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Hermione apparated nearly on top of the Third Junior Secretary to the Deputy Minister. She mumbled an apology to the mousy little witch and was summarily ignored.
Understandable, under the circumstances.
“Harry!” She caught sight of her best friend’s messy black hair near the edge of the crowd, in a tangle of Auror robes. “Harry-”
“Mione!”
“What’s going on?”
Harry looked to Gawain Robards, his boss, who waved him off. “It’s…we don’t know for sure what caused it, but we’ve got to get everyone and everything out of the Forbidden Forest and…and everything around it. Snape’s started evacuating the castle using the old tunnels to Hogsmeade, but with the way the smoke’s spreading we want to clear the town as well.”
“Merlin…”
Hermione had been summoned to Hogsmeade simply because she’d been one of three people working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at eleven at night. She’d been spending a relaxing evening going over some of the more obscure legal records and ignoring what she was pretty sure was an affair going on in the Spirits department next door when Neville had rushed in.
He’d been almost incoherent, but he’d managed to gasp out that there was a fire in the Forbidden Forest.
He’d been about half right.
This obviously was no ordinary fire. Hermione was instantly brought back to that horrible night, two years before, when she’d seen those familiar shapes dancing through flames. She could practically smell the burning wood and lacquer and, horrifically, meat as Crabbe screamed-
“Hermione!”
She snapped to attention. “What’s been done to evacuate the residents of the forest?”
Harry’s shoulders relaxed, as if he expected her to solve the problem simply by her presence. “We arrived under ten minutes ago. Smythe was first on the scene; he said one of the Hogwarts teachers sent out a Patronus, but…our priority is the school and the town, containing the fire, and catching who’s responsible.”
Hermione nodded and took off running for the castle.
Bathsheda Babbling was at the Hogwarts gate, holding it open for the horde of first responders. She knew nothing about any plans to evacuate the forest, but she did offer a broom from a pile lying against the gate.
There was no time. Lives were possibly being lost as she dithered.
Hermione took the broom.
Flying on a broom was a bit better than flying on a dragon, if only because the broom didn’t have years of pent-up rage and sharp spikes down its spine. It also didn’t drop her in the Black Lake, but instead took her - shakily - across the grounds.
The Great Hall was less chaotic than Hermione would have guessed, if she’d spared it more than a passing thought. Headmaster Severus Snape stood in front of the Head Table with his arms crossed, stoic and unmoving as if he was observing a Potions practical instead of the evacuation of the entire student population under duress.
It was working. His staff were following his lead, calmly assisting each Head of House in organising the students by House and year and escorting them in groups down the corridors. No one was running, no one was panicking, no one was causing a fuss. Despite the general lack of dry eyes, especially among the younger years, it was about as orderly an evacuation as anyone could have hoped for.
How many of them had been escorted away in similar fashion during the Battle of Hogwarts? How many of them had stayed and fought, only to see their friends cut down?
Hermione blinked away the image of Lavender Brown and Fenrir Greyback…
She squared her shoulders and approached the centrepoint of the operation, careful to project an air of calm. “Headmaster,” she said, giving him a nod of respect.
He returned her nod, hardly taking his eyes off his students.
“I am here to assist with the evacuation of the non-human residents of the castle and forest. What has been done on that front so far?”
“The house-elves are helping with the student evacuation; they will not abandon the castle until every student is safe. Firenze went to alert his colony as soon as flames were sighted and before we knew the extent of the threat. Hagrid was dismissed from evacuation duty to attempt to alert the other residents of the forest and has not reported back since.”
“Thank you. I will look for him and spread the word. Is there anything else I can do to help here?”
Snape waved her off, and Hermione left as quickly as she could manage. It had been, she thought, the most pleasant interaction she'd ever had with him.
The monstrous fire was distant but inching closer, the flame beasts ripping up trees and debris in their path, and by their light Hermione was able to see into the forest despite the time of day. She caught a glimpse of something in the underbrush below and backtracked, only to find that it was a rather banged-up blue car of some kind.
She was…fairly certain that the car didn’t fall under her purview, and it seemed to be fending for itself just fine, so she turned deeper into the forest.
The first group she came across were the centaurs, who were making good time despite being burdened by luggage. They were obviously distraught, but they refused to leave any of their things behind, despite Hermione’s and Firenze’s urgings. Hermione convinced them to accept feather-light charms on some of the larger and more unwieldy bundles and directed them towards the evacuation path from the castle.
A small swarm of fairies flew by, buzzing to each other, and Hermione urged them onwards to Hogsmeade. She did the same for the unicorn herd that approached her warily. A group of Thestrals flying overhead seemed to be headed in the right direction already, so she didn’t intervene.
Hagrid and Grawp were nowhere to be found.
“Miss Granger!”
Hermione looked over her shoulder to see that several of the teachers had caught up with her. She’d known Snape could fly - he’d refereed the odd Quidditch match, and his strategic retreat from Hogwarts during the Final Battle was legendary - but he’d elected to use a broom this time, as had McGonagall, Hooch, and Sprout. She awkwardly adjusted her course to meet up with them.
“I’ve accounted for the centaurs, the main unicorn herd, a group of Thestrals, and a few other assorted creatures,” she said, “but I can’t find Hagrid.”
“He and Grawp made it to Hogsmeade,” McGonagall said. “We passed the unicorns, but missed the centaurs. We’re going to try to counter the spell; it’s our best chance to salvage the situation.”
“What can I do to help?”
“We can always use another wand, especially one as skilled as yours.”
Hermione felt pride bubble up in her chest as she fell in alongside her former teachers. Even a year after her graduation, even under such dire circumstances, the approval brought a warm feeling.
Her broom bucked under her for a moment, taking advantage of her distraction. A large, long-fingered hand deftly caught the end of the handle and forced it steady.
“Easy, Granger,” Snape murmured.
Her face went bright red, and she thought she saw him smirk in the wild light of the fire. Merlin…
Snape, it turned out, had a plan to contain the fire. There was a counter-spell for Fiendfyre but their target would require more power than any one witch or wizard had. They would need to reduce it first. To that end, Hermione and the teachers - and the Aurors who showed up to assist - were put to work animating trees and directing them away from the flames.
It was tedious work, livened up by a few of the less-skilled Aurors who kept losing control of their trees, but eventually they had established a fairly respectable fire break. Snape and McGonagall worked in tandem to hollow out a trench for the entire team to fill with water.
Water could not extinguish Fiendfyre, but nor could Fiendfyre consume it in such a quantity, constantly being refilled from dozens of wands.
Hooch and Sprout conjured wind, carefully directing the flames away from the fire break and back towards the burnt land. The fire, hemmed in on one side by the area it had already consumed and on the other by the fire break, crawled up to the edge of their moat…and no further.
It was tenacious, lashing out at the water and the defenders, but it simply didn’t have the fuel to fight forever. Gradually, strange creatures clawing at anything it could reach every step of the way, the fire began to shrink.
Of course, less fire required less energy to maintain, and it was a good hour before it had been whittled down to a size that they could possibly try to counterspell. The Auror team was working in shifts, refilling the trench in the fire break and backing up Hooch's and Sprout’s wind spells, but even they were growing tired.
Hermione felt herself swaying from exhaustion when she saw Snape approach the fire. She couldn’t tell if he was flying under his own power or using some other charm, but he floated above the trench like a dark, avenging angel. The wind spells whipped his robes around him with more billow than he’d ever achieved in the halls of Hogwarts, but he was imposing and unmistakable in equal measure.
With one shouted spell, the flames…vanished.
Hermione’s ears rang from the silence, and she blinked against the full moon, suddenly bright. She had become so used to the crackling sound of fire consuming wood, leaves, and whatever it could touch that even the gentle blustering of the wind spells sounded loud. She half expected the Fiendfyre to come roaring back, defying Snape’s will, but it…didn’t.
Wand-light began to appear as the gathered defenders realised they had won. The winds swirled to nothing. The trench began to overflow, no longer being evaporated away by the heat, sending little hissing waves over the scorched soil. The animated trees wavered, casting eerie shadows in the gloom.
Snape turned and lowered himself on the green side of the trench, only a few feet from Hermione. In the harsh wand-light he looked pale, shadows appearing under his eyes that certainly hadn’t been there when she’d seen him in the Great Hall earlier.
He closed his eyes, wavered…and fell.
It was purely on instinct that Hermione dove for him, not quite managing to catch him (the man was much heavier than he looked!) but at least lowering him safely to the ground.
It was over.
Or…so she’d thought.
“Back off, Granger,” Robards growled at her, wand out.
He’d approached her within minutes of the Fiendfyre disappearing, covered in sweat and soot, and decided to take Snape into custody. She, in turn, had done her best to agree…loudly, and without actually letting them haul Snape away. Already she could see McGonagall and Hooch making their way over to see what the commotion was about.
“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on,” she said, forcing her eyes wide. It was amazing how many people knew her reputation, but still believed her when she pretended to be clueless. “We all saw the headmaster put out the Fiendfyre-”
“And I have three witnesses in custody who can testify that he started it.”
“Why? Surely-”
Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, putting herself between Hermione and Snape and the gathering Aurors.
“Headmaster Snape has been in his office all evening,” she said, bestowing the gathered crowd with the glare of a disappointed teacher. It was a look all of them, surely, remembered from their own school days. “I can attest to that, as I was enjoying a good whiskey and a game of Wizard’s Chess with him when the news arrived. Before that, the entire school can confirm that he spent an hour and a half overseeing supper in the Great Hall.”
Hooch flanked McGonagall, crossing her arms. Sprout was closing in as well, intent on providing a united front.
Robards ran a hand through his hair. “Look. I’m not pulling this out of my arse. We have witnesses.”
“And you have witnesses confirming Headmaster Snape’s whereabouts during the time in question. There are a great many ways to transform one’s appearance.” McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the Head of the Auror Office. “I should know.”
“We’re aware of that, but even if it’s just to clear him, we still need to question Snape.”
“The headmaster is exhausted and clearly not available after saving the entire population of the forest, the village of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts castle, and every student under his care. We will send word when he is rested and ready to answer your questions.”
“I can’t leave him without supervision,” Robards insisted. “If he is innocent, he’ll understand-”
“If he is innocent, you are infringing on his privacy and compromising his patient-healer confidentiality without cause!”
His eyes cut to Hermione. “What about a compromise? A Ministry employee - not an Auror - to remain with him until he’s available?”
Hermione held her chin up as everyone turned to look at her, hoping her smoke-itchy eyes weren't as red as they felt.
“That would be…acceptable,” McGonagall said.
The group broke up quickly under her gimlet eye.
They were far enough away from Hogwarts that the Aurors were able to disapparate, but the teachers and Hermione had a more difficult task. With a tenderness Hermione had never seen from her strict mentor, McGonagall fashioned a very comfortable-looking hammock-like bed from some spare leaves. They must have looked like quite the odd group: four witches on their broomsticks flanking Snape’s floating hammock.
They took turns levitating him along. Hermione, feeling a profound respect for both Snape and the other teachers, insisted on doing her part. His power, his control, his knowledge…to feel it all rest in her hands made her shiver.
And oddly, even though he was in no state to grab the front of her broom to steady her, his unconscious presence had about the same effect.
Snape remained unconscious for a full day and a half, and Hermione remained by his bed the entire time. She barely slept. Every six hours a Ministry owl would deliver her a letter asking for an update, and she would send back a small note: Nothing new to report.
Classes were cancelled to allow the students to recover from their ordeal. McGonagall made an announcement over breakfast that the headmaster had extinguished the cursed fire, and many of them stopped by the Hospital Wing to either gawk or express gratitude.
Madam Pomfrey sent them all away.
The teachers were permitted to see the headmaster in person, and every one of them did. Hermione wasn’t sure why, but the number of teachers who touched Snape in some way - respectfully, of course, on his head or wrist, just to assure themselves that he was alive and well - surprised her.
Snape was such a singular and imposing figure in her memories. He’d been recuperating and then standing trial when she’d returned to take her N.E.W.T.s, so she had to rely on rumours for how he behaved as headmaster. Whatever his actions during that last terrible year of the war, it was clear that he’d won the respect of his colleagues, if not their love.
McGonagall was the last to stop by, looking every bit as drained as Snape himself did.
“He always did push himself too hard,” she said, looking down at the still figure on the bed. One hand ghosted over his face, outlining one cheekbone. “He nearly killed himself during his first year as headmaster, even without Riddle’s interference.” Her sharp eyes cut to Hermione. “You will be questioned about him, I should imagine. It is a lot to ask of someone with no loyalties to Hogwarts, but…keep him safe, please?”
“I will,” Hermione promised. “I may not be a student anymore, but I owe Professor Snape a debt of gratitude. We all do, I think.”
It was true. Like a word repeated over and over so many times it lost meaning, the sight of his unconscious face had long ago ceased to be a source of childish terror or guilt. Instead, she began to notice the little things: the way his scar from the Battle of Hogwarts spread over his neck like a pinkish star, the fine swoop of his eyebrows, the line of his cheekbones.
McGonagall gave a firm, satisfied nod, patted Hermione on the shoulder, and swept away.
Two hours later, Snape blinked to awareness.
He took one look at Hermione and closed his eyes again. “Must be in Hell,” he muttered.
It was surely sleep deprivation that made Hermione snap back, “You should be so lucky.”
Sleep deprivation didn’t account for the little twist of his lips that made him actually look his age. Merlin, the man was barely forty; for a wizard, he was still young. Even in sleep, the worry-lines of his face made him look decades older.
“You’ve just missed Professor McGonagall. As deputy, she’s stepped up to take care of the castle. The students aren’t all back yet, but she and the other teachers are hosting a study session in the Great Hall for any students who wish it. She plans to restart classes on Monday-”
“Breathe, Granger.”
She tried to breathe, to calm her racing heart. “Sorry, sir. Of course you know what’s going on; the teachers are following your plan.”
“Naturally. The students?”
“All accounted for. The students and faculty evacuated efficiently to Hogsmeade, and from there to London via portkeys. Their families were notified via owl. Some students went home for the weekend; several more families met their children at the Ministry to make sure they were safe. Portkeys will take the last of the students from their homes to Hogsmeade on Sunday.”
“Any injuries?”
“Surprisingly few, actually. A few of the centaurs suffered from smoke inhalation; they took their time packing their Divination equipment, but according to them they all made it out safely. Even the mare who went into labour during the evacuation is doing well. There are almost certainly some creature deaths, but the worst I’ve heard of so far is a nest of rather crispy acromantulas.”
“No great loss,” Snape muttered under his breath.
It felt like a small betrayal to Hagrid, but Hermione privately agreed. Man-eating spiders had no place in a children’s school, in her professional opinion.
“The Aurors are still clearing the scene, but under the circumstances we got off exceptionally lucky.”
He grunted. “And…why are you here?”
“…Ah. Well. I’m a bit of a compromise.”
“Someone thinks I started the fire.”
The calm acceptance and utter lack of resentment pierced Hermione’s heart. The Snape of her childhood would have raged at the injustice, possibly thrown something. For him to be so contained…
“Yes,” she admitted. “Professor McGonagall refused an Auror guard while you were unconscious. I’m officially here as a Ministry employee, reporting on your good behaviour. I’d recommend waiting until I’m gone before you start elaborating on your plots to take over the world or indulging in any pyromaniac fantasies.”
That got her an eyebrow. “You think I have plots to take over the world? Plural?”
“Time and experience have taught me that Slytherins typically do. Some of them are just more realistic or more subtle than others.”
His lips gave that funny little twist again. “I must assess the condition of my school and my students, but I can be available to your…employers within the hour.”
Hermione rose from her chair, wincing at the pins and needles in her foot. “Understood. An hour, then…in your office?”
“Acceptable. And Granger?”
She paused in the doorway.
“Hogwarts would be honoured to have you, someday.”
Given how close-knit the staff clearly was, Hermione felt the weight of that honour. She’d never seen herself in a teaching career, but…
Snape was not Dumbledore. Dumbledore, for all his manipulations, for all his grandfatherly charm, remained a respected wizard. Even Rita Skeeter couldn’t quite bury his reputation entirely. Snape, on the other hand, was a prickly bastard whose past heavily punctuated the public’s present perception of him, but who had the vocal and unanimous support of his staff.
The opportunity to gain, to earn the trust of such a man…
Hermione suppressed a little shiver of a purely professional nature and hurried along.
Aside from offering her report, Hermione was kept out of proceedings, for the most part. She dragged the details out of Harry over moong dal.
“It’s politics,” Harry said around a mouthful of rice. “It was bad enough under Dumbledore. Y’know how a lot of folks wanted him for Minister after the first war; it made Fudge jealous. Kingsley was Order, and I think he privately thinks Snape’s a good egg, but there’s plenty of people from both sides of the war who don’t trust Snape even after his trial. It’s split people.”
“What do you mean, ‘split people?’” Harry really was impossible sometimes.
“I mean it’s…people have to choose between Hogwarts or the Ministry. The Ministry did a lot of awful things during the War, but Kingsley’s at the top now and he’s been making a lot of reforms. Snape’s the last, most powerful person Riddle put in place.”
“Professor Snape was on our side, and he’s been making reforms, too. And did you see how he evacuated the castle? I spoke with Professor McGonagall while I was keeping an eye on him, and she said they’ve been doing drills once per term. That’s how they were able to get students out so efficiently: the students and staff had practised for just that very thing.”
Like fire drills in a Muggle school. It was such a simple thing to miss as a child, hardly worth a thought. As an adult who’d fought in a war, Hermione could see (and wholeheartedly support) the wisdom in making sure students and staff knew exactly what to do and where to go in an emergency.
“See,” Harry said, swallowing, “that’s part of the problem. Snape handled this well - really well. That’s got a lot of people nervous. Snape…with clout? Who can pretty much do whatever he wants? I don’t think he would be too resistant if people wanted him to be Minister.”
No, Hermione thought ruefully, he probably wouldn’t. She had nothing against Kingsley - had quite liked him, the few times they’d met at Grimmauld Place during the war - but as she’d joked with Snape, Slytherins always seemed half-poised to take over the world. If he was given the power of the Minister’s office, he was likely enough of an opportunist to take it.
Personally, she thought Snape would be better suited to more of a shadow-government role: the man behind the power, controlling all the puppet strings without having to deal with others…
Oh. That was exactly what people were worried about, wasn’t it? How often had Dumbledore managed the Ministry, despite being outside its hierarchy? How often had the Wizengamot voted the way Dumbledore wanted? The Board of Governors could have been used as a counter to a headmaster’s power, but it had been gutted by the Death Eater trials over the past few years.
Compared to his predecessor, Snape's reputation for raw magical power was rather understated. He hadn’t single-handedly wrestled any Dark Lords into submission; he’d famously come out on the wrong end of his fight against Riddle, albeit deliberately. And yet…no one who had seen the man duel McGonagall and Flitwick, who had watched him dispel Fiendfyre, could deny his skill.
If Snape wasn’t the most powerful of wizards, he was certainly powerful enough. That…that could be dangerous.
“How is the search going for whoever started the fire?”
“Hard to say,” Harry shrugged. “I’m considered ‘too friendly to Hogwarts’ and too new to be part of the investigation. From what I’ve heard, Robards’ witnesses all confirmed under veritaserum that they saw Snape that night in the woods, but not necessarily casting Fiendfyre. McGonagall testified that she was with him all evening, and the whole school saw him at supper that day.”
Hermione hummed. “So he’s got a doppelganger running around. Polyjuice, maybe? What were people doing in the Forbidden Forest late at night, anyways?”
“That’s part of the problem. We're pretty sure they were involved, that it was an attack on Hogwarts, but we can't prove it.”
“And they outed themselves?”
“They’ve been Obliviated of…something. They can’t confess, even under veritaserum, to what they don’t know. With all of them pointing to Snape…”
Hermione perked up. “Obliviated, you say?”
It had been her choice, Hermione reminded herself as she packed up her desk. Her choice.
Kingsley had…not been happy to hear what she’d done to her parents. Despite the war, despite having few options to keep them safe, Obliviating her parents had been - and remained - illegal.
She could have kept it to herself. The spell had been reversed, after all. Her parents were once again settled in their home in London, and had…mostly forgiven her. The few friends who knew what she’d done wouldn’t have given her away.
Perhaps she could have come up with a better way of telling Kingsley about her counter-spell for Obliviation. Some theoretical research, perhaps? References in an old tome?
But nobody - not even the notoriously corrupt Ministry - would have let her experiment on prisoners.
She’d come clean, admitted to Kingsley and Robards what she’d done. They had come to an agreement: she would be permitted to counter the spell on the three witnesses, and then she would leave the Ministry. Neither man wanted to charge her, under the circumstances, but they also couldn’t ignore what she’d done. The scandal if this got out would tank the entire administration with accusations of corruption and favouritism.
Obliviating Muggles was harshly punished, after the war.
Kingsley’s eyes had been genuinely sad when he signed the official pardon she’d wrangled from him. No, he hadn’t wanted to charge her. In another lifetime, Hermione thought, they could probably have worked very well together.
She couldn’t bring herself to be sorry about her actions, either what she’d done for her parents or what she’d done for Snape. Obliviating her parents had allowed them to remain safely in Australia. Removing the Obliviation on the three accomplices confirmed that Snape was innocent.
In both cases, she figured as she hefted her box of shrunken desk litter, she could not have acted otherwise and kept a clean conscience.
“We’ll miss you,” said Sarah Dalley, who had the desk next to hers. The older woman’s eyes were red, though she was keeping her composure admirably. “If you ever want to come back, we’d love to have you.”
Privately, Hermione couldn’t see that happening, not within the next decade or so. “Even if I don’t, I hope to have the opportunity to work with you all in some way. The past year has taught me so much. I’ll miss you all as well.”
It was true. Hermione’s youthful vision of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was of a stuffy, bored group of bureaucrats spinning pencils. Sarah, Joey, Davies and Clark had proved otherwise. Yes, the wheels of bureaucracy spun painfully slowly, but her coworkers genuinely cared about the beasts, beings, and spirits they supported. Hermione’s mostly-finished house-elf legislation would be safe in their hands.
She returned home to find Crooks lounging on her kitchen table, where he knew very well he wasn’t allowed. His loud complaints at being dislodged from what she suspected was a favoured spot when she was away almost blocked out the sound of an owl hitting her window.
“Other side,” she called, hurrying over to see what had happened to the poor thing.
The…rather disoriented owl flapped awkwardly a few times, then flew through her other kitchen window, which had been enchanted to be semi-permeable for that specific purpose. Most of her mail was redirected to the Diagon Alley Owl Post Office, where it was screened for curses and dangerous substances; very few people had the ability to send her letters directly.
Though she didn’t recognise the owl, she did recognise the handwriting on the envelope.
Miss Granger,
It has come to our attention that you have separated from your employment with the Ministry. The faculty and staff at Hogwarts cordially invite you to tea this Saturday at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. We believe we have a proposal worth your time and attention.
The Floo to the Headmaster’s Office will be open to you if you wish to attend.
While we understand if you already have plans for your future, we hope to see you then.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Hermione’s heart pounded. Word had already reached Hogwarts about her…situation? How? Should she be on the lookout for Skeeter articles?
The letter held few answers.
Saturday dawned bright and early. Too early. Hermione got up, made herself a full English, absentmindedly fed Crookshanks (twice, to his great delight), and sat down to read. When she found herself rereading a page for the third time, she instead set herself an alarm and went out to do some gardening.
It was February and snowing, but clearing the flower beds around her cottage was surely an excellent use of her time…
1:00 found her in her formal robes and putting on makeup. 1:30 found her hurriedly changing into something a little less formal, sure that most of the Hogwarts staff would be wearing their usual teaching robes.
At 1:45 she took her hair down and put it back up, not pleased with her style.
Her clock struck 2:00 just as she decided she didn’t like the way her curls looked with the earrings she’d selected, but it was too late at that point. She took a deep breath and a handful of Floo powder and called out her destination.
She arrived in the Headmaster’s Office intact and only slightly dishevelled, which was quite fortunate as it appeared that this was not to be a very private tea. McGonagall and the headmaster she’d expected, but Flitwick, Slughorn and Sprout were present as well.
With a deep breath, she straightened out her robes, syphoned the residual Floo powder away, and met the formidable gathering before her with her head held high. “Hello,” she said. “I received a letter…?”
“Miss Granger, my dear,” McGonagall said, rising and giving her a very friendly handshake. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please have a seat; we have a great deal to discuss.”
McGonagall waved her into an empty chair next to her own. With Snape sitting at his massive wooden desk - possibly the one he’d used when he’d taught Potions; it had intricate carvings of aconite and hellebore around the base - they formed a circle. It was surprisingly informal, and Hermione was glad she’d changed her robes.
“Miss Granger,” Snape said, folding his hands elegantly on his desk. “It has come to our attention that you have gotten yourself removed from the Ministry for some…fascinating research.”
Hermione was beginning to wonder, however irrationally, if she was in some kind of trouble.
“What he means,” Sprout cut in, “is that we’ve heard about your antidote to Obliviation-”
“Counter-spell,” Flitwick muttered.
“-and we’re very interested in retaining your services. As I’m sure you’re aware, the Ministry Obliviated a truly tragic number of Muggle-born students and their families towards the end of the war.”
“Thank you, Pomona,” Snape grumbled. “Miss Granger, what we are offering is a Charms apprenticeship with Filius and a position on staff. If you wish to pursue a teaching position, that can be arranged, or you can focus on more theoretical subjects. In return, we would like your assistance in reversing the Obliviation of various people as we identify them.”
Hermione stared. “Of course. I mean, I’m happy to help - I’m very sympathetic to the plight of Muggle-borns, as I’m sure you can imagine. And an apprenticeship with Professor Flitwick,” she nodded to the small man in question, “would be an honour in and of itself.”
Flitwick smiled at her. “It’s well-deserved. If you can reverse Obliviation, I look forward to seeing what else you can do! Tell me, have you studied-”
He was cut off when Snape sharply waved a hand in his direction. “Let us settle the agreement before you get too…distracted, Filius. Thank you. Now. We have here a proposed contract for an apprenticeship-”
“-Which she can look over on her own time,” McGonagall said, levitating the papers from Snape’s hands to Hermione’s. “We invited her over for tea, not political posturing. Useful as her skills are, she is going to be one of us if she accepts. Now. How have you been over the past few days, Miss Granger?”
Hermione felt like she’d been put through a Muggle washing machine. The staff at Hogwarts knew exactly why she’d been let go from the Ministry, it appeared. And far from condemning her for it, they were more than happy to capitalise on the Ministry’s loss.
The part of her that had locked Rita Skeeter in a jar sat up and took notice.
For all Snape was letting his Heads of House do most of the talking, he was clearly something of a referee. Likely the mastermind behind the offer, then, though it was a wise move to have McGonagall write the invitation to tea. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve thought if he’d invited her himself.
McGonagall stood up for her personal life, while Flitwick appreciated her knowledge and skills. Sprout mentioned several times the benefit her employment would be to Hogwarts, though the third time she visited the subject she was cut off by Snape and redirected onto less serious subjects. Slughorn praised her for her work at the Ministry, both the projects that had been made public and the lesser-known ones, leaving Hermione flattered.
Wondering very hard about just what kind of information network her schoolteachers had, but flattered nonetheless.
Throughout the meeting, her eyes were drawn again and again to Snape. He would benefit enormously from this arrangement, she realised. Having someone of her fame (and occasional notoriety, when Skeeter felt punchy) would bring attention to Hogwarts. If he went public with his plan to help families affected by the Death Eaters’ campaign of Obliviations - families the Ministry appeared to have dismissed out of hand - it would go a long way towards silencing those critics who remembered him as Voldemort’s Headmaster.
Hermione had done some research on apprenticeships in between studying for her N.E.W.T.s. While Snape had to give his approval to any apprentices his staff wanted to take on (one of the reasons she’d not pursued that route; she’d been sure at the time that he’d never agree) the apprenticeship would be managed by the master and the international certification board for the subject. Perhaps he was protecting her, as well: there was little connecting him to the offer, at least on paper, so it wouldn't be overshadowed by his reputation.
Politics, like Harry had said.
Harry would never play the game well: he was a Gryffindor through and through. Hermione could have learned to, she was sure, but she’d burned her chances at the Ministry not only by admitting to a crime, but by doing so in support of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Well, she thought as she sipped her tea, if the Wizarding World really was being split into camps - if she really was going to have to choose between the Ministry and Hogwarts - why shouldn’t she throw her lot in with Hogwarts?
“A moment, please, Miss Granger,” Snape said as the meeting drew to a close.
“Of course.”
The other teachers filed out, all of them expressing their hopes that she would be joining them shortly. Flitwick even had tears in his eyes at the thought.
The door closed behind the group with a low thud and a grinding of stone, and Hermione was left alone with Severus Snape.
“I must thank you,” Snape said finally. “I am told that it was thanks to your…interference that my name was cleared so quickly.”
Hermione felt colour rising to her cheeks. “It was the right thing to do. I knew of a way to help, and I did so.”
“Not everyone would have done likewise.”
“Well…I’m sure there were other ways…”
“No.” Snape leaned forward, his eyes intense. “The three ‘witnesses’ were hardly reputable members of society, but their confession under veritaserum carried weight with the wrong - or right - parties. With their word against Minerva’s, the Ministry could easily have cast doubts on both myself and her.”
“But there’s still a mastermind out there.”
“Not…anymore.”
Hermione blinked. Out of context, that would have sounded terribly threatening. The grimace on Snape’s face proved otherwise. “…Sir?”
“This is not public knowledge, and I would appreciate you keeping it to yourself.” He waited for her nod before continuing. “Two days ago, a…person was found in the Forbidden Forest. He looked something like a werewolf…except that he was found in the middle of the day.”
“The night of the fire…it was a full moon.”
“Quite. We are still awaiting the Ministry’s formal identification, but we do know that he was found with several vials of Polyjuice Potion.”
“…The doppelganger?”
Snape raised one shoulder. It should have looked casual, but somehow - sitting by themselves in his enormous, empty office - the movement carried a strange power. “It appears likely. He had several paper packets on his person that the Ministry listed as ‘empty,’ but which we believe contained hairs. Forensics could determine their source if anyone cared to check.”
“And they won’t,” she realised, “because he tried to use Polyjuice to transform himself into a wolf…and after days in the forest, he’s not likely to survive.”
“Precisely. Kingsley is…not antagonistic towards Hogwarts, but he has his own responsibilities.”
“Kingsley…wait, was he your source?”
Snape smirked again, and it looked even better on him when he hadn’t been in hospital for a day and a half. “Who else? He knows that, whatever the press may print, I don’t want his job. Decapitating the leadership of Hogwarts would give the Ministry and the Board of Governors free reign. They would have installed outsiders as Head and Deputy, and from the rumours…well, not even Kingsley wants that.”
Hermione winced. Knowing some of the Ministry clout-chasers, she could imagine the sort of person who would be chosen. Umbridge was, unfortunately, not exactly an outlier.
“Sir?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you telling me this? Not that I don’t appreciate the information, but…”
He looked at her. He was not, she found, the Snape she’d come to know throughout her education. He was…tempered: by the war, by responsibility, by the games he was playing? Who could say?
He had proven that he still had a healthy amount of snark, but he hadn’t used it on her.
“Because, Miss Granger,” he said quietly, “it is our hope that you will join us. If there is one thing we’ve learned since the war, it is that Hogwarts stands or falls together.”
A simple answer, perhaps. And yet…
One year. He’d been headmaster (properly) for one year. Yes, he had served as Voldemort’s puppet; yes, he had directed many of McGonagall’s actions during his recovery and trial. Still, he’d only had a single year of day-to-day running of the school, building relationships and rapport with his colleagues as their leader.
And he had won them over to such an extent that the moment he was threatened, they closed ranks around him.
Merlin. If he ever did decide to be Minister…what could he accomplish?
“It would be my honour to work with you, Headmaster,” she said, holding out her hand.
His fingers were surprisingly warm when he took it. “Please,” he said, “call me Severus.”
It was, she thought, the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
She had no idea.