signifies rebirth. A good wand for Transfiguration and Arithmancy. A wand that may guide and transform, the objects it is used upon just as much as its wielder. And a sphinx' power for wisdom and cunning.'

oooOooo

Severus Snape took a deep breath and entered the shop.

It was late at night, and Diagon Alley was almost deserted. He knew he had to be very grateful that Ollivander had decided to see him at all, and agreeing to open up the shop at this ungodly hour was certainly more than he had any right to expect. And he was not even sure if it was wise for him to come. What would he need wands attuned to his very soul for at Hogwarts? Brewing school potions and teaching could be done with any wand bought off the rack.

But ever since his first wand had been broken – how that memory hurt, even today, even after so many years – he had yearned to have a wand again that would respond perfectly to him, to the magic deep within his soul ... For many years he had resisted that desire. A wand imprinted on him would have been a liability in his position. And the events of the past year had proven just how well his caution had served him, when the D...when Voldemort's ignorance of wandcraft had eventually served to defeat him.

'Welcome, Master Snape,' Ollivander said. A single candle illuminated the old man's face, casting eerie shadows of his fluffy hair against the stacks of wand boxes behind him.

'Thank you for ... agreeing ... to see me ...' He was painfully aware that his voice amounted to no more than a hoarse whisper. Yet it was better than it had been.

'Ebony, it was. And unicorn hair. A wand of darkness and light.' Ollivander sniffed. 'A pity it was broken.

'Try this one first.'

oooOooo

'The wand chooses the wizard,' Ollivander had told him before closing the door behind him, an enigmatic smile wrinkling his face. 'And always for a reason. Don't forget that.'

Now Snape sat on his threadbare sofa again, a wand in each shaking hand.

Yew with dragon heartstring in his right. Birch with the feather of a sphinx in his left.

Resurrection and a new beginning.

Strength of heart and inner wisdom.

If only he could make himself believe in the symbolism of wandcraft again.

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oooOooo

23. A Good Night's Rest

The good thing about the last night before the NEWTs was that Hermione had an excellent reason for not being able to sleep. An easy to explain, very obvious reason. She took the Calming Draught provided for her by Madam Pomfrey and dozed, her head resting on her pillow, which in turn rested on a stack of the most important books for her four subjects. (No one was here yet to find out about how she had at last succumbed to ancient superstitions. And if the house-elves discovered her last-ditch efforts to prepare for her exams, they probably wouldn't tell on her.)

Arithmancy wouldn't be a problem. She felt safe there. Numbers were good. Figures were fine. Calculations were, well, calculable. And the Muggle maths she'd been doing seemed to help her figure out the more bizarre problems posed in the mock exams she'd been doing. Even though she wasn't quite sure why.

She turned on her back, the rounded spine of her Potions book pressing almost comfortable against her neck from underneath the pillow.

Charms ... ordinary, NEWT-level Charms wouldn't be hard either. Apprentice level Charms – even if the apprenticeship wasn't Charms, but Potions, was much harder.

She rubbed her aching left wrist.

Now that she had two practice wands to deal with, the joy over Flitwick's trust in her potential had given way to strained sinews and several small bruises. But she did love the feel of the second wand in her left hand. It felt almost as if she were finally able to eat with both fork and knife. She giggled and drew her feet up against her body. What a silly comparison!

Theoretical Herbology would be a lark. Of that she was certain. But the practical. She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. She simply didn't have Neville's affinity for plants. Or Luna's ... whatever it was Luna was having. Empathy?

Then something strange occurred to her. She sat up, a frown creasing her brows.

In sixth year, when Harry's potions skills had suddenly increased due to his perusal of the Half-Blood Prince's book, she'd been – well, worried about the book (and after the incident with Riddle's diary, who could blame her for that?) – but mostly she'd been plain jealous. She'd hated her clumsiness on a broom, too, but that had been easier to ignore. Brain vs. brawn, she could live with that. Some people had talent for dancing or Quidditch; others didn't. But when it got to book-learning, or even something to do with your hands, like preparing potions ingredients, or taking care of plants – that was different. You could learn those things by practicing.

But now ... She knew that she could reasonably expect to ace the theoretical part of Herbology. And she'd do well in enough in the practical. However, Neville would be much better at both, because he just really got plants. And Luna was a Ravenclaw. For all her weirdness, she was almost as good academically as Hermione. And not – Hermione huffed a little – as uptight about things. Not as tense. Luna just ... remained unfazed. Even if she was not quite as smart as Hermione, Luna made up for that by being more relaxed. Somehow Hermione felt that really ought to be a contradiction, but she knew it wasn't.

Weird.

And weirder still, she wasn't bothered by the fact. A thought occurred to her and she turned towards her cat, a ginger fluffball at the end of her bed.

'Crooks,' she asked. 'Do you think I'm growing up at last?'

The cat didn't react.

Hermione snorted. 'Okay, I get it. As long as I'm even asking that question ... probably not.'

She lay back on her bed and her books, staring up at the hangings of her four poster bed. Dark blue, with tiny silver stars it was almost like looking at the sky on a summer's night.

Potions.

The one subject that made her stomach quiver with nerves and made her feel nauseated instantly. She fidgeted, nervously twisting her fingers this way and that, resisting the sudden urge to jump up and pace the room. But that would undo all the nice drowsiness of the Calming Draught she had taken.

Deep breath – down to your stomach. Hold to the count of three. Concentrate on breathing out, let your body take care of inhaling.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Slughorn, slimy slug that he was, had been an excellent tutor. Perusing Professor Snape's old book and Lily's Potions Diary had been a real eye-opener. And though her experiments were not getting anywhere at the moment, even just attempting them, forcing herself to move beyond textbook recipes, no matter how scary that was ... It had changed her outlook on the subject. It was intriguing, it was exciting. As if she was doing riddles – as if the solution was lying hidden just outside her field of vision, with the properties of possible ingredients providing the cues.

Hermione released her breath in a deep sigh.

She was fairly certain that she could take anything the Ministry would throw at her.

Severus Snape was an entirely different matter, however. He was the best Potions Master the wizarding world had seen in over a century.

And he did not want an apprentice.

He hated students. He'd hate having an apprentice even more. And most of all, he'd hate having her as an apprentice. Not to mention...no. It was best not to think about that. She wouldn't think about that now. Couldn't. Or she'd have a nervous breakdown.

Her stomach lurched and she swallowed dryly.

She would simply (simply???) have to make sure that she was the best apprentice imaginable. No. She had to do more. She would have to make sure to be the best apprentice Severus Snape could imagine.

And that was a task that might just turn out to be impossible to master. It was also very definitely a far more frightening challenge than any NEWTs Potions exam could ever be.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

24. Tell-Tale Heart

She didn't even have the grace to knock. Instead, she simply cut through his shaky wards like a hot knife through butter. Standing in the middle of the wreckage that was all that remained of his sitting room, she looked at him with horrified pity in her eyes.

'Oh, Severus,' McGonagall whispered.

'What do you want?' he rasped, coughed – wheezed – forced himself to concentrate on his throat muscles, his stomach muscles, so he wouldn't choke, and continued in a slow, hoarse whisper. 'Your precious summer academy is due to start only in a week.'

Minerva ignored him, surveying the ruined room, flinching visibly when the title of a mangled book caught her eye. Snape shifted uncomfortably. He had managed to pile up the shreds in a corner, but his strength hadn't been enough to actually dispose of the remains of his library.

'Who was it?' he croaked. 'Who tattled on me? That imbecilic Muggle? That Petrel woman?'

'Mrs Petrel is an extremely sensible young lady. With a remarkable grasp of magic for a Muggle. Of course she 'tattled'. She told Miss Granger that she was worried about you being here on your own, and Miss Granger in turn had the good sense to come to me about the matter.'

'Good sense?' Severus scowled. Laughter forced its way up his throat, emerging as the sounds of a hacking cough. 'Miss Granger? Who had the bad taste and idiotic idea to save my life? And the worse fortune to actually succeed?'

'Severus!'

The outraged cry afforded him a perverse satisfaction. But instead of giving him one of her famous McGonagall rants that once had reduced him to a quivering mess at age thirteen, she only took a deep breath and shook her head. 'You don't have any idea what Miss Granger did, do you?'

He frowned, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure of renewed obligations and life-debts weighing him down.

'What?' he breathed irritably. 'She saved my bloody life. And? She seems to be making rather a habit of that, too, if you look at Potter and Weasley.'

'Severus.' McGonagall's voice turned very soft. 'How long had you been taking that snake venom before V– before Riddle threw that monster at you?'

That made him jerk up his head and meet her eyes. Caught in the disconcerting, penetrating stare of Hogwarts' new headmistress, he found that he could only tell her the truth.

'Ever since Narcissa forced that Vow on me. Dumbledore made me,' he muttered. 'But what has that to do with the heroics of your precious Miss Granger or her invasion of my privacy?'

Still Minerva held his gaze. 'Do you know exactly what Miss Granger did to save you?'

He shook his head. He didn't want to know! Wasn't it enough that she had forced him to live, when all he had wanted was death?

'She used Muggle First-Aid, Severus. Mouth-to-mouth. She swallowed your blood. And with it, she swallowed Nagini's venom. And she hadn't tried to systematically build up at least some measure of immunity against that vile beast's poison. Her heart stopped beating twice in the first night at St Mungo's. Her hands were completely flayed because they were drenched in your blood.'

He crossed his arms over his chest. 'My heart stopped three times, Mugwort was pleased to let me know, so what?'

But even he realised that his tone notably lacked conviction.

'Miss Granger visited you almost every second day while you were unconscious,' McGonagall continued. 'She cares about you. Of course she would alert me to the fact that you are all alone in a ruin of a house, unable to take care of yourself. That is not an invasion of privacy.'

Sitting at his bedside while he was unconscious ... sending McGonagall over to help him ... caring about him? Suddenly he stared at McGonagall in shock. 'Do you mean to tell me that this irritating girl has developed a crush on me? And you want her to become my apprentice?'

McGonagall laughed out loud and briskly shook her head. 'Really, Severus. Whatever happened to your good judgement? Hermione Granger had only one crush in her whole life – on poor Gilderoy when she was thirteen. Are you still holding that against her?'

'Hrmpf.' He painfully cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was low and halting, but the sounds were a little smoother. 'And what about Krum? And that Weasley boy?'

McGonagall sighed and sat down on the one chair still standing. 'She was in love with Krum, but thankfully she was intelligent enough not to love him. Weasley she certainly loves, but I think she couldn't be in love with him even if she wanted to.

'Is it so very hard to understand that someone may simply care for you?'

Snape stared at McGonagall in silence for a moment. Then he drew a ragged breath and replied honestly, 'Yes, it is.'

'Oh, Severus,' Minerva said softly, sympathy softening the lines of her face again.

He resisted the urge to complain about that highly annoying refrain. Instead he only rubbed his aching forehead.

Pouncing on that opening like the cat that she was, McGonagall roused herself and announced briskly, 'Be that as it may. You'd better get used to the fact that there are still people around who care about you. Including myself. And you're not staying here one more night. You are coming back to Hogwarts with me now. I'll send a couple of house-elves over to clean up this mess and get your things. Oh, and you can spare your throat the effort of even trying to refuse, because I will not listen to any more arguments from you today.'

After a moment, 'By the way, whatever happened to the houses next door? I thought there were Muggles living there?'

He winced, his shoulders slumping wearily. 'There were,' he whispered. 'Immigrants. Poor, you know. Many children. Seems it wasn't healthy to have me as a neighbour.'

'Oh, God ...'

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25. Conditions of Indenture

'Here's to Hermione!' 'Miss Granger!' 'Four Outstandings!' The toasts rang out, and the resident ghosts clapped their translucent hands.

At the other end of the High Table, Severus Snape, once more dressed in his customary teaching attire of black – black trousers, black frock coat, black robes – scowled bleakly. He was even paler than usual. His skin had lost the sallow tinge that might once have indicated that he'd actually be able acquire a nice tan if he'd only get out into the sunshine regularly. The bite marks of Nagini stood out against the pallor of his neck, thick, knotted scar tissue in angry reds and purples.

Minerva McGonagall shook Hermione's hands. A wave of giddy pleasure flowed over Hermione. She just couldn't stop smiling tonight. She'd even dared to smile at Professor Snape.

'We need to talk about your apprenticeship,' Headmistress McGonagall informed Hermione briskly. 'Are you free after dinner?'

At the mere mention of her apprenticeship Hermione's heartbeat quickened and her stomach quivered. 'Uh... I wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Bill – with Professor Weasley. But I can easily change arrangements.'

McGonagall nodded. 'I don't begrudge you your celebration, my dear. Your results are truly outstanding. But someone has to explain all the ramifications of an apprenticeship in the wizarding world to you. And as Professor Snape has made it plain that he does not wish to have an apprentice...'

'...least of all me...'

McGonagall gave her a wry grin. 'There is that, too, yes. But, therefore, I do not think he would care to make sure you truly understand the conditions of the apprenticeship you will be entering. And if you enter a binding magical contract, you need to be aware of exactly what you are doing.'

Hermione's stomach felt as if a herd of hippogriffs had decided to stampede. She swallowed hard and was glad that the noise of conversations buzzing around the High Table covered what was most likely a very audible gulp.

She took another deep breath. 'Yes, of course, Headmistress. I appreciate that very much.'

McGonagall smiled. 'Good. In my office at – shall we say 9.30?'

oooOooo

'Here,' Minerva McGonagall said. 'I have already drawn up the indenture.'

The headmistress placed a large roll of parchment covered in swirls of dark green ink on the desk between them. 'I'm afraid that such binding magical contracts still require you to sign them in blood.'

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled the parchment a little closer to her. She'd read up about magical apprenticeships, of course. She knew that the blood signature was an essential part of the contract, but it still made her uncomfortable.

'The roots of the ceremony go back to antiquity, but the procedures in place nowadays have been formed in the Middle Ages. The medieval oaths of fealty have much in common with parts of the ceremony,' McGonagall explained.

Hermione frowned. 'In what way?'

She couldn't remember reading anything about that.

The headmistress gave her a thin-lipped smile. 'Blood to sign you, kiss to bind you.'

Hermione gulped. 'Oh. I didn't know that.'

'That's why I've asked you to meet me here tonight.' McGonagall sighed. 'Your plan – as far as it goes – is a good one. Severus would never accept help out of pity, no matter how deserved it was. He-Hermione, what we are going to talk about here tonight, I do hope that it goes without saying that it stays in this room? Not even your co-conspirators may hear of this. The only chance your plan has of succeeding is that you follow this through with the trust and honour traditionally demanded in this indenture.'

Hermione nodded. 'Of course, Headmistress.'

'I think we can move beyond this form of address,' McGonagall said. 'Tomorrow you will be made Severus' apprentice and as such you will be a member of the staff. My name is Minerva, as you well know.'

Hermione needed a second until she was able to talk. Her heartbeat pounded so much that she could feel it in her ears. 'Thank you, Minerva.'

Suddenly Minerva McGonagall's smile warmed. 'It's normal to be nervous, Hermione. When Albus asked me to use his first name, I panicked and almost bit off the tip of my tongue.

'Back to Severus. You know a bit of what he's been through. Even based on the little you know, you have to be aware of the fact that he is not inclined to believe that someone might respect him, or much less care about him. That apprenticeship may give you the opportunity to win his respect as much as make him aware that you truly respect him. I fervently hope that mutual respect may give us an opportunity to convince him that marriage to you is an acceptable way of keeping him out of Azkaban at the end of his probation.

'However, I am not certain if he will agree. The question you must ask yourself today is: can you live with that risk?'

Hermione bit on her lower lip. Images that kept her awake at night crowded into her mind. Blood, so much blood. And that empty, despairing look. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head to clear her mind.

'I don't know,' she admitted at last. 'But if it comes to that, I will have to.

'Do you know if he is going to try to find a way to ... fulfil the terms of that condition on his own?'

Minerva sighed. 'He won't. That's what he told me, and I have no reason to doubt him. In fact, I'm almost surprised that he has not tried to kill himself.'

Hermione flinched, then she forced her attention back to the parchment in front of her. 'I think I may need a few minutes to work my way through this.'

The headmistress nodded. 'Take your time. If you have any questions, ask them now.'

Hermione bent over the coiled green script and read:

This indenture witnesses that Hermione Jean Granger, graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, by and with the consent of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, has put herself Apprentice to and with Severus Snape of Spinner's End, now Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, aforesaid Potions Master, and after the manner of an apprentice, with him to tarry and dwell from the day of date unto the full end and for the full term of three years from thence next and immediately following and ensuing fully to be complete, ended during all which term the said Hermione Granger apprentice to and with the said Severus Snape as her master well and faithfully shall serve; her craft and magick exercise solely on his behalf and his command, and obeye him in thought, word and deed; as pertaining to his craft and lore, his magick and mystery, for excellence continually shall strive and at all times shall fulfil whatever duties said master requests that she shall do or shall refrain from doing; his secrets she shall keep, his commandments lawful and honest everywhere shall do; hurt or damage to her said master she shall not do, nor consent to be done, but according to his power shall let and hinder or thereof her master inform.

Taverns or Alehouses, she shall not haunt or frequent unless it be about her master's business here to be done.

All dice, cards or any other unlawful games she shall not play.

The goods of her said master inordinately she shall not waste, nor them to anybody lend without her master's license or consent.

Matrimony or engagement with any man during or within the said terme she shall not contract without her master's consent nor from his service neither by day or by night shall absent herself as well in words as in deeds, so that said Severus Snape unto the said Hermione Granger, his apprentice in the craft, magick and mystery and occupation of a Potions Master – the which he shall use after the best manner that he can or may – shall show, teach, instruct and inform or cause to be showed, taught, instructed and informed as much as thereunto belongs or in any way appertains, and in due manner chastise her in the craft, lore, magick and mystery of his Mastery, and that said Severus Snape shall never abuse or exploit said apprentice and the powers of said apprentice in any way that is unlawful according to the craft, magick and mystery and occupation, and that said Severus Snape said apprentice under his care shall protect and guard and in all respects of his craft, lore, magick and mystery and occupation shall be responsible for, and finding unto his said apprentice all pay, meat, drink, washing and lodging to as such an apprentice of such a craft, magick and mystery or occupation is accustomed to.

And that finally said Severus Snape shall bestow upon said Hermione Granger the badge of apprenticeship to bind himself to her in all manner of aforesaid indenture and that said Hermione Granger shall accept this badge of apprenticeshipe from said Severus Snape to bind herself to him in all manner of aforesaid indenture until either of them dies or is killed or the agreed upon term is ended according to the dates set forth in this indenture.

In witness thereof the said master and apprentice of these present, these indentures with their hands and seals and blood have set, the thirty-first day of May, Anno Domini 1999, so that said apprenticeship and indenture may end on the first day of June, Anno Domini 2002.

Sealed, delivered, and exchanged in blood and trust in the presence of ...

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26. The Apprenticeship Begins

Snape caught her after breakfast.

'Miss Granger? I need to show you your new quarters. The house-elves have already moved your belongings. You may use the rest of the day to settle in.'

His voice had improved, Hermione noted. He spoke haltingly, the sounds hoarse and thin. But for all that, she could understand him easily – every syllable was clearly enunciated. She smiled at him. She was so glad that her idea of calling in a Muggle speech therapist had worked out so well.

'Thank you, sir.'

Snape frowned at her. 'Well, come a–' he started irritably, but his voice broke when he put too much pressure on the vowel, and he coughed painfully. 'Come along,' he whispered, glaring at her.

Hermione tried to keep her face impassive, remembering what McGonagall had told her. He doesn't want pity – naturally, since he is a very proud man.

Following the professor as he swooped out of the Great Hall, Hermione sighed. Apprenticeship with Snape would not be easy for a Gryffindor used to basically wearing her heart out on her sleeve.

oooOooo

Hermione had suspected that Snape's private rooms would be in the dungeons. She was not prepared for the fact that they were actually half a level above them, with wide windows and a beautiful view of the lake.

There were three entrances to the flight of rooms. At the southern end a stair descended to an age-darkened painting near Snape's office, while the door at the opposite end opened to the Slytherin common room. Roughly in the middle, an archway led to a spiral staircase that could be accessed from the office.

Hermione's room was at the southern end of the corridor, a spacious bedroom-and-study with an adjacent bathroom. Next was a sitting room and library, followed by Snape's study, a private potions laboratory, Snape's bedroom and bathroom.

'You will not enter my personal study or the private lab without my express permission. But you may feel free to peruse the library.' A raised eyebrow seemed to indicate that anything else would have been an impossible demand from the resident Gryffindor bookworm, so he wouldn't even attempt to make it. 'Should you require anything, the house-elf appointed to me is Nag. I assure you I shall be very displeased should I discover that clothes have been provided for him in order to end his service.

'As long as you are my apprentice, you shall wear Slytherin colours in public. You may, however, dress in colours of your choice when in the privacy of these chambers. A robe for tonight's ceremony has been placed in your room.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.' Hermione's face burned. Her failed crusade to liberate house-elves would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. And Slytherin colours? She winced mentally. She could just imagine what Ron would say.

'A suitable amount of money for your personal needs will be deposited monthly in your Gringotts vault. I expect you to keep accounts in an orderly fashion, to be presented to me every quarter.'

'Yes, sir.'

oooOooo

Hermione, resplendent in new black Apprentice robes with emerald-green border and lining, her wild curls sleeked back into a stern bun that rivalled McGonagall's, stood in front of the Potions Master. She was acutely aware of everyone watching her, as she stood at the centre of the dais.

The nick in her left palm that had provided the blood for her signature hurt. Contact with Nagini's venom had left her hands incredibly sensitive. McGonagall rolled up the parchment and nodded to her.

Time for her oath.

Hermione swallowed hard and began, her voice shrill and shaky in her ears.

'I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to you, Severus Snape, my master, that I shall serve you well and faithfully in all matters of craft, lore, magic and mystery,' she gasped for breath, 'to obey your command in thought, word and deed, and to protect and to honour you and your secrets in thought, word and deed in accordance to this indenture.'

Her voice wobbled slightly, but she continued, 'I swear to be true in my search for knowledge and to strive for excellence in all matters of craft, lore, magic and mystery. May my words and deeds always reflect my honour and respect for you.'

Black eyes met hers, captured her gaze. She found she couldn't look away as Severus Snape began to whisper his part of the oath:

'I, Severus Snape, for my part swear to you, Hermione Jean Granger, my apprentice, to provide support, opportunity and guidance for all your endeavours in the matters of craft, lore, magic and mystery, to never abuse or exploit my position in accordance to this indenture, but to meet service, honour and respect you extend to me in equal terms, and that I shall defend you with all of my powers for as long as you are dependant unto me in accordance to this indenture. As a token of the bond of apprentice unto master and master unto apprentice, I give you my badge so all may know in whose service you are.'

Although he spoke very slowly, the sounds pressed and obviously painful, he never wavered. When he had ended, he pulled something from his sleeve and stepped closer to her. Hermione shivered as he reached for her, attaching a green and silver badge to the lapels of her robes with remarkably gentle fingers.

Hermione was glad that Minerva had prepared her for what would happen next, or she would have certainly flinched away. She was trembling and her hands were shaking, as she inched closer towards him and raised her head to meet his lips.

The darkness of his eyes seemed to swallow her, but she still couldn't break free from his gaze. Then, very softly, she felt a velvet brush of lips on her mouth.

The kiss concluded the ceremony.

She was now apprentice to Severus Snape, Master of Potions, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

27. Many Meetings

Hermione had fled from the commotion at the castle that was caused by the arrival of the students who would participate in the Hogwarts Summer Academy 1999. But apparently the edge of the lake had not been quite far enough.

'Malfoy.'

'Granger.' He looked her up and down, taking in the emerald-green trim of her robes, the apprentice badge, the green ribbon that tied back her hair and the pale green of her blouse. 'You're even braver than I thought you were. Those colours suit you.'

A year ago she'd have retorted with a scathing reply. But a year ago he wouldn't have tried so hard to sound polite, as if he actually meant what he said. Maybe he even did. Worse, she knew he was right. Slytherin green suited her much better than Gryffindor red.

'Thank you. And you know me ... everything for knowledge.'

He shook his head. 'Then why aren't you in Ravenclaw?'

She couldn't help a wry grin. 'You've got me there.'

'He-he's really not so bad. At least to us Slytherins,' Malfoy offered. 'He was always fair to us.'

'More than fair, I'd say.' She bit on her tongue. That wasn't precisely disrespectful, was it? She'd learnt the conditions of her indenture by heart.

Now it was Malfoy's turn to smile. But although his lips curled, his eyes didn't reflect the expression.

'Perhaps,' he admitted. 'Well, I need to go and get my things sorted. See you around, I suppose?'

She nodded, staring after him, more than a little confused. He had certainly changed since she'd seen him the last time.

oooOooo

'Merlin, Hermione! Whatever are you wearing?' Ginny exclaimed, grabbing Hermione's arm and turning her around. Neville, Luna, Lavender and Seamus were following Ginny, their expressions betraying varying degrees of fascination or repulsion.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Unless you're colour-blind it should be fairly obvious that I'm dressed in Slytherin colours.'

'Blimey, Hermione,' Seamus Finnigan sputtered. 'How can you stand that?'

'Well, as I'm Professor Snape's apprentice, it would hardly be appropriate for me to be dressed like a Gryffindor, would it?' Hermione replied with a certain irritation.

Lavender Brown, who'd come closer to listen to what Hermione would say, smirked, but when she spoke she sounded almost envious. 'Those colours look really good on you, Hermione.'

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Hermione. Obviously she ended up agreeing with Lavender, for she promptly moved on to the next uncomfortable subject. 'And did you just have a nice chat with Malfoy?'

Hermione sighed, suddenly very grateful that neither Harry nor Ron would be returning to Hogwarts for their NEWTs. 'He's not all that bad, Ginny. He did help us in the battle.' She hesitated. 'And I think he's been going through a hard time. You do know the conditions of the Malfoys' probation?'

The youngest Weasley frowned and shook her head. The others moved closer, obviously also unaware of those details, though they'd been covered by both the Prophet and The Quibbler at the time of the trial.

'Well, his majority has been postponed until he turns twenty one – to make sure that there is time for him to ... prove his willingness to mend his ways. And guardianship of Draco has been taken away from his parents. His legal guardian is Andromeda Black now, his closest surviving family member.'

Ginny stared at Hermione, blinked and sputtered. 'How ... why ... how come I missed this? Why didn't my parents ... does that mean he actually lives with Teddy?'

Hermione raised her eyebrows at her friend, wondering if she'd made a mistake in telling her. But those facts had been all over the press. They were not exactly a secret – least of all Snape's secret.

'Look – don't you think it's time to leave the past behind us and move on?' Hermione's head was starting to hurt. 'I know that we Gryffindors can bear a grudge for all eternity, but ...'

'He did help us in the end,' Neville stated.

Ginny glared at Neville, but there was something in the young man's calm gaze that made her relent. 'If he behaves himself, I guess I can do the same. Hey, if you know about what happened to Draco, do you know the conditions for his parents' probation as well?'

'Indeed I do,' Hermione replied and couldn't help grinning.' The Malfoys have to work at St Mungo's for three years, their money was seized and given to charities, all their house-elves were liberated, and they've been spelled so they can't do any magic at all for three years.'

'Now that's sweet,' Neville said dreamily. 'Just imagine Narcissa scouring chamber pots the Muggle way ...'

'So what's like to be Snape's apprentice?' Luna asked, blithely ignoring all talk of old enemies and clothes.

'It's Professor Snape, Luna. I can't really say yet,' Hermione replied. 'The ceremony only took place on Monday.'

Just two days ago. Her mind whirled when she thought of the ritual. She knew it had been only a required part of the ceremony, but for some reason she couldn't forget the way his lips had felt on her mouth. So ... gentle ...

Quickly she continued, so the others wouldn't notice the heat rising in her cheeks. 'I'll be teaching remedial Potions and Charms to the Second Years and I'll have study groups to supervise with Third Years and Fourth Years. Apart from that I have to study on my own, I've been recruited to brew basic potions for Madam Pomfrey and I've got to come up with a practical project for Professor Snape to supervise.'

'That sounds fair beastly,' Neville said with admiration in his voice.

Hermione shrugged, but couldn't help feeling a bit pleased. 'Oh, you know me, Neville. The greatest possible challenge and all ...'

Lavender snorted. 'You really are a masochist, Hermione. But as the saying goes – it takes all sorts to make a world. So have you guys any ideas yet about which subjects you want to take for your NEWTs?'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

28. Not A Student Anymore

Severus Snape stared out of the window. His throat hurt, his temples were throbbing. He had an apprentice. He was at Hogwarts. Oh, and he was alive when he really should be past all of those irritations.

In other words, Severus Snape was in a very bad mood.

At the edge of the lake, a lone figure was walking away from the castle. He narrowed his eyes. Granger? Could it be that the chaos inside the castle had become too much for her, as well? Definitely. He knew that purposeful stride. Hermione Granger. Resident Gryffindor ... what had he always called her? He frowned. It was more than a year since he'd encountered her in class for the last time. He would never forget her overeager hand waving, of course. Or her tendency to disrupt the pace he set for his lessons. But beyond that ...

... right: know-it-all. That's what he'd called her.

As he watched her making her way along the lake, he wondered if she still was. Observing her, he remembered how her lips had felt under his ... so soft, so smooth, but still firm. If he was to believe Minerva (and he had no reason not to), those lips would have been the last thing he could have felt on this earth. He sighed. If he'd been at all conscious, that wouldn't have been all that bad.

No.

No.

What was he thinking? She was his apprentice. He must not think of her lips. It was only a ritual. An ancient, time-honoured ritual.

He turned his attention back to the lake. She was no longer alone at the lakeside. He narrowed his eyes and scowled. Of course. Her little Gryffindor friends had arrived today. Naturally she had to meet up with them right away. Damn and damn again.

And he hadn't had a chance to talk with her about appropriate behaviour as a member of the staff. Well, that should prove to be interesting. He would get a good idea of just how much she had matured in a very short time. He didn't expect much of her, to be honest.

No matter how sweet that kiss had tasted.

oooOooo

'Miss Granger. How good of you to return to your quarters before midnight.'

Hermione jerked away and almost fell backwards down the stairs. She would have, probably, if an arm slung across her back hadn't caught her in time. She gasped and pulled away, leaning against the cold wall of the corridor for support.

'I...I...am sorry, sir. I was not aware that I had to observe a curfew.'

Black eyes blazed at her in the flickering light of torches.

'No,' he whispered. 'I guess you were not.

'There are things we need to discuss. We can do so in the morning. Or ... at your convenience ... now.'

Hermione stared at her master, unbalanced, scared. I chose this, she thought distantly. This is what I wanted. This is what I have to do.

'Any time,' she managed.

'Good,' he replied. But he didn't seem satisfied.

He led the way to the library. She already loved the room – filled with books from floor to the ceiling, what was there not to love about it?

'Sit.'

She obeyed, perching on the edge of an armchair, while he loomed over her, black robes throwing even darker shadows at this time of the night.

'It has come to my notice that you have been ... in the company of students today. That is not permissible.' He sounded angry, almost disgusted.

'What?' she exclaimed, instantly outraged. She hadn't expected anything good, as tense as he'd been when he'd greeted her. But that?

Wait. She bit her tongue. She was tired and not at her best this late in the evening. But ... She stared at him. Did he have a reason for being angry with her?

'Not even a week, Miss Granger? And already I need to remind you of the conditions of the contract you signed? And with your own life's blood, too?' Snape bent down to face her. 'Trust me, you do not want me to chastise you as is my right according to said contract,' he hissed.

She stared at him and couldn't help feeling scared. Those burning eyes. I've seen worse. So much worse. And I want to be here. I want to be here. With him. Right. So what's the problem with me hanging around with students? It was hard to concentrate with him looming over her so dark and threatening. Students. And I... But I'm not a student anymore.

Oh.

I'm not a student anymore.

'But they are my friends,' she murmured and raised her eyes towards him, confused and worried.

To her surprise, he didn't hiss at her again, but simply sat down on the other armchair, inhaling deeply – as if she were just another student, trying his patience beyond the bearable limit. And she guessed she was. She hadn't thought. She should have asked him, right away, about how she ought to behave now that she wasn't a student anymore. How could she have been so stupid?

'You, Miss Granger,' Snape said wearily, 'are no longer a student. You are a member of the staff. You will teach your first class next week. No matter if they are your friends or not, you cannot ... 'hang around' with them anymore.'

Hermione winced, closing her eyes. She'd been looking forward to seeing Neville, Luna and Ginny again. 'I'm sorry, sir. I just didn't realise.'

'That much is painfully obvious.'

'May I not ever see – meet – them again?'

'Oh, merciful Mephistopheles!' Snape groaned. 'For one, they won't stay students until the end of time. And I suppose you may invite them to meet you here, in your quarters – or you can meet them in Hogsmeade when you're free of a weekend.'

'Thank you, sir,' Hermione whispered, ashamed.

He just shook his head at her. 'Now go,' he said. 'Just go. Go to bed.'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

29. Slytherin Colours and Order Business

'As this is an official Order meeting,' Snape said softly, 'it behooves you to be dressed as my apprentice. We are not going to Grimmauld Place to enjoy ourselves.'

Hermione glared at him, but she had expected that. 'Of course, sir.'

Her master frowned, as if her reaction had taken him by surprise, and she had a hard time suppressing a small smirk. When he quirked a black eyebrow at her, she knew she hadn't succeeded and allowed herself a broad grin.

'Whenever you are ready?' Snape drawled.

Her grin smoothed into a smile – his voice was getting better. If he was gentle on his voice, she could almost hear her old teacher again.

'Just a moment, sir, I'll need my cloak.' She hastened into her room and returned with her newly Transfigured cloak. Solid black before, it was now a deep Slytherin green with a silver clasp shaped like a snake-like dragon to fasten it.

Snape's frown deepened.

oooOooo

Soon they were hurrying away from the castle, keeping their heads down against the downpour of what passed for summer rain in the Highlands. When they reached the edge of the grounds, Hermione was soaked.

'Really, girl, why didn't you cast an Impervious Charm?' Snape grizzled.

Shivering, Hermione ducked hear head in embarrassment. 'I...the Transfiguration has to settle in the fabric first – sorry, sir.'

Snape shook his head, but didn't comment on her foolishness. Instead he whipped out his main wand and cast a quick drying charm over her. Warmth enveloped her.

'Ahh...' she sighed gratefully.

But when he put his arm around her for Side-Along Apparition, she shivered again, although Snape's body generated still more heat than the charm – even through his thick teacher's robes. She had just a moment to inhale his scent. Very male and very mysterious, she thought, vetyver, bergamot, possibly neroli.

Then the familiar CRACK split the air (and very nearly Hermione's ears) and they were gone.

oooOooo

They arrived arm in arm, appearing in a grey square that could have won prizes in a stock photo competition for urban decay.

Cracked plaster in various shades of grey revealed brick structures erected in another century. Paint peeled from doors. Windows were broken or even boarded up, and piles of rubbish in the gutter indicated that a visit of the dustmen was long overdue. It wasn't raining yet in London, but the low clouds and dreary light indicated that it was only a question of time until it would start to drizzle.

For a moment neither of them moved then Snape stepped away from Hermione and briskly turned to the black door of number twelve Grimmauld Place.

Inside they were met by Molly Weasley, whose eyes widened in surprise as she took in the new colour scheme of Hermione's robes.

When Hermione glared at her, Ron's mother blushed.

'Those colours really suit you, dear,' she assured Hermione, more than a little flustered. 'A beautiful green, really.'

'Then why don't you wear that hue once in a while, too, really?' Snape suggested testily, indicating to Hermione that she should move along.

'Oh...uh...it might go well with my hair, I suppose,' Molly stammered. Then she pulled herself together and continued in a more business-like fashion, 'The meeting will be held in the library. Hermione, Harry and Ron are already there. Professor – Healer Mugwort is waiting for you in the kitchen.'

'What?' Snape bit out. 'Am I to be hounded by healers even when I'm occupied with Order business?'

'Oh, no, of course not,' Molly hastened to assure apologetically. 'I...uh...assume Minerva thought this would be the most efficient way of...uh...providing you the opportunity of regular check-ups.

'Believe it or not, we have been worried about you.'

oooOooo

When Hermione entered the library, she was met with identical expressions of shock and consternation in very different faces.

Green eyes blinked at her like an over-sized owl.

A generous spattering of freckles paled on round cheeks, while a rather big mouth dropped open.

'What?' Hermione snapped. 'What did you expect? I'm the apprentice of the head of Slytherin house. It would hardly be appropriate for me to wear anything but Slytherin colours.'

Harry stared at her as if she were a ghost. Then he swallowed and attempted to speak, but Hermione would have none of it. 'And don't you dare try to tell me that those colours really suit me. I've heard that from just about everybody already and I don't need to hear it again. I know that I look good in green!'

oooOooo

'We have had excellent leads on at least five Death Eaters who were trying to hole up in three different countries.

'And now, from one day to the next, they are gone without a trace. Our sources have clammed up and claim that they have no new information about their whereabouts. It's as if they've vanished into thin air,' Sturgis Podmore concluded his report.

Minerva McGonagall frowned. 'That is indeed very worrying. Thank you, Sturgis.

'Arthur? Would you, please?'

Arthur Weasley nodded and cleared his throat. 'The ministry's stance is that the SSS – the International Confederacy's Secret Service for Sorcerers...is best equipped to deal with runaway Death Eaters.

'Shacklebolt has been after me to support his plan to disband the Order at the end of this year. Mind, I can understand where he's coming from – the pureblood faction of the Wizengamot has been giving him hell, and there are many Ministry Officials who do not sympathise with uh... the Order's mode of operation. But I have to admit, I don't much care for this plan.'

'Neither do I,' Snape agreed in a soft voice. He was speaking very slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable.

He doesn't want them to know how badly his voice was hurt, Hermione realised with a start.

'So many Death Eaters should not have been able to escape our pursuit at one and the same time,' Snape continued. 'Not without assistance.'

'But who would help them?' Hestia Jones asked fearfully.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

30. Party Time in Slytherin House

He opened the door and allowed her to step through into the Slytherin common room. Once inside, Hermione couldn't help staring. She'd been in here a few times since she'd become Snape's apprentice, and had come to appreciate its strangely comfortable mixture of austere elegance and subterranean shabbiness.

Tonight, however, the room was unrecognizable: Slytherin house was having a party.

Witch lights illuminated the room, cast pillars of light through the skylights into the lake and flashed like spotlights in a disco. Silvery spider nets glittered above a bar that took up one entire side of the room in front of the fireplace. At the opposite end of the dungeon a raised platform had been transfigured into a lounge area, complete with green armchairs and settees. The space in between was empty, ready to serve as a dance floor.

Hermione gaped.

And she was not the only one. Several Slytherins, who were busy at the bar, arranging bottles and glasses, were staring at her. Others, who were working on Transfiguring some last minute decorations (enchanting spiders to dance and making a skull's eyes blink in emerald-green) plain gawked. And Pansy Parkinson looked as if she'd swallowed a streeler.

'Sir!' Pansy exclaimed reproachfully, turning to Snape.

The Potions master directed a withering glare at the young woman.

'Not one word,' he snarled hoarsely.

Hermione flinched. She didn't particularly care for spending an evening in the company of inimical Slytherins.

But Snape was already circling the room, subjecting the decorations to close scrutiny. Now and again he flicked out his main wand, and a pale glimmer indicated the use of a detection spell. Twice at the bar and once on the dance floor, he hissed at one or another of his Slytherins, who promptly removed whatever magical prank had caused the displeasure of their head of house.

Hermione remained near the portrait that covered the entrance to Snape's quarters, trying to ignore the dirty looks Pansy kept throwing at her, or how some Sixth Years at the bar whispered among themselves, even pointing fingers in a way that didn't match the Slytherin reputation for subtlety.

When Snape returned to Hermione's side, he looked satisfied.

'Sir,' she started, 'maybe it would be better if I didn't ...'

'What? Stay?' He frowned at her and was no doubt about to reprimand her, when quickly hushed smirks at the bar caught his attention, causing Snape to direct his scowl at his students instead of at Hermione.

'You are my apprentice,' he told her. 'You stay.

'If those dunderheads have a problem with that, they are free to spend the evening in the solitude of their rooms. And you needn't worry that any of them will dare to hex you in the face. Not as long as I'm present.

'However,' Snape added with a slight sneer, 'I would not advise you to eat or drink anything that I haven't inspected first.'

Hermione gulped. 'Very well, sir.'

oooOooo

The clock above the fireplace chimed eight. Issuing from four black boxes in the corners of the dungeon, music started with a beat that made the dungeons shake around Hermione.

At the first well-known riff, Hermione spun around to face Snape, her mouth open in shock. Black eyes glittered with thinly veiled amusement. He obviously enjoyed the effect the Slytherins' choice of music had on her.

'I guess I knew that you don't care for the Weird Sisters,' Hermione muttered.

Snape smirked. 'Just an advance warning – should you feel the need to discuss the origins of this music with certain pureblood students, or with anyone from another house for that matter, you will find yourself remarkably tongue-tied.'

Hermione stared at her master for another moment, before she lost control and started giggling. To her surprise, Snape's sneer broadened into an almost wolfish smile. He moved closer to her so he could whisper into her ear, 'It's a not very well-kept secret, but Slytherin house throws the best parties at Hogwarts.'

She wasn't sure what distracted her more, inhaling his scent again (vetyver, definitely bergamot, cypress and something else that escaped her at the moment) or by a volley of bats circling above her head that had been charmed to blink with green and silver lights.

She could only nod.

Snape must have waited for her momentary inattention, for he gripped her hand and drew her against him, even as he stepped out onto the dance floor. His black hair flew as he moved to the rhythm, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Hermione – flustered, surprised, clumsy – stumbled, caught herself, was pulled close to him, then pushed away again ... clearly Snape knew what he was doing – dancing disco fox of all things! When her mind finally caught up with her feet, she managed to growl at him when the dance brought their bodies close.

'But you don't dance!' she accused him furiously. 'You never dance!'

His answering smirk was positively devilish. 'I never dance in public,' he replied. 'Not everything is as it seems, Hermione. You, my dear disciple, need to develop some appreciation for subtlety.'

She twirled, stepped, skipped, swayed into his arms. Together they moved forward, then he spun her away from his body again.

oooOooo

'You might have warned me,' she complained later, when they were standing at the bar.

'Here – cider for you, Guinness for me.' He raised his glass to her.

If this hadn't been Snape, Hermione would have said that a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes.

'I might have,' he agreed easily. 'But it was much more fun not to warn you.'

Hermione felt her brows knit together. Snape – Severus Snape – was talking about fun? Surely the world was coming to an end. And there was no mistaking his expression now. Her dour master was decidedly amused by her reaction to his sneaky ambush.

'You may, of course,' Snape continued in his best lecturer's tone, 'keep in mind for future reference that the head of house always has the first and the last dance at Slytherin parties.'

oooOooo

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NOTES

Banner

The banner is based on CC Attribution/NonCommerical licenced pictures by cambiodefractal and on CC Attribution pictures by "Drawings Of Light – Paul" and i.m.indraneel. The face of my Hermione belongs to Minnie Driver.

FAQ

See Part 1.

Chapter: Wandcraft

The Cerynaian hind is the Golden Hind of Greek mythology.

Hermione's new wand is at 16.535 433 071 inches exactly 42 centimetres long.

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Chapter: Conditions of Indenture

Potions Master vs. Potions master: The canon terminology of Potions master probably refers only to the fact that Snape is teacher at Hogwarts. However, since there are no universitiesfor further academic studies, the most common way of magical training after school could very well be an apprenticeship to a Master of a special branch of magic. In that respect Snape would be not only a Potions master, but a Potions Master or Master of Potions. This is (American) fanon, but it ties in well with historical European traditions of craftsmanship.

The 'Indenture of Apprenticeship' is based on the wording of a historical contract of a carpenter's apprenticeship from the 17th century.

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Chapter: The Apprenticeship Begins

The oath of apprenticeship is based on the contract included in the previous chapter and on an oath of apprenticeship used by the Society for Creative Anachronism. A medieval oath of fealty was traditionally sealed with a kiss on the mouth.

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Chapter: Many Meetings

The title of the chapter alludes to a chapter in 'Lord of the Rings', 'The Fellowship of the Ring'.

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Chapter: Slytherin Colours and Order Business

Snape's scent is based on my favourite scent for men by L'Occitane en Provence, 'Vetyver'.

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Chapter: Party Time at Slytherin House

The first song at the party is 'Summer of 69' by Bryan Adams.

Discofox is a European disco-dance from the Seventies that is still quite popular in Germany.