"How this woman had managed to get under his skin and claw her way inside was a mystery.
He couldn't leave her there though. His entire being was screaming at him to get her out."
― Caroline Cairn, Forever and One Week
They're together again. In that dark room, the fire hushed to a low murmur. Hermione sits in the chair, his chair. The grey velvet is warped by the bright cast of the flames, casting long shadows over the wooden floor and carpet, her long curls burning in a bright halo around her freckled cheeks. Severus Snape stalks closer, intent on his apprentice, moving forward slowly and silently like a shark in deep waters. She smiles softly, some sort of secret curling around her lips, and anticipates his hand as it reaches out. He guides her smoothly to her feet, yet she steps towards him of her own volition.
Hermione's hand, as thin and spidery as his own, moves from his palm to forearm. He tightens his grip on her this time, not as keen to let her leave as he was earlier. The crackling fire heightens to a deafening roar as she tilts her face up towards his.
"Teach me." She whispers, the intimacy between them sea deep, her breath brushing against his neck, her gaze unblinking and drawing him deeper in.
"Teach you what?" Severus murmurs, his voice a low rumble even to his own ears.
"Anything." Hermione answers, unreservedly, before evaporating into the air as if her form had been sewn together with sea mist and smoke, as vapid as the fire illuminating her.
Severus jerked awake, the sweat on his skin already cooling. He breathed harshly, realizing how far his dreams had strayed that night. Dreams of Lily, he could tolerate. Enjoy even. But not now or ever would he suffer through a dream of Hermione Granger, the eternal bane of his existence. His pupil.
Letting a quiet growl, Severus Snape slammed up his occlumency shields for the first time since the war, gripped his sheet with white knuckles, and rolled over to the other side of his bed. He would not dream of her.
He wouldn't.
Hermione started her morning with Crookshanks large, ginger belly suffocating her face.
"Crooks!" She moaned, gently pushing him onto the mattress beside her.
He meowed disdainfully, swishing his tail to bat her in the face before hopping onto the floor and strutting out into the hallway.
She reached blindly for her wand, finding it buried in between her comforter and sheets. With a lazy wave, the curtains drifted open, Crookshanks bowl refilled itself, and Hermione's sleep frizzed hair reorganized itself into curls once more.
She dressed and ate mechanically, fulfilling her routine like clockwork as she did every morning. An hour later and she's throwing her cloak on, ready to meet her master for their first day with their new project.
Just as she turned to grab her bag, Crookshanks streaked across the room and sank his claws into the leather strap, gnawing on the buckle with fiendish desperation.
"Stop it!" She cried, scrambling to hold onto other end of the bag. The object of conflict spilled open, dozens of papers scattering to the floor. Crookshanks abandoned the strap to snatch at the papers, balling one up in his mouth while gashing deep grooves into another. She pulled her wand and silently called the bag and the papers back to her. The sharp and irritated snap of magic hanging in the air caused the cat to drop the crumbled paper from his mouth, dried ink smeared on his whiskers. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up as he eyed Hermione with narrowed slits. Her bag reeked of bad smells. Old plants and another house and something masculine and foreign and dangerous. She reached out to him, to gather him in her arms like she always does. He let out a hiss, ears flattened to his skull.
Hermione hesitated, Crookshanks had never acted so volatile since she'd owned him. She watched his yellow eyes trace over her, and let her hand remain hovered in the air as it was when she'd tried to reach out to him.
She swallowed heavily. She was running late, unsurprisingly, and had promised Professor Snape he could count on her. She pocketed her wand and swung the bag over her shoulder, watching with a wince as her companion darted back under the table. A small twinge of worry plagued her heart at his unusual behavior.
"See you tonight Crooks." She whispered softly, letting herself out and shutting the door silently behind her.
Hermione left her apartment and apparated to the apothecary quickly, rushing up the steps and jerking open the antique door harder than usual so that it wouldn't stick like it usually does.
Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation at the thought of what the day held in store. She was sure to learn more with her master in the next few weeks than she had in the last few months. Even her experimentation with Felix Felicis couldn't compare to the level of expertise she would gain from this.
And you'll be with him, a quiet voice whispered in the back of her head. She faltered in hanging up her cloak, startled by her own thoughts.
I'm always with him, she thinks, this isn't any different. I mean sure, most of the time I self teach from his library, but I've assisted him before. I've helped him prepare ingredients, I've even added them to the cauldron myself- her train of thought was cut off by the memory of cutting up various roots and animal parts, gently adding them to the potion under his gaze, the unsaid approval satisfying something deep seated within her. Finally she was his primary focus, in the way she never was at Hogwarts. Despite her other professors' constant praise, she never truly moved past her need to make him see her.
She thought back to last night, peering into her own reflection in his dark eyes, her hand seated in his. He certainly noticed her then.
A shiver ran down her spine. Merlin, all he did was help me out of my seat! Why am I so focused on this? Her lip curled in irritation at her thoughts. Better to not think about it at all, and just keep pushing forwards. It didn't matter if he noticed her, he was forced make her his priority whether he wanted to or not.
She turned away from the main hall and rounded the corner to the study they were in yesterday. The fireplace was cold and the only other sign of life was the slow falling dust visible from cold daylight filtering in from the windows.
"Professor?" Hermione called, once softly then again louder. The room felt hollow without someone waiting for her, as he usually was. It only caused her stomach to twist even further. For a moment she worried he wasn't here at all, then she remembered he would never dream of leaving the house unlocked.
She poked her head out into the hallway again. "Professor Snape!" She yelled, then listened intently for signs of life as her voice echoed.
A shower of soft pink sparks glimmered at the end of the corridor, and she quickly walked towards them. They were fading softly at the foot of a shut door she had never opened before. Cautiously, she raised a hand to knock. The door swung open before her knuckles could touch the door, revealing a set of stone stairs curving downwards into darkness.
Hermione placed a foot on the first step gingerly, staring into the shadows as panic began to well up in her. She didn't like the dark, not after Malfoy Manor. She didn't particularly care for the sound of her boots scraping against the stone either. Her breath came out in a harsh pant as the darkness seemed to deepen, the stairs suddenly seemed much steeper.
"Professor?" She called out again, too anxious to be embarrassed by the way her voice quivered.
The sound of another door swinging open from the bottom of the curved stairway answered her, followed by another shower of sparks.
She hadn't the foggiest idea what was keeping him, or why he was down here to begin with, but he clearly wasn't about to come assist her down the stairs like an elderly woman or trembling child.
She sucked in another breath, "Lumos," she whispered, then made her way down the staircase.
The venture was shorter than expected, and she stepped into a well lit cellar a moment later. She halted in the doorway, instantly struck with fascination by all the intricate equipment that greeted her. Glass orbs hung from the ceiling with copper wire, a marble sink took up an entire wall, ancient runes scored deep around its perimeter. A shelf above it held countless cauldrons, made of materials she could only speculate. She entered slowly, entranced. Tall, green plants rested in a corner of the sink, submerged in pale purple water. A huge magnifying glass was propped up on a wooden desk, warping the neatly organized quills, ink, and parchment lined up on it.
Even more curious was the gigantic golden sphere next to the desk. It resembled a time turner in design, however instead of sand in the center, it contained an empty, smaller glass sphere. She reached out to gently prod it, to see how it might react to her touch.
"Look all you like, Miss Granger, but you mustn't touch." A strong voice broke through her blind fascination.
Hermione spun around to finally greet her missing master, and was taken aback by his casual attire. His regular black robes were replaced by a white button down and black pants, the shirt rolled up to his elbows. Her eyes followed his pale, strong arms as he folded them across his chest, leaning against one of the workstations. He looked… younger, lighter.
"I, er, couldn't find you when I arrived." She said, forcing her eyes to meet his again. He was watching her with blatant interest.
"I'd assumed you would be able to deduce for yourself my possible location, however after hearing your incessant mewling upstairs, I decided to assist you." He responded, looking put out at her inability to navigate his home herself.
"Well, I'd assumed you would be waiting for me in the same location you always have!" She retorted, flushing at his implied insult.
"Forgive me, I didn't realize you'd panic left to your own devices." He said, turning back to the table. He summoned a stool for her, and she sat down gracelessly next to him, taking in the organized chaos of parchment Professor Snape was studying.
"I can manage myself fine." Hermione muttered petulantly. He didn't bother responding to her then, instead writing something down on a fresh sheet of parchment. Identical to the night before, they sat in silence, the scratch of a quill filling up the empty air every so often. She was itching to ask for direction, for him to begin giving her instructions, but she held herself in check. Twisting her hands in her lap, she waited impatiently for her master to take the lead.
An hour passed before Severus Snape began to speak.
"What can you recall from your research on the relationship between spell incantation and potion brewing, Miss Granger?" He drawled, not even pausing to look up.
"Spell Incantation is useful for invoking the will of the brewer to magically redirect or enhance a potion," She began, "An incantation can elevate a brew from something basic or physically altering to a spiritual plane. The more complex the spell, or powerful the caster, the more potent the potion becomes. It is also argued, however, that the will of the caster is inherently more valuable than the power or complexity of the spell."
Her master nodded, "'This is my will, so mote it be." *
She recognized his allusion to one of the books he assigned her on this subject. "Precisely, sir."
"I was quite gifted at spell creation, once." He said, his voice softer as he concentrated on whatever he was writing. She stole a glance at his sheet, which was filled with arithmatic equations. She realized her was creating a new spell, most likely for the potion.
"Once, sir?" She said, attempting to keep the conversation going while making out what it was he was creating.
"I never lost the trade, merely redirected my interests." He elaborated, finishing off his equation and setting the quill down. He rested his forearms against the dark wood, finally looking over to her.
She waited for him to continue.
"The spell crafted for this potion is decent enough, however as you'll see here," he rooted around the pile of papers, producing one from the bottom and handing it to her, "it is inherently self destructive. It is not compliant with the time loop."
She looked at the paper, which contained a break down the spell itself, as well as wand movement, and the arithmancy used to form it. Whoever crafted it had an obvious flair for the dramatic; the wand motions alone were ridiculously complicated, not to mention the spell was a tongue twister.
"So, the spell is supposed to bond with the potion to create the time loop, I understand that much. However this spell is an odd interpretation of time travel laws, so I can see why it wouldn't work."
"Elaborate, if you please."
Hermione glanced at her master, who had not begun to write again. She propped her elbows on the table and lay the paper flat, gathering her thoughts.
"In my third year, I'm not sure if you were aware, I was entrusted with a Time Turner from the Ministry in order to achieve a heavier academic education that year I had to complete a course on Time Travel foundations before I was allowed to operate it." Professor Snape took the paper from her and laid it beside his own, drawing up his own stool, before motioning she continue.
"One of the first things we covered was the laws of time travel or ABC, Anchor, Butterfly Effect, and Counter Cause. I'm not sure if you've read on these yourself.
She peered at him cautiously, unsure how he would take that comment. He merely conceded with a nod of his head, "I have not. It was one of the reasons I asked if you thought yourself capable of aiding me on this project. I've never found it relevant to my research before now."
She saw the opportunity to seek answers about his behavior in front of Mr. Simmons the previous night, and didn't think twice about prodding him for more. "And the other reasons?" She asked innocently, straightening out an invisible crease in her shirt.
"It does not take a half wit to deduce that Patrick Simmons found you somewhat attractive," he said, halfway monotonous, "It was in our best interest to draw his attention to you, either through direct interaction with him or my own- hence relying on your decision rather than my own as the final answer."
"Oh please, we both know you would have hexed me off a cliff if I turned him down." She teased.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smirk, "You know me too well, Miss Granger," He said. She felt her heart flutter for a moment at his easy admission, as flippant as it could be. What is wrong with me?
He apparently sensed her growing confusion and she watched as the smirk wiped itself off his face entirely, his eyes losing their warmth like a swiftly cut fuse.
"We're getting off the subject," He clipped, and for once Hermione was grateful at his blunt redirection, her heart still climbing down from its heightened pace.
I don't even find him attractive. He's twice my age and not to mention my Professor. She silently argued with herself. Yes, she had spent more time with him than anyone else since her graduation from Hogwarts. And yes, lately she had found his company more palatable than she'd expected. That didn't change the fact that he was still moodier than a summer storm, reclusive, brittle, and at best, impartial to her.
Liar.
She cleared her throat, and resumed her impromptu lecture.
"Time Travel is based off of three pillars of law, as I said before. An anchor is a tether from the traveling witch or wizard between the present world they live in and the alternative past they are travelling to. When the individual interacts with a Time Turner, they are not entering a carbon copy of the past as it was, since the past is already significantly altered merely by their presence. Logically, this concludes that they are in an alternate dimension, parallel to the one they came from. Each action they cause moving forward propels them further from the original timeline. The anchor allows the traveller to remain "real", since they were born in a separate reality from the one they are presently in. Without something to connect them between the two, the traveller exists in neither, and will eventually begin to break down at a microscopic level. First magically, then physically, as the universe attempts to correct what appears as a mistake. This works together with the Butterfly Effect, as each action spirals the traveller further from their original timeline. The final law, Counter Cause, is also known as the "Time Traveller's Fail Safe". If a time traveller can manage to recreate the same event that would occur in the future of the original timeline, the two realities converge, and they return to the original reality they began with. It is a rare phenomenon, as time travel only happens in the past, not the future, and most people travel alone, so it is unlikely that something would occur twice in most situations."
"Indeed. And this is where the original incantation, and my own, fall into the same misstep." Professor Snape responds, returning his attention to the two papers in front of them. Relocating his quill, he points at the first equation on his sheet. "Both of these spells replicate the same idea. They both will fuse with the potion to create a time loop, fixating the same day and location on a permanent loop that resets itself. However it is not time travel in your definition, because I am not certain it creates that alternate reality you referenced. Like a needle skipping on a record, it merely repeats the same day, never moving past it. Because of this difference, I am unsure how an individual would react to being in the loop, since I do not know if it makes a difference whether they have an anchor or not if they never truly leave their dimension."
Hermione furrowed her brow, unsure at how to reply. She felt far out of her depth at the moment. The class she had enrolled in barely scratched the surface of time travel theory, and although she found it interesting knowledge, she hardly had time that year for extra research, with her massive class list. After that, she became so absorbed in the war that time travel was the last thing on her mind.
"I'm sorry, sir. I really can't say. You must have thought I knew more than I did on the matter." She bit her lip, wincing. The insufferable need to prove herself and her skill squirmed beneath her skin.
"Not at all, on the contrary. I make it a regular habit not to expect much from others as a personal rule. This is a competent start. We will need to make trip elsewhere for more extensive information." He said, stacking the papers with a flick of his wand, then summoning his black robes from where they were neatly folded on a chair nearby.
She nodded, watching him as he systematically buttoned the sleeves, and then began fastening the many rows down his chest. It occurred to her he must have been down here a long time to grow so uncomfortable he removed his robes.
"What were you doing down here anyway, sir?" She asked, immediately regretting not pausing to find a subtler way to ask.
"I spent most of the past six hours working on drafting the spell." He said, "As you can see I still have a ways to go." He finished buttoning his robes, grabbed the notes, and began striding towards the door, black fabric billowing behind him.
"You said I would help you today!" She argued, hastening to keep up with him. "What happened to not working past midnight?!"
"I couldn't sleep," he growled, snapping his wand through the air to illuminate the shadows beyond the doorway. "Besides, I believe I directed that rule towards you not me."
"So when can I help you with the spell?" She knew she was being obnoxious, not to mention pushing her luck. She just wanted this so bad.
"What do you think you're doing? If you find the way I plan on conducting this project to dull for your senses, there are plenty of books on spell incantation in the study I would be more than happy to supply you with while I'm gone." He hissed, climbing up the steps at a faster pace than Hermione could maintain.
"No, that's… not necessary. Sir." She replied instantly, out of breath with how fast she was moving to even keep close to the edge of his robes.
"Good. I have it on good record you are quite the researcher. I'd hate to do all the dirty work myself when you are perfectly capable of doing it with me." He said, the irritation in his voice present yet dying.
Forgiven again, don't tell me that doesn't mean something. She thinks, then frowns at herself as she follows him back into the study. He raises his wand and summons his cloak. She motions to do the same, stopping only when she realizes he'd summoned both of them, not just his own.
Their fingers brush again as she takes it from him, and she fights to keep the blush from her face.
He lights the fire with a flick of his wand, the flames glowing bright amber before quickly flickering to the cool emerald of the Floo.
"Ministry of Magic." He states, firm and clear.
The last thing she feels before she steps into the burning flames is his hand on her back again, guiding her.
Like it? Hate it? Please review, and let me know your thoughts! I'm so thankful for all the follows, favorites, and reviews so far!
*Reference to "Celtic Book of Shadows" an actual book on spell incantation and potions.
