Tension in the Laboratory

After the disaster with Snape, Hermione felt herself at a loss. She had pinned her hopes for her future on learning from Snape and opening her own laboratory one day. Without his guidance, knowledge, and assistance, such a future now seemed maddeningly out of reach. She decided to see Dumbledore about other ideas.

“Come in, Hermione!” Dumbledore said affably from his office desk a few days later. “Always good to see you.”

Hermione seated herself before Dumbledore, watching Fawkes clean his beak and looking around at the ancient books she would love to read.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dumbledore steepled his fingers and gave Hermione a warm smile. “Congratulations on your Auror exam, by the way.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hermione pinkened. “That’s, er, what I’m here to talk about.”

Dumbledore smiled expectantly and said nothing.

“Well, sir, I’m not sure what to do now. The Ministry has contacted me about working there, but I don’t want to work for them.”

Dumbledore still said nothing.

“I don’t like the way the Ministry has been handling things. That business with Dolores Umbridge here at Hogwarts. Then promoting her! Harry’s hand will never lose those scars. And Scrimgeour’s behavior since the latest signs of You-Know-Who’s return doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“No,” Dumbledore said somberly. “It does not.”

“So, sir, I’m looking for a little advice—“

“What about a job at Hogwarts?”

Hermione was so startled that it took her a moment to collect her thoughts. “That would be, well, that would be lovely, sir! What job, er, what job did you have in mind?” She reflected happily on teaching The History of Magic, or perhaps, Advanced Charms, or maybe—

Her delighted ruminations were broken by Dumbledore’s saying, as he gazed at the suddenly fascinating ancient writings on his office ceiling, “I rather thought the Defense Against Dark Arts position.”

Hermione’s spirits crashed into the cellar of her being. “The Defense Against—but sir! No one’s lasted in that position for more than a year.”

“’No one’ isn’t you, Hermione,” Dumbledore said kindly, fixing her again with his warm smile.

“And, well,” here Hermione felt herself flush uncomfortably. “That job is, well, someone else might want it.”

“Professor Snape, for instance?”

Hermione’s discomfort and blush both intensified. “Well—yes.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Severus, if I were you.”

At the mention of Snape’s first name, Hermione felt her face getting actually prickly and turning a shade of red that she imagined as tomato. “But he’s been wanting that job since, well, for as long as I remember,” she heard herself blurt out.

“Oh,” Dumbledore said airily, “I rather think he’s not as keen on that job as you might expect. Not as compared to other things.”

Hermione was so flustered, she couldn’t ask, nor did she think it was her place to inquire, what those other things might be.

“So,” Dumbledore continued, a bit forcefully to regain her attention, “would you like the job?”

Hermione swallowed. She hadn’t thought about teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts before because it had never seemed like a possibility. But now that she considered it, she knew that she would be good at it. She had excelled at the subject, as Harry had, and she had a natural flair for it, as did most Gryffindors. Plus, she would be at Hogwarts again, enjoying its many intellectual and social stimulations. Seeing the promised land on the metaphorical horizon, she managed to say, “Oh, yes, sir!”

“Then it’s yours.” Dumbledore’s smile became a bit wider. He brought out some sherry from a cabinet behind him and poured two small, golden goblets with the red-gold liquid. Holding his goblet aloft and handing the other to Hermione, he said, “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” echoed Hermione, and poured hers down her throat all at once. It burned going down and licked through her veins like fire. She seemed in a matter of seconds to fill up with a feeling as rosy as the sherry had appeared.

Dumbledore set his goblet down, beaming at her. “I shall expect you two weeks before the term starts, then. You’ll be receiving a message by owl. Congratulations, Hermione!”

They shook hands, and then Hermione practically stumbled out of the office, tripped down the spiral staircase, and was just exiting the door by the gargoyle, when she ran into something slim but impassable.

“Oh!” she gasped as she staggered a step backward. A hand with long, pale fingers held her arm firmly so she didn’t fall.

“What are you doing here?” Snape said.

“I’ve—that is, I’ve—“ Now that it came to it, Hermione wasn’t at all sure that Dumbledore had been right about Snape.

“If you were in my class, I’d be docking Gryffindor points by now,” he snapped. Clearly, he wished this ability were in his power now.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’ve-accepted-the-Defense-Against-Dark-Arts-position,” she said all at once, then turned her head slightly so she wouldn’t have to see his anger.

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said silkily, “Have you now?”

Hermione looked at him then. He hadn’t removed his hand from her arm, and they were standing almost toe-to-toe, not six inches apart. “Professor Snape, I’m not going to fall now,” she said, glancing pointedly at his hand. He didn’t let go.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he practically hissed. “Defense Against the Dark Arts? That wouldn’t happen to be the position I’ve craved only since—“

“He offered it to me!” Hermione broke in, stung. “To me! Not to you! So I took it! It’s not as if you’re offering me any work!”

Snape seemed suddenly perplexed. After a second he said, “You’re looking for work? Why didn’t you stay with me?”

Hermione felt like screaming. How could he even think that after what had happened between them? She was starting to wonder about his abilities as a Legilimens. The instant she thought that, she saw a tiny smile quirk one corner of his mouth, and a small frisson of fear ran up her spine. Evidently, his powers that way were nothing to underestimate. “That didn’t work out, did it?” she said, schooling her voice into more moderate tones.

“Surely that wasn’t so bad, Miss Granger?” he said, seeming more relaxed, even (strange thought) cheerful. “But no matter. I’m sure I’ll enjoy having you aboard as a fellow faculty member.”

Hermione had a sudden vision of sitting next to him at the head table, standing near him at the Yule Ball, assisting classes with him, and her discomfort and uncertainty intensified to a nearly unbearable level. Merlin! Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted this job…

“And while you’re considering lost opportunities, consider this,” he said, breaking into her now-frantic thoughts. “I’ve had the leisure to think about our little—encounter—too. And I think it shouldn’t interfere with an excellent working relationship. Your notes are—“ here he looked as if he were being forced to smell something odious—“above average, and your grasp of potion-making is at least as good. I doubt I’ll find anyone else with your experience in the current crop of sniveling students. So if your duties at Hogwarts are not too pressing and if you think you can, shall we say, put the past behind you, would you consider assisting me in a project I’m starting this coming term?”