FIC: Time and Again Part 1 (Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, PG 13, snapelyholidays)
Title: Time and Again
Author: Leni Jess (leni_jess)
Pairings: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger (or, more accurately, Severus, Hermione near-as-dammit gen); some background unexplicit Ron/Hermione
Rating PG 13
Summary Three ways Hermione Granger failed to rescue Severus Snape, and one way she did.
Disclaimer The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count 11,904 words
Author Notes Written December 2011 for snapelyholidays for prayer_at_night. The story just doesn't seem to go beyond hints of UST. Epilogue compliant in the letter if not the spirit.
Thanks to my patient beta reader (my brother)! Thanks also to the endlessly patient Mods, for (what else) endless patience. For the reader's information, Easter in 1998 began on 10 April. The battle of Hogwarts, JKR assures us, began on 1 May.
For other credits, see the End Note.
Time and Again
by Leni Jess
Prologue
Hermione stood braced above the Hufflepuff cup with its Horcrux, the basilisk fang held high and gripped firmly.
Ron was muttering, "Kill it, Hermione; kill it!" He sounded more alarmed than enthusiastic, though it had been his idea she should be the one to do it.
Then she began to understand why both Ron and Harry had found killing Horcruxes both difficult and frightening. The thing screamed, making her flinch from the volume of sound and from the malevolence it held. Then it began to talk. That was worse, once she understood who it was warning her about.
"He will betray you; you can never trust him."
She knew Ron had this nasty habit of walking out when he found the going too hard, or even when he imagined himself belittled by his friends. He had behaved well today, and not just in reminding them that the house-elves should be warned to seek safety; but she knew quite well he hadn't kicked the habit. When she had evidence that he had, she might follow up on that impulsive kiss of gratitude she had given him, which had morphed so surprisingly into passion. As far as she was concerned, when it came to choosing a life-partner, reliability trumped passion, never mind infatuation. Her parents, after all, had spent a lot of time and energy ensuring that she should feel that way. She might never see them again. In this, she would follow their guidance, be their good daughter.
So the Horcrux needn't have bothered. If that was all it had to say… She gripped the fang tightly again, raising it a little higher.
The Horcrux raised its voice to a scraping scream that forced a shudder down her spine. "You can never trust him! Who ever could? He killed everyone he ever claimed to love!"
What?
"He will sell you: for silver, for fear, for favour, for a moment's advantage."
That was certainly nonsense. Or not Ron it was maligning, at least. Who…? Then the words "killed everyone he ever claimed to love" struck home.
The idiot soul fragment must be going on about Snape. Who might indeed have betrayed Lily, but not, she was still convinced, on purpose. So maybe his motive for killing Dumbledore needed looking into, or this slander wouldn't have much point.
She could just hear Ron babbling, "It's lying, Hermione; don't believe it!"
Was he hearing the same words she was? Or had he just heard that first statement, and panicked, guiltily aware of betraying Harry and herself? Even if he did come back - and just in time to rescue Harry from his own attack of idiocy. Boys.
So if the damned thing was talking about Snape, where had it got the idea that she would care? Was it reaching into her mind, pulling out the thoughts that still squirreled around there, on the darkest and bleakest of nights? Her wondering whether Snape was, still, somehow, faithful to Dumbledore and Dumbledore's purpose, and whether she should be supporting him still, despite appearances? Since Voldemort had appointed Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he had certainly trusted him, and that trust should make it easier for Snape if he was still following Dumbledore's plan, whatever it might be.
Legilimency by another human being was bad enough, but by a blackened scrap of soul? Nothing doing.
Ron and the Horcrux babbled together: "Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't just stand there!" and "He'll fuck you and run, taking everything you have and are from you. You're only a Mudblood, not even a halfblood like him…"
That bastard fragment was digging far too deep, into idle thoughts and half-sleeping fevered imaginings. Enough.
The basilisk fang came down on the gold cup, piercing its base, crumpling it, and striking through to the rock the cup sat upon.
Hermione gasped as the shock of her blow was transmitted back up her arms, and involuntarily dropped her weapon. She scrambled for it, but it wasn't necessary: one last scream was cut off, and a little bitumen-like stuff leaked from the side of the cup, though it had no hollow part which might have held it. Ick.
She needed to talk to Snape. Perhaps they would both survive the battle to come.
∞∞Ω∞∞
#1 The Survivor
When it was all over, and Harry had disappeared for some peace and quiet with Luna's help, and the Weasleys folded Ron into their tight family group while somehow pushing her slowly out, Hermione went to find Professor McGonagall.
Voldemort had said he had killed Snape, and he had certainly looked dead when the three of them had left him in the Shrieking Shack. But if Snape was indeed Dumbledore's man, and Harry's protector, why had he not appeared with Harry's parents and their friends, whe Harry had summoned them with the Resurrection Stone? He had, after all, done considerably more for Harry than either Sirius or Remus had. Maybe Snape wasn't dead. Or hadn't been dead then.
What she needed was a Time-Turner, to give him the best possible chance to live.
The nearest Time-Turner she knew of was the one Minerva McGonagall had loaned her in third year. Since then, though, she had concluded that all of the teaching staff - certainly the Heads of House - used Time-Turners regularly, as the only possible way of getting through their work-load. The Department of Mysteries's stock of Time-Turners had been destroyed in her fifth year, but she would bet the teachers had held onto theirs like grim death.
Minerva McGonagall was easy enough to find: moving around the groups of children who were almost adults, and of parents who had either fought with or come looking for their children. Nearly all purebloods, of course, though Hermione saw Dean's parents, one wizarding, one not, as well as Dennis and his parents, grieving for Colin, and Justin with his Muggle parents, looking wildly out of place, but clinging gladly to their son. When Hermione was close enough, she could hear that the Deputy Headmistress was sympathising with losses, praising defenders of the school, and promising that it would restored for a new school year, if not by the first of September.
"Hermione!" McGonagall sounded very pleased. "Oh my dear, you're all three of you safe! I'm so proud of you!"
"We made a lot of mistakes," Hermione said, looking back, as she had been compulsively doing for months.
"But you succeeded. That's what counts."
Hermione shook her head. "There are some people who might be still with us, if we'd been cleverer."
The determined good cheer dropped away, and for a few moments Hermione saw a very weary woman, who was conscious of her own mistakes and losses, before McGonagall said quietly, "They would forgive you, I think, as I shall pray they will forgive me, with far less reason. We all make mistakes, Miss Granger."
Seizing her moment, Hermione said, "I may be able to fix one mistake we have all made. If you can lend me a Time-Turner."
That got her a decidedly Headmistressy look, so Hermione went on quickly, "We left Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack, believing he was dead. But I think, now, he isn't. Wasn't. If I go back, I may be able to keep him alive."
Minerva McGonagall breathed in hard, then quelled the hope that for a moment illuminated her face. "There are no more Time-Turners, the Department of Mysteries says -"
Ruthlessly Hermione set out her reasons for believing that Hogwarts staff had access to Time-Turners, no matter what had happened that night the Department of Mysteries had been invaded by both Death Eaters and school-children. Professor McGonagall didn't try to equivocate further.
"You're correct, of course, though if anyone else has worked it out they haven't said so. But for that purpose, my dear, yes, I shall lend you my Time-Turner - rather than the student one you used in third year. But you must do more than go back: you should take all the potions and medical equipment he may need. I only wish I could ask Poppy to go with you, but," her voice faltered, "there are too many people in the Infirmary, who still desperately need her help, and help from the Healers from St Mungo's who've Flooed in."
Hermione nodded acceptance. "Would Madam Pomfrey have time to select the potions and equipment for me?"
"I will ask her to do so. We both owe Severus that much. I owe him everything I can do, after having lost my faith in his goodwill, which was even greater than I once thought, as Harry and Voldemort between them made clear to everyone. But I shouldn't leave the Hall for long; so many people need reassurance, and I seem to be one of the few, barring Kingsley, who has serious work of his own to do, who can give it. Repairing that loss of faith cannot be set aside for our colleague, either; he'd understand. He gave everything to save our world, to help these children.
"Come. You took Poppy's classes in your sixth year, didn't you, on emergency mediwzardry?"
Hermione nodded again, as they both headed briskly for the stairs.
"Good. I shall pray for your success, but, Hermione - don't be too disappointed if you fail. He would certainly forgive that, and be ready to thank you for trying."
"It would be better if I can emulate him, and succeed," Hermione returned. "Someone should do something for him, for a change."
She heard a quietly suppressed sniff, and another, so she did not look around. Neither spoke before they entered the Infirmary.
It did not take long before Hermione was fully equipped, and instructed in the possibilities Madam Pomfrey thought she might encounter. Then they went to Professor McGonagall's office, where she extracted a Time-Turner from a fiercely warded, unobtrusive drawer. She too made sure that Hermione was clear on its use, its possibilities, and its options.
"These won't take a person more than twenty-four hours back. They were designed to allow staff to keep up with the demands of teaching and student supervision in a school that's never been properly staffed.
"One thing you should remember, though: if you can't save him, you can use the Time-Turner to come back alone. We can retrieve his body soon enough, respectfully enough. But if you can save him, don't try to bring him back. Live through those four hours or so, as unobserved as you both may, and then bring him to Poppy."
"He shouldn't wait for better attention than I can give," Hermione objected.
"He'll have to," Professor McGonagall said grimly. "There are rumours that some very sophisticated Time-Turners can bring a person forward through time, in the company of someone who's used one to go back; but this one, as I said, has quite limited uses. It's a risk you must take. The alternative would be worse. You might lose him on the return journey, or he might never set out on it with you. I don't know."
"Very well," Hermione assented, her heart sinking at the thought that Professor Snape would have to live through those hours with no better assistance than she could give.
Further delay was undesirable, so Hermione set off with Madam Pomfrey's gear for the Shack, able to Apparate to its door, since the anti-Apparation wards were still down. The place looked both better and worse in the early morning sunlight, though she would be seeing it by the full moon in a few moments. She used the Time-Turner to take her back four hours: no finer tuning was possible, and she didn't want to arrive before Professor Snape had, and run the risk of being discovered by Voldemort himself.
Then Hermione pushed her way in, looking at the back wall where Professor Snape had been collapsed when she and Harry and Ron had set off again down the passage to the Whomping Willow.
He wasn't there. A quick Lumos confirmed that his body wasn't simply hidden by shadow.
Hermione looked around wildly, unable to believe that he was gone.
Then she set her teeth and used the first of a series of revealing charms, just in case Professor Snape, in his awareness of being helpless, had managed to Disillusion himself for greater safety. Still no body. Plenty of blood, sticky and horridly copious, but no body, and no wand, either.
After trying still more spells, desperately holding back panic, Hermione paused, and recognised that the wand's absence might be as significant as Professor Snape's.
Had he, somehow, staggered away? Had he recovered enough strength, or summoned enough determination, to Apparate to safety? (And if so, had he reached it, or collapsed somewhere, somewhere he might never be found?) Had someone else come for his body? (Friend or enemy; oh God?)
She increased the brightness of her wandlight, and examined the pools of blood carefully, making sure not to step into them and obscure whatever signs there might be.
There were no drag marks. No prints of his dragonhide boots, either. There were a few scuffed marks near to where the body itself had been, where someone had perhaps knelt beside him, careless of the blood.
Hermione swore aloud, quite deliberately using the worst language Gryffindor and Slytherin boys alike had taught her.
In the distance she could hear Voldemort offering his one hour truce to the defenders, giving them the chance to retrieve their dead. God, the irony. Her dead was irretrievable.
She needed a better Time-Turner. She needed, damn it, a better idea of the exact times at which Nagini had struck Snape, Voldemort had left the Shack, and the three of them had left. She had to avoid those moments. In some of them, after all, she herself had been present in the Shack, either in the tunnel, or in the room itself. A double presence was incredibly dangerous, Professor Dumbledore had impressed on them in third year, when they set out to rescue both Buckbeak and Sirius.
Defeated, she returned to the castle, where she and Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall wept briefly on each others' shoulders, before they returned to present duty, and Hermione sat down to think what alternative action she might take.
As well as a better Time-Turner, she needed better knowledge of them. Kingsley had suggested coming to work for the Ministry when she had taken her NEWTs, as she was determined to do. He had made it clear it was a serious job offer. Perhaps she would see if she could apprentice in the Department of Mysteries, rather than with the Aurors.
∞∞Ω∞∞
#2 The Trainee
Hermione found the Department of Mysteries even more interesting than Minerva and Kingsley led her to expect. She also found that they had very strict standards for trainees, and that Time-Turners, like many of the more complex magical devices hidden away there, were out of bounds to trainees until they had served, at the least, a time in each of the Department's sections. It was two years before she was able to confirm that there were, indeed, better Time-Turners available than the ones designed for short-term use, though she still wasn't allowed to get at them.
At about the same time she discovered that there was a long-running project whose staff attempted to communicate through the Veil, and that they were having some success. (She immediately resolved never to mention this to Harry who, now an Auror, was entitled to some of Mysteries' less arcane information.)
Mysteries became more interesting with every year.
By now, whatever her impatience to help and retrieve Professor Snape, Hermione had realised that she had all the time in the world to prepare herself. (She continued her mediwitch studies on the side, which astonished no one: the people most suited to the Department of Mysteries seemed capable of pursuing several interests at once, and their senior management found it convenient to encourage this.)
She had also given a lot of thought to whether she might do well to look into some other means of saving Snape than simply to travel back to the time he had been wounded almost to death, in the middle of a battle. She had a whole notebook full of options, with increasingly long lists of pro and con for each, plus some rigorous speculation on what, exactly, she might get a Time-Turner to do.
At last Hermione was moved to the Time Section, though she was still not allowed to play with time travel, as such. Instead, she was introduced to that device which she had seen at the end of fifth year, the one in which an object rotated continuously through all its forms. Fortunately, she was not expected to observe anything so horrifying as what she had seen then: the Death Eater trapped within its field, morphing between babyhood and adulthood. Her new section supervisor explained to her that studying the Arithmantic equations associated with this device was the most useful way to approach the study of time.
Hermione studied diligently, therefore, and began a new notebook wherein she experimented with Arithmantic means of assessing her best approach to rescuing Professor Snape.
Eventually she decided on a bold move, one which might not only save Snape from death, but make his life, if not easier, at least one of greater assurance of success in his efforts to bring Voldemort and his Death Eaters down. By now she accepted that there was no way to save him from those years as a double agent, though she might be able to relieve his frustrations as a teacher and his fears as a secret opponent of a terrifyingly skilled wizard. Without Snape, the battle would almost certainly never have been won.
Sometimes she had fantasies of talking him out of joining Voldemort, of never becoming a Death Eater, but she knew them for what they were: foolish. The resentful boy who had been harried all his life, and who towards the end of his school years had been forced to face the loss of his only friend, the person he desired as a lover, to his principal tormentor, was not likely to be mature enough to put humiliation, pain and loss behind him.
No. But she could give him guidance, warn him of traps, encourage him, promise him success.
She had to find him first, of course, but she could identify almost to the moment when the Severus Snape of fifth year had been assaulted by James Potter and his friends, after their OWLs examinations. She also knew exactly where Snape had been before he was assaulted. She could find him, reading under that tree, in time enough to warn him, tell him what was to come.
And if he chose to profit from that information not to insult Lily Evans so fatally, it probably wouldn't make much difference. A girl who would think it moderately funny that one friend should hang another upside-down in the air, in sight of everyone, was no longer a true friend, however much Snape told himself that it was that insult which had lost him his relationship with her. Lily would still pair up with James, and abandon Severus. He might find the aftermath marginally less painful, however, if he was not blaming himself.
Her best opportunity would be after everyone went home for the day (probably well into the evening). She could help herself to one of the new model Time-Turners that had been created after the existing stock had (only mostly) been destroyed, and take the journey back in years. Only then would she Apparate to Hogwarts with it, go to Severus's tree, and take a separate, shorter journey to the afternoon of that day that Severus thought had changed his life. Simplest of all would be to do it on the anniversary.
So in early May, near the end of her third year as an apprentice in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione stole the Time-Turner, and locked herself in her office (a new privilege). She hung its chain around her neck and activated it, setting the little dials with great care.
Her back hurt, and her bottom, and her arms were waving frantically, trying to keep all that cloth off her face; she whimpered, the need to scream out her terror rising. She couldn't see, and there was something heavy lying across her chest. Once she managed to get her mouth free, though, she calmed down, even though her vision was very fuzzy.
She found herself thinking, "Hermione, what have you done now?"
Her adult mind had abruptly come back, and come back to awareness that her body was that of a child. She brought one hand close to her face, and saw a plump baby's fist. What have you done, indeed.
How many other traps did Time-Turners hold, that no one had warned her of yet? This was a doozy. When you used a Time-Turner were you always limited to your own lifetime, as she seemed to have been? Better than timing oneself out of existence, for sure. Was that some law of physics that even cunning wizardry could not break, that one couldn't go further back than one's own lifetime? Or was it a wizard's precaution, to prevent meddling too far with the world's past?
Was this a safety precaution set on the new type of Time-Turner, or had it always been there, something that senior Mysteries staff alone were aware of? Indeed, she had gone no further back than full consciousness. For which she was thankful. She might be able to get herself out of this, instead of having to hope that someone, twenty-one odd years ago, had gone (would go?) into this room and find a baby tangled up with a Time-Turner. The Department of Mysteries wouldn't look favourably on an apprentice who experimented recklessly and against orders with a highly restricted magical device.
Hermione screamed, shocking herself with the high baby's cry, and even more with the baby's rage at helplessness; but it relieved a little of her frustration. Perhaps instead of speculating uselessly, she ought to pull the damned thing up to where she could see the dials, and hope that her clumsy, weak baby fingers could manipulate them.
She gripped the chain and pulled. Yes. And there was the Cancel button, which would reverse the settings. She gripped the Time-Turner hard and set a fat little finger against the button carefully, before she pushed it.
Yes.
Oh, thank God. Thank Merlin. Thank all the powers that protected prideful idiots.
She was thankful that she was wearing the loose robes of wizardkind, instead of the close-fitting Muggle jeans and pullover of her at-home practice; she might otherwise be half strangled by her own clothing. Her back still hurt, but not so much.
She removed the Time-Turner's chain from her neck with gingerly care, and set it aside. Then she turned over, curled up in a ball, and wept briefly, for Professor Snape, still lost and inaccessible, and for herself, still unable to reach the person she was, as she had to acknowledge, dangerously obsessed with. She also shook with fright at what she had almost done.
She would just have to wait. Yet again. And study longer, and gain official access to Time-Turners and all knowledge pertaining to them.
And perhaps work at having a life. Working with George seemed to made Ron grow up a lot; certainly he was more responsible now. Maybe she could trust him to stick around after all.
∞∞Ω∞∞
#3 The Unspeakable
For the next couple of years Hermione set the Snape Project aside. She had frightened herself badly, and decided she should wait until she was officially considered suitable for advanced Time-Turner work. Ignorance was not a good basis for action. She had also recaptured her feelings for Ron, and developed the trust she had been unaware of needing, as an adolescent caught up in attachment and intimacy. Her dreams of Snape receded, and she was glad. It was better to have a real live man, with whom one could live.
Their marriage made them both happy, even as it taught them not to have unrealistic expectations of each other.
Only, after a while, the pressure to have children increased, from Ron quite as much as from Molly. (It wasn't as if Molly lacked grandchildren. Bill and Fleur had three, now, but Fleur managed to keep her distance. Hermione wasn't at all sure she, any more than Fleur, wanted Molly to have much say in the raising of her children.)
At last Hermione said determinedly, "Ron, if I agree to have two children now, when my responsibilities at work aren't so great, will you be content, and not push for more? Ideally, of course, a girl and a boy. I'd want to stop at two, so that I can go on working, and still pay each of them proper attention."
"That'd be a good start," Ron agreed. "I'd like a little girl with your curls, Mione."
Hermione rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first time they'd negotiated their way through to something that worked for both of them, though, so she persisted, trying to pin him down to an explicit agreement.
"Will you go on pressuring me to have as many kids as your Mum, and to stay at home with them for the next ten to twenty years? Because that might make you happy, but it won't me. I'm not your Mum. I want a different life. Even if I had seven kids and had to stay home with them and scrimp and save to raise them on your salary, Ron, I wouldn't be your Mum."
"I know that," Ron agreed hastily. "It's you I want to be married to. And I know you'd hate scrimping and saving, and yes, I know you earn more money than I do already. You'll go on earning more, I expect, and the kids will need that money, if they're to have the clothes and toys I'd like for them - and the right stuff for Hogwarts, too. Mum loved us all, but she didn't always notice us, and we weren't all happy doing without, just to be a big family. I'd like my kids to be noticed, as well as loved. If you think two is manageable, let's do that. They'll be company for each other."
Hermione nodded. "I think that's important too, Ron. I grew up alone, and I don't want that for my children." She smiled a bit ruefully. "I grew up a bookworm, and bossy, and addicted to doing things my way. If our children can learn to give and take better than I did, I'd like that, too. It's too late for me."
Ron repeated, "It's you I want for my wife, books and bossiness and all, even if it'd be nice if you'd listen when I talk about the Cannons."
Hermione laughed. "When you listen to me going on about Arithmancy."
Ron laughed too. They had a cuddle, and took some enjoyable practical steps with those two children in mind.
∞∞Ω∞∞
Rose came along, and Ron mostly concealed his disappointment that she wasn't a boy, as he'd confidently expected. (After all, his parents had six before they got the girl they wanted. He was careful never to ask himself how many of those six boys were strictly surplus to requirements.)
Hermione saw enough to say tartly, one day when she was tired with the demands of a baby on top of work and a fairly undomesticated husband, "Isn't it better to have the girl now, Ron? That way, we've got fifty percent of our children."
Ron was wise enough to refrain from saying hopefully that maybe it wouldn't be a boy next time, either, so they'd have to keep going. He thought Hermione might clock him, if he did. Neither of them was getting enough sleep.
Even so, soon enough Hermione agreed they should start work on the second child.
"Work?" Ron enquired, feigning injured pride.
Hermione laughed, and evaded the hand he reached out to her, heading for the stairs and their bedroom. "Fun?" she suggested. "Might as well have it while Rose gives us the chance. With two, I don't know how much fun we'll be fitting in."
"I can see it now," Ron agreed, leering at her as he caught up. "I'll have to make the most of my opportunities."
He could see her point that getting all the pain of child-raising out the way in one dreadful hit might have advantages (at least, the kind of pain Rose was currently giving them).
So Hugo arrived, and Hermione took longer off work this time. It made the first year much easier.
When she went back to work, taking both children to the crèche an intermittently considerate Ministry now provided, Hermione found her supervisor expected her to get down to serious research and experimentation. Hermione was surprised at how happy she was to meet that expectation. Children were more interesting than she had expected, but their company was not intellectually stimulating.
Her supervisor also encouraged her to follow the interest he had noted she had in Time-Turners. Hermione learned a great deal she had not known, and that she suspected her teachers at Hogwarts had no idea of, and began to think about Snape again. She thought he might have had a genuine interest in what she was discovering; she wondered what suggestions he would have made, had she been able to discuss her work with him. Of course she could not discuss it with Ron; Unspeakables were required to be literally silent about their work, but she knew he wouldn't care. The only theory issue Ron took an interest in was Quidditch plays. George did most of the product development for the shop, though Ron had proved to be a remarkably good manager. So she held talks with Snape, sometimes, in her head, when a problem was intransigent. It worked. She was a good enough practical Arithmancer now to be able to calculate around the recursive problems that using a Time-Turner would cause, given the slightest inattention, but stepping back enough from her work to imagine what someone else might think of it turned out to be a productive discipline.
When Hugo joined Rose at the local Muggle primary school (Hermione firmly rejected Molly's offer to home-school them; she didn't want her children ignorant of, and possibly disdainful of, her own background), Hermione started planning for the next step in the Snape Project. Somewhat guiltily, she didn't tell Ron about that. It was just like a work project, she rationalised. He had learned to minimise the amount he shared with her about his work projects, after all, even if he was a little irritated occasionally that she and George had long technical discussions about the use of potions and charms and transfiguration in creating new Wheezes.
Hermione found herself giving more thought to when might be the best point to return to, in Snape's life. The Time-Turner practicalities were much less of a worry, now, and the latest devices, in whose development she had a share, offered scope for actions the Hogwarts professors' Time-Turners didn't allow for.
She was fairly reconciled to knowing that it would be difficult to make Snape's life easier for him. He would have had to take very similar steps, after all, to achieve the victory they had all laboured for. It might be even harder for him, if he had to take those steps, knowing that acting differently would be dangerous. Wouldn't it be worse to be hard on Harry, if he understood there was no need to hate Lily's son out of his own grief and guilt?
So perhaps she should concentrate on warning him to be prepared for the final battle, and for Voldemort to turn on him, in the belief that Severus had mastered the Elder Wand. He needed to be Nagini-proofed. He would have a better chance of living, then, and she could, perhaps, later, be that mysterious person who had knelt in his blood and helped him away.
∞∞Ω∞∞
Hermione took herself back to the Easter vacation of the year Snape had been Headmaster of Hogwarts, Disillusioned herself, and walked up to the great doors, wand in hand in case of random Death Eaters. It felt odd to be eighteen again, and as skinny as she had been in that camping-out-and-starving year, instead of slightly plump from baby-making and a comfortable life.
She knew a great deal more about Snape than she had done at eighteen. She had finally persuaded Harry to share Snape's Pensieved memories with her. Both of them, after all, respected and admired him, and regretted his absence from the modern wizarding world, as Ron certainly didn't, even now. So she had a good idea of where she might find him, when he had minimal official duties, but still enough to keep him at the school, rather than at Voldemort's side. She knew his password for the Headmaster's office, too. A detail that might have impressed Harry and convinced him of Snape's faithfulness almost as much as Snape's love for Lily.
She approached the gargoyle cautiously, checking for traps and alarms, but found only the wards it was reasonable to expect from a Headmaster who was also a Death Eater who couldn't trust his confrères. She worked her way past them respectfully, and cast her own revealing charm through the door.
Snape was there. He was still, except for one moving hand, and regular to-and-fro eye-motion. Working, then. Calmly. She knocked on the door.
He would know, of course, that someone had by-passed his precautions, but the knock might give him some assurance that it wasn't ill-meant.
She opened the door, slowly, and stepped in to face the grim gaze and the levelled wand. He didn't appear worried, just mildly irritated.
The irritation deepened. "Miss Granger. What foolishness brings you here?"
"A desire to help," she answered promptly. He would react badly to any equivocation, she was sure. "I'm not the Hermione Granger you know."
One eyebrow lifted, even as he laid his wand down.
"Shut the door. Sit. And explain how six months on the run has altered you completely."
The sarcasm didn't discompose her. She was used to worse, at work, and dished it out herself, on occasion. She chose the most comfortable looking upright chair and waved it wandlessly to a position across his desk from him, and seated herself, crossing her ankles and leaning back slightly. She saw him register her ease as well as her ability.
"That Hermione Granger is living in a tent with two boys, on mushrooms and weeds and the occasional fish. Not nearly enough fish. I am thirty-three, married, with two children at school." She lifted the Time-Turner chain and pulled it out from inside her robes, before tucking it away.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "So why are you here?"
"To help, remember? I can tell you that you won. You and Harry between you saved us all. That hasn't happened yet. There's some specific information I want to give you, that you will very much need -"
"If we won, what do I need to do differently, that you feel you must tell me about it?"
"You deserve to live," she said starkly, "and I believe what I tell you might make that possible."
He sagged slightly, then braced himself, and became utterly expressionless. She knew how that felt.
"That I would not in any case do?"
Heaven forbid he show her his feelings. She didn't let that distract her.
"Have you made an antidote to Nagini's poison? Do you carry at all times the potions that might let you live, if she bites you?"
"Ah. No, I don't. I've thought about it, but it would not be an easy task, and there's no reason she should set on me."
"Save her master's misconceptions."
"He doesn't discover my allegiance?"
"No. He wanted - wants, something he believes only your death can give him. During the battle. The only battle, the last battle. You have time to develop that antivenin, haven't you? Between now and the full moon of May?"
He didn't answer at once, and she hoped that meant he was considering the problem seriously.
"I believe so." After a moment he said, "I do have some of her venom, held under stasis. Just in case I changed my mind about the urgency."
"Then please take it seriously. We could do with you, in the world you helped to make."
He was quick, and unflinchingly said, "I'm not in your world, am I."
"Not that I know of. But we had no body; there is no ghost; your portrait in this office doesn't communicate. You may, without my intervention, have somehow survived, and sought privacy and solitude. I have no way to know. But what I'd like, what others would like, is for you to be a part of our lives. For you to have the fruits of peace, not just the struggle to achieve it."
"So your world is perfect?" His tone was lightly mocking.
"I don't think you'd be bored," she answered wryly. "There's plenty that could stand to be fixed. Hey, it's the wizarding world; what else?"
He smiled at that, however faintly, then said gently, "But if I am not in your now, how will that change?"
"Trust me to work for it?" To offer him more than an unsupported statement of intent, she added, "I'm a fully qualified Unspeakable, part of the current Time-Turner development team. We have made advances on what the Department of Mysteries held in my fifth year, you know, before we wrecked the place."
"Did they ever fine you for that?" he asked, seemingly interested.
"No, unlike Gringotts." She bit her lip.
"So you got across the goblins?"
"Yes. But I'll tell you that story later."
"And who won in that confrontation?"
"They would say me: I say them. I do some Arithmancy projects for them, still. On the other hand, they're still paying off their fine for being so obliging to Voldemort."
"If you're breaking even, you've done well," he commented. " Miss Granger, is this an official Unspeakable project?"
She shook her head. "It's my project. It's been my project since the second of May, 1998."
"So that's the battle date. The full moon."
"It began earlier in the night."
He nodded. "I'll be careful. Is there anything else you feel you must tell me, Miss Granger? Mrs…" His voice trailed off invitingly.
She smiled and shook her head, though she longed to tell him how important, how urgent it was that he should save himself as well as the wizarding world. It didn't occur to her until later that he was fishing for her husband's identity. She wasn't thinking about Ron at all. Ron wasn't part of this project, this obsession, this life's work.
She had done what she came for. She must not take up his time, even though this was the first time they had interacted as adults, and she would have liked to extend her acquaintance with him. Especially as he was being courteous. He had believed her and not scoffed or derided her. She should go. But perhaps first she should offer him some hard proof of what she had said. She would not be the only one to suffer dark nights of doubt; she ought not to add to his burdens.
"I'll leave you to your work in a moment, but first -" she drew from inside her robes what appeared to be a photograph, and held it out to him.
He took it, raising his eyebrows. The two children in it, rugged up for winter so that only their faces were visible, were concentrating on a kneazle kitten, and did not look up.
"Your children?"
"Rose and Hugo," she agreed. "But it's also my identity card for the Ministry. If I touch my wand to it -"
He held it back across the desk to her. She took out her wand, touched the picture, and silently spoke the spell. The photograph changed to a stiff card, which held her picture: a woman in her early thirties, in Unspeakable uniform, with her name (her maiden name, which she used at work) and the seal of the Unspeakables, with the signature of their chief sprawled across it. Not the wizard who was currently in charge of that department, but a name he would know as a Dumbledore supporter, a member of an old pureblood family, and a high-ranking Unspeakable.
"Heribert Bones. Well, that make sense."
He looked for a while at the card, glancing swiftly up to compare her future face with the one more familiar to him, before he handed it back. Another wand touch, and she slipped the picture of her children back into the special pocket inside her robes.
"Thank you. How long have you been an Unspeakable?"
"I apprenticed when I was nineteen, nearly twenty, after I did my seventh year at Hogwarts. So, for fourteen years."
"And you're on the Time-Turner development team, you said."
She nodded. "That's not my only responsibility. Many of us are involved in several projects, to greater or lesser degrees." She smiled a little ruefully. "Director Bones doesn't believe in letting us run the risk of becoming focussed on a single issue for long. There are a few old Unspeakables who are interested in one area of study only, and it's too late to change them. He wants us flexible."
"And have there been similar changes in other Ministry departments?"
"Yes, and still going on, of course. Twenty and more years of having - him looming over wizarding society created some distortions." She met his eyes and smiled more broadly. "You might like to know that Dolores Umbridge is in Azkaban."
"Minerva would be delighted to hear that. What a pity I can't tell her." For a moment it looked as if he relished the knowledge too.
He became more serious; indeed, he looked tired suddenly, and suddenly uglier, the sallow skin, the over-large nose and the crooked yellow teeth more evident. "Is there anything you can tell me of my Slytherin students in your future, Miss Granger? I have never, as you might now understand, been able to lead them openly away from his influence, and children do not always perceive subtle suggestions in the guidance I have been able to give, not even Slytherin children."
Yet another burden he must have carried for a long time. That, at least, she might help with, a little.
"Some good news, some bad," she answered steadily. "Those who followed him of their own accord, not only in belief but in action, who survived the battle, are in Azkaban. Most with limited sentences, for what that's worth, but at least there are no Dementors there now. There's still a lot of prejudice, though, even against those who would have preferred to oppose him, but did not, for their families' sakes, even if they took no action in his support. But they have help. Professor, none of your students are outcast and starving, or exiled. The Malfoys -"
She broke off as he flinched. Then she said, "It might be best if I don't give you names. I was going to say, though, that Lucius Malfoy runs a program to assist Slytherins to get appropriate jobs, and Narcissa has organised a charity which helps Slytherin children orphaned or otherwise disadvantaged by the war. She works hard at it, too."
After a moment he responded dryly, "She probably needs to."
"Yes. But one of the Slytherins in my year is a colleague in the Unspeakables. Another is a Healer, well-regarded by St Mungo's. Three others have Ministry appointments, and not as mere flunkies. One," she smiled, "is a personal aide to the Minister, and is notorious for protecting his work time from interference by Wizengamot members who wish to argue with him."
A very brief flicker of amusement acknowledged that as a suitable task for a Slytherin.
"May I ask…"
"Ask and I shall answer, good or bad."
"Draco? Do his parents do that work in his memory?"
She was relieved. He might have asked about Theo Nott. "Oh, no! Draco is free, engaged in managing Malfoy businesses, married, happy in both, and with three children already. He says he's taking no chances of Malfoy property going outside the family just yet, or being neglected for political interests, either."
"And his wife says?" That was very dry.
"Three children in five years? I'd have found that hard. But they do have house-elves, and she seems happy to stay at the Manor and raise them. Draco loves those children; they're not just insurance. They have doting grandparents, too, though you'd never think it, listening to Lucius."
"You speak as if you know him. Them."
She nodded. There was no need to tell him she had made a point of becoming acquainted with those she believed his friends, few though they were who had survived. If he did live, he would find friends waiting.
"Lucius made a big effort, after the war. Not just to evade the penalties the Wizengamot might have thrown at him. He still thinks purebloods should be in charge of the wizarding world, but he now acknowledges that Muggleborns have skills and powers to contribute. No doubt he secretly acknowledges it's not, at present, the time to campaign further for pureblood dominance, either." She grinned wickedly. "His charities are Slytherin focussed, naturally. But one of his secretaries, as well as his chauffeur, is a Muggleborn, and he's certainly polite enough to me. And to anyone who'll be polite to him."
That last remark was due to Arthur Weasley's on-going hostility, but that was personal rather than political, now. They had a long and unfortunate history, going back to Hogwarts. If Ron followed his father in doing his best to ignore and deride the Malfoy family, Hermione's private as well as professional life gave her opportunities to develop relationships with them as with other Slytherins. Ron didn't bother complaining of it, any more. It gave him more time to devote to following the Cannons, after all, if his wife served on various charity boards and believed she should help to diminish the divide between Hogwarts houses that the Sorting Hat had preached about. He recognised that Hermione was as determined to pursue social justice as he was to support his favourite Quidditch team.
Professor Snape was discreet in the questions he asked, but she was happy to encourage him to realise that a better world had followed the one he knew: it might make him work harder to join it.
When she finally rose to leave, she said, "You would be able to collect your Order of Merlin - and the pension that goes with it - if you can survive Nagini."
Interest as well as amusement at her open attempt at manipulation gleamed in the black eyes, before he said, "Thank you for your efforts, Miss Granger, and for your care. I will certainly try. If I don't succeed, at least in failing in that I'll know I did not fail in the more important things."
He invited her to use his Floo, but suggested Hogsmeade would be a safer destination than London. She took his offer, knowing that if she were somehow observed, either in Hogwarts itself or in the grounds, it might make difficulty for him as well as her.
From the back barroom of the Hog's Head, where Aberforth Dumbledore studiously ignored her arrival, Hermione used her Time-Turner to return to her own time, rather than attempting to do so from Unspeakable offices in the Ministry. That would have been reckless in the extreme.
The back barroom was as deserted as when she had left Severus Snape's time, as she had thought it would be, but she paused on her way out for a short chat with Aberforth. She didn't buy a drink, though; she thought any stimulus, just now, might make her current mixture of exhilaration and apprehension explode into hysteria. Better to go in to her office and do some necessary paperwork and let herself calm down, having succeeded, at last, in speaking with Snape, and having the hope that she might, later, succeed in helping him to live.
∞∞Ω∞∞
Part 2
Author: Leni Jess (leni_jess)
Pairings: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger (or, more accurately, Severus, Hermione near-as-dammit gen); some background unexplicit Ron/Hermione
Rating PG 13
Summary Three ways Hermione Granger failed to rescue Severus Snape, and one way she did.
Disclaimer The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count 11,904 words
Author Notes Written December 2011 for snapelyholidays for prayer_at_night. The story just doesn't seem to go beyond hints of UST. Epilogue compliant in the letter if not the spirit.
Thanks to my patient beta reader (my brother)! Thanks also to the endlessly patient Mods, for (what else) endless patience. For the reader's information, Easter in 1998 began on 10 April. The battle of Hogwarts, JKR assures us, began on 1 May.
For other credits, see the End Note.
Time and Again
by Leni Jess
Prologue
Hermione stood braced above the Hufflepuff cup with its Horcrux, the basilisk fang held high and gripped firmly.
Ron was muttering, "Kill it, Hermione; kill it!" He sounded more alarmed than enthusiastic, though it had been his idea she should be the one to do it.
Then she began to understand why both Ron and Harry had found killing Horcruxes both difficult and frightening. The thing screamed, making her flinch from the volume of sound and from the malevolence it held. Then it began to talk. That was worse, once she understood who it was warning her about.
"He will betray you; you can never trust him."
She knew Ron had this nasty habit of walking out when he found the going too hard, or even when he imagined himself belittled by his friends. He had behaved well today, and not just in reminding them that the house-elves should be warned to seek safety; but she knew quite well he hadn't kicked the habit. When she had evidence that he had, she might follow up on that impulsive kiss of gratitude she had given him, which had morphed so surprisingly into passion. As far as she was concerned, when it came to choosing a life-partner, reliability trumped passion, never mind infatuation. Her parents, after all, had spent a lot of time and energy ensuring that she should feel that way. She might never see them again. In this, she would follow their guidance, be their good daughter.
So the Horcrux needn't have bothered. If that was all it had to say… She gripped the fang tightly again, raising it a little higher.
The Horcrux raised its voice to a scraping scream that forced a shudder down her spine. "You can never trust him! Who ever could? He killed everyone he ever claimed to love!"
What?
"He will sell you: for silver, for fear, for favour, for a moment's advantage."
That was certainly nonsense. Or not Ron it was maligning, at least. Who…? Then the words "killed everyone he ever claimed to love" struck home.
The idiot soul fragment must be going on about Snape. Who might indeed have betrayed Lily, but not, she was still convinced, on purpose. So maybe his motive for killing Dumbledore needed looking into, or this slander wouldn't have much point.
She could just hear Ron babbling, "It's lying, Hermione; don't believe it!"
Was he hearing the same words she was? Or had he just heard that first statement, and panicked, guiltily aware of betraying Harry and herself? Even if he did come back - and just in time to rescue Harry from his own attack of idiocy. Boys.
So if the damned thing was talking about Snape, where had it got the idea that she would care? Was it reaching into her mind, pulling out the thoughts that still squirreled around there, on the darkest and bleakest of nights? Her wondering whether Snape was, still, somehow, faithful to Dumbledore and Dumbledore's purpose, and whether she should be supporting him still, despite appearances? Since Voldemort had appointed Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he had certainly trusted him, and that trust should make it easier for Snape if he was still following Dumbledore's plan, whatever it might be.
Legilimency by another human being was bad enough, but by a blackened scrap of soul? Nothing doing.
Ron and the Horcrux babbled together: "Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't just stand there!" and "He'll fuck you and run, taking everything you have and are from you. You're only a Mudblood, not even a halfblood like him…"
That bastard fragment was digging far too deep, into idle thoughts and half-sleeping fevered imaginings. Enough.
The basilisk fang came down on the gold cup, piercing its base, crumpling it, and striking through to the rock the cup sat upon.
Hermione gasped as the shock of her blow was transmitted back up her arms, and involuntarily dropped her weapon. She scrambled for it, but it wasn't necessary: one last scream was cut off, and a little bitumen-like stuff leaked from the side of the cup, though it had no hollow part which might have held it. Ick.
She needed to talk to Snape. Perhaps they would both survive the battle to come.
∞∞Ω∞∞
#1 The Survivor
When it was all over, and Harry had disappeared for some peace and quiet with Luna's help, and the Weasleys folded Ron into their tight family group while somehow pushing her slowly out, Hermione went to find Professor McGonagall.
Voldemort had said he had killed Snape, and he had certainly looked dead when the three of them had left him in the Shrieking Shack. But if Snape was indeed Dumbledore's man, and Harry's protector, why had he not appeared with Harry's parents and their friends, whe Harry had summoned them with the Resurrection Stone? He had, after all, done considerably more for Harry than either Sirius or Remus had. Maybe Snape wasn't dead. Or hadn't been dead then.
What she needed was a Time-Turner, to give him the best possible chance to live.
The nearest Time-Turner she knew of was the one Minerva McGonagall had loaned her in third year. Since then, though, she had concluded that all of the teaching staff - certainly the Heads of House - used Time-Turners regularly, as the only possible way of getting through their work-load. The Department of Mysteries's stock of Time-Turners had been destroyed in her fifth year, but she would bet the teachers had held onto theirs like grim death.
Minerva McGonagall was easy enough to find: moving around the groups of children who were almost adults, and of parents who had either fought with or come looking for their children. Nearly all purebloods, of course, though Hermione saw Dean's parents, one wizarding, one not, as well as Dennis and his parents, grieving for Colin, and Justin with his Muggle parents, looking wildly out of place, but clinging gladly to their son. When Hermione was close enough, she could hear that the Deputy Headmistress was sympathising with losses, praising defenders of the school, and promising that it would restored for a new school year, if not by the first of September.
"Hermione!" McGonagall sounded very pleased. "Oh my dear, you're all three of you safe! I'm so proud of you!"
"We made a lot of mistakes," Hermione said, looking back, as she had been compulsively doing for months.
"But you succeeded. That's what counts."
Hermione shook her head. "There are some people who might be still with us, if we'd been cleverer."
The determined good cheer dropped away, and for a few moments Hermione saw a very weary woman, who was conscious of her own mistakes and losses, before McGonagall said quietly, "They would forgive you, I think, as I shall pray they will forgive me, with far less reason. We all make mistakes, Miss Granger."
Seizing her moment, Hermione said, "I may be able to fix one mistake we have all made. If you can lend me a Time-Turner."
That got her a decidedly Headmistressy look, so Hermione went on quickly, "We left Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack, believing he was dead. But I think, now, he isn't. Wasn't. If I go back, I may be able to keep him alive."
Minerva McGonagall breathed in hard, then quelled the hope that for a moment illuminated her face. "There are no more Time-Turners, the Department of Mysteries says -"
Ruthlessly Hermione set out her reasons for believing that Hogwarts staff had access to Time-Turners, no matter what had happened that night the Department of Mysteries had been invaded by both Death Eaters and school-children. Professor McGonagall didn't try to equivocate further.
"You're correct, of course, though if anyone else has worked it out they haven't said so. But for that purpose, my dear, yes, I shall lend you my Time-Turner - rather than the student one you used in third year. But you must do more than go back: you should take all the potions and medical equipment he may need. I only wish I could ask Poppy to go with you, but," her voice faltered, "there are too many people in the Infirmary, who still desperately need her help, and help from the Healers from St Mungo's who've Flooed in."
Hermione nodded acceptance. "Would Madam Pomfrey have time to select the potions and equipment for me?"
"I will ask her to do so. We both owe Severus that much. I owe him everything I can do, after having lost my faith in his goodwill, which was even greater than I once thought, as Harry and Voldemort between them made clear to everyone. But I shouldn't leave the Hall for long; so many people need reassurance, and I seem to be one of the few, barring Kingsley, who has serious work of his own to do, who can give it. Repairing that loss of faith cannot be set aside for our colleague, either; he'd understand. He gave everything to save our world, to help these children.
"Come. You took Poppy's classes in your sixth year, didn't you, on emergency mediwzardry?"
Hermione nodded again, as they both headed briskly for the stairs.
"Good. I shall pray for your success, but, Hermione - don't be too disappointed if you fail. He would certainly forgive that, and be ready to thank you for trying."
"It would be better if I can emulate him, and succeed," Hermione returned. "Someone should do something for him, for a change."
She heard a quietly suppressed sniff, and another, so she did not look around. Neither spoke before they entered the Infirmary.
It did not take long before Hermione was fully equipped, and instructed in the possibilities Madam Pomfrey thought she might encounter. Then they went to Professor McGonagall's office, where she extracted a Time-Turner from a fiercely warded, unobtrusive drawer. She too made sure that Hermione was clear on its use, its possibilities, and its options.
"These won't take a person more than twenty-four hours back. They were designed to allow staff to keep up with the demands of teaching and student supervision in a school that's never been properly staffed.
"One thing you should remember, though: if you can't save him, you can use the Time-Turner to come back alone. We can retrieve his body soon enough, respectfully enough. But if you can save him, don't try to bring him back. Live through those four hours or so, as unobserved as you both may, and then bring him to Poppy."
"He shouldn't wait for better attention than I can give," Hermione objected.
"He'll have to," Professor McGonagall said grimly. "There are rumours that some very sophisticated Time-Turners can bring a person forward through time, in the company of someone who's used one to go back; but this one, as I said, has quite limited uses. It's a risk you must take. The alternative would be worse. You might lose him on the return journey, or he might never set out on it with you. I don't know."
"Very well," Hermione assented, her heart sinking at the thought that Professor Snape would have to live through those hours with no better assistance than she could give.
Further delay was undesirable, so Hermione set off with Madam Pomfrey's gear for the Shack, able to Apparate to its door, since the anti-Apparation wards were still down. The place looked both better and worse in the early morning sunlight, though she would be seeing it by the full moon in a few moments. She used the Time-Turner to take her back four hours: no finer tuning was possible, and she didn't want to arrive before Professor Snape had, and run the risk of being discovered by Voldemort himself.
Then Hermione pushed her way in, looking at the back wall where Professor Snape had been collapsed when she and Harry and Ron had set off again down the passage to the Whomping Willow.
He wasn't there. A quick Lumos confirmed that his body wasn't simply hidden by shadow.
Hermione looked around wildly, unable to believe that he was gone.
Then she set her teeth and used the first of a series of revealing charms, just in case Professor Snape, in his awareness of being helpless, had managed to Disillusion himself for greater safety. Still no body. Plenty of blood, sticky and horridly copious, but no body, and no wand, either.
After trying still more spells, desperately holding back panic, Hermione paused, and recognised that the wand's absence might be as significant as Professor Snape's.
Had he, somehow, staggered away? Had he recovered enough strength, or summoned enough determination, to Apparate to safety? (And if so, had he reached it, or collapsed somewhere, somewhere he might never be found?) Had someone else come for his body? (Friend or enemy; oh God?)
She increased the brightness of her wandlight, and examined the pools of blood carefully, making sure not to step into them and obscure whatever signs there might be.
There were no drag marks. No prints of his dragonhide boots, either. There were a few scuffed marks near to where the body itself had been, where someone had perhaps knelt beside him, careless of the blood.
Hermione swore aloud, quite deliberately using the worst language Gryffindor and Slytherin boys alike had taught her.
In the distance she could hear Voldemort offering his one hour truce to the defenders, giving them the chance to retrieve their dead. God, the irony. Her dead was irretrievable.
She needed a better Time-Turner. She needed, damn it, a better idea of the exact times at which Nagini had struck Snape, Voldemort had left the Shack, and the three of them had left. She had to avoid those moments. In some of them, after all, she herself had been present in the Shack, either in the tunnel, or in the room itself. A double presence was incredibly dangerous, Professor Dumbledore had impressed on them in third year, when they set out to rescue both Buckbeak and Sirius.
Defeated, she returned to the castle, where she and Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall wept briefly on each others' shoulders, before they returned to present duty, and Hermione sat down to think what alternative action she might take.
As well as a better Time-Turner, she needed better knowledge of them. Kingsley had suggested coming to work for the Ministry when she had taken her NEWTs, as she was determined to do. He had made it clear it was a serious job offer. Perhaps she would see if she could apprentice in the Department of Mysteries, rather than with the Aurors.
∞∞Ω∞∞
#2 The Trainee
Hermione found the Department of Mysteries even more interesting than Minerva and Kingsley led her to expect. She also found that they had very strict standards for trainees, and that Time-Turners, like many of the more complex magical devices hidden away there, were out of bounds to trainees until they had served, at the least, a time in each of the Department's sections. It was two years before she was able to confirm that there were, indeed, better Time-Turners available than the ones designed for short-term use, though she still wasn't allowed to get at them.
At about the same time she discovered that there was a long-running project whose staff attempted to communicate through the Veil, and that they were having some success. (She immediately resolved never to mention this to Harry who, now an Auror, was entitled to some of Mysteries' less arcane information.)
Mysteries became more interesting with every year.
By now, whatever her impatience to help and retrieve Professor Snape, Hermione had realised that she had all the time in the world to prepare herself. (She continued her mediwitch studies on the side, which astonished no one: the people most suited to the Department of Mysteries seemed capable of pursuing several interests at once, and their senior management found it convenient to encourage this.)
She had also given a lot of thought to whether she might do well to look into some other means of saving Snape than simply to travel back to the time he had been wounded almost to death, in the middle of a battle. She had a whole notebook full of options, with increasingly long lists of pro and con for each, plus some rigorous speculation on what, exactly, she might get a Time-Turner to do.
At last Hermione was moved to the Time Section, though she was still not allowed to play with time travel, as such. Instead, she was introduced to that device which she had seen at the end of fifth year, the one in which an object rotated continuously through all its forms. Fortunately, she was not expected to observe anything so horrifying as what she had seen then: the Death Eater trapped within its field, morphing between babyhood and adulthood. Her new section supervisor explained to her that studying the Arithmantic equations associated with this device was the most useful way to approach the study of time.
Hermione studied diligently, therefore, and began a new notebook wherein she experimented with Arithmantic means of assessing her best approach to rescuing Professor Snape.
Eventually she decided on a bold move, one which might not only save Snape from death, but make his life, if not easier, at least one of greater assurance of success in his efforts to bring Voldemort and his Death Eaters down. By now she accepted that there was no way to save him from those years as a double agent, though she might be able to relieve his frustrations as a teacher and his fears as a secret opponent of a terrifyingly skilled wizard. Without Snape, the battle would almost certainly never have been won.
Sometimes she had fantasies of talking him out of joining Voldemort, of never becoming a Death Eater, but she knew them for what they were: foolish. The resentful boy who had been harried all his life, and who towards the end of his school years had been forced to face the loss of his only friend, the person he desired as a lover, to his principal tormentor, was not likely to be mature enough to put humiliation, pain and loss behind him.
No. But she could give him guidance, warn him of traps, encourage him, promise him success.
She had to find him first, of course, but she could identify almost to the moment when the Severus Snape of fifth year had been assaulted by James Potter and his friends, after their OWLs examinations. She also knew exactly where Snape had been before he was assaulted. She could find him, reading under that tree, in time enough to warn him, tell him what was to come.
And if he chose to profit from that information not to insult Lily Evans so fatally, it probably wouldn't make much difference. A girl who would think it moderately funny that one friend should hang another upside-down in the air, in sight of everyone, was no longer a true friend, however much Snape told himself that it was that insult which had lost him his relationship with her. Lily would still pair up with James, and abandon Severus. He might find the aftermath marginally less painful, however, if he was not blaming himself.
Her best opportunity would be after everyone went home for the day (probably well into the evening). She could help herself to one of the new model Time-Turners that had been created after the existing stock had (only mostly) been destroyed, and take the journey back in years. Only then would she Apparate to Hogwarts with it, go to Severus's tree, and take a separate, shorter journey to the afternoon of that day that Severus thought had changed his life. Simplest of all would be to do it on the anniversary.
So in early May, near the end of her third year as an apprentice in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione stole the Time-Turner, and locked herself in her office (a new privilege). She hung its chain around her neck and activated it, setting the little dials with great care.
Her back hurt, and her bottom, and her arms were waving frantically, trying to keep all that cloth off her face; she whimpered, the need to scream out her terror rising. She couldn't see, and there was something heavy lying across her chest. Once she managed to get her mouth free, though, she calmed down, even though her vision was very fuzzy.
She found herself thinking, "Hermione, what have you done now?"
Her adult mind had abruptly come back, and come back to awareness that her body was that of a child. She brought one hand close to her face, and saw a plump baby's fist. What have you done, indeed.
How many other traps did Time-Turners hold, that no one had warned her of yet? This was a doozy. When you used a Time-Turner were you always limited to your own lifetime, as she seemed to have been? Better than timing oneself out of existence, for sure. Was that some law of physics that even cunning wizardry could not break, that one couldn't go further back than one's own lifetime? Or was it a wizard's precaution, to prevent meddling too far with the world's past?
Was this a safety precaution set on the new type of Time-Turner, or had it always been there, something that senior Mysteries staff alone were aware of? Indeed, she had gone no further back than full consciousness. For which she was thankful. She might be able to get herself out of this, instead of having to hope that someone, twenty-one odd years ago, had gone (would go?) into this room and find a baby tangled up with a Time-Turner. The Department of Mysteries wouldn't look favourably on an apprentice who experimented recklessly and against orders with a highly restricted magical device.
Hermione screamed, shocking herself with the high baby's cry, and even more with the baby's rage at helplessness; but it relieved a little of her frustration. Perhaps instead of speculating uselessly, she ought to pull the damned thing up to where she could see the dials, and hope that her clumsy, weak baby fingers could manipulate them.
She gripped the chain and pulled. Yes. And there was the Cancel button, which would reverse the settings. She gripped the Time-Turner hard and set a fat little finger against the button carefully, before she pushed it.
Yes.
Oh, thank God. Thank Merlin. Thank all the powers that protected prideful idiots.
She was thankful that she was wearing the loose robes of wizardkind, instead of the close-fitting Muggle jeans and pullover of her at-home practice; she might otherwise be half strangled by her own clothing. Her back still hurt, but not so much.
She removed the Time-Turner's chain from her neck with gingerly care, and set it aside. Then she turned over, curled up in a ball, and wept briefly, for Professor Snape, still lost and inaccessible, and for herself, still unable to reach the person she was, as she had to acknowledge, dangerously obsessed with. She also shook with fright at what she had almost done.
She would just have to wait. Yet again. And study longer, and gain official access to Time-Turners and all knowledge pertaining to them.
And perhaps work at having a life. Working with George seemed to made Ron grow up a lot; certainly he was more responsible now. Maybe she could trust him to stick around after all.
∞∞Ω∞∞
#3 The Unspeakable
For the next couple of years Hermione set the Snape Project aside. She had frightened herself badly, and decided she should wait until she was officially considered suitable for advanced Time-Turner work. Ignorance was not a good basis for action. She had also recaptured her feelings for Ron, and developed the trust she had been unaware of needing, as an adolescent caught up in attachment and intimacy. Her dreams of Snape receded, and she was glad. It was better to have a real live man, with whom one could live.
Their marriage made them both happy, even as it taught them not to have unrealistic expectations of each other.
Only, after a while, the pressure to have children increased, from Ron quite as much as from Molly. (It wasn't as if Molly lacked grandchildren. Bill and Fleur had three, now, but Fleur managed to keep her distance. Hermione wasn't at all sure she, any more than Fleur, wanted Molly to have much say in the raising of her children.)
At last Hermione said determinedly, "Ron, if I agree to have two children now, when my responsibilities at work aren't so great, will you be content, and not push for more? Ideally, of course, a girl and a boy. I'd want to stop at two, so that I can go on working, and still pay each of them proper attention."
"That'd be a good start," Ron agreed. "I'd like a little girl with your curls, Mione."
Hermione rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first time they'd negotiated their way through to something that worked for both of them, though, so she persisted, trying to pin him down to an explicit agreement.
"Will you go on pressuring me to have as many kids as your Mum, and to stay at home with them for the next ten to twenty years? Because that might make you happy, but it won't me. I'm not your Mum. I want a different life. Even if I had seven kids and had to stay home with them and scrimp and save to raise them on your salary, Ron, I wouldn't be your Mum."
"I know that," Ron agreed hastily. "It's you I want to be married to. And I know you'd hate scrimping and saving, and yes, I know you earn more money than I do already. You'll go on earning more, I expect, and the kids will need that money, if they're to have the clothes and toys I'd like for them - and the right stuff for Hogwarts, too. Mum loved us all, but she didn't always notice us, and we weren't all happy doing without, just to be a big family. I'd like my kids to be noticed, as well as loved. If you think two is manageable, let's do that. They'll be company for each other."
Hermione nodded. "I think that's important too, Ron. I grew up alone, and I don't want that for my children." She smiled a bit ruefully. "I grew up a bookworm, and bossy, and addicted to doing things my way. If our children can learn to give and take better than I did, I'd like that, too. It's too late for me."
Ron repeated, "It's you I want for my wife, books and bossiness and all, even if it'd be nice if you'd listen when I talk about the Cannons."
Hermione laughed. "When you listen to me going on about Arithmancy."
Ron laughed too. They had a cuddle, and took some enjoyable practical steps with those two children in mind.
∞∞Ω∞∞
Rose came along, and Ron mostly concealed his disappointment that she wasn't a boy, as he'd confidently expected. (After all, his parents had six before they got the girl they wanted. He was careful never to ask himself how many of those six boys were strictly surplus to requirements.)
Hermione saw enough to say tartly, one day when she was tired with the demands of a baby on top of work and a fairly undomesticated husband, "Isn't it better to have the girl now, Ron? That way, we've got fifty percent of our children."
Ron was wise enough to refrain from saying hopefully that maybe it wouldn't be a boy next time, either, so they'd have to keep going. He thought Hermione might clock him, if he did. Neither of them was getting enough sleep.
Even so, soon enough Hermione agreed they should start work on the second child.
"Work?" Ron enquired, feigning injured pride.
Hermione laughed, and evaded the hand he reached out to her, heading for the stairs and their bedroom. "Fun?" she suggested. "Might as well have it while Rose gives us the chance. With two, I don't know how much fun we'll be fitting in."
"I can see it now," Ron agreed, leering at her as he caught up. "I'll have to make the most of my opportunities."
He could see her point that getting all the pain of child-raising out the way in one dreadful hit might have advantages (at least, the kind of pain Rose was currently giving them).
So Hugo arrived, and Hermione took longer off work this time. It made the first year much easier.
When she went back to work, taking both children to the crèche an intermittently considerate Ministry now provided, Hermione found her supervisor expected her to get down to serious research and experimentation. Hermione was surprised at how happy she was to meet that expectation. Children were more interesting than she had expected, but their company was not intellectually stimulating.
Her supervisor also encouraged her to follow the interest he had noted she had in Time-Turners. Hermione learned a great deal she had not known, and that she suspected her teachers at Hogwarts had no idea of, and began to think about Snape again. She thought he might have had a genuine interest in what she was discovering; she wondered what suggestions he would have made, had she been able to discuss her work with him. Of course she could not discuss it with Ron; Unspeakables were required to be literally silent about their work, but she knew he wouldn't care. The only theory issue Ron took an interest in was Quidditch plays. George did most of the product development for the shop, though Ron had proved to be a remarkably good manager. So she held talks with Snape, sometimes, in her head, when a problem was intransigent. It worked. She was a good enough practical Arithmancer now to be able to calculate around the recursive problems that using a Time-Turner would cause, given the slightest inattention, but stepping back enough from her work to imagine what someone else might think of it turned out to be a productive discipline.
When Hugo joined Rose at the local Muggle primary school (Hermione firmly rejected Molly's offer to home-school them; she didn't want her children ignorant of, and possibly disdainful of, her own background), Hermione started planning for the next step in the Snape Project. Somewhat guiltily, she didn't tell Ron about that. It was just like a work project, she rationalised. He had learned to minimise the amount he shared with her about his work projects, after all, even if he was a little irritated occasionally that she and George had long technical discussions about the use of potions and charms and transfiguration in creating new Wheezes.
Hermione found herself giving more thought to when might be the best point to return to, in Snape's life. The Time-Turner practicalities were much less of a worry, now, and the latest devices, in whose development she had a share, offered scope for actions the Hogwarts professors' Time-Turners didn't allow for.
She was fairly reconciled to knowing that it would be difficult to make Snape's life easier for him. He would have had to take very similar steps, after all, to achieve the victory they had all laboured for. It might be even harder for him, if he had to take those steps, knowing that acting differently would be dangerous. Wouldn't it be worse to be hard on Harry, if he understood there was no need to hate Lily's son out of his own grief and guilt?
So perhaps she should concentrate on warning him to be prepared for the final battle, and for Voldemort to turn on him, in the belief that Severus had mastered the Elder Wand. He needed to be Nagini-proofed. He would have a better chance of living, then, and she could, perhaps, later, be that mysterious person who had knelt in his blood and helped him away.
∞∞Ω∞∞
Hermione took herself back to the Easter vacation of the year Snape had been Headmaster of Hogwarts, Disillusioned herself, and walked up to the great doors, wand in hand in case of random Death Eaters. It felt odd to be eighteen again, and as skinny as she had been in that camping-out-and-starving year, instead of slightly plump from baby-making and a comfortable life.
She knew a great deal more about Snape than she had done at eighteen. She had finally persuaded Harry to share Snape's Pensieved memories with her. Both of them, after all, respected and admired him, and regretted his absence from the modern wizarding world, as Ron certainly didn't, even now. So she had a good idea of where she might find him, when he had minimal official duties, but still enough to keep him at the school, rather than at Voldemort's side. She knew his password for the Headmaster's office, too. A detail that might have impressed Harry and convinced him of Snape's faithfulness almost as much as Snape's love for Lily.
She approached the gargoyle cautiously, checking for traps and alarms, but found only the wards it was reasonable to expect from a Headmaster who was also a Death Eater who couldn't trust his confrères. She worked her way past them respectfully, and cast her own revealing charm through the door.
Snape was there. He was still, except for one moving hand, and regular to-and-fro eye-motion. Working, then. Calmly. She knocked on the door.
He would know, of course, that someone had by-passed his precautions, but the knock might give him some assurance that it wasn't ill-meant.
She opened the door, slowly, and stepped in to face the grim gaze and the levelled wand. He didn't appear worried, just mildly irritated.
The irritation deepened. "Miss Granger. What foolishness brings you here?"
"A desire to help," she answered promptly. He would react badly to any equivocation, she was sure. "I'm not the Hermione Granger you know."
One eyebrow lifted, even as he laid his wand down.
"Shut the door. Sit. And explain how six months on the run has altered you completely."
The sarcasm didn't discompose her. She was used to worse, at work, and dished it out herself, on occasion. She chose the most comfortable looking upright chair and waved it wandlessly to a position across his desk from him, and seated herself, crossing her ankles and leaning back slightly. She saw him register her ease as well as her ability.
"That Hermione Granger is living in a tent with two boys, on mushrooms and weeds and the occasional fish. Not nearly enough fish. I am thirty-three, married, with two children at school." She lifted the Time-Turner chain and pulled it out from inside her robes, before tucking it away.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "So why are you here?"
"To help, remember? I can tell you that you won. You and Harry between you saved us all. That hasn't happened yet. There's some specific information I want to give you, that you will very much need -"
"If we won, what do I need to do differently, that you feel you must tell me about it?"
"You deserve to live," she said starkly, "and I believe what I tell you might make that possible."
He sagged slightly, then braced himself, and became utterly expressionless. She knew how that felt.
"That I would not in any case do?"
Heaven forbid he show her his feelings. She didn't let that distract her.
"Have you made an antidote to Nagini's poison? Do you carry at all times the potions that might let you live, if she bites you?"
"Ah. No, I don't. I've thought about it, but it would not be an easy task, and there's no reason she should set on me."
"Save her master's misconceptions."
"He doesn't discover my allegiance?"
"No. He wanted - wants, something he believes only your death can give him. During the battle. The only battle, the last battle. You have time to develop that antivenin, haven't you? Between now and the full moon of May?"
He didn't answer at once, and she hoped that meant he was considering the problem seriously.
"I believe so." After a moment he said, "I do have some of her venom, held under stasis. Just in case I changed my mind about the urgency."
"Then please take it seriously. We could do with you, in the world you helped to make."
He was quick, and unflinchingly said, "I'm not in your world, am I."
"Not that I know of. But we had no body; there is no ghost; your portrait in this office doesn't communicate. You may, without my intervention, have somehow survived, and sought privacy and solitude. I have no way to know. But what I'd like, what others would like, is for you to be a part of our lives. For you to have the fruits of peace, not just the struggle to achieve it."
"So your world is perfect?" His tone was lightly mocking.
"I don't think you'd be bored," she answered wryly. "There's plenty that could stand to be fixed. Hey, it's the wizarding world; what else?"
He smiled at that, however faintly, then said gently, "But if I am not in your now, how will that change?"
"Trust me to work for it?" To offer him more than an unsupported statement of intent, she added, "I'm a fully qualified Unspeakable, part of the current Time-Turner development team. We have made advances on what the Department of Mysteries held in my fifth year, you know, before we wrecked the place."
"Did they ever fine you for that?" he asked, seemingly interested.
"No, unlike Gringotts." She bit her lip.
"So you got across the goblins?"
"Yes. But I'll tell you that story later."
"And who won in that confrontation?"
"They would say me: I say them. I do some Arithmancy projects for them, still. On the other hand, they're still paying off their fine for being so obliging to Voldemort."
"If you're breaking even, you've done well," he commented. " Miss Granger, is this an official Unspeakable project?"
She shook her head. "It's my project. It's been my project since the second of May, 1998."
"So that's the battle date. The full moon."
"It began earlier in the night."
He nodded. "I'll be careful. Is there anything else you feel you must tell me, Miss Granger? Mrs…" His voice trailed off invitingly.
She smiled and shook her head, though she longed to tell him how important, how urgent it was that he should save himself as well as the wizarding world. It didn't occur to her until later that he was fishing for her husband's identity. She wasn't thinking about Ron at all. Ron wasn't part of this project, this obsession, this life's work.
She had done what she came for. She must not take up his time, even though this was the first time they had interacted as adults, and she would have liked to extend her acquaintance with him. Especially as he was being courteous. He had believed her and not scoffed or derided her. She should go. But perhaps first she should offer him some hard proof of what she had said. She would not be the only one to suffer dark nights of doubt; she ought not to add to his burdens.
"I'll leave you to your work in a moment, but first -" she drew from inside her robes what appeared to be a photograph, and held it out to him.
He took it, raising his eyebrows. The two children in it, rugged up for winter so that only their faces were visible, were concentrating on a kneazle kitten, and did not look up.
"Your children?"
"Rose and Hugo," she agreed. "But it's also my identity card for the Ministry. If I touch my wand to it -"
He held it back across the desk to her. She took out her wand, touched the picture, and silently spoke the spell. The photograph changed to a stiff card, which held her picture: a woman in her early thirties, in Unspeakable uniform, with her name (her maiden name, which she used at work) and the seal of the Unspeakables, with the signature of their chief sprawled across it. Not the wizard who was currently in charge of that department, but a name he would know as a Dumbledore supporter, a member of an old pureblood family, and a high-ranking Unspeakable.
"Heribert Bones. Well, that make sense."
He looked for a while at the card, glancing swiftly up to compare her future face with the one more familiar to him, before he handed it back. Another wand touch, and she slipped the picture of her children back into the special pocket inside her robes.
"Thank you. How long have you been an Unspeakable?"
"I apprenticed when I was nineteen, nearly twenty, after I did my seventh year at Hogwarts. So, for fourteen years."
"And you're on the Time-Turner development team, you said."
She nodded. "That's not my only responsibility. Many of us are involved in several projects, to greater or lesser degrees." She smiled a little ruefully. "Director Bones doesn't believe in letting us run the risk of becoming focussed on a single issue for long. There are a few old Unspeakables who are interested in one area of study only, and it's too late to change them. He wants us flexible."
"And have there been similar changes in other Ministry departments?"
"Yes, and still going on, of course. Twenty and more years of having - him looming over wizarding society created some distortions." She met his eyes and smiled more broadly. "You might like to know that Dolores Umbridge is in Azkaban."
"Minerva would be delighted to hear that. What a pity I can't tell her." For a moment it looked as if he relished the knowledge too.
He became more serious; indeed, he looked tired suddenly, and suddenly uglier, the sallow skin, the over-large nose and the crooked yellow teeth more evident. "Is there anything you can tell me of my Slytherin students in your future, Miss Granger? I have never, as you might now understand, been able to lead them openly away from his influence, and children do not always perceive subtle suggestions in the guidance I have been able to give, not even Slytherin children."
Yet another burden he must have carried for a long time. That, at least, she might help with, a little.
"Some good news, some bad," she answered steadily. "Those who followed him of their own accord, not only in belief but in action, who survived the battle, are in Azkaban. Most with limited sentences, for what that's worth, but at least there are no Dementors there now. There's still a lot of prejudice, though, even against those who would have preferred to oppose him, but did not, for their families' sakes, even if they took no action in his support. But they have help. Professor, none of your students are outcast and starving, or exiled. The Malfoys -"
She broke off as he flinched. Then she said, "It might be best if I don't give you names. I was going to say, though, that Lucius Malfoy runs a program to assist Slytherins to get appropriate jobs, and Narcissa has organised a charity which helps Slytherin children orphaned or otherwise disadvantaged by the war. She works hard at it, too."
After a moment he responded dryly, "She probably needs to."
"Yes. But one of the Slytherins in my year is a colleague in the Unspeakables. Another is a Healer, well-regarded by St Mungo's. Three others have Ministry appointments, and not as mere flunkies. One," she smiled, "is a personal aide to the Minister, and is notorious for protecting his work time from interference by Wizengamot members who wish to argue with him."
A very brief flicker of amusement acknowledged that as a suitable task for a Slytherin.
"May I ask…"
"Ask and I shall answer, good or bad."
"Draco? Do his parents do that work in his memory?"
She was relieved. He might have asked about Theo Nott. "Oh, no! Draco is free, engaged in managing Malfoy businesses, married, happy in both, and with three children already. He says he's taking no chances of Malfoy property going outside the family just yet, or being neglected for political interests, either."
"And his wife says?" That was very dry.
"Three children in five years? I'd have found that hard. But they do have house-elves, and she seems happy to stay at the Manor and raise them. Draco loves those children; they're not just insurance. They have doting grandparents, too, though you'd never think it, listening to Lucius."
"You speak as if you know him. Them."
She nodded. There was no need to tell him she had made a point of becoming acquainted with those she believed his friends, few though they were who had survived. If he did live, he would find friends waiting.
"Lucius made a big effort, after the war. Not just to evade the penalties the Wizengamot might have thrown at him. He still thinks purebloods should be in charge of the wizarding world, but he now acknowledges that Muggleborns have skills and powers to contribute. No doubt he secretly acknowledges it's not, at present, the time to campaign further for pureblood dominance, either." She grinned wickedly. "His charities are Slytherin focussed, naturally. But one of his secretaries, as well as his chauffeur, is a Muggleborn, and he's certainly polite enough to me. And to anyone who'll be polite to him."
That last remark was due to Arthur Weasley's on-going hostility, but that was personal rather than political, now. They had a long and unfortunate history, going back to Hogwarts. If Ron followed his father in doing his best to ignore and deride the Malfoy family, Hermione's private as well as professional life gave her opportunities to develop relationships with them as with other Slytherins. Ron didn't bother complaining of it, any more. It gave him more time to devote to following the Cannons, after all, if his wife served on various charity boards and believed she should help to diminish the divide between Hogwarts houses that the Sorting Hat had preached about. He recognised that Hermione was as determined to pursue social justice as he was to support his favourite Quidditch team.
Professor Snape was discreet in the questions he asked, but she was happy to encourage him to realise that a better world had followed the one he knew: it might make him work harder to join it.
When she finally rose to leave, she said, "You would be able to collect your Order of Merlin - and the pension that goes with it - if you can survive Nagini."
Interest as well as amusement at her open attempt at manipulation gleamed in the black eyes, before he said, "Thank you for your efforts, Miss Granger, and for your care. I will certainly try. If I don't succeed, at least in failing in that I'll know I did not fail in the more important things."
He invited her to use his Floo, but suggested Hogsmeade would be a safer destination than London. She took his offer, knowing that if she were somehow observed, either in Hogwarts itself or in the grounds, it might make difficulty for him as well as her.
From the back barroom of the Hog's Head, where Aberforth Dumbledore studiously ignored her arrival, Hermione used her Time-Turner to return to her own time, rather than attempting to do so from Unspeakable offices in the Ministry. That would have been reckless in the extreme.
The back barroom was as deserted as when she had left Severus Snape's time, as she had thought it would be, but she paused on her way out for a short chat with Aberforth. She didn't buy a drink, though; she thought any stimulus, just now, might make her current mixture of exhilaration and apprehension explode into hysteria. Better to go in to her office and do some necessary paperwork and let herself calm down, having succeeded, at last, in speaking with Snape, and having the hope that she might, later, succeed in helping him to live.
∞∞Ω∞∞
Part 2