Tables Turned

         EWE. This floated around my head for several weeks before I wrote down this much. Not beta'd, this is all I have written. If there is enough interest, I may continue it. It starts off HGDM, but if I finish it, I intend to finish it as HGSS.




         Seated at her position at the high table, Hermione watched the proceedings with an experienced eye. The raucous noise coming from one of the tables caused her to glance over, giving four boys a stern look. They caught her eyes, and immediately shut their lips, properly chastised. Everybody knew Professor Granger’s look, it meant detention with Filch if they continued whatever behavior she was unhappy with.


         Minerva rambled through the customary greeting to the new first years, before they were filed into the room in a crowd of bodies, their eyes glancing around, filled with wonder and awe. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, watching the Sorting Hat work its magic on the children.


         With Voldemort’s downfall over a decade ago, the outcry that followed had shocked the wizarding world of London. Those who hadn’t the smallest part in opposing Voldemort’s advances sought to place blame anywhere they could – it didn’t take too long for rational, sane adults to lose their minds in desperation to cover up the shame of their cowardice. They blamed Slytherin house. Voldemort was from there, the most prominent Death Eaters – all Slytherins.


         It had taken the Order by surprise, the Death Eaters came from all of the houses. Many Gryffindors, quite a few Ravenclaw students, and more than enough Hufflepuffs followed Voldemort to their demise. Years later, however, it was still considered an insult to many within Great Britain’s wizarding society to be labeled a Slytherin. The house was discriminated against in every aspect of wizarding life.


         Minerva had immediately taken action. The division of houses had once been created to keep hundreds of children under control. It was easier to split them into houses, and then split their entire lives along those lines – dine with their house, sleep in their house, hang out only in their house common room, and attend classes with their housemates. However, it made the houses prejudiced against each other, and stifled interaction between them.


         She quickly decided it had gone on too long, and had harshly slashed through the carefully structured House system of Hogwarts, causing an uproar amongst the wizarding community; nobody wanted their children mingling with Slytherins. The Hogwarts staff and the Order firmly stood behind her decision, and the support of such well-known celebrities had helped to quell the opposition, though it still floated in the minds of many, and occasionally surfaced in the Governor’s meetings.


         Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly as her mind skimmed over the years, applauding lightly at each sorting. She reflected on the changes every year.


         She preferred the way things were now. The chaos had died down, and life had settled into a semblance of normalcy. Students were still sorted by house, and they still slept in dormitories for their houses. The dining hall, however, was divided into dozens of tables, some rectangular, some circular, no more than ten chairs to a table. Students now ate with whomever they wanted. Classes were determined by random lottery, allowing for students to meet more of their peers.


         The best change, in Hermione’s opinion, was the common rooms. The House common rooms had been shrunk, and served now as a place to wind down before bed, but was no longer large enough to encompass an entire House full of students.


         Three new common rooms were created, and students were all encouraged to socialize there, both by their Professors, and by the fact that House common rooms now were almost uncomfortably crowded with twenty students. It took Minerva a year to iron out the rules regarding the new rooms, but a decade later, they worked like a charm.


         The first was for study groups, and tutoring. The noise level in that common room was to be kept to a minimum at all times, with noise dampening charms built into the walls and the furniture. White boards and chalk boards littered the room, as did tables and chairs. It provided students a place where they could trade ideas without fear of Madam Pince swooping in and hushing them.


         The other two were decorated in House-neutral colors, and were nicknamed by their noise level. The “loud one” was often used for games such as Exploding Snap and Wizard’s Chess, as well as impromptu House parties, or celebrations. The “quiet one” was for hanging out, being with friends, and having a good time.


         Hermione shook her head. It was time to focus on the students. First years were grouping up together, regardless of House. She smiled to herself. Minerva’s plan worked, better than anyone had dreamed. There was far less fighting, and quite a bit more cooperation between students. The staff of Hogwarts hoped that the animosity toward Slytherins outside of these walls would begin to die down soon, as students without such biases flooded the professional world.


         “Lane, Daniel.”


         “Hufflepuff!”


         “Malfoy, Erin.”


         Hermione immediately scanned the students, waiting for a first year to move forward and sit under the hat. She had almost forgotten that they were expecting a Malfoy. She quickly calculated, shaking her head as she realized it had only been twelve years since the fall of Voldemort. With Lucius and Narcissa both dead, this child most likely belonged to Draco. He must have fathered her immediately after the war.


         A tiny little girl scooted her way to the front of the crowd, while Hermione took in her features. The girl was definitely a Malfoy. She purposefully strode to the Sorting Hat, seating herself under the old thing as if she belonged nowhere else in the world. Her hair was a sort of honeyed blonde, as opposed to Draco’s platinum blonde, and ramrod straight, falling to mid-back. Her robes were well-fitted and, though they didn’t scream top quality, Hermione knew they would be the best available.


         “Gryffindor!”


         Hermione had to refrain from letting her jaw hit the table, knowing how inappropriate it would be. Minerva paused, only for a fraction of a second, and Hermione almost felt half the head table recoil in shock. A Malfoy, in Gryffindor.


         “McCauley, Monica.”


         The little blonde had hopped off the stool, and scanned the tables, before selecting one that contained, from Hermione’s recollection, two Ravenclaw girls, three Slytherin boys, a Hufflepuff girl, a Gryffindor girl, and a Gryffindor boy. She took the last seat, and turned to watch the proceedings. The table she’d picked was close enough that Hermione almost gasped when she caught the girl’s eyes. They were the darkest color she had seen in years, bordering on black, reminding her of Hagrid’s, or Professor Snape’s.


         Curious. I wonder who her mother is.


         Their dinner appeared on long buffet tables, stationed at strategic locations around the room. This had been another change, Minerva felt that being seated in front of a huge amount of food was promoting poor eating habits, and though the occasional plate fell, or student ran into another, it worked like a charm. Hermione methodically ate her lasagna, her mind continually drifting to the Malfoy child.


         This was the first of her classmate’s children. Her last hurdle, she felt, was going to be teaching children whose parents she had known for years, some she had fought beside. Some against.


         Minerva explained the common room concept as dinner was winding to a close, something she had realized was good to do before sending the first years off to their first night in the huge castle. They still had several hours before curfew, and would be allowed to hang out with their friends in the common rooms.
This was always the most difficult part, right as the meal ended. The older students were able to drift out of the room as they pleased, knowing where to go, but the first years were all scattered about the room.


         Hermione found that a roster of first-years worked wonders. Minerva instructed the first years to remain behind after the meal finished, so they could be shown to the common rooms and their dorms by their Head. When sufficient time had passed, and Hermione felt the students had all eaten, she and the other Heads pulled their students aside. As Hermione ticked them off her roster, she forced herself to not linger on the Malfoy girl’s name.


         A short while later, she escorted herself to her rooms. Tonight was not her night to patrol the corridors. Her floo burned green for a moment, before Minerva’s head popped through.


         “Hermione, care for a quick nightcap?”


         She smiled. “Of course.”


         It had become a routine, during her years here, to have a drink with Minerva, originally to calm her frazzled nerves and give her courage on the eve of the first day of term, but now came as a moment of calm between two friends before the duties of running this school occupied their time.


         She followed Minerva through the flame, taking the offered beer out of the Headmistress’ hand and sinking into one of the chairs. Albus’ portrait smiled and winked, but remained silent. Professor Snape’s portrait looked exactly as it did the day it was painted, much to Hermione’s chagrin. The painter had cast all the right charms, but it still did not move. Most people believed that he sat there, motionless, in protest. He couldn’t very well hide between portraits, and so he remained, staring down with those eyes that always seemed to disapprove.


         “So, Draco Malfoy’s daughter in Gryffindor,” Minerva began with, causing Hermione to snort, nearly choking on her drink. “Who would’ve thought. I fully expect a Howler tomorrow morning from her father, demanding to have the young lady resorted into Slytherin.”


         Hermione laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “I wonder who her mother is, I never heard of Draco marrying.”


         Minerva shrugged, taking a sip of her amber drink. “I think young Mr. Malfoy married Astoria Greengrass, and they have a boy, Scorpius, he will be attending in four years.”


         There didn’t seem to be a proper response, so the two drifted into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.


         “How are you friends? Were you able to see them over the summer?”


         Hermione smiled widely. While most childhood friends drifted apart, you couldn’t go through a war the way she, Harry, and Ron had, and not remain thick as thieves for life. As she caught the elderly woman up on the Weasley and Potter gossip, she found herself smiling wistfully.


         Minerva’s summer had been spent in Greece, visiting family and friends. The conversation flowed easily, and when it came time for students to be in their dorms, Hermione left to go check the halls on the way back to her quarters. Not a student was to be found, though Hermione wasn’t looking as hard as she could have.




         The first week flew by in a flurry of headaches and tears. Hermione was Hogwarts’ Potions instructor. The position had become as cursed as the Defense one had been in her days. Teachers had bounced through, some not even lasting a full year. Hermione was the first to last more than one full year, and she had little to no plans of leaving the post any time soon. Hogwarts was her home. It had taken her some time to get over the bad memories here, but they were now a thing of the past.


         As the first Saturday rolled around, Hermione rolled out of bed, grabbing her robe and slipping into the shower. Breakfast would undoubtedly be a quiet affair, students always preferred to sleep in late on Saturdays. The house elves could almost always be talked into bringing food into the common rooms.


         Minerva greeted her, as well as several of the other staff members that Hermione had grown close to over her years here. Few members of the staff were married, and had instead sought solace in the company of each other. While intimate relationships were few and far in between, Hermione knew they had occurred on the rare occasion. She had come to terms with the isolation that life in this castle brought on. Minerva often gave her knowing looks when she informed the Headmistress that she was going out for the weekend. She had tried dating, but found that it was too difficult to do so when she could only meet with her boyfriend every few weeks. Though she knew the other professors would take over some of her weekend duties in order to allow her a chance to date, the need never really surfaced. They all knew what it was like to attempt a romantic relationship, and would help one another out if the opportunity arose.


         The Defense instructor, a man named Aidan Compton, greeted Hermione with a smile and sank into the seat next to her. He was incredibly attractive, dark blonde hair and startling blue eyes, a chiseled face, and a body Hermione sometimes caught herself drooling over. She knew that most of the female population of the school, students and instructors included, did the same.


         He’d signed on to the job while married, though in the years there, he and his wife had divorced due to the strain that his distance caused their marriage.


         “Hermione,” he said, pouring some coffee into his mug as his eyes surveyed the mostly empty tables. He grabbed a vegetarian omelet and cut it down the middle, sliding one of the laves onto Hermione’s plate without asking. She dug in.


         “Hey, Aidan, how did your first week of classes go?”


         The man grimaced. “Don’t ask. That Malfoy girl, she’s the most annoying student I’ve taught in years. Her hand is always in the air, I swear. Is she that way in your class?”


         Hermione outright laughed. She imagined Professor Snape making the same gripes about her two decades ago, but with more severity. “She’s been perfectly well-behaved in my class. Extremely knowledgeable, though I would expect her to be, with her father the owner of that apothecary. I’ve seen some of the potions he’s developed, they’re magnificent.”


         Aidan grumbled some more, pouring himself some more coffee, before topping off Hermione’s mug. The two had developed a close friendship in their years here, and though they had tried being lovers, it had fallen into the rapport they shared now.


         The morning continued in relative silence, until the morning post arrived. Hermione found that, if she was going to get angry letters from a student’s parents, today would most likely be the day. Her first Saturdays were usually reserved for meetings with impatient and indignant parents, soothing their ruffled nerves and fears about their children being away for the first time.


         Sure enough, she had three missives, though the one that caught her eyes was in the distinct Malfoy scrawl. She opened that last, after reading the others. They had requested meetings, though neither sounded indignant. One was over concern for a lesbian daughter in Gryffindor, and protecting the young lady from the scorn of her housemates when they found out. Hermione felt her heart clench. Having grown up a muggleborn, she often felt ostracized. Most of the students in this school were half-bloods, who had neither pureblood parents, nor complete muggles, instead containing muggleborns two or three generations back. Purebloods came in a close second in number, while muggleborns were a far third.


         When she read Malfoy’s missive, she groaned. Aidan leaned over her shoulder without asking, reading the parchment, before grinning.


         “Enjoy.”


         Hermione checked the time. Malfoy would be coming by the school this afternoon, and requested a meeting with her. There was no tone to his letter, nor any outright demands or complaints.


         Once securely in her rooms at the top of Gryffindor tower, she penned responses to the three letters, sending them out with her owl. After checking the time once more, she decided to go down to her office and begin grading homework. The corridors needed very little patrolling on the weekends, especially after the Housing system had been changed. Fighting rarely broke out. She checked her schedule, magically charmed to correspond to one on her door. She held office hours on several Saturdays, and when a student penned their name into one of the time slots, it appeared in her schedule book, alerting her to upcoming appointments without needing to constantly run back to her office, or confine herself in there all day long.


         The day flew by in a flurry of questions about her syllabus, the course work, and one strange meeting with the girl she had identified as the lesbian, who came to let her know that her mother would probably be requesting a meeting.


         “My mum is worried that I’ll be made fun of, but I already told everyone, and they don’t care.” Her name was Heather Simmons, and she held herself proudly, the same way Erin Malfoy had when being sorted. “So you can tell her that I’m fine.”


         “Ms. Simmons, thank you for approaching me. I will indeed relay your message to your mother when I meet with her. If you encounter any problems within Gryffindor house, please inform me immediately.”


         The little girl agreed, asked her a question about the Potions homework, and then slipped out. Hermione found her gut clenching. Malfoy was expected to come in thirty minutes. She had no idea what to expect, and simply prayed that their meeting didn’t resort to school age insults.


         When the knock came at her door, it was immediately followed by her door opening slowly. The man that greeted her startled her. Malfoy had grown up. He was a startling blend of his childhood self and a man she barely recognized.


         “Mr. Malfoy, good to see you, please have a seat.”


         He nodded with grace, striding forward, extending his hand and firmly shaking hers.


         “Granger.” He winced visibly, and she was amused to see he had shed that harsh mask devoid of emotion, especially remorse. “I apologize. Let’s start over. Call me Draco, may I call you Hermione?”


         She hid her shock well, nodding as she mentally recovered. He smiled widely, and she couldn’t help but respond. “That will do. Our childhoods are in the past, and the war is long over. What can I do for you, Draco?”


         “I’ve been to see McGonagall, and am here to talk about Erin. I just wanted to make sure she was settling in to Gryffindor house well. She was startled to have been sorted there, with both of her parents having been Slytherins, but she is settling in relatively well.”


         Hermione smiled. “Yes. You have quite the daughter, Draco, she’s already shown a brilliance for potions, and has made friends with just about anyone who she comes in contact with.”


         “Of course she would be brilliant at potions, look who her father is,” Draco scoffed, managing to look amused at the same time. “I have to admit, I never paid much attention to what McGonagall did to the school, what’s this I hear about the common rooms?”


         Settling back, Hermione detailed the changes made to the school, watching critically to see what Draco would think.


         He managed to startle her once more, this time by agreeing in the changes. “I never thought Slytherins would be so demonized, but hopefully these changes will make things better. People still boycott my apothecary just because it’s owned by a Slytherin.”


         Hermione grimaced, shaking her head. “Well, students who have been under this new system for their entire schooling are entering the professional world now. Hopefully they’ll start affecting the opinions of the remaining members of society.”


         Conversation shifted to the apothecary, and the potions that Draco was developing. Hermione found herself a bit puzzled when the blonde began answering her questions about his research. His mistakes were barely noticeable, and had she not been a dedicated potions mistress, she never would have picked up on them. She didn’t bring them to light, not wanting to put this tentative truce on the rocks, but it startled her. How could he have invented the potions he did, while making such grave errors? Maybe he was just distracted.


         She let it slide, and when the dinner bell chimed, extended an invitation to come sit at the head table. He paused, and she immediately apologized. “I didn’t think, I would assume your wife would be expecting you home for dinner.” He gave her a sharp look, before shaking his head.


         “Nope. Let’s go, I’d love to see this new system of McGonagall’s.”


         “Minerva,” Hermione corrected him. “We’re adults now, and her name is Minerva.”


         He rolled his eyes, allowing her to escort him to the great hall.


         On the way, the two ran into Erin, who looked absolutely startled, before giving her father a cautious greeting, her eyes darting around. Draco shooed her on, then turned to Hermione.


         “I can still remember the days when it wasn’t cool for your parents to be seen in public with you.” Hermione laughed, leading him to the head table. Minerva gave him a warm greeting, before returning to her conversation with the current Transfiguration professor.


         Aidan eyed the two, and Hermione was a bit put out to see the spark of jealousy in his eyes, before she looked away from his gaze, laughing at Malfoy’s revelation that the room seemed a lot smaller from up here, and the tables were positively disorganized.


         “Draco, this is the Defense professor, Aidan. Aidan, this is an old classmate, and Erin’s father, Draco Malfoy.”


         The two shook hands, while Draco asked the other professor about his job, and then about Erin’s performance in his class. As dinner progressed, Hermione noticed more than a few awkward glances thrown their way, and then Erin’s. Everybody knew who Draco Malfoy was, and Erin was no exception.


         Conversation slipped to children, and Draco easily told humorous stories of Erin’s youth, as well as that of her younger brother, Scorpius. The boy was missing his sister, but Draco was confident he would adjust. He mentioned his wife only once, but immediately steered the conversation away from Astoria, a fact Hermione immediately caught up on. She let it go, though, determined to find out later.


         “Oh, Draco,” she began as an afterthought as she walked him out of the hall, stopping before they reached the front doors. “I’ve been planning a field trip to some professional labs for several of my students, and Erin expressed an interest in going. Would you be willing to sign her permission form here?”


         Draco took her pen and began to sign his name to the paper, before the pen ran dry. Hermione frowned, grabbing it and scribbling in the margins. Once again, handing it back, ignoring the blonde’s mutterings that a quill wouldn’t have this problem. When he again couldn’t sign his name, Hermione paused.


         “This is charmed parchment, isn’t it,” Draco said, his voice quiet. His grey eyes stared into hers, the intensity enough to make her want to squirm.


         “Yes. Only the child’s legal guardian can sign it, we had a problem with children or their siblings signing their own permission forms without parent’s consent. There must be something wrong with this one.”


         She grabbed another, and though Draco went to sign it, nothing happened. She didn’t want to imply what she was thinking, but the puzzle pieces were starting to scatter before her eyes, and the only answer confused her.


         “You’re not her guardian?” she asked, quietly. Draco snarled, tossing the pen onto the floor. For a moment, she felt the familiar stab of fear, before pushing it away. He wasn’t directing his anger at her, merely at the situation.


         Draco huffed out a breath, before glancing around. “This is not the time or place for this conversation. Is there any way I can take this home and we can forget this awkward scenario?”


         Hermione paused, before shaking her head. “I don’t want to pry, but I wouldn’t be able to accept this form in good faith.”


         “Look, Minerva is aware of the situation, I will owl it to her and have her give the parchment to you once it’s been signed.”


         He turned and stalked out of the school.




         Sure enough, several days later, Minerva handed over the consent form with a smile, though the look on her face firmly told Hermione not to ask. When the Headmistress left, a few quick charms informed her that it was not the same parchment, though the printing on it was exactly the same, accompanied by Draco Malfoy’s slanted, tidy scrawl.




         Hermione’s curiosity was eating away at her. Several months later, the puzzle that was Erin Malfoy still plagued her. Though Hermione knew it wasn’t her right to pry, her curiosity couldn’t be contained. Her searches dug up birth certificates for Scorpius, as well as a marriage and divorce certificate for Draco and Astoria Malfoy. But nothing on Erin. She was frustrated, but had reached a dead end, or at least an end that didn’t involve going into the Ministry for records.


         The question still plagued her – where did Erin Malfoy come from?




         Draco Malfoy came for another conference several weeks later, which struck Hermione as curious. Erin was doing exceptionally well in her class, receiving highest marks. She was incredibly popular in her year, making friends with students from all houses, and as far as Hermione knew, not a single enemy.


         When he popped into her office, she greeted him in the obligatory fashion, though still unsure as to the reason for this meeting.


         He grinned when she asked, before shrugging. “Actually, I lied, the meeting isn’t about Erin. I was wondering if you would be amenable to going out on a date with me. I don’t have too many friends these days, and figured since we got along so well the last time I was here…” His voice trailed off, and he grinned widely.


         Hermione’s eyebrows had to have shot through her hairline, and she paused. The questions about Erin were at the forefront of her mind, though it would be impolite to ask. She shrugged. “Sure. I’m staying in the castle over the hols and working on a potion of mine. Actually, would you want to give me some insight?”


         She pushed the parchment forward – this potion contained complex ingredients, and while all the ingredients pointed towards the desired result, Hermione knew that anyone who had her training in potions would have immediately recognized that the twelve turns clockwise after adding the Basilisk venom would have neutralized the ingredient.


         Draco raised his eyebrow and looked over it, before shrugging. “I see where you are headed, but I cannot see anything wrong with this.”


         Hermione rolled her shoulders, anger growing. She debated between letting it go, and confronting the man in front of her. Draco switched the topics of conversation, and her opportunity was lost. However, she knew that he was lying through his teeth about quite a few things now, and nothing added up.




         By the time Draco had asked her out for a third date, Hermione knew it was time to confront him. She enjoyed his company quite a bit, and he was definitely attracted to her, but she had to know her answers before anything progressed.


         They met at a small bar off Diagon Alley, and Draco immediately noticed Hermione’s discomfort and resolved mannerisms.


         “What’s up?”


         She drew in a deep breath. “I like you, quite a bit. I can’t, however, let this go any further without knowing the truth. Astoria never gave birth to Erin, you are not her legal guardian, and even though the potions sold in your apothecary are published under your name, you don’t know things about potions that you would need to be able to progress that far.”


         His grey eyes stared into hers, for several long moments, ignoring the firewhiskey set in front of him. Finally, he withdrew his wand. Hermione’s own was immediately grasped in her hand, fear racing through her body.


         “Relax, I’m not going to hex you. You are going to swear an unbreakable vow that you will never speak what I am about to tell you with someone who doesn’t already know its truth.”


         Hermione debated for several seconds, before swearing the vow, feeling the magic swirl around her.


         “Erin is my half-sister. She is the child of my mother and Severus Snape.”


         Hermione felt her breath being stolen away.


         “Did he ever know he had a daughter?” she whispered.


         Draco rolled his eyes. “Who do you think is her legal guardian? Who do you think made those potions?”


         As the pieces slid around her mind, Hermione began to feel herself gasp, then begin to hyperventilate. Draco just watched as her hand gripped the table until her knuckles were white. Severus Snape – alive? But she saw him die, in the Shrieking Shack, they held a funeral, they painted a portrait. An unmoving portrait.


         “Oh, oh god,” she whispered. A thousand questions sped through her mind, until she grabbed her beer and took a quick drink.


         Draco just stared at her. She set the bottle back down, the glass shaking on the table, while she drew a deep breath.


         “I assume Minerva knows?”


         “Yes. She’s the only one outside the family. Severus and I decided that Erin would attend school under the Malfoy name so nobody brings up unwanted questions. He lives at Malfoy manner and steps into the public under a glamour or polyjuice. Most of his time is spent in the muggle world, though he still won’t go out under his own face. There are enough wizards in muggle London that would recognize him immediately.”


         “Wow. I don’t know what to say. I can see why he would do it. How does Erin feel about the situation?”


         Draco smiled. “She doesn’t understand why, not yet, but she knows that it is incredibly important that she not let on who her real father is. Her childhood was a bit disjointed, but we worked through it. She was never without affection. Even though I’m her brother, Astoria and I were like another set of parents for her. Sometimes she would get upset because he never stepped into public with her, but she outgrew it, for the time being. It helped, being told that she is a Malfoy, and never needs to explain anything to anyone.”


         Hermione grinned back, picking up her beer once more. “That’s incredible. Well…” her voice trailed off, before she shrugged. “Next time you see him, are you going to tell him that I know?”


         Draco nodded. “There’s no point in keeping it from him. He will, without a doubt, be angry with me, but he will get over it. I, personally, think he needs to come out into normal society. Erin is not going to put up with this secrecy much longer. She’s going to want her father there for her teenage years, not some faceless man hanging back out of fear.”


         The concept of her old potions professor being afraid struck a nerve with her. She never imagined him afraid of him anything.


         Their date continued without much incident, sliding into a much more relaxed atmosphere. The moment she stepped onto Hogwarts’ grounds, she immediately went to Minerva’s office. It was a Friday night, and the staff enjoyed the freedom of drinking as long as Hermione kept them supplied with sobriety and hangover potions, which she gladly did.


         The elderly woman gave Hermione a smile that reminded her so much of Albus that her heart clenched. Her eyes didn’t twinkle, but they held a knowing glint.


         “How did your date with Mr. Malfoy go?”


         Hermione decided to skip the idle chatter, and go straight for the heart of her concerns. “Draco told me about Professor Snape.”


         Minerva’s smile faltered, and then she nodded with relief. “I was wondering when he would come clean. Why did he divulge?”


         “I demanded it. I knew he wasn’t Erin’s biological father, and though he owns the apothecary, his knowledge of anything beyond rudimentary potions is dismal.”


         Minerva smiled again. “Of course you would catch on. I told them that the secret would come out soon enough. What are they going to do?”


         “I have no idea.”




         When Hermione received the missive from Draco, she wasn’t even remotely concerned. He always arranged meetings, if for nothing more than to come see her. This one said he would be by the next Saturday, and asked for a good time. Hermione replied, then penciled it in on her notebook.


         Preparing for the meeting, she checked herself out in the mirror, before applying a bit of mascara and lip gloss. She had never been one for getting dolled up, and even though she was attracted to Draco, it just wasn’t her nature.


         If her outfit was a bit more polished than what was required for a lazy Saturday filled with meetings with students and patrol, well, she felt the need to look nice today. Draco knocked, and as was customary, slipped in the door. She gave him a wide smile as she glanced up from her papers, feeling the familiar flutter of butterflies when she saw him.


         However, that smile faltered as a beautiful blonde woman followed him. She felt her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Was this Astoria? She didn’t remember the woman from their years at Hogwarts.


         The scowl that graced the pretty face set her on edge.


         “Hey, Hermione,” Draco said, striding over to kiss her quickly on the lips. She was still unsure as to what was going on, so she gestured to the two seats in front of her desk.


         “What’s up, Draco? Who’s this?”


         He gave her an amused smile, before gesturing to the woman next to him. “He insisted that this would be the best guise for coming to see you, everyone would expect me to bring my ex-wife to discuss Erin’s schooling with you.”


         And then, recognition dawned. Professor Snape only went into public under guise or polyjuice. She swallowed noisily, then set down her quill and let her gaze sweep the completely feminine body in front of her.


         “If I didn’t know you, I would feel threatened right now, the way you are checking out my ex-wife.”


         Draco’s eyes were sparkling with mirth. Hermione shot him a dirty look, waiting for the professor to speak.


         “Well, Professor, to what do I owe this visit from you?”


         “You are the first person in over a decade to know of my existence. Draco has informed me that you are under an unbreakable vow, but I needed to reassure myself of your continued discretion.”


         The distinctly sharp and male voice did not match the female body whatsoever, and Draco burst out laughing.


         “Draco, you are having entirely too much fun with your godfather’s discomfort,” Hermione snapped. “Professor, what can I do to assure you of my silence?”


         He withdrew his wand, pointing it at her, and she immediately snapped hers up, holding onto it loosely, ready to shield herself. Though she had known the man as a child, it had been years since she had seen him, and had learned the difficult way to not trust anyone.


         He shot her a look that would have been far more fearsome, were he a man, but simply came across as ridiculous on the petite blonde’s face.


         “Miss Granger, lower your wand,” he began with a snarl, “I have no intention of hexing you.”


         She did not let go of it.


         “Excuse my caution, Professor. I have not seen you in over a decade, and I learned the hard way that there is no such thing as too much caution. I know nothing of you as a man outside the realm of my instructor. I’ll keep my wand where it is.”


         He turned it on himself and muttered a spell that she couldn’t make out or recognize, and suddenly he was the dark haired man. She tried her hardest not to stare, but it was almost impossible. The years, instead of aging him, had almost removed time from his face. She supposed that the life of relaxation he now seemed to lead would have been able to undo the years of constant tension under both Voldemort and Albus.


         She didn’t lower her wand, still.


         He cast another in her direction, audibly and slowly. Hermione immediately recognized the spell he was using. A blue light enveloped her, signaling the presence of an unbreakable vow. Satisfied, he lowered his wand, and she set hers down.


         “Is that all?”


         There were a million questions flying through her head, but he had no doubt that they would be unwelcome. And so she chose to let them go, everything would be answered in time.


         “No, Miss Granger, that is not all. I wish to speak to you about how my daughter is doing in Potions, and the possibility for her to advance into higher curriculum.”


         She summoned the file on Erin. “I would need to speak with Minerva,” his eyebrow raised, and Hermione had to force back a smirk. It was undoubtedly weird for him to hear her address a former Professor by her first name, but she had long since overcome her hesitancy. “If Erin can pass the second-year final, I will allow her to enter third-year potions. If her schedule can fit in the time slot, I will have her transferred in for the spring. Would you like to know the material?”


         He sneered. “Miss Granger, you seem to have forgotten that I taught this post for years before you; I know the curriculum like the back of my hand. There is no need to boost your own self-esteem and attempt to educate me on the material my daughter is covering; I have taught it to her years before.”


         Hermione felt her own lip curl. His persistent rudeness was wearing on her nerves. Draco just looked smug, as though he expected his godfather to behave this way. Hermione shot him another dirty look. “Professor, I am attempting to be civil, and treat you in the manner deserving of one of my student’s parents. I understand your dislike of who I was as a child, but we are adults here, and I expect to be treated as such while in my own office. If you wish to speak with me about this, you will be civil, or this conversation is over. If you cannot manage that much, I ask you to leave, and we will continue this conversation with Draco as a medium for communication. Any complaints regarding my performance as Head of Gryffindor House or Potions Mistress may be directed to Minerva.”


         The dark man clenched his jaw, and paused for a second, his eyes boring into hers. Hermione slammed her occlumency shields up, knowing that a master legilimens could slip into her mind without so much as a tremor. She met his eyes and did not look away, accepting the blatant challenge. As a child, she would have looked to the floor, properly chastised. Things were different now.


         After nearly thirty seconds of a staring contest, he stood, casting the glamour that made him look like Astoria, and strode from the office.


         Draco burst out laughing, his chuckles growing louder as Hermione sent a hex his way. “You’re an ass, you know that? Why did you bring him here?”


         “You know as well as I do that Severus doesn’t take no for an answer. He’ll calm down soon enough.”


         She looked away, toying with the edge of the papers she was grading. “What’s been going on with you?”


         He shrugged. “Not much, dealing with Scorpius and opening another apothecary for Severus. They all exist under my name, but that will change soon enough. When can we go out again?”


         She checked her schedule, before deciding that the following weekend would be best. The two continued chatting, until Draco let her know he was going to go search for his godfather. Several minutes later, someone knocked at her door and then pushed it open. Expecting Draco, she was surprised to find the female form of Astoria stepping in, alone. Hermione waited, silent.


         He helped himself to a seat, before removing the glamor.


         “I have sent Draco on his way. I would like to apologize for my behavior and start over.” He looked pained to say this, but Hermione simply let him speak. She was not going to give him an easy way out of this. “You were correct, you are now an adult and a professor at this school. I would have been appalled if a parent treated me as I attempted to treat you, and know that my own response would not have been as polite as yours. What do you expect to be called?” Hermione could see the restraint it was taking for him to act in this manner, and knew that if she attempted to hold her position over him, his offer for a truce would be gone forever.


         “My students call me Professor Granger, though adults and other professors call me by my first name.”


         He nodded. “Hermione, then.” She noticed that did not offer his name, but she let it go. She had very little intention of interacting with this man, he could continue to be Professor until Erin graduated Hogwarts and he left her life forever. “If there have no been changes in the curriculum since I last taught here, I will review with Erin and make sure she is prepared for the test, should Minerva approve. Do you have any previous exams I may look over?”


         A short minute later, she had handed three of the last exams to the man across from her. He nodded, almost approvingly. You wish, she thought, snickering inwardly. He would never approve of anything she did. Her tests were difficult, but not impossible. “You may keep these, Professor, but please do not show them to Erin. I keep copies of the previous five years worth of tests, and base my next term’s curriculum on how well the students perform on the previous year’s final. If all the students have a poor showing on a particular concept, then I focus more on that the following year.”


         “Thank you. What date would be good for her?”


         Hermione glanced to her calendar. “I will be spending much of my break away from the school, but if you or Draco could bring Erin to the school four days before the term starts, I can administer the exam then, and give her time to get the books and materials for the following semester. I will also send you with a syllabus of third year, so you may make sure Erin will be prepared to start. I will owl Draco when I get the go-ahead from Minerva.”


         Once he had all the material, he stood, casting the glamor on himself once more. “We will be in touch,” were his parting words.