Summary: When Hogwarts announced their need for a new Potions professor, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were deemed best for the job. Each was desperate to have the job, for different reasons, and since there's only room for one of them… chaos inevitably erupts. DM/HG with hints of RW/PP.
Sanctuary in Potions
Chapter One: That Mysterious Ad in the Daily Prophet
-
ACCOUNT NUMBER 32-7493-91
This is in response to the request of client number 3425 for the total amount in vaults 3 – 2937.
This letter affirms that vaults 3 – 2937 contain exactly ---- Galleons (no Sickles and Knuts).
Draco tapped his wand against the receipt, and frowned as a numerical figure appeared on the blank. He cursed, crumpled the paper angrily, and threw it in the nearest garbage bin.
Blast it. The dismal amount of money he had left in the bank wasn't exactly comforting. In fact, it was downright depressing. At this rate, he might have to find a job to support himself… his face contorted in disgust at the thought of him working for someone else, but… desperate times called for desperate measures. He knew his pride would suffer greatly for this, but he also knew his pride couldn't pay the bills, let alone feed him. Swallowing it would be the hardest thing he had to do in his life, but if he didn't then the day would come when he'd be forced out of his pad and thrown onto the streets. How would he survive, then?
Huh. Who would've thought? A Malfoy living through scraps of food and alms from others?
Well, he reflected, sinking on his luxurious couch, I could always ask Mother to transfer some of Father's money to my account.
And maybe afterwards I could go for a drink then throw myself in front of the Hogwarts Train.
Of course he wouldn't ask for anything from his mother! What sane, capable 28-year old man would do such a despicable, shameless thing? He'd be swallowing his pride, not entirely flushing it out of his system!
Spying the newest edition of The Daily Prophet on his desk, he grabbed it, ignored the front page picture of his mother gaping at him with horror-filled eyes, and started to rummage through the classified ads section.
Huh. Who would've thought? A Malfoy looking for a job?
His father, his uncles, and the rest of the deceased Malfoy clan must be turning over their graves right now. May Merlin rest their putrid, pathetic souls in their putrid, pathetic graves.
"Let's see," he murmured, as he let his finger do the scanning. "Dragon tamer – report to Charlie Weasley. Right. Me, working for a Weasley? Maybe when hell flipped open." Draco immediately turned to the one below it. "Ministry of Magic Official Runes Translator – probably." He took a quill and underlined this one once. Draco continued searching, and after a few seconds he smiled.
He found it. The perfect job.
HOGWARTS IN NEED OF A POTIONS PROFESSOR.
MUST BE WELL-EDUCATED, PREFERABLY AN ALUMNUS/ALUMNA, ADEPT IN MAKING POTIONS AND TEACHING.
INTERESTED INDIVIDUALS MAY CONTACT SEVERUS SNAPE THROUGH (FLOO) HOGWARTS DUNGEONS OR (PERSONAL FLOO) SNAPE'S BEDROOM.
Draco underlined this one three times, then lowered the paper he was holding. It was perfect. He was perfect for the job. The ad might as well have stated HOGWARTS IN NEED OF MALE, BLOND, PREFERABLY GOES BY THE NAME OF DRACO MALFOY.
Going back to Hogwarts would be connecting with his roots in a way. He didn't have to pass through the awkwardness of "Hi, my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," because everybody in that school would know who he was. And well-educated! Why, he graduated at the top of his class! And being a Malfoy, well-educated was just one of his many positive adjectives!
Teaching… well… not that he had any professional experience in it, but if he was able to tolerate Crabbe and Goyle's superb stupidity for seven years without going clinically and psychologically insane then he was confident he could tolerate anybody with any number of working and non-working brain cells. And Snape! Snape was his lapdog – he'd do practically everything Draco wanted, even if it included wearing a tutu with frilly pink underwear.
Not that that actually occurred or anything.
Perfect.
He went to the fireplace, noted that he was running low on floo powder, grabbed a handful of it and shouted, "Hogwarts Dungeons!" on top of his lungs.
Green flames that sprouted from the fireplace swallowed him whole, obscuring his vision for several moments.
Which was why he didn't see the way the words in the newspaper rearranged themselves to erase the ad he just read.
-
"They might as well have placed 'in dire need of Hermione Granger' in there…" She smiled as she played with the straw of her drink. "Not that I'm overconfident or anything."
"Overconfident? Nah," said Ron, waving to dismiss the thought. He returned her smile. "Just cocky."
Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't get how women could be cocky, when it's obvious we don't have a—hey! Oww! Ronald Weasley!"
"Oops, that was your foot? Sorry."
Hermione caught Harry's eye and she chuckled while he shook his head.
It was amazing how things turned out these past years. It never occurred to her that, one day, she would be sitting next to Pansy Parkinson without wanting to hurl insults or trade sarcastic, wounding retorts. Hermione never thought that the former Slytherin would, in fact, become her and Harry's friend, not to mention Ron's wife. Their wedding was swift but memorable, for it formally sealed the truce between Slytherin and Gryffindor when both houses supported the union.
Huh. Perhaps she wasn't as prejudiced against Slytherins as she thought she was.
"Who knows," Hermione said, throwing a grin at the squabbling couple, "maybe I'd become Charlotte's professor this coming term."
Ron threw his hands in the air. "Well that guarantees it, then. Now we're assured she's going to get 100% on all her Potions exam!"
"Ronald Weasley!" she said, mimicking Pansy's tone perfectly. "I'm sorry to say but I will not be partial to anyone, including my friends' daughter."
He shrugged in defeat. "Fine. I guess we just have to settle for 99% then, eh, Parkinson?"
Pansy dramatically lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "You're incorrigible, Weasley."
"So, when are you going to apply?" asked Harry, finally breaking his lengthy silence.
"Today, actually, after this." Hermione glanced at her watch and then smiled at her friends. "I've still got a couple of minutes to spare. Oh, I'm so terribly excited! I mean, this is going to be a new experience for me… can you imagine, me teaching potions! I wish they'd hire me—"
Harry covered her hand with his. "Well, no one's as qualified for the job as you are, Hermione. Even Snape. You know that."
She grabbed her drink and flashed a "Thanks," before gulping.
"Except for Draco Malfoy," contributed Pansy slyly.
Butterbeer in her nostrils wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. Hermione coughed to expel any remaining liquid where they didn't belong, like in her nose and windpipe. "What?" she choked, thumping her chest.
All eyes were on Pansy. She shrugged. "I'm just saying."
Hermione took a napkin and wiped her mouth with it. "Now why would he apply for that line of work, let alone any job? That git probably excretes Galleons, and—"
Ron and Harry simultaneously emitted groans of disgust, dropping their utensils loudly on the plates.
"Sorry," she apologized quickly, before turning to look at Pansy with eyebrows raised.
"I'm just saying," repeated Pansy, lifting a delicate hand and studying her nails intently.
And apparently, when a Slytherin studied his or her nails then the subject they were discussing was deemed over. Ron enlightened her and Harry on that one, saying that in the eleven years they were together this system of Pansy's never failed. That enlightenment proved to be very suitable to this situation.
"Well, I guess I better go." Hermione grabbed her bag and stood. "I'll owl you the news, be it good or bad."
"Good luck!" said Harry.
"Break a leg, Granger!" said Pansy.
"Remember, Lot's grade depends on you—oww! Parkinson!"
"Oh, was that your foot?"
-
Fifteen minutes later and she was cruising inside Hogwarts. Hermione took a good look around her – she couldn't believe several years had already passed since she left the place! A lot of changes had happened, mostly with the decors, the paintings, and the commemorative plaques signifying the comings and goings of students and professors both great and talented…
She spotted an elderly witch in deep emerald robes as she stepped out of her office. Hermione grinned – at least there were still some things that never changed after all! "Professor McGonagall!" she called, waving gaily.
The professor smiled as she neared. Adjusting her glasses she said, "Miss Granger, how wonderful to see you again. The last I saw you was… about ten or so years ago?"
"Eleven," corrected Hermione. "But, who's counting?"
"What brings you here, I wonder?"
"Actually, I'm applying for the Potions professor slot, I heard it was available," she answered. "Professor Snape hasn't hired anyone yet, has he?"
Professor McGonagall shook her head. "The ad just came out this morning, and to my knowledge you are the second to inquire about it."
"The second?" Hermione couldn't help the sharp tone in her voice as she asked. "Do you know who applied before me?"
The elderly witch smiled again and patted her shoulder gently. "Perhaps it's best to see for yourself. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to some matters. Good day, Miss Granger, and good luck!" Then, with her robes swishing Professor McGonagall left.
Hermione had no other choice but to, in her professor's words, see for herself. She bounded towards the dungeons, pleasantly surprised that her feet still knew where to take her. After a couple of trips around the moving stairs and some greetings from the Fat Lady and other portraits who recognized her, she finally reached the door of the Potion's classroom. She inhaled, trying to calm herself down, before she pushed it open.
"Professor Snape?" she called, stepping into the room. "I'm here to inquire about the—"
And that's when the awful truth hit her. When she saw him.
It was as if eleven years hadn't passed. Suddenly, she was a student at Hogwarts again, entering a room only to be assaulted by the sight of him, unavoidable like plague or inescapable like acne.
"YOU!" was the word that came from her mouth.
Alright, so maybe she was still prejudiced against Slytherins, but only in this case because for Merlin's sake this was Draco Malfoy!
Denial arrived first. Then shock. Soon came suspicion, followed so very closely by anger.
"YOU!" she sputtered. "What are you—"
"Why hello, Hermione Granger," Malfoy said, sending her a deadly, venomous smile. "If you're here to inquire about the job, then better go home – the position's just been filled." The smile widened to a kind with razor-sharp claws and teeth. "By me."
-
Author's Notes: Hoorah! I've got a new fic! -does the happy dance- Oh, I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did writing it. I wanted something new to work on, and since this idea came to me one day… I couldn't help but write it down ;)
By the way, special thanks to Alexathenleand Black-Cat-Goddess. I got both my wishes from you when you reviewed, since you brought my reviews for Abyss and DH to 400 and 200 respectively! Thanks, you guys!
Review, please! Oh, and as for the current state of DH – I have written 2,660 words of it, so it should be out by next week. 'Til then!