A/N: This was written almost two years ago. I've had the idea for this story for ages, but it's going to be at least novel-length, if not epic, and I am notorious for abandoning stories. But since I love this idea so much, I didn't want think about abandoning it, and so refused to post anything until I finished it, self-edited, peer-edited, and beta'd it to perfection.
But two years, 27 chapters, and 200,000 words later, I'm not even halfway finished with part one, and it's gotten to the point where if I don't post it now I never will.
So, be prepared for inconsistencies, OOCness, and overall crappy scenes. But I put too much work into this to just let it die, and maybe having some of it out here on the internet will inspire me to finally finish the damned thing.
And so, I present to you, chapter one of Part One of...well, the working title was Shades in the Strictest Sense, but I always thought that kind of sucked.
How about And Time Will Tell Us All?
Full Summary: Pairings: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, with some Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans, Frank Longbottom/Alice Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew/Mary MacDonald, and Sirius Black/Petunia Evans.
"Oh, well, the night is long,
The beads of time pass slow."
- The Battle of Evermore, Led Zeppelin
All she wanted to do was sleep.
She was on her second full day without sleep. Well, early morning actually. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't stayed up the night before last studying. But who would've known that she would have had to spend all of last night locked in a life-or-death battle with Death Eaters?
Now it was over. Harry had told her and Ron everything. Dumbledore was dead, and Snape had betrayed them all. The Horcrux was a fake, and everyone else was resting now. There would be time to figure out their next step in the morning.
But Hermione couldn't sleep.
As much as she wanted to, as dearly as she needed to, she was pacing the floor of the common room instead. Logically she knew that yes, Dumbledore was deaddeaddeaddead, and it was by his own folly, because he trusted Snape.
But she couldn't understand how.
Dumbledore had always stood up for Snape. He had defended him against the entire wizarding world, given the man a home, a job, a friend, and a cause to fight for. How could Snape just throw all of that back in his face?
As nasty as he was, Snape had a code of honor. Hermione was under no impression that she understood the man, but she at least understood that the cruelty he employed while teaching was merely a façade to deceive his pureblood companions. She understood that his hatred of Harry was due to James Potter's own hatred of Snape as a child. In traditional wizarding society blood feuds are quite common.
Hermione trusted Snape as much, if not more than, Dumbledore did. And not only was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore always right, but so was Hermione Jean Granger.
Whenever she had a problem that needed solving, there was always one place Hermione would turn to.
Disillusioning herself wordlessly, she slipped out of the common room, and headed to the library.
Hermione screamed, knowing full well what was happening as she tumbled down the stairs, watching the Time Turner spin out of control. Ironically, time seemed to stand still for a moment. Her necklace seemed to pull her through the air while it spun, and it wasn't until she heard a resounding crack and hit the floor did time seem to move again.
Then it was all pain.
She let out a cry, crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. The room seemed to be spinning, and she wasn't sure if it was still the effects of the Time Turner, or if it was the pain in her ankle. Dimly, she recognized the sharpness as similar to when she had broken her ankle when she was six, learning how to ride a bike.
But that wasn't important. What was important is that she was sprawled out on the floor in Hogwarts at goodness knows what time or day, someone could find her at any minute, and she couldn't walk. At least, didn't think she could walk.
She looked around, biting her lip hard to keep from crying out again. Desperately hoping she didn't alert anybody when she screamed, she grabbed the edge of the railing and tried to hoist herself up. It was still dark out, so maybe with luck she had only gone a few hours back. Then again, a few hours back everyone was battling in the tower.
She cursed her luck, and looked up the two flights of stairs toGryffindorTowerwith dread. Up there was perhaps safety, until she could figure out what time she had landed in. She looked down at the ground, and saw the Time Turner smashed to pieces. So much for her mysterious Christmas present.
And really, who did she think she was? Wearing a dangerous necklace from an unknown sender. Now that it was off her, she really couldn't understand why she had put it on in the first place. Hell, she hadn't even asked McGonagall or Dumbledore to look over it for her. There must have been a compulsion on it, or something. She couldn't understand it. It had come with a copy of the Illiad. The handwriting on the inscription was familiar, but she hadn't been able to place it.
That, however, would be a mystery for another time. Right now, she took a deep breath, and tried to climb the first stair with her broken ankle.
Her reward for further idiotic behavior was, of course, a sharp pain in addition to the throbbing one already present, and unsteadiness enough to land her back on the floor.
"Are you actively attempting to be caught, or are you just so incredibly stupid I can't fathom it?" came a voice suddenly from the darkness.
Hermione turned her head to where it seemed to coming from. "Who-who's there?" she asked shakily, McGonagall's warnings echoing through her brain. So much for not being seen. Dangerous things happen to witches who meddle with time…
"I asked you a question first," the voice responded, and soon a body emerged from the darkness to be attached to that voice.
Pale skin. Rather long, lank, greasy hair. An oversized nose on a too-skinny, too-tall body. Dark, angry, accusing eyes.
If she didn't know better, Hermione would have sworn this was the teenage version of Severus Snape. Snapekilleddumbledore trustedsnape.
Evanesco, she whispered, swishing her wand behind her and vanishing the traces of the broken Time Turner.
"Actively attempting to be caught, actually," she said when she finished. If this was indeed a younger Snape, she was in much bigger trouble than a broken ankle. "I need to see Professor Dumbledore, and, seeing as how I can't possibly hobble up to the seventh floor in this state, I thought being caught and summarily discharged to his office would be the best way to do so."
Younger Snape look-a-like looked at her incredulously. "In that case, I would go with incredibly stupid. It's quite obvious that you're in need of the Hospital Wing, which is downstairs, not up," he replied, trying to get a better look at the strange young woman in the darkness.
"That, I believe, would garner more questions than answers. Now, if you would be so kind as to either mend my ankle, carry me to the Headmaster's office, or leave me be, I'd be much obliged," Hermione replied, surprised at her own rudeness, which was not like her at all, but desperate to have as little interaction with the past as possible. Dangerousthingshappen.
"What's in it for me?" the boy asked in response.
"What?" Hermione replied, confused, not giving his personal feelings the slightest thought.
"If I mend your ankle, you fool. What's in it for me?" he repeated slowly, as if talking to a child.
She was perplexed, and momentarily speechless. "Well, um…"
The boy scoffed. "Nothing, I see. Well, then, have a good night," he said, and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Hermione called, and he stopped, but didn't turn around.
"Yes?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes. Fond of the dramatic, was he? Oh, well. So she'd play into his hand for a few minutes. If she could walk at the end of it, it was worth it.
"Can you really do that?" she asked. "Fix my ankle, I mean."
"Of course," he said. "But for a price."
"Name it," she demanded, having to get back, needing to get back. Dumbledore, maybe, but he was dead. dumbledoredead ewhywhy. The library, definitely.
"Lumos!" he said in return, momentarily blinding her as he shoved his wand next to her face. "Who are you? A Gryffindor?" he asked, looking at her robes. "I've never seen you before. What's your name?"
"If I told you," Hermione responded. "I'd have to kill you."
He laughed then, and it occurred to Hermione that she had never seen Severus Snape laugh. Still desperately holding on the last vestige of hope that this wasn't him, however, she did not name him as such.
"You couldn't kill a fly," the boy said, after he finished his low chuckle.
"Could too!" she responded, unsure of her sudden desire to prove to a murderer that she, too, could be a murderer. She was too tired, too unsure, confused, what had happened? dumbledoredead.
"Prove it," he said, and pulled out his wand, conjuring wordlessly two buzzing flies. He waited a moment to make sure Hermione was looking at him, then flicked his wand, and one of the flies hit the floor, dead.
"No problem," she said, more confidently than she felt. She took out her wand, and pointed it at the fly.
But all she did was point.
The boy snorted in derision. "Pathetic," he said.
"Speak for yourself," Hermione muttered angrily, pocketing her wand, tootiredtootired.
"What did you just call me?" he growled, whipping around in a fury.
"The same thing I would anyone who spent their spare time killing off flies. Pathetic," Hermione repeated, wondering where her sudden bravado was coming from. After all, it wasn't like she could defend herself if it came down to a duel.
"I'm not the one limping around Hogwarts, trying to go see the Headmaster like one of his Gryffindor pets!" he retorted.
"What's that, precious?"
They both froze. "Filch," they whispered, simultaneously. Hermione visibly paled, staring at the lantern coming closer, unable to move with her bad leg.
"Well, you wanted to get caught, didn't you? Seems like you got your wish. Good luck with it!" the boy said, turning around.
"No!" Hermione whispered desperately. dangerousthings. "Please! Fix my ankle and I'll tell you everything you want to know after I get back from Dumbledore's office!"
"I've got better things to do than to wait around for a Gryffindor to make up some bullshit," he replied, starting to up the stairs.
Hermione glanced at Filch-lantern anxiously, and decided to go with her last resort. dangerousthings dumbledoredead dangerousthings trustedsnapesnape TRUSTEDSNAPE.
"Snape!" she called after him, and her suspicions were proven correct when he turned around.
"How did you know who I am?" he whispered, conscious of every movement closer that Filch was making.
"My ankle!" she insisted.
"How do I know you'll tell me?" he asked.
"Students up and about after curfew, my pet, that's what it is…" Filch said to Mrs. Norris, and they were so close that Hermione could see the light on his face. In just another minute, the light would be on her.
"Snape!" she whisper-shrieked.
"You're in my debt, girl," he said harshly, waving his wand.
She felt the bones realigning, stifling what would be a blood-curdling scream, and sprinted up the stairs without a moment to lose.
"Did you hear that? They're running away!" Filch cried.
"Deprimo!" Hermione shouted, aiming her wand over her shoulder to behind Filch. A loud, explosive noise sounded behind him, and he immediately turned around to look for the source.
"You fool!" Snape yelled. "He heard you say that!"
"Yes, but he doesn't know my voice, does he? Yours, however, is rather distinctive, so I would keep my mouth shut and run!" she replied, flying up the stairs.
Snape stared at her in bewilderment, before following her up the several flights of stairs to the Headmaster's tower. Hermione stopped to catch her breath, panting heavily while leaning against the gargoyle.
"We lost him," she said, happily.
"You owe me one," he said in reply. "When you come out of there, I want a full explanation. Just who, precisely, are you?"
dangerousthingshappen. She shook her head, feeling almost bad for the lie. "Thanks about the ankle, though."
He looked at her in shock, and she turned around, grateful for Harry's many misadventures, and said seriously to the inanimate statue, "I need to see Professor Dumbledore."
It leapt aside, and Hermione started up the staircase. The gargoyle jumped back into place just in time for her to hear Snape's incredulous, "Hey! Wait just a minute - "
She did, of course, feel bad for deceiving him. But, she reasoned, he was a traitor, murderer, and Death Eater to boot. A little white lie didn't mean anything to him. deaddeaddumbledoredead.
She walked into Dumbledore's office, suddenly realizing the late hour and hoping that she didn't wake him. What were the chances he was up late, doing work?
Slim to none, she sighed, seeing him come out of his private chambers into his office wearing dressing gown and slippers.
"Sit down, my dear," he said, and Hermione could have cried. Just how far back had she gone? If Snape was a student and Dumbledore still had traces of auburn in his beard… Why, that was twenty years at least! Her lower lip trembled, and she felt herself about to cry.
Don't be stupid. Now is not the time to cry! she told herself. But he's dead! her inner voice wailed. And we'll all miss him so much, and how are we to win the war without him, and how will Harry find all the Horcruxes, and who's going to lead the Order, and who will Voldemort be afraid of? How will any of us survive without him? How can I get back home to help them?
"You must have many questions. But first, please do sit down. I find a lemon drop always makes things better, for a little while," Dumbledore said, sitting at his desk and gesturing to both the chair and bowl of candies next to it.
Hermione plopped down very unladylike into the chair, and took three candies and put them in her mouth all at once. After all, what did a few cavities matter when all the world's about to fall apart?
"Now, do you think you could tell me what is troubling you?" he asked, and Hermione found herself crying. Not just little sniffles, either, but full-on hysterical sobs.
"Oh, sir!" she cried. "Everything has gone all wrong!"
If she was in her own time, she never would have been sitting here. She had never been on personal terms with the Headmaster like Harry had, and would never think to bother a professor in the middle of the night. She could figure things out on her own, and always did. But the incident with Snape and Filch had frightened her, and she was haunted by Professor McGonagall's words.
"Sometimes, just when it seems like nothing can ever be right again, that's precisely when things are at the most right they can be," he said, patting her arm affectionately.
"But sir!" she wailed. "You, and Harry, and Snape, and, and, and, me! And I don't belong here, sir!"
"Of course not. Do you think you should tell me where you do belong?"
She hiccupped, vision blurring from tears.
"N-no," she replied, feeling as if this were a lesson. "Or, or perhaps not precisely. But I do need your help to get back, so you do need to have some sort of an idea…" she trailed off, suddenly glad she wasn't more coherent when babbling about Harry and Snape. After all, it just wasn't polite to tell such a pleasant man that he had just died two days ago.
"Well, you speak English without a trace of an accent, so I'd assume you are from this country. And you're wearing Gryffindor robes, so I'd also assume that you're a student here. In which case, if you aren't referring to the present location, you must be referring to the present time," Dumbledore said, waiting for her crying to die down.
"Y-yes!" she said happily. "That's it! O-only, I'm not quite sure how far back I've gone."
"Then instead of you telling me when you're from, I can tell you that right now it is June 22, 1977 at 5:03 AM."
Hermione's hiccupping and crying abruptly stopped. She didn't cry at theBattleof the Tower when disaster struck, she wasn't going to cry now, four hours later when disaster struck again.
"I take it that you've gone back quite far, Miss…?" he trailed off, unconsciously asking her name.
"Gra - " she started, but he cut her off.
"On second thought, Miss Grey, perhaps it would be better if I didn't know, yes?"
She nodded, brain whirling about for possible logical explanations and solutions.
"But Professor, how am I going to get back?" she asked, not really caring about her name just then.
"Well, it's always easier to get lost than find your way again, isn't it? I'm afraid that I'm not sure. I assume you came here with a Time Turner?" he asked.
She nodded. "But not on purpose. It broke."
"Ah, yes, well, that would explain it. That does, however, make things slightly easier. At least we know it wasn't some unknown spell and ancient ritual. We do have Time Turners in this time, though they are rather undeveloped. I have some friends in the Department of Mysteries, and I will write to them seeking their advice."
He was handling all this quite well. She was suddenly glad of her seemingly childish decision to run to the headmaster. Of course he knew what to do. In fact, he had probably even been in this situation before. He was bloody Albus Dumbledoredead dumbledoredead snapekilled trustedsnape.
"So, there's no way to get me home right now?" she asked.
"Not at this moment, no, and I doubt at anytime within the next few weeks. In fact, we would be extremely lucky to have you home before the start of the new term," he replied.
"What?" she cried. "Professor! They need me! They can't wait months! We have work to do, a war to win, we - "
She cut herself off, staring in horror at the headmaster. "I mean, not inBritain. Back home, you know with the muggles," she tried to recover, unsure of how much he'll remember, or want to remember.
Dumbledore laughed aloud. "Well, now isn't that an interesting cover story? Miss Grey, an English muggleborn, at the center of the struggle between the wizarding and muggle communities in a foreign continent, sent home toEnglandby her parents who thought that last battle was too dangerous for such a young girl to fight."
Hermione laughed nervously. He had struck far too close to home. "Quite the imagination, Professor."
"Oh, it was all you, Miss Grey! That last story makes being a transfer from Beauxbatons seem so dull, doesn't it? Besides, I doubt any student here could point to a specific African country on a map, let alone know its political history. As long as you're not talking to the Ambassador to Zimbabwe at the Ministry, that story should work fine," he said, chuckling.
"Am I going to be here that long, sir, that I'll need a cover story?" Hermione asked sadly.
"Unfortunately. Don't worry about your home, though. Have you forgotten that no time passes for them while you're here? I'd imagine many of your friends haven't even been born yet, so there's no need to fret. We'll have you home eventually, but you should know that we're fighting a war here, too. Most of our resources are devoted to defeating a certain dark wizard by the name of Voldemort, and so few people will bother spending time – forgive the pun – on such research."
"I should have gathered as much. I may do my own research, though, Professor?"
"Of course! But I wouldn't suggest devoting too much to it. I assure you once the Department of Ministries is fully concentrating on the task, you will have your answer in but weeks. Time travelling was a heavily funded area rior to the war."
"So the sooner Voldemort is defeated, the sooner I can go home?" Hermione asked.
"It would appear so, yes," Dumbledore replied.
Hermione sighed. dangerousthings dangerousthingshappen meddlingwithtime. "We've a while to go, then. I suppose I must settle in for life here, as it were. I just completed my sixth year, sir. May I continue my education next term as a Gryffindor?"
"You know when he will fall, then?" Dumbledore asked, yet not asking at the same time.
"Yes," she said despondently. "I can't tell you when, but I would ask permission to join the Order of thePhoenixas soon as I'm out of school." What was she saying? She should hide in libraries and underground caverns and never show her face! She knew too much. The Order?
dumbledoreDEAD snapekilled TRUSTEDSNAPE TRUSTEDSNAPEkilled killed killed killed
"Granted, conditionally. We can examine that more once you graduate. I'm afraid, Miss Grey, that we will be unable to grant you the title of Head Girl. I'm unsure if this was an aspiration of yours in your time," he said regretfully.
"It was," she admitted. "But I'll likely be repeating these next few years when I go home, anyway." Head Girl? Who cared about that? She wanted to cry. Images from the last battle kept flashing through her head, and she heard the screams. tiredsotired.
"That is true. Sitting through a school year twice may be quite difficult."
"Boring, if anything. At least it'll give me something to do. Oh, goodness, there's so much to think about. I need money, a place to stay, new clothes, a new appearance, a new first name, a calendar, certainly…" she trailed off, talking to herself more than Dumbledore now. dead. killed. tired. trust. harryharrywhereisharrysotired.
"You may want to let me help with some of those," he said, eyes beginning to twinkle. "Though you are, of course, welcome to stay in the castle this summer, I believe that next year's Head Girl, Miss Lily Evans, would be delighted to host you. This way you can become more accustomed to life in this year, as well as secure for yourself several friends for next term. After all, as long as you're careful not to let anything slip, there's no reason not to have friends, especially if you'll be here as long as you say you'll be."
Hermione visibly paled. "L-lily Evans? Oh, no, Professor, I wouldn't want to impose…" Too tired now, too tired to argue. Look, it was Ginny dueling Amycus Carrow, she was so good Ginny and it was good they had the Felix Felicus, but she was so tired was that Bill Weasley screaming?
"It should be quite alright. I'll just send an owl off to her this morning, and you can go with her on the train tomorrow. You are muggleborn, correct?"
She nodded, unable to do anything else. If she was in Lily's year, then she was also with James, Sirius, Remus, Pettigrew, and Snapekilled dumbledoretrustedsnape. Don't let anything slip?
"Then perhaps she can help find you a muggle job in her neighborhood for pocket money. I believe the stationary shop in Hogsmeade may be looking for help next term, as their current Hogwarts part-time employee just graduated. I will suggest you to them. I have an extra datebook here that someone gave me as a Christmas present, but of course I already had my own…" he said, trailing off to search through his desk for a datebook.
"Ah! Here it is!" he said, and tapped the small, brown, leather book with his wand. "And now you have all the dates for next term in it as well.
"Thank you, Professor," she said, taking the calendar gratefully, carefully, exhaustedly. That big blond Death Eater, shooting spells all over the place. Was Ron okay? Harry, Harry...
"And don't worry about tuition," he said. "And I believe I can help with your appearance somewhat."
He conjured a full-length mirror behind her, and stood up. "Stand in front of the mirror, Miss Grey."
She obeyed, and was curious as to what she was about to look like. "Black eyes, I think," Dumbledore said. "They give nothing away." Hermione thought of Snape, and agreed. "Straight hair instead of curly, and a couple of inches taller. I shalln't fiddle around with your weight, my dear, I know how touchy women are about that sort of thing. But what color would you like your hair to be, and how long or short?"
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. She always rather liked brown. Blonde was too much like Luna, rather ditzy and dreamy, and red too much like Ginny, athletic and outspoken. "Black, I suppose," she said. "And short. Long is annoying. But not too short."
"In that case, I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of making you a couple of shades paler. The dark eyes and hair wouldn't look natural on such an in-between complexion." Seriously, sir? You're dead. dead. dead. dead.
"That's fine," she said, and closed her eyes and Dumbledore waved his wand again.
When she opened them, she found that she was beautiful.
She gasped. "Sir!" she exclaimed. "Thank you!" Dreaming on her feet, dreaming, who was this woman? So tired, look so beautiful, like that war, like Homer's Helen, his Helen, that stupid girl, don't be like that fool, started a warwarwarwarwarwarwizardsatwar. Not a dream, a nightmare, to look this beautiful, like this...
The short black hair was in a perfectly cut bob, with fringe bangs covering her forehead. If she had tried to put her old hair in a bob, it would have frizzed into an afro right away. But this hair was smooth, silky even. Whereas before she was about 5'2, she now stood at least as 5'5, and knew that with heels, she could even pull of being "tall" instead of always being so short. Another way for people not to remember her. And although Dumbledore hadn't modified her weight, by making her taller he inadvertently made her slightly skinnier too. She was indeed several shades paler, but not noticeably ghost-like. Her eyes were bottomless inkwells, and she fell in love with them instantly. Determined to make all sorts of intimidating faces with those eyes, she resolved to practice in front of a mirror later.
"Ah, your robes!" Dumbledore remembered, and adjusted them for her new height. "No need to thank me, Miss Grey. It's a simple glamour. I'll show you how to take it off, but I don't recommend you do so often. Now, about a name…"
"I'm Helen," she whispered, stuck in a nightmare of a world.
"Well, Helen, I should hope your newfound beauty isn't quite that dangerous," Dumbledore said, smiling.
"I assure you, sir, there'll be no men fighting wars over me," Hermione smiled.
"Be careful what you prophesy, my dear. Now, you look as if you're about to collapse. You've been days without sleep?" he asked.
She nodded guility. "Not all of it was self-inflicted."
"I'll firecall Madam Pomfrey to expect you. Take some Dreamless Sleep, and go sleep all day. The train leaves at eleven tomorrow morning, but I'll send Miss Evans to wake you by nine."
"More than twenty-four hours of sleep?" she asked.
"You need it, Miss Grey. And possibly more than that. But we'll do what we can for now, and maybe you can do some more thinking and planning this summer. We will keep in touch regularly. I'm sure Miss Evans will have no problem with you borrowing her owl. Expect a letter from me within the week."
"Thank you again, sir. You've been so much help," Hermione said, realizing she was being dismissed.
"Not as much as I wish I could have been. You'll be home soon, though, don't worry. And until then, might I suggest keeping a diary of sorts to remember your time here? You and Miss Evans will be great friends, I'm sure. I plan on asking her to join the Order upon graduation as well."
"I certainly will, Professor. Thank you again." She added, taking her gift datebook from the desk, and heading down to the Hospital Wing, where, ironically, Snape had told her to go in the first place.
A/N 2: I was having some trouble with formatting this chapter, so if anyone notices anything funny-looking, message me.