As always, I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off of it. And out of common courtesy, if you don't like it, don't read it.
Where Time Stands Still
There are places in the world where time stands almost perfectly still. These places are different for each person. It could be a deep green forest, a hot yellow desert, an open blue sea, or among cold gray canyons.
For one man, it was a dusty library overlooking an old garden surrounded by a high wall. Severus Snape spent hours perusing ancient books, soaking up knowledge, and puttering in a small potions lab in the basement. He enjoyed the solitude, hardly ever seeing the librarians who kept the buildings and grounds, and in return he didn't bother them.
No one else ever visited the secluded bastion of learning, no one really knew it existed. The former potions professor had heard of it from Albus Dumbledore in passing and he had guarded the secret closely. No one cared about the things he had done in the war. No one glared at him in the shops. And no one crossed the street to avoid him. It was peaceful and quiet, and he would be content to spend the rest of his days here.
But that solitude changed when he ascended the stairs to the highest room and found someone sitting in his favorite chair closest to the fire. For a moment he didn't know what to do. The librarians never just sat and read and the intruder didn't seem perturbed by his obvious presence. After a moment he cleared his throat and stepped fully into view of the chair, speaking for the first time in days.
"I was not aware that just anyone was welcome to use the library."
"Not just anyone, Professor." The woman in the chair closed her book and stood.
Severus Snape hated being surprised silent, and that's exactly what the sight of the woman had done. "Granger." He finally hissed, his hand reaching instinctively for his wand.
The Gryffindor raised her empty hands and even smiled slightly. "Peace Professor, the war is long over."
"For some that doesn't matter." He still had not lowered his wand.
"You're right. But I know your part in it and hold you no ill will."
Snape scoffed but he pointed his wand at the floor. "Why are you here?"
"To read. To learn." She gestured at the myriad of books lining the walls.
"There are plenty of other libraries for you to haunt." He crossed his arms and glared at the young woman.
"None like this."
Her eyes were as tired as he felt and he suddenly deflated, dropping crossed arms to his side. "I only wish to be left in peace."
"As do I, Professor." Hermione placed the book she had been reading back in its place and silently descended the stairs.
For weeks he didn't see the younger woman except in passing among the books. She was quiet and still when he came upon her without her notice and when she did raise her brown eyes to look at him, it was not with the same eagerness he had always known. Severus thought she looked tired, and much older than she should have been. But he had his own demons weighing down on him and was not interested in conversation.
What he wanted, however, went out the window when he entered one of the tower rooms to read and paused upon seeing the witch. Hermione was standing before the large casement windows, oblivious to her audience. The brunette pulled a handkerchief from her pocket as deep coughs wracked her body. Slowly she got them under control and tucked the piece of cloth away, but not before he saw the flecks of blood dotting it.
Severus took more care in examining his unwanted companion and was not assured by what he saw. There were stands of grey in her hair that caught in the light and her skin looked sallow, as if she had not seen the sun in years. What really shocked him was the next time she followed his movements around the library with her eyes. The whites of her eyes were awash with red trauma from her coughing fits.
Normally the former professor would not be concerned with the troubles of others, but there was something wrong with the woman. The first sign was she had holed herself up in this musty library with no one to talk to. Hacking coughs were never a good sign in anyone and she didn't seem to be getting any better. Less often would she look up when he entered her space and instead of reading, much of the time she slept.
Then he suddenly realized that she didn't look the 25 she should be. The former professor honestly thought she looked closer to his own age. Something wasn't right and for some unfathomable reason, he wanted to know what it was.
With an undignified snort, Hermione awoke and immediately went into a coughing fit. When at last she could open her eyes, she was startled to find a very serious looking wizard staring back at her.
"You're ill." It wasn't a question.
"Yes." The brunette was confused by his sudden desire to talk.
"Why have you not seen a healer?"
"Who says I haven't?"
"You're still sick."
"Maybe that's because I couldn't be healed."
"Why?" He sat forward in his chair, eagerness to have the answer getting the better of him.
"While I believe in magic, I know miracles don't exist."
"Then why are you here and not living it up with your friends?"
"Because I have the longest time here."
"And how do you figure that?"
"How long have you been here?" She had an air about her that she knew something he didn't.
"Just over 2 years."
"Try closer to 15."
"15 years? That's ridiculous."
"You tell me." The Gryffindor left the confused man in the high tower and retired to her room.
Snape checked the date with a spell and sure enough, it had been over 14 years since he left the outside world. He had thought Dumbledore's tales of decades lost in books was figurative, but he began to wonder if it really was the ravings of a strange man, or something more.
After their only real conversation, the former professor migrated towards the unwell woman. Instead of avoiding the areas of the great library where she was, he gravitated towards her until it was quite common for them to both to be engrossed in tomes in identical chairs before the fire. It wasn't long after they became comfortable in each other's presence that he brought her a vial.
"What's this? Poison?" She smiled slightly as the taller man to make sure he knew it was a joke.
"Just a mild potion to help with your coughing."
She drained the vial and went back to her book, looking - if anything - more sad than she had.
It became a regular occurrence for the potions master to bring vials to the woman and she always drank them, offering him a hint of a smile before returning to whatever volume she had out at the time. She would offer no explanation of her illness and no remark on how she felt after each potion, so when she looked flush and clammy, he reached out a hand and felt her brow.
The brunette didn't pull back and instead watched the older man's face. She knew he was befuddled by her lack of response both to the medication and his touch but kept her face neutral. The witch watched him become more interested in her and more determined to find a cure. This was exactly why she chose to spend whatever time she had left in a musty library rather than living it up with her friends. It would be too hard to let them watch her die and yet surprisingly, she was comforted by the company she had.
Neither was aware of the way they became comfortable in touches as well. Hands would brush as they passed a book along or knees would bang together as they leaned close to discuss an interesting chapter. A day spent pouring over the same tome while seated closely on a couch turned into Hermione falling asleep on his shoulder. As she relaxed into a dream, she leaned further into him until Severus had his arm around her and her bushy mane overflowing his lap.
The brunette woke with a start and sat upright, snagging her hair on the many buttons of the older man's vest. Several moments of struggling and she was free but the witch didn't flee the room as he expected. Hermione's eyes were unreadable as she stared hard at her former professor. A second later she leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. It took just a heartbeat but Severus was flooded with a whole array of emotions. Disbelief, confusion, and want figuring prominently before her lips were gone and she had settled her head back on his thigh.
It went downhill from there for the wizard. His time was spent more on brewing and touching Hermione than reading but he wasn't bothered. The hours spent curled up together in front of the fire or brushing her hair were well spent in his opinion. As he rubbed the witch's back during a coughing fit, he realized something he had never really experienced before. He had fallen for the brunette Gryffindor that had truly put the war in the past.
Severus worked harder than ever to find some cure or restorative that would stop the coughing or remove the yellowish tinge that had begun to cloud her eyes. However, nothing he made had any effect and the gray became more prominent in her hair. He knew it was a losing battle, but he could not bring himself to give up scouring the books for some hint.
Instead of holding the Gryffindor on the settee they had claimed as theirs, he paced the room and scowled. "It doesn't make sense. The potions should at least treat the symptoms."
"Severus, come sit back down."
"But I don't even know why you're sick, let alone how to fix it."
"You can't just make this go away."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I know why I'm slowly dying."
Put so bluntly the truth stabbed at his heart. "Tell me. What is it?"
Hermione reached into her shirt and grasped a thin golden chain, pulling out a large circular charm. As it dangled before him, Snape realized it was something he had only heard of in stories.
"A Time-turner. But how did you get it?" He reached out one long finger and brushed the delicate glass hourglass in the center.
"Dumbledore got it from the Ministry my third year."
"Of course, that was how you got to all your classes."
"No one had ever used one as extensively as I did." She gazed sadly at the tarnished surface. "I saved a life with this once, but it's slowly taking mine."
Severus cupped her cheek and pulled her close for a gentle kiss. The necklace slipped between them, forgotten and unimportant as the couple explored each other.
One day the potions master looked at the woman next to him and he saw deep crows feet around her eyes. He swore they weren't there before and ignored the way she moved slower and slept longer. Finally it got to the point where she couldn't make it all the way to the top tower without being gripped by deep aching coughs that colored her lips red. They started staying on the lower levels and remaining in bed long after the sun rose.
Hermione tried several times to broach the subject of impending fate but the older man would have none of it. For Severus Snape, it was Dumbledore's cursed hand all over again but so much more at the same time. He leaned over a furiously boiling cauldron in the basement, stirring the concoction while waving his wand over it. Determination drove him to experimentation, but it was something else that wouldn't let him accept the brunette's fate.
"I love you." He was gently holding one of her thin hands in his and resting his chin on her head.
Hermione sighed and leaned closer to his warmth. Even in summer she stayed close to the fires and kept a blanket near at hand. "I love you too, Severus."
It was as if a huge weight was lifted from the potions master's shoulders when he heard the words returned. In his mind, nothing could ruin that moment. Much later, as the former professor was nodding off against the woman in his arms, he realized she had been too still for too long. A single tear rolled down his cheek when there was no pulse in her throat and her chest no longer rose and fell.
He took a lock of her hair, some of the little left that was still brunette, and kept it in a little vial. The librarians took her body and buried her in the garden as Severus watched from the highest tower. He kept one other token of the woman who found a way into his heart simply by being alive, the time turner that had taken her from him. Instead of reading among the books, he fingered the charm, studying the light on the curves, but careful to never spin the little wheel on the side.
When he did decide to use the little hourglass, he spun the knob forward, not caring how many hours would pass. Except nothing changed. The clock on the mantle still pointed resolutely in the same direction and he examined the time-turner again.
There on the bottom, barely visible, was a tiny crack. Just a tiny fissure in the glass, barely enough to catch the light. Severus sighed, and wondered if that small bit of damage was why Hermione declined. Was it something she did, or was the piece always defective? In the end, it didn't really matter to the potions master when he downed a vial of thick black liquid.
The librarians buried him in the garden next to Hermione, an hourglass carved in the wall above their graves. In a small inconspicuous book on a lonely shelf, behind an unused vase, appeared a simple story. A story of a professor and his student, the man who threatened the world, and how the sands of time really make a difference.