Transfiguration of the Heart

Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts as Transfigurations professor after a year away from the magical world. She hopes for a quiet year, but then again, she has never known a quiet year at Hogwarts. Why should she expect one now, especially when feelings develop for a certain greasy-haired, black-clad colleague? Some Hermione/Krum. Labeling this AU for safety.

Thank you to my team of betas: Phillyjersey71, Kelaina and Intotheblue11 at Livejournal.

This is a mixture of both movie verse and book verse, as I like to have the best of both worlds, and Alan Rickman is clearly who I picture in my head as Snape, and Emma Watson as my Hermione, though she is grown up in this. Takes place a year after what would have been the Golden Trio’s seventh year, so I’m projecting what I think could happen in Book Seven… all I can do is hope that Snape is really exonerated for his ‘deed’. I hope you all enjoy.

Disclaimer: I bow to the greatness of J.K. Rowling. These are her characters and I apologize now to her and to you for bastardizing them to suit my needs in this fiction. I do not claim to even have a fraction of her genius, or possession of anything having to do with the series of movies and books. Thanks, J.K., for allowing people like to me to take your characters and play a bit with them.

This story is long, and will eventually be very hard R.

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trans•fig•u•ra•tion
n.
1.
a. A marked change in form or appearance; a metamorphosis.
b. A change that glorifies or exalts.


Chapter 1-Changes

Hogwarts was just how she remembered it being when she left it a year ago. The high castle turrets poked out of a low cloud of fog in the dusk light, with orange and yellow flames of candles and fires beginning to glow inside the windows. The land surrounding the giant stone structure remained as green as ever, and the Forbidden Forest loomed off in the distance.

Little had changed inside the castle as well. More paintings had been added to the walls in honor of those great wizards and witches who had fallen most gallantly in the face of evil and war. Statues moved, ghosts conversed, and poltergeists wreaked absolute havoc. Madam Pince still ruled the library, the old, musty smelling temple of tomes Hermione loved above all else. The children in the Great Hall seemed a bit smaller than she had ever remembered being, even as a first-year, but they seemed as awed by the school as she had always been.

As a matter of fact, the only real difference in the school was this: no real ‘living’ trace of Albus Dumbledore. During her seventh year, in the height of the war and following Professor Dumbledore’s death by Severus Snape’s wand, everyone held the memory of their great headmaster close at heart. Harry, closest of all. But it seemed in the year since the war had ended, and she had been away from the wizarding world despite her frequent owls to and from the Weasleys, the memory of Dumbledore had slowly faded into a gray mist. It was almost as though Dumbledore had ceased to be a real wizard who fought for good, and became a myth, to those who did not know him personally, much like the green-eyed boy whom he vowed to protect, to the best of his abilities, from the Dark Lord.

The war had been difficult to say the least, but everyone knew it would be, considering what they were up against. Magic was powerful enough as it was when used for good, but when used for the wrong intentions, it spelled disaster. It took every little resource the magical world had to combat the darkness constantly flooding the good. But finally, they had succeeded, in the Final Battle… a battle that lasted the whole of two days and ended in the death of many of her friends, including one of her closest, Harry Potter. Even to think about that loss now was nearly impossible to do without shedding a tear or two. What he had given up for everyone else was a gift no one should have ever been able to forget.

Sadly, some already had.

Just as they had one with Dumbledore, now Harry remained nothing more than a legend in the wizarding world. Of course, he had always been somewhat of a legend in his own right, after receiving his famous lightning-shaped scar, but now that he was not a physical being—a plain boy struggling through the world like everyone else—he had become a great legend like King Arthur and Merlin himself. What they, the children, remembered of the War was nothing more than reports in the Daily Prophet, and the spectacular deeds done by gifted magical people. For all they knew, except for those children whom had lost family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, none of it had ever happened. It was a story, a fairytale, at best.

Minerva McGonagall sat at the head of the table on the raised dais, looking as prim and proper as ever as she surveyed the children below through her square spectacles. The tireless headmistress of Hogwarts bore the brunt of the war here, blanketing the children with a great amount of protection inside these grounds, through books, lessons and homework, and Quidditch while many of their parents were away fighting in the War for both good and evil. She had seen so much in her life, and yet still seemed as spry as she did one year before, after Hermione and her friends left their seventh year. Yes, there were a few more lines of worry gracing her face, and her hair was nearly a light, silvery sheen, but the headmistress seemed ready to face the road ahead, and not look behind her.

Beside her sat Severus Snape, the Greasy Git, dressed in his customary black robes and as dour an expression upon his face as always. She knew of all the circumstances surrounding his loyalties since that fateful night two years ago; she had followed everything as closely as she could manage while not appearing too curious. Had Harry or Ron known that she had not thought him completely guilty for killing the headmaster, they might have just disowned her as a friend. She could not have put it past them, with all the stress that had been placed on their relationships with each other through the War.

Nonetheless, it had been a great surprise to come back to Hogwarts and find him here. After Snape had killed Dumbledore, Hermione had imagined there would be little place left for him in the wizarding world—even Hogwarts—despite the fact he had done the deed on Dumbledore’s wishes. No one had enjoyed him before, and even after he had been captured and exonerated of all guilt in the death of the revered headmaster, no one knew if they could ever really trust the ex-Death Eater. She was one of those people.

If anything he was still the most unpleasant man in the world, that sneer he gave her when he found out she would be teaching Transfigurations was nothing more than hateful.

Perhaps this was the only place he could ever be accepted now, even in the small degree, just as it had been directly after the first War. Hogwarts was where he would most likely remain to the end of his days... in his dungeons, scaring first years into tears and mentally abusing the others. Except now he was Deputy Headmaster, a much more cushy position than just a Head of House, and it meant that he held hold even more power over the students.

Around them sat Hagrid, towering over Flitwick, and Professor Sprout nearer Madam Pomfrey who had come from her hospital wing for the Opening Feast. There were a few faces she did not see, however, and she knew that through retirement or from war, they would no longer be back to Hogwarts.

Two of the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix had come to teach in these empty spots. Tonks had come to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, rather than continue on with the Ministry as Auror while they searched for remaining Death Eaters. She said that it was because she had already seen too many horrible things in her life, but Hermione thought otherwise when she learned that Remus had been asked to come back to Hogwarts to teach. Lupin had been named the new astronomy professor in Sinistra’s place. Hermione had originally thought that a bad joke on someone else’s part—she rather enjoyed Professor Lupin—but she learned that he had asked for the position. After all, who better to teach about astronomy than a man whose life was dictated by it?

Trelawny, the daft old bat, sat in a dark corner, mulling over the hot tea leaves in her ceramic cup, undoubtedly preparing to spout a new prediction of death and destruction. Hermione quirked her lips, wondering where her beloved sherry was. Had she sobered? Most likely not, but at least if Hermione had to listen to a prophecy tonight, it wouldn’t be amidst slurred words.

Hermione was the new professor, the low witch on the totem pole, who had come to teach transfiguration. Professor McGonagall had an old friend of hers teach the class for Hermione’s seventh year, and the previous year while she was away in the Muggle world. Now that her friend had finally decided to retire, McGonagall went searching for one of her “best, most capable” students, and one that would “clearly make the finest teacher”, or so Minerva had said to bait her into the position. Hermione would have liked much more to take over Professor Vector’s place in Arithmancy, but the chances of that happening any time soon were small.

So Transfiguration it was for Hermione Granger, fresh back from a year of leisure in the Muggle world.

Well, as much leisure as one could encounter while settling a parents’ last will and testament. This was the original reason for her leaving the wizarding world behind for a full year—her parents had been killed in the fight against Voldemort, and she needed to spend some much needed time sorting everything out, finding her own place to live and how to switch her Muggle funds (which happened to be a startlingly large sum, she found out) into galleons. That, she supposed, was why she took this position at Hogwarts above all else. She need a place where she felt like home, and there was no other place in the world that she felt more comfortable at. Magic was her life, and any Muggle connections she had had in past, she had severed before the War.

But she was back, and committed to be the best educator she could. After all, she had a lofty reputation to hold up, following in Minerva’s shoes, and also because of her own reputation here at Hogwarts being Head Girl and she liked to think she was one of the most intelligent in her year. Who was she kidding, though? Of course she was the most intelligent in her year. She smirked slightly, sipping at the warm wine in her pewter goblet. War had changed her from the relatively quiet, teacher’s pet know-it-all, to a more hardened, braver and opinionated know-it-all.

“Miss Granger, are you prepared for your lessons to begin?”

The baritone, gravely voice startled her out of her revelries, and she turned to find dark eyes watching her, not completely malevolently, but unkindly enough. Still, it was a change for him. He had never addressed her or looked at her all those years he taught her without an outright hate and annoyance for existence in the world.

“I’d prefer that you would call me Professor, instead of Miss,” she said. “Or Hermione. But I am no longer your student, Professor Snape.”

The chances of Snape using her given name or giving her consideration as a fellow professor was a slim to none, so it was no surprise when he said, “Granger, do you still insist on trying my patience?”

She stared back at him, hoping he would turn away. She hated him as much he hated her. But it worried Hermione that he was trying to make conversation with her. What was he getting at? “Why do you care if I am ready for lessons or not?”

“It is my job as Deputy Headmaster,” he said flatly.

“So it is,” she sighed and set her goblet down. “Yes, I am prepared for my lessons, thank you for asking.”

“You think you are, anyway,” he said. “Just wait until you spend ten minutes trying to get these miscreants to listen to you.”

Hermione looked out at the students. Is that what all teachers thought of them? She tucked a piece of curly hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear and turned to look at his cold black eyes again. “I doubt they are that horrible.”

“Every year they get worse,” he warned. “Most of them are not as serious as you were about learning.”

The last comment froze her in place. Had he just paid her a compliment? Surely she had heard wrong. Hermione tried not smile, but it was hopeless. To hear even one miniscule smidgeon of a compliment from him was enough to make her day, especially after all those years in classes as he told her she was not good enough, even if it was a mistake on his part. He did not dwell on his obvious gaff, though.

“May I have your attention please?” McGonagall stood at the podium, holding her arms up to quiet the room, rather than really straining her shrill voice.

The hall quieted remarkably fast, but then most students had food in their mouths to aide them in being silent. Hermione wondered what the headmistress could possibly have forgotten. After all, the silver-haired witch had droned on quite a bit before the feast began, explaining things in the same fashion Dumbledore used to. Already students knew that Hermione would take the place of Gryffindor Head of House. Lupin could not continue on with that stress any longer; his monthly transformations were taking much more of a toll on him physically. They already knew that Filch had a list of restricted items tacked up at his office. The Forbidden Forest was off limits.

“Hogwarts has recently signed on as a trial school for exchange professors. It is a new program created by magical ministries around the world to further strengthen our bonds in foreign relations,” she spoke slowly, looking around the room. Hermione was surprised she had not heard about this before. Perhaps it had slipped McGonagall’s mind in the meeting the professors had had the previous day. “One of our instructors, Madam Hooch, wished to do some traveling and volunteered for the test run. That is why she is not here with us today. Madam Hooch’s replacement this year will be in charge of first-year Flying and will also teach the new elective class involving wizarding broom sports.”

An excited murmur spread through the students, especially those males who were particularly into Quidditch.

Hermione had a good idea as to who was going to walk through that large door at the end of the hall.

Viktor had been instrumental during her seventh year and the War, his training in the Dark Arts at Durmstrang particularly helpful to the cause. She had wondered after he had decided join the Order and come all the way to England for it, whether or not he had done so because of her. If that was the case, then she was flattered, but she had thought she made it perfectly clear a few years back that she wanted to be nothing more than a friend to him. They still corresponded frequently, though their letters to each other had died off recently as she had been away and he was involved with the new Quidditch season.

But she did know that he had taken to teaching broom sports at Durmstrang during his off season for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team.

“I expect all of you to show your new instructor the diligence and respect you show your others. He will have full rights to remove points and hand out detentions should you not,” McGonagall continued.

Hermione also knew that in his time with the Order, Viktor had impressed Minerva, despite the professor’s initial beliefs that he was a bit slow on the uptake.

The door creaked open at the end of the hall, and out marched the man she had suspected all along. Resplendent in fur coat and hat, walking with an air of authority down the center of the room, he looked around. Most of the students let out gasps of surprise. Hermione smiled to herself, remembering when he had first entered Hogwarts’ hall with the same flourish and whispers following him. She had not thought much of him at that time, but that had changed rather quickly when he started coming to the library for her.

He had changed a bit, though, in physical appearance. Yes, he was still large and muscular, but his dark hair had grown out a bit longer, his brows were a bit more groomed, and his nose was not so hooked—and that was only because of a ricocheted spell hitting him in a battle and a mediwitch then fixing it. He had been handsome before, but she could not quite recall him looking so attractive.

His eyes searched the professors’ tables now, and he passed her quickly, obviously having not expected her to be there, but quickly turned back, his lips curling into a slow smile. Whatever Minerva had said after that point, Hermione had forgotten, as she looked down at herself and tried to straighten her robes. Of course the robes were already straight and pristine, but it could not have hurt to make sure. If only she were not wearing the robes…

Before she knew it, he had climbed up on the dais to shake hands with the others there, before stopping in front of her. She had forgotten just how tall, and bulky he was compared to her. He smiled a large, eye-reaching smile before promptly pulling her close and hugging her. She squeaked when he did this, having not completely expected it, but he was always the exuberant, physical one. He set her back down on her feet and placed a kiss to her cheek.

“Herm-own-ninny,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that he did indeed know how to pronounce her name correctly, but only used this pronunciation as a rather ridiculous pet name for her. “It’s so lovely to see you Viktor.”

“Not as lovely as it is to see you,” he said, his accent thick, though his English was better.

Realizing that all eyes had fallen on them in curiosity, Hermione smiled back and motioned to the empty seat beside her. At least this all explained the reason why there was an empty seat. She was the closest with him, and could help him as he began his tenure here at Hogwarts.

He took off his heavy fur-lined jacket to reveal the Durmstrang colors of deep blood red, and slung the jacket over the back of his chair before sitting down.

She had a feeling that the chances of this year at Hogwarts being a quiet one was slim to none.