One

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

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It had been barely a week since the death of the Wizarding world's greatest threat when Ron Weasley had officially asked her to be his girlfriend. Another three days had passed before Hermione had realized that...far from being the bold, passionate kisser she'd imagined him to be during her moment of rash impulse...he was deplorably inattentive and eternally preoccupied with his own pleasure. The fact that he was endlessly driven to grope at her breasts had not further endeared Hermione to his particular romantic style.

Thus she'd spent her summer, the hottest and haziest in her memory, somewhat at a loss for company. She'd aided in the restoration of the Hogwarts grounds, but it couldn't be said that her heart was truly in the project. While part of her did long to see the most important and recognizable monument of her youth returned to its former glory, she couldn't bring herself to share in the enthusiasm bubbling amongst her coworkers. Having spent so many years dreaming of beginning her apprenticeship at this point in her life, even Hermione Granger had to admit...though only to herself...that she felt somewhat melancholy at the thought of returning to school.

Staring at the makeshift shelters they'd erected surrounding the crumbling castle, the grounds were almost indistinguishable to her. All she could picture of her future in her increasingly disillusioned mind's eye were long, dark winter days spent in dank classrooms and stuffy student quarters. This time, though, there would be so many missing, so many incredible people with whom she'd spent the formative years of her life and education.

Restoring her parents' memories, too, had failed to put the spark back in her outlook. Ron and Harry had hugged her warmly and sent her off to Australia expecting the best possible news, but upon her return Hermione had glossed over the truly critical aspect of her trip. In some strange way...some indefinable quality she still constantly sought to pinpoint...her parents were no longer themselves.

Oh, they'd remembered her instantly, of course, and they were thrilled to hear that the infamous Lord Voldemort had been defeated. They joined her wholeheartedly in mourning those lost, and they professed endless excitement when she told them that the Ministry of Magic had offered her the chance to complete her Hogwarts schooling. Her Order of Merlin had even brought proud tears to her mother's eyes.

It was there that their enthusiasm seemed to end abruptly. They had no desire to return to their London home; Australia suited them beautifully well, they claimed. Hermione herself certainly couldn't deny that...both looked fit, tanned and exceptionally healthy...but the parents she'd known would never have voluntarily given up their beloved practice and, even more shockingly, their beloved London. She'd gushed obligingly over their new home, wished them the best, and promised to visit over the holidays if possible. The return journey had left her in an unshakable trance. She'd wandered around London for three or four hours before Apparating back to Grimmauld Place, feeling alarmingly at loose ends.

It hurt her, now, to recall that the one incident to drag her from her increasingly deep funk was Severus Snape himself. St. Mungo's Healers had been quick to confirm upon his arrival in the hands of the Aurors that he had, indeed, been taking potions intended to preempt any violence inflicted by his master's enormous serpent. Still, weeks of additional treatment by the most talented Healers in the country were required to restore him to some semblance of vitality. For weeks Grimmauld Place had teemed with tension as Ron, Hermione and Ginny struggled to reconcile their personal feelings for the man with the astonishing revelations Harry had confided in them. Hermione recalled long nights spent in desultory reflection, consumed with wondering if she would ever again see him stalk the halls of Hogwarts. The announcement of his official pardon by the Wizengamot and subsequent approval to return to work made her heart soar.

Her memories of lying on that dusty bed in the bedroom she shared with Ginny at Grimmauld Place were vivid indeed. After long days spent at the castle, she would eagerly open the Prophet, cracking a smile at the quotes and descriptions of Snape. He had shunned outright all possibility of public adoration and never for a moment sought to cultivate it. The fact that Harry had gone to the Prophet in a moment of panic, terrified and guilt-ridden as Snape had teetered dangerously on the precipice of death, and publicly admitted what he'd seen in the memories had only further enraged the man when he awoke and they were returned to him.

Harry had meant well, Hermione knew. His heart, sickened by the thought of how he'd treated the man who had loved Lily Evans so deeply, had undoubtedly been in the right place. Some had accused him of wanting to steal the spotlight for his mother and thus keep the public eye concentrated predominantly on his own family, but Hermione didn't for a moment believe that Snape had been one of them. Even Snape, if he'd been forced, would probably have...grudgingly...admitted as much. It was simply that no one could understand what they perceived as his bizarrely self-effacing and almost defiant behavior after decades of background heroism. Confronted with the image...and the proof...of him as a romantic martyr, driven for decades on little sustenance but the memory of a love of that magnitude.... That concept, paired in writing with Snape's name, was enough to make the collective public head ache.

Hermione had understood. She thought that she had, anyhow. It seemed a virtual guarantee that he had passed many years of his life fully expecting to die at the hands of his master. Given a second lease on life, he'd sought what wizards of his nature seemed to crave most...solitude. To her it appeared that what Snape had wanted above all else in the chaotic aftermath was peace and quiet.

She'd shared in the almost physical longing for solitude and escape. It was only two days before his release from St. Mungo's and subsequent struggle for anonymity that she'd discovered Ron and Lavender in Ron's bed. Lavender had been disingenuously apologetic; Ron had looked embarrassed more than anything, though he had apologized as well.

Hermione couldn't recall his apology or what she'd made of it then, the details clouded by the reddish haze of her fury. Mostly she recalled Lavender's airy, semi-transparent shirt lying atop Ron's trousers on the dusty floor. If she'd gone around wearing lipstick in the hottest months of summer and flashing amounts of cleavage equal to Lavender, would he have been patient enough to eventually make his way into her bed? Would she really have wanted him to?

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It didn't take long for Headmistress McGonagall to find out about Snape's refusal to pen her a recommendation letter and come knocking. Hermione couldn't fathom how she'd managed to discover so quickly what had transpired; but then again, the woman was showing a remarkable ability to equal, and in some cases even best, Albus Dumbledore when it came to frightening omniscience.

Opening the door of the room she shared with Ginny, Hermione groaned internally as she caught sight of the older woman, exhausted by the thought of the discussion to follow. She knew she should feel grateful that Professor McGonagall cared so deeply about her, but she didn't think she could stomach giving explanations and accepting apologies. She wanted to be left alone.

"Miss Granger?" The Headmistress, every gray hair tucked and pinned immaculately in place, looked visibly startled. Hermione could only imagine the reddened, puffy-eyed countenance that was currently staring back at the poor woman, and she sympathized immediately. She knew she looked a fright. Forcing herself to stand up straighter, she nodded slightly.

"Goodness, Miss Granger, are you quite all right? I heard what happened this afternoon, and I assure you I shall be speaking with Professor Snape on your behalf..."

"No." Hermione was surprised by the force with which it came out. Her tongue, driven there by Snape's words, still felt adhered to the roof of her mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, no, thank you, ma'am. I would prefer that you didn't speak to Professor Snape."

"But surely, Miss Granger, you realize that I cannot stand for this kind of unjust treatment...especially not when the Ministry was kind enough to reinstate him despite his limitations."

Hermione cringed at that. There had been no question of exonerating Snape of the crimes he'd committed considering the critical nature of his work and suffering; the public, thinking not so much of him but of beautiful, luminous, innocent Lily Evans, surely wouldn't have stood for it.

Questions had been raised, however, as to his ability to control a classroom in his still-weakened condition. She'd tried very, very hard not to closely observe the way the Potions master limped about his own dungeon, his body visibly suffering the lingering toxicity of Nagini's venom. She'd tried very hard over the years not to allow herself to indulge in closely observing him physically in any way, but viewing his pain...and contending daily with the knowledge that the damage to his pride was unfathomably worse...had begun to bore a deep hole in her chest.

"He didn't say what he did unjustly and without reason, Professor," she found herself reciting almost mechanically. "He's absolutely right. My marks in Potions have only been that good because I follow his directions and memorize everything before class. I don't really know what I'm doing. Not on any instinctive level, anyway," she clarified softly.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed perceptibly, probably hunting for signs of verbal abuse by Hogwarts' least favorite instructor. Hermione hastened to add, "I don't mind, really. What he said has forced me to reevaluate what I want to do with my life, with my career, and I think there's something to be said for spending more time closely considering what I'm passionate about."

McGonagall shifted her slim weight, causing Hermione to start. She'd never seen the Headmistress look discomfited in such a way. "I am... glad to hear that you're handling this with such grace, my dear," she replied finally. Hermione, unused to such open affection from her former Head of House, smiled wanly despite herself. "Certainly, I shan't intercede if you don't expressly wish it, but really, I encourage you to speak with him again. The man has had a difficult time of it these past few months..."

These past few decades, Hermione's mind whispered.

"I'm sure that once we've all had time to adjust, he'll regain some perspective," McGonagall concluded with crisp finality. Hermione nodded numbly and gripped at her messy ponytail, tossing it over her shoulder. She'd entirely forgotten that she was wearing nothing but a thin tank top and sweats over her underthings, and while Ginny was accustomed to seeing her in such attire, Headmistress McGonagall was decidedly not.

Finally, she left with a parting murmur that she'd see Hermione at supper. Hermione, boneless and tired, let the door click shut and exhaled loudly. She allowed her head to thump back against the door's heavy, solid presence. Ginny was likely on her way to the Great Hall to eat supper with her friends. Hermione alone had accepted the Ministry's offer to continue her education, and with Harry and Ron in training to play professional Quidditch, she felt desperately alone. Recalling the enormous argument she'd had with them over the foolishness of forgoing their NEWTs altogether, she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

She didn't much miss Ron's presence, of course, she reflected, flopping down on her bed. Regardless how many times he'd apologized and agreed that they should strive to mend their friendship, he wasn't above parading Lavender in front of her, and Hermione remained disgusted by the thought of his thorough lack of self-control. Even Ginny had bluntly commented to her older brother that it was pathetic he'd cheated on his girlfriend simply to get sex as quickly and easily as possible, but coming from Ginny...whom Hermione knew to be sleeping with Harry at every possible opportunity...it hadn't done much to ease the ache of rejection in those first few weeks.

She refused to regret her decisions and give in to the belief that she had somehow owed Ron her virginity. She'd been distraught...they all had...and unlike Ron, she couldn't have relied on a few quick thrusts and an occasional orgasm in the cramped bedrooms of Grimmauld Place to alleviate the trauma. The thought that perhaps he had known more than she'd assumed about the deeper source of her pain had occasionally crossed her mind, but she'd never allowed herself to entertain it more than fleetingly.

She rose slowly and approached her trunk, pulling out a jumper and yanking it over her clammy skin. Outside, the growing wind howled against the stone walls of the ancient castle, making her shiver.

Her enthusiasm for rebuilding Hogwarts over the summer had increased considerably when everyone had suggested that she be allotted the library as her domain. The damage wrought by the previous year had been astounding, and much of Hogwarts' beautiful collection had been removed or permanently destroyed to make room for volumes more appropriate to the current political climate. Repairing the damaged texts and ordering replacements...for those volumes not so archaic that replacement was impossible...had put her wholly in her element, and she was happy there, away from the worried eyes of the other workers, whose curiosity about her falling out with Ron aggravated her.

Progressively, her anger and depression had taken her over, and she'd found herself doing far more reading than actual sorting and repairing. The house-elves, noticing with their usual perspicacity her listlessness, had ventured frequently from the kitchen to ply her with tea and sweets. Cloistered in the library, sipping and chewing alternately to occupy her shaky hands, she'd begun to dream about the day that she would be the most talented and respected Healer in residence at St. Mungo's. Hermione hadn't thought she was capable of gaining as much weight as she had over just those couple of months. She didn't think her Hogwarts uniform would be capable of handling it all that much longer either.

She was staring out the window, lost in reverie, when the door opened softly and Ginny returned. "Hey," the other girl murmured, her hair glinting like bronze in the faint light of the torch beside the door. She was still clothed in her school garb. "You okay? You're not hungry?"

"No." She was, but she'd grown to discover that what she thought of as hunger was little related to physical need. She could only hope Ginny would remain in the room for the rest of the evening, effectively preventing her from making her nightly trip to the Hogwarts kitchens.

"You're not dwelling on Ron again, are you?" Ginny had been ridiculously, achingly kind to her about Ron's asinine behavior, and her hand came to rest on Hermione's shoulder. "You need to stop thinking about him. He's not worth it. If that's his outlook on relationships, Merlin knows he and Lavender deserve one another."

Hermione barked an appreciative but hollow laugh, letting the window drapes fall out of her hands and collide softly together. "I know. That's not what I was thinking about."

"Then what?" She could hear the sounds of fabric rustling as Ginny changed out of her school uniform and into casual evening clothes. Before long static electricity crackled as she began to run a brush through her hair.

"I went to talk to Snape this afternoon." Hermione's weary body led her woodenly back to her bed, encouraging her to hide beneath the covers. The down comforter, which she'd Transfigured a calming midnight blue, beckoned her.

"About the Medicinal Potions apprenticeship?"

"Mm-hmm." She pulled the comforter across her chest and rubbed her feet together vigorously, regaining warmth.

"Do you have the letter?"

"No." She didn't know why she was dragging the confession out like this. Circumlocution wasn't going to delay the inevitable long enough for the letter to appear before her. It was unthinkable that Snape would change his mind regardless how much time she allotted him. Wishing it were otherwise would be foolish.

"He's not going to let you read it before he sends it off, then? I kind of figured the git would do something like that." The words were spoken teasingly, however...which Hermione found relieving. Criticism of Snape, considering what aspects of his past the recent months had brought to light, never failed to spark her ire.

"He's not going to write it at all."

Ginny's hand and brush stilled in her thick hair. "Wait... What? He refused?"

"Yes."

"He can't refuse!" Her voice was genuinely critical now, and Hermione knew she ought to feel grateful for her friend's ardent defense. "You're his best student. Merlin, you're probably the best student that man's ever had in all his years of teaching! He can't just... refuse!"

"Oh, but he can," Hermione muttered darkly against her pillow.

"But... How?" Ginny looked dumbfounded.

"He did it quite straightforwardly, actually," Hermione mused. "Not that he had time to rehearse it, obviously, but he made it pretty clear he didn't even need to give me a second thought." Ginny's lovely lips were curling in evident disgust. "He told me no, and then he proceeded to explain to me that I lack any deeper Potions talent and can't get through my career by memorization alone."

"Rubbish," Ginny spat. "You've got just as much talent as he has."

Hermione remained silent and thoughtful. She really didn't; she realized that now. It was crystal clear, painfully obvious after years of slogging through dizzying recipes and Potions texts.

"I think you should tell McGonagall," Ginny continued, now at full steam. Her hair brush had long since been tossed aside and forgotten. "She'll have words with him, I'm sure. She'll set him straight."

"She knows," Hermione replied tonelessly. "She knows everything."

"That doesn't surprise me," Ginny conceded momentarily, but then she forged ahead again. "And what did she say? She's going to talk some sense into him, isn't she? You've got more talent than any of his other students."

"I don't want her talking to him. What's done is done."

"You're not just going to give up, are you? Hermione, you deserve this apprenticeship. You deserve it more than any of the other candidates, and besides, you can't seriously think you're not talented enough."

"But I'm not. He's absolutely right."

"Rubbish! You can do it without him and prove him wrong."

"Oh, come on, Ginny." She could feel the irritation rising in her chest. "You're sweet to defend me, but think about it...what if I've been wrong all this time? All these years I've wanted some kind of acknowledgment from him that I was great, and he never gave it. He never praised me. I always figured it was because he couldn't afford not to appear biased, especially in front of Draco Malfoy..."

"May he suffer eternally," Ginny interjected bitterly. Hermione fell silent. She couldn't bring herself to speak ill of the younger Malfoy, whose true loyalties would now never be elucidated. His suicide two weeks after the final battle had seen to that.

"I was wrong about it all." Her voice, when she spoke again, was airy, almost Luna-like in its tone of epiphany. "I was wrong about everything. I thought he hated me and couldn't bear to admit how smart I was. I was convinced he resented the fact that I was the bigger person and could bring myself to respect him as a professor and an Order member despite how he treated us. Sometimes I thought that he just figured I loathed and pitied him. He thought everyone hated him, after all."

"Everyone did hate him." The arch of Ginny's brow clearly conveyed that she believed she was stating the obvious.

"I didn't hate him," Hermione said lamely.

Silence fell over the room. Outside the sun had since set, and thick twilight was beginning to descend over the castle grounds. Hermione stared at the darkness and thought of oppression, of cold, of Dementors and the broken bodies of Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. How was their son? she found herself wondering. She'd never been especially comfortable around children, but in her most introspective moments she couldn't help but admit to herself that someday she wanted the depth of connection she so envied in mothers and their children. Would he be speaking his first words? Had he already? She knew so little about such things.

"I know you don't want me to say this again," Ginny's voice began gently from the other bed, "but really, Hermione, are you okay? Everyone's worried about you. I like being your roommate, but we both know why we're here. McGonagall's worried about you, and she's been worried since summer. You're depressed, you're even more neurotic about your grades than usual, and you look like you're about to cry all the time."

"Aren't you?" Hermione shot back defensively.

"I cry," Ginny admitted automatically, unreserved. "I cry at night. I cry in the shower. Every day I see Fred's face when we sit down to breakfast and I almost start crying in front of the entire table. And then I think about Teddy going to Hogwarts without Remus and Tonks to see him off at King's Cross, and I start to cry again. But it's different with you. This apprenticeship was the only thing getting you through the day. Even I could see that, and McGongall knew it too. Merlin knows she sees everything lately. She can see how embarrassed you are to be in school a year behind, and I don't resent being your roommate to give you some company, but Hermione...

"You've got to move on with your life. Ron's an imbecile; we all know that. He's my brother and I love him, but he treated you horribly. Snape's equally stupid, and I know you respect him, but he's not worth this either. Don't refrain from asking McGonagall to talk to him because you think it will destroy your last chance at ever earning his respect in return."

"I don't need to destroy it. I never had it in the first place."

"Then that's a testament to precisely what an imbecile the man is, and you're going to prove him wrong." Ginny rose smoothly to her feet, her petite, Quidditch-toned frame making Hermione's head spin briefly with envy. "I'm going to take a shower, okay? Think about what I said. Are you coming to watch practice tomorrow morning, by the way?"

"Yes. Maybe. I'll think about it."

The redhead smiled radiantly for the first time that evening. "That's more like it. If you don't want to give in and ask McGonagall to talk to him, fine...you'll think of another way to get that recommendation letter. Don't dwell on Snape."

What else do I ever do? Hermione wondered absently as Ginny left for the bathroom.