Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you see in this fic. The story is for entertainment purposes only, I make no profit off it.
AN: Heartfelt thanks to the people who so graciously reviewed my story. To the guest reviewer: You're quite correct in saying that Snape seems to be meaner than he was in canon. But there is a reason for it which will become quite apparent in the oncoming chapters.
Yes, this is a post war fic. I mentioned it in the first paragraph of the first chapter. Again, I am not writing this fic around the key issues of redemption, love and sacrifice. They may be there, but for now I have no such plans. Happiness, too, isn't the main issue. Apart from these, as you read this chapter, Severus and Hermione would both travel to the past rather than just Hermione. I am glad you pointed out the flaw in the lack of a back story. I would be providing you with the same once Hermione and Severus get into the past. As far as the dialogue is concerned, I believe these teenagers aren't normal having had to live through a war. The mere shock would take away laughter and throw their lives into chaos. The aftermath would be disillusionment coupled with despair. Even for the most fortunate ones. And hence I don't believe these people would act like us. Thus the dialogue is a little serious in tone, underscoring the depth of change these people have experienced in their persona.
Lastly, please read and review. I would love to know what you think about this chapter and let me know how you would like the story to progress.
Enjoy!
Chapter 4
He shut the door behind him and silently dressed himself. Overcoming the nauseous feeling rising inside, he reached for the Sandglass that lay on his desk. Turning it over in his long fingers, he reached for the engraved '2' on the upper side but hesitated. Now was probably not the right time. No, not tonight. It would have to wait. He replaced the wooden device on his desk and slumped in his chair. There would be no sleep for him tonight, he mused.
"Please… not t...Tonight..."
He could hear her plea. It thrummed in his ears, magnified manifold. Her humiliation. One would have thought he would be used to it by now, having had to copulate with her for the past five months. Oh, how he hated the fates. Having been a spy for years under the Dark Lord, he had not had a personal life. But still, his rooms had offered shelter. He had had a semblance of privacy, comfort even. But now, after the war, even that had been taken away from him. He sometimes blamed her for it, but in his heart he knew it was no more her fault than his. Still, he could not forgive her the unwanted invasion of his privacy. But tonight… He shook his head, don't go down that road. No self-loathing. It isn't conducive to living. Regrets are futile.
"Curse the damn Ministry!" he swore to himself.
Not for the last time, he wished death upon himself. Glaring at the accursed ring, his wedding ring, he wished it would end. He had hoped, when the Marriage Law had been passed, that he would somehow manage to circumvent the Ministry requirements of weekly intercourse. But the ancient charm placed on their twin rings had made his plan quite redundant. But he had been able to brew a potent potion, a covert design of his, to ensure minimum chances of conception. At least that part had worked, he sighed. He hadn't meant to attack her. But her words had drawn blood from his heart. His fury had been without restraint. He had to avoid further confrontations with her. He did not want her dead, much as her presence irked him.
He glanced at the Grandfather Clock sitting by the bookshelf. It would be day light soon. The Ministry had put him on another manhunt duty. With ever so many praises to the ignorant public, and veiled threats in private, they had backed him into a corner. While on the trial for his past atrocities and incursions, he had hoped they would sentence and leave him alone to rot. But after Potter's testimony, he had been hailed as a hero. They had released him. There had been an ulterior motive, of course. They had released him on the condition that he participate in the vicious manhunt of his former comrades. In the meanwhile, he was to fulfill his duties as the Potions Master at school. Some release, indeed.
Hermione groaned as soft daylight caressed her bushy brown curls. She did not want to wake up. Sleep provided such blissful forgetfulness. She frowned and sighed, swinging her thin legs over the bed. Her mind was eerily empty. It had been so for weeks. Not a single thought, no emotion, nothing. Except that her heart was heavy. She couldn't comprehend the rending pain. It was as if her heart and mind had been severed. She could feel but not comprehend.
After taking a quick shower, she took a hurried look into the seating room to check for his foreboding presence. He wasn't there. She heaved a sigh of relief. Emerging from the dungeons, she made her way towards the library. She had to research the Dementia potion. The assignment was due the next day. He would jump at the ready-made chance to humiliate her further if her work was incomplete. To degrade her, to... No, don't go there, she told herself.
It was still early as she arrived at the library. Very few students bothered to wake up at this hour, let alone haunt the confines of a library. Examining the titles in the Potions section of the library, she found the tome she was looking for. Clutching the book gingerly to her side, she settled down in her favourite spot by the window. The gilded book was rather old. Nobody had touched it in a long while, it seemed. The deep blue cover flaunted the title: Darkness and Dementia: A Magical Approach.
A quick search through the index garnered result and in a few minutes one could observe her deep in reading, apparently at ease in the familiar surroundings.
'Dementia Elai, commonly mistaken for the Muggle Dementia, is a magical malady that is both dangerous and intriguing. Combined with symptoms common to Muggle Schizophrenia and Partins Syndrome, its hallucinogenic properties are the most discerning feature. The patient rarely acknowledges, if ever, the ailment. One of the most curious properties associated with this malady is the recurrence of prophetic dreams. In the few cases documented, these dreams or visions prove to be true 99 percent of the time. Another characteristic includes violent, sudden lapses of memory followed by excessive accumulation of magical energy in the afflicted person.
The causes of Dementia Elai remain unknown, mostly due to lack of adequate research. The Dementia Potion, however, acts as a temporary restorative for the early stages. Though once a person is unfortunate enough to be claimed by the disease, there is no treatment available. No living person has survived the cursed disease. It drives most to delirium and eventual insanity.
Vorene Flaur, a mysterious herb known for its analgesic properties is claimed to have a mild numbing effect but the authenticity of such a claim remains dubious as no person afflicted with the disease has survived. The herb itself is quite elusive and only twice in the written history of wizard kind has its use been explicitly documented.'
'Vorene Flaur', hmm, she mused. The name sounded distinctly familiar. She needed to know more about the herb, but try as hard as she might, she couldn't quite recall where she had read about it. And it was certainly something she had read recently, she was quite sure of the same.
Where, where have I read this term, she frowned in thought. Her eyes widened as she recalled the source of her memory.
'She was tiptoeing across the sitting room, holding her breath, hoping against hope that he would not be in. She had needed to leave the stifling, dark and gloomy quarters. It had been raining all night. The librarian had insisted that she leave, it had been 1 a.m. by the time she reached her rooms. She had almost succeeded, when his harsh voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Sneaking in late?" His malicious voice ran a shiver down her spine.
"I… um… I was in the library," she spoke in a small voice and hung her head. His thin lips curled in a sneer.
"Of course," he replied, eyeing the book bag slung over her shoulder. "But your romantic escapades into the library do not explain the lateness of you arrival, do they?"
Pinning her slight form with a disdainful glare, he uncrossed his arms and with a violent flurry of his cloak, swept past her through the door into the dungeons. He carried a book in his hand. It was titled 'The Elusive Remedies: Flaur, Apere and Resoce'.'
She halted her thought process for a while and frowned at the large tome in her hands. Briefly, she wondered if she should ask him for it. He had been unusually quiet for the past few weeks, almost withdrawn. Nowadays, instead of scathing remarks, he silently ignored her. No words had been exchanged between them since that night. She shuddered as she remembered his reaction to her that day. He avoided her presence as much as he could. She couldn't really complain about this arrangement. This silence comforted her, she could gather her thoughts and enjoy the solace, temporary though it may be. Free from his incessant verbal onslaught, she felt calmer these days. Almost human. But the question remained. Did she dare ask him for the book?
Looking at the watch to check time, she was surprised that it was already time for her first class. Potions. She shook her head, she had missed breakfast. Perhaps she should just ask him after the class. She resolved this in her mind and with slow but steady steps, trudged towards the classroom. She was just on time. The rest of the class had already settled. She went and quietly sat beside Neville, without glancing at her husband once. She concentrated on her Soporificus potion the entire lesson, ignoring Neville's gentle pleas for help. She needed to be inconspicuous and meek. She had a favour to ask, after all.
After the lesson, as most of the students in her class hurriedly left the room, she hung back. Shuffling her feet, she took the longest time to pack her bag. When she was the only one remaining, she sneaked a glance at him. He was scribbling some notes on a piece of parchment, not the best of times to interrupt, but she wouldn't get any better.
"Um… excuse me, sir?" she asked, keeping her eyes downcast. He merely continued with the scribbling, without giving any indication that he had heard her.
"Sir...?" This time he looked up, his eyebrows raised in question.
"I was wondering if you could…. Umm, lend me the book 'The Elusive Remedies'?" She hesitated, wondering if some sarcastic remark would be forthcoming and if she should get ready to flee the classroom. To her astonishment, Snape merely looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. After a minute of silence in which she could feel dread creeping upon her, he gave her a curt nod.
"My study. Evening," he said and returned to his parchment. Heaving a sigh of relief, she made her way out as quickly as she could. She was astonished, to say the least. That conversation, no, exchange of a few syllables, was almost civil. Well, as civil as he could get, she sighed.
Even though he had agreed to give her the book, she was apprehensive about facing him again. Twice in the same day. As she made her way back to their rooms from the library, she felt afraid. What if he had changed his mind? No, what if he had never meant to give her the book in the first place? She would just have to find out in person. It was time anyway, she bit her lip as she thought. Crossing the seating room silently, she came to a stop in front of his study door. Her palms sweaty, she debated on whether she should wait outside or knock. Deciding upon the latter, she knocked. No answer. She frowned in puzzlement. She wondered if she should simply go in and wait. No, that would be suicidal, she reprimanded herself.
Whilst she stood debating thusly, he entered the seating room and without one glance at her, swept into the study room. The door, however, did not close behind him. Recognising this as a sign of invitation, she ventured into the study area. The sight that greeted her was quite welcome. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls. A cursory glance over the titles made her feel giddy with the realisation of the amount of knowledge that surrounded her. Even the Hogwarts Library could not boast of such discerning taste. She felt like herself more than she had in the months following the Last Battle. Feeling a lot more composed than she had felt a while ago, she raised her eyes to Snape in expectation. His back was turned to her, and he seemed to be examining the bookshelf by the window.
A soft glint from the desk near her caught her eye. It was a Sandglass. But not an ordinary, grown up one. No, this was orange and it had the most beautiful crimson sand filling. It even had numbers at the top surface which glowed brightly. It appeared to be a child's toy. How curious that Snape would have something like this. She used to have an hour glass when she was a child. Her mother had brought her a burgundy one. It was musical and would play different tunes as the sand trickled down slowly. Back then, she could be drawn into awe for tiniest of trinkets, she mused. As she surveyed the dark, brooding man standing with his back to her, she wondered why he kept this object in his study. And then, she did something that she would regret for quite a long time. Still drifting in nostalgia for what was no more, she reached out her scarred fingers and touched the Sandglass. It had very less quantity of sand in it to be honestly referred to as a 'Sandglass'. Absentmindedly, she stroked the thin glassy exterior of the object, musing. As her fingers touched the upper surface, she felt oddly calm. All sense of being in her husband's ominous presence seemed to have left her as she gently ran her fingers over the engraved numbers.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Her husband's dangerous voice near her roused her from her reverie. She looked up in fright but as she did so, her finger accidentally pressed a little forcefully into the number '5'. This proved to be her undoing. He flew in rage and… was it panic? She hardly had any time to register the mind numbing pain that had grappled her entire body as Snape had moved to grab her wrist, trying to draw it away from the Sandglass that glowed bright orange.
The attempt proved unsuccessful and their forms froze, glued to the strange object. She couldn't move, searing pain ripped out every portion of her thin body. The agony was unbearable, she wanted to cry out but her jawbone wouldn't move. She felt claustrophobic inside her own skin, she wanted to breathe, sense, move. But her physical body was immobile, attached to her husband's, while she gripped the Sandglass. Her mind, though, worked frantically, trying to lunge at any explanation regarding what was happening to them. She was afraid as she had never been in her life. A whirlwind now surrounded them, slow moving, dark and light at the same time, casting shadows at them now and illuminating their figures with bright gold then. The fear that had awoken in her heart was subdued by this majestic sight. But her awe had too few moments for its life as suddenly the searing pain was back and she was struggling to breathe. She gagged and choked upon the elusive air before she passed out. It would be long before she woke up again.
But then again, the realm of Morpheus is a charming place indeed.
