An Offer She Couldn't Refuse

An Offer She Couldn’t Refuse


Chapter One:
The Graduate and The Professor

I. The Graduate

Hermione Granger gazed out the window of the Head Girl’s room in the manner of one trying desperately to memorize everything in sight. After their unofficial “year off” (from school, anyway) the three, along with many others who had spent most of the last year hiding out in the Room of Requirement, had come back to Hogwarts to complete their final year.

They were not the only ones who had come back. Headmaster Dumbledore, who had once said that to the organized mind, death is the next great adventure had returned from said adventure. It was far too dull and restful for his tastes, and for lack of a more appropriate phrase, he was ready to get on with his life. Professor Snape had come back, too, more intimidating and solitary than ever and had taken up teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts—finally. It seemed the curse was broken when Voldemort died.

And Harry and Ron… had immediately reverted to being the two ridiculous boys she had always known. She -did- love them, but at times they were a bit much.

And Hogwarts… Hogwarts was (though she would never have said so in front of her parents) home. It saddened her immensely that the time had come to move on. She couldn’t imagine what would happen now.

Hermione was immeasurably talented in a vast range of subjects, and could not begin to choose what to do with the rest of her life. She knew, and all of her professors (almost all) seemed to reinforce that she would be good at ANYTHING she chose to do. That was decidedly unhelpful.

It was then that the panic set in. The mantra of: ‘I’ve nothing to do, I’ve nowhere to go’ seemed ever-present in her mind of late. Just thinking about the future made her heart beat faster and caused breathing to become much more difficult than it rightfully should be.

To add to her terror, there was personal security to be considered. Oh, not at the school, of course. She was safe there, at least. But there were bands of Voldemort’s supporters (British and foreign) who were happily murdering and destroying families. Her own parents had fallen prey to such an attack, and because of her status, she was a likely target. Hermione was not always the most alert person, she tended to be engrossed in her work; so this was a cause for worry, no matter where she ended up.

There were tears in Hermione’s eyes which she was sure had nothing to do with the strong sunlight issuing forth from the grounds. Hugging her pillow, she decided on a pleasant diversion. She conjured a small, animated bird which fluttered gracefully around the room for several minutes before fluttering out the window.

Rather than sit in her depressingly empty, packed up room, Hermione decided it was time for a solitary stroll around the grounds as it neared sundown on her last night in the castle. Tomorrow was graduation.

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II. The Professor

Professor Severus Snape sat in his private quarters indulging a rare emotion. So rare in fact that he was not entirely sure he could put a name on it. What he could put a name on was the scheme he was hatching.

He needed an assistant terribly. For school stuffs like grading, which he was now entirely too old for, but also for more private matters… his experiments, for one. He ran the idea by Albus, and he had no objection. Sure, he was teaching DADA now, but Potions was his first love, and Horace Slughorn needed to die or retire, Severus didn’t really care which. All of his experiments were in Potions; spells could go too badly wrong; there was no room for error. Definitely not a Slytherin field.

No, definitely no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in his work. Ever since he had lived at Hogwarts, Albus had supplied his private quarters with a Potions lab. The Headmaster knew the strengths of his staff.

Severus had, in a moment of madness, decided upon the only individual he would accept as his assistant. Last night, he had gotten drunk off his arse and written the request. Unfortunately the person he had chosen was entirely too skillful to waste the best years of life on his pursuits. But the compensation would be good… of course there would be give and take.

He still had the letter, and read over it several times, compulsively. ‘Bold, terribly bold.’ He knew the individual he was after had no plans and was in need of protection, and he had used that to press his advantage in the letter. All would be well… it had to be… or would it be?

‘Better to ask and be flat rejected than to lose the opportunity altogether,’ he attempted to put himself at ease.

The hard truth of it was he would not be at ease until he got what he so desperately wanted.

“Pathetic old man!” he spat into the vast silence of his rooms. He hated weakness so. Loathed it, actually.

Finally deciding to throw caution to the wind, he summoned a school owl and prepared to send out the request. Now he had to wait. He was sure it would not be long before he received a howler in return asking if, in fact, he was mental. But the tiny, miniscule odds that things would go his way—even though they never, ever had—was enough to make him open the window for the owl.

This was it…

Now, where was the bloody alcohol?

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Just as she reached the Black Lake, Hermione heard the fluttering of wings. The sound startled her; frightened her, almost. Upon seeing the owl, she practically laughed at her stupidity and frightfulness. Who would possibly be owling her at this time of day? Surely her friends would just come looking for her… or maybe this was a whole new form of lazy. Who was to say?

The owl perched on a small fir tree and allowed her to take the roll of parchment before flying off again at top speed.

“Must not have been expecting a reply,” she said to no one in particular.

Not immediately recognizing the spidery handwriting on the outside of the parchment, Hermione eagerly and curiously opened the letter. What she read was an utter surprise.

Miss Granger,

I am aware of your needs. You have made no arrangements either for personal security or for your future. You can hardly be blamed for this, as most of your time has been spent chasing after those utterly unworthy of your time and attention.

Allow me, now, to put all of my cards on the table, so to speak. I am in need of an assistant. Between class preparations and grading, and my own personal endeavors, I find I have entirely too much on my hands. I need another pair of hands, skilled hands that I can trust with my most delicate work. That is where you come in, Miss Granger.

I am in need of someone to take part in grading those dreadful essays I must assign, and I know you have practice in looking over others’ work. I also need assistance several times a week in my private labs. You will be compensated adequately for your work at a salary to match the average entry level salary in the field of Potions, along with a share of any profits which may come as a result of experimental concoctions.

I do not, however, seek only an assistant. I also seek a companion. If you find you can live with both aspects of this arrangement, please contact me immediately to make arrangements.

-Professor Severus Snape



--Another damn story... maybe I'll finish one someday. Also, for the interested, before I posted this story, I had 6 stories and 66 reviews. Ooooooooooo, spoooooooky. Please review!