Chapter Text
Salzburg, 2009
Hermione tilts her head. She's been looking at the spectacular baroque ceiling painting in the hotel lobby for the past ten minutes, but even watching the figures' languid movements can't shake the feeling of unease in her bones. She can't make sense of it, like there's something she's forgotten or supposed to be doing. Which there isn't. She always triple checks her packing list–and this morning was no exception–and left instructions for Crooks' food to Harry and Ginny.
“Hermione, are you ready? I've got our keys.” Dian's voice cuts through, and she blinks.
“Yes, sorry.” She tightens her grip on her beaded bag and follows him towards the lifts. “This place is beautiful.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Not like-”
“Stockholm,” they say in unison.
“That was awful. Acromantulas have more charm than that hotel did.”
Dian snorts. “Yes. But at least the food was good, especially the desserts.”
Hermione chuckles. Other than the talks, the most important thing for Dian at these conferences is always the quality of the food. He loves exploring new restaurants, which means Hermione also gets to experience new food. It's become a tradition, and she's excited to see where he'll take them this time. As long as it doesn't involve sauerkraut.
The lift door is closing when they approach, and Dian hurries his steps. “Hold the lift, please!”
A hand shoots out, stopping the door at the last second.
“Thanks, mate.” Dian moves aside to let Hermione in first.
“No problem.”
That voice. She freezes just outside the lift. “Severus.”
He looks the same, yet different. Still thin and clad in familiar black robes. She knows what those robes feel like against her bare skin.
“Granger,” he says curtly.
The word is like a punch in the chest.
“Hermione?” Dian sounds worried, eyes flickering from her to Severus and back.
Catching herself, she steps into the lift. It's too small, the walls closing in around her, and he's too close. She leans against the mirror, heart pounding. Dian looks at her oddly. Severus isn't looking at her at all. The lift ascends.
She wets her dry lips. “I wasn't expecting to see you here. Are you speaking or attending?”
“Attending,” he says to the lift door.
Dian's still looking perplexed, and she shakes her head minutely. She'll have to explain, but not now. Luckily the lift doors aren't mirrored, so he can't see her watching him.
The lift stops, and Severus moves out as soon as the door opens.
“You know him?”
She's grateful for Dian's unfamiliarity with the war and its players–news of the war never reached New Zealand–but it also means more explanations.
“Yes, he's my old Potions professor.” Hermione clears her throat.
His brows shoots towards his hairline. “Since when do you call your professors by their first names?”
“I also did parts of my apprenticeship under Snape.”
Fuck, she's going to cry. It's been almost a decade; she shouldn't be crying.
“Wait, that's Snape? Severus Snape?”
Her head snaps towards him. “You've heard of him?”
“Yeah, Daphne talks about him sometimes. From what she's said, he's a bit of a wanker.”
Hermione swallows. “Yes, he is.”
The lift stops at their floor, and they head down the hallway.
Dian stops outside her door. “I'll swing by in twenty minutes and we'll get some dinner?”
Twenty minutes. That's not enough time for the breakdown that's creeping into the corner of her eyes. Pushing them back, she nods. “Sounds good, see you then.”
Once inside her room, Hermione gasps. She splays a hand over her tightening chest. Fuck, this is bad. Why is he here? It's been eight years since she's seen him. When she got her Mastery, she looked for him at every potions conference and convention she went to, sure he would be there. He never was. Until now.
Throwing her beaded bag on the bed, she pulls the drawstring open and shoves her arm into it. Her fumbling fingers knock over several piles of books. She huffs and pulls her arm back out. Wand in hand, she points it at the bag.
“Accio, mirror.”
The compact mirror flies into her hand a few seconds later, and she opens it as she sinks onto the bed.
“Ginny Weasley,” she says into the mirror. The surface fogs over, and it's several long seconds before it clears up, showing Ginny's freckled face.
“Hi, Hermione. Did you get settled in okay?”
“He's here. Severus. I just ran into him in the lift.”
Ginny's brown eyes widen almost comically. “What did you say? What did he say? Are you all right?”
Hermione lets out a dry chuckle. “I hardly know.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “Somehow I knew it was only a matter of time before I ran into him, but I thought it would be under more controlled circumstances. Where I wouldn't make a fool of myself.”
“I'm sorry.” The mirror image shakes slightly as Ginny shifts in her seat. “Do you think it would have been easier if you'd known he was coming?”
She sighs. “I don't know. Maybe? At least I'd have some time to prepare. At least he's not speaking.”
Ginny looks pensive. “It might make it harder to avoid him, not knowing which talks he'll go to.”
“I'll just have to mentally prepare that he'll be at all of them. I hate this so much, Ginny.”
“I know, love. Can you stay in tonight, get all the crying and shock out of your system?”
“No, Dian's coming over in,” Hermione looks at the time, “eight minutes for dinner. I'll have to shelf it for later. I should probably wash up and change too.”
“I'll keep the line open all night, in case you want to call me when you get back.”
Hermione smiles. “Thank you, Ginny. I'll be all right; I just needed to vent. I'll see you in a few days. Say hi to Harry and Ron for me.”
Breaking the connection, Hermione closes the mirror and puts it on the bedspread. She just needs to make it through the next three days. And it'll be easier now, knowing he's here and not have to wonder. She flops back against the bed with a groan.
-
January, 2001
Something was wrong.
Hermione had tried to ignore it, tell herself she was imagining things, but she was slowly realising she wasn't. The past month had been hell. Working with Severus–Professor Snape, it was Professor Snape now–proved more difficult than she thought. She constantly had to watch her tone, stop herself from reaching out to him. She spent the days between Christmas and New Year's at Grimmauld Place just to prove to herself that she could, and when she came back to the castle she missed him so much it made her chest ache.
Severus, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected. It was rude. He had slowly reverted to the man she'd seen when she started her apprenticeship, curt and cold. It was why her stomach was in knots as she headed towards his office after dinner. His note had said nothing about what he wanted, only that she should be there.
Waiting for him to admit her, she felt like an errant school girl. At the barked enter–why did he always have to sound so brusque?–she stepped inside. His head was bent over a stack of papers, and the situation reminded her so much of her first day as his apprentice, that it made her shiver.
“You wanted to see me?”
He didn't react.
She gritted her teeth. The seconds ticked by, and she was about to call him out on his childish behaviour when he put his quill down and lifted his head.
He steepled his hands in front of him and regarded her with blank eyes. “After some consideration, I've decided to terminate your apprenticeship contract. I've already sent the papers to the board, and come tomorrow you will no longer be studying under me.”
“What?”
“Please gather your belongings at your earliest convenience,” he continued, voice even. “I will transfer a compilation of the work you've completed during your time here to your address in the morning, should you choose to continue your apprenticeship elsewhere.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. What was he- “Severus, why-”
“Do you have any questions?”
“Of course I have fucking questions!” She moved closer, fists clenching. “Is this because of what I said before Christmas? You said you supported my decision!”
For a moment, the blank mask cracked. “I apologise if my decision upsets you, but it is already done. I wish you all the best in your continued education, Miss Granger,” his tone spoke of finality, and he picked up his quill and went back to his paperwork.
Hermione couldn't move. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. Wanted to slap him and shake him and ask what the fuck he was playing at. Oh, Merlin, he'd ended her apprenticeship. Her chest tightened.
Finally, she found her voice. “Thank you for the opportunity you've shown me, Professor Snape.”
She barely resisted the urge to slam the door behind her.
-
Salzburg, 2009
Hermione isn't surprised when she doesn't see Severus the next morning at breakfast. It almost makes her regret spending those extra fifteen minutes on her hair and makeup. The morning lectures go by quickly–with still no sign of Severus–and by the time they break for lunch, she's starting to think she imagined seeing him at all.
“I might skip Felide's lecture,” Dian says around his bread roll. “He is the most uninspiring speaker; I just can't deal with that today.”
“I agree, but his work on Achamine is fascinating.” Hermione turns a page in her notebook, highlights a word and adds it to the index with a wave of her hand.
“I'll go to Dupont's talk instead, and we'll meet at Ahmeti's?”
“That sounds good.” Hermione closes her notebook. “Oh, and if they talk anything about the Ovirine potion, could you-”
“Take notes? No promises, but I'll try,” he grins.
Rising, she pockets her notebook. “I'll see you later.”
Felide's lecture is on the third floor of the hotel with a breathtaking view of the mountains. The room is about half-full of witches and wizards talking and mingling before the start of the lecture. Severus sits on the last chair in the back row. She didn't imagine him after all. The chairs around him are empty, as though his mere presence is a repellent. She hesitates in the doorway. He hasn't spotted her yet. Inhaling deeply, she squares her shoulders and heads towards him.
“Is this seat taken?”
There's a flicker of surprise on his face. “No,” he says after several long seconds.
Sitting, Hermione crosses her legs and pulls out her notebook. The familiar scent of his aftershave reaches her, and she curls her fingers around the edge of her notebook. Is he going to say something? Should she say something?
Here goes nothing. “I'm surprised I didn't see you at Hatala's lecture earlier; I know you're a fan of her work.”
“I was,” he replies without looking at her.
She frowns. “I didn't see you.”
He shifts in his seat. “I arrived late.”
They're interrupted by an acquaintance of hers coming over to say hi, and then the room quiets down as Felide takes the stage.
Ten minutes into the talk, Hermione's eyelids start getting heavy. Felide really is as dull as Binns, without the benefit of being slightly interesting due to being a ghost. She stifles a yawn. Severus exhales a chuckle. She steals a look at him, and he looks amused. She takes far fewer notes compared to the other lectures, and only applauds dutifully at the end.
As they leave the room, she speaks. “Who are you seeing next?”
“Vassos. You?”
“Ahmeti.” She rolls her eyes at Severus' scoff. “I don't care what you think, Ahmeti's discoveries are revolutionary.” Twisting her bracelet, she braces herself. “I haven't seen you at any of these conferences before. Or have we just managed to not cross paths with each other?”
“This is the first one I've been able to attend since the war,” he replies stiffly.
Hermione frowns. That doesn't make any sense. “Are you staying for Broomfield's talk tomorrow?”
“No, I need to get back to Hogwarts. There's a nasty flu going around, and I need to re-stock the Hospital Wing.”
He will disappear again. Who knows when she'll see him again?
“Hermione!”
From down the hall, Dian's waving at her. The lecture is about to start. Fuck. She needs more time. When she turns back to Severus, all she sees is his retreating back as he walks away from her.