Chapter 6 - Into Forlorn

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"Hermione, are you coming? We can't wait any longer..."

The nasal sound of her mother's weepy voice echoed around the staircase. Hermione dried her eyes one last time and dabbed on some heavy concealer to hide the red puffiness under her eyes. Normally she would have used one of the glamour spells Lavender Brown always raved about, but today she was a Muggle and vowed to play the part faithfully. She took the old Polaroid camera on the vanity and snapped a picture of her solemn reflection. Not even waiting to see the picture develop, she grabbed the camera and headed downstairs.

"Oh there you are, sweets. I know this is distressing, but we really must go."

"I know, mum, sorry to keep everyone waiting," she said quietly, eyes downcast.

A row of somber black exited the house and crammed themselves into the tiny vehicle in the drive way. To any onlooker, it would have seemed laughable that they expected to all fit. Hermione, being the smallest, was elected to sit in the nonexistent middle backseat. She was bent stiffly holding the camera, feet turned inward around the hump on the car floor and left elbow awkwardly pressed into her Uncle David's side.

The portly man grumbled, "Remind me why we have to squeeze like this again?"

"David, you know how little parking there is at the mortuary," Hermione's mother replied.

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Uncle David scratched his bushy brown beard and leaned toward the window attempting to wedge himself in a more comfortable position.

Hermione sniffled at an itch in her nose, which her mother mistook as a sign that she was breaking into tears. The older woman swung her head around and said reassuringly, "Oh Hermione, don't cry again. Gran's in a better place now..."

"I'm not going to cry, mum."

"Well that's a relief. I was going to start feeding you Valium if you were. Is that a camera? Bringing a camera to a funeral is quite unfitting. You must leave it in the car!" The woman's voice was slightly shrill.

Hermione held the camera up and snapped a picture of her mother looking annoyed. There was something about her parents that always made her revert to acting rather juvenile around them. She flipped the square little picture in the air for a bit and held it up to her mother saying, "It really captures your eyes."

They were so unlike, her grandmother and the rest of her family. She was an angel made of a type of magic that no witch or wizard could capture and they were all mere mortals. Her magic was sort of like the wavering beauty of a Monet painting. She could make anything grow with a touch of her hand; her garden burgeoned. The irises were Hermione's favorite—tall ruched petals of the brightest blue, shot with silver strands. She always asked her grandmother for her secrets, but the old woman only ever smiled mysteriously.

But her house had long been sold and the garden plowed over by the new owners.

"Give it here! A camera, Hermione, really. How inappropriate!"

The young witch extended the camera forward toward her mother. The strap was still on her neck and she pulled it over her bushy hair. As the fuzzing polyester ribbon was becoming untangled with her hair, it tugged on the golden hourglass tucked into her dress and Hermione felt the gear click.

"Oh no."

She could hear her family yelling incoherently as the time turner took her away. Their alarmed voices rang in her head as she found herself standing in a field. The air was warm, humid, and smelled sweet like summer. Infinitely dense layers of insect sounds resonated around her in a thick veil like echos meant to be seen. A faint black figure was moving toward her from afar. She didn't have to see his face to know who it was. It was always him.

.

"Sometimes alone is the most free we'll ever be."

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1984: Severus is 24

When he came close, she held up the camera to take a picture only to see his wand pointed at her through the viewing box. His taut features had a few etched lines, giving him a permanent look of moroseness. She thought he looked older than her. And his hair! It was short (short for him anyway), falling just below his ears. There was a swagger in his attitude that said that today he was quite untroubled.

"Don't you dare take a photo of me! Or I will hex you back to where you came from" he threatened.

"Why not?"

"My modeling agent says it's bad for my career."

Hermione laughed and put the Polaroid back around her neck. The camera felt heavy on her in the humid air.

"You're dressed like a Muggle," he said with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

The moral righteousness in Hermione came out. "And what is wrong with Muggle clothing?"

"It's—unexpected."

"I was on my way to my grandmother's funeral. She's a Muggle, you see. Does that completely change your view of me?"

The pale wizard eyed her strangely and said, "No—a Muggle—I suppose this is when I say I'm sorry for your loss." He knew better than to make the same mistake twice.

Playing with the waist-high summer grass, Hermione refused to meet his eyes. She didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if she did not expect his silent prejudice; she knew of his darkness and demons. Yet some part of her had wanted to believe him better than he was. A tear slid down her face, burning a singular hot path on her cheek. Quickly wiping it away with the back of her hand, she looked at her friend and whispered, "I'm sorry I'm a mess today."

"It's alright. It's July 15, 1984 and we are—ah—nowhere. Delightfully stimulating, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed through her tears at his formality. "And do tell, why are we in the middle of nowhere?"

Severus shrugged, "Just curious."

"About what?"

"Obviously, what the middle of nowhere looks like," He spelled out as if she were one of his more dim-witted students.

Truthfully, he was curious yes, but more about their meeting than the location. Sometimes the list specified where he would encounter her, sometimes it did not. The one time he had sought to avoid the indicated location, he had ended up there anyway. He often wondered if her magic was drawn to him or if his was drawn to her. It seemed that both and yet neither were true, defying all logic. Her Time Turner's magic was something untrappable by spells and enchantments, much less reason. He didn't much enjoy Arithmancy and therefore could never understand her babbling, but his knowledge of magic could not explain it. It was a strange type of irrational witchery.

He took her to the edge of the field, slowly wading through the tall grass. Hermione's heels sank into the dirt and the grass blades snagged at her hosiery as she moved but she could care less; she hated her funeral clothes. The field ended abruptly in a cliff over looking lush farmland down below. She drew in a long breath and ran her fingers through her hair. There was still beauty in the world after all.

In this moment, she was desperately thankful for his company. Without him, the desolate silence of nowhere would have terrified her.

"You know—I'm dreadfully frightened of being alone," she confessed.

Severus considered her statement briefly and sneered, "How pedestrian of a fear."

A flash of anger crossed Hermione's face. How dare he make fun of her when she was opening up her heart. "I take it you're quite used to spending quality time with yourself then, seeing as you are just overflowing with friends," she said, voice dripping with mean-spirited sarcasm.

It did not faze her companion a bit. He regarded her calmly. "I'll have you know I very much enjoy my quality time with myself, as you put it. Being with my peace and solitude is far superior to being with the mindless masses."

"Then you're just fooling yourself," she returned. "People are social creatures; it's a documented fact."

Severus shook his head at her snidely, as if he thought his answer was far superior to hers. "If you fear being alone, then your mind is weak. You must be patient. One learns to covet the freedom being a single mind in a single body affords. You grow to stop obsessing over where others are and why they aren't with you," he told her, then added, "If you are at peace with your mind, then alone is alright."

"But don't you ever feel lonely?" She wrinkled her brow in protest.

The sallow faced man turned to face the open sky. This time, his voice was much kinder and his words much softer. "You mustn't run from it. Sometimes being alone is the penance we must pay. I bear with my loneliness now so that I may keep future loneliness at bay."

With that declaration, Hermione came to understand something about Severus Snape she had never thought before: underneath all of his cruelty and acerbity, he was just an intrinsically lonely man trying to face his own frailty. She wanted to tell him that, she too, was a lonely soul escaped out of the purgatory that was war.

"Surely you must be able to forget your heartbreak."

Severus raised an eyebrow, but made no objections sensing her momentary composure was fragile.

"And what of your own heartbreak?"

"Well...I don't really miss my Gran; we hadn't spoken for years. I'm mostly upset at the idea of her death, I think. There was a war and so many I loved died." Hermione noted a sudden sadness in his eyes upon hearing this. "Losing her sort of brought it all back. I wish I had something to remember her by; she had this other worldly garden with the most unbelievable flowers..." She could almost see the echo of their exquisite allure.

"Is she alive now?"

Had he not been listening after all?

"What do you mean?"

Severus rolled his eyes at her, "Blind me with your brilliance, won't you. Is she alive in 1984?"

"Well," Hermione was hesitant, "I suppose she is."

"Magdalene, I thought you were the clever one. Instead of standing around crying, why don't you just go and dig up some of her flowers now and replant them somewhere you can find in the future?" he said shortly, as if it were plain as day.

"Perhaps...but twen..." she stopped herself. It was most likely not a good idea to let him know exactly when in the future she was from. In fact, she could think of a number of reasons why it was a dreadful one and scolded herself to almost giving it up. Turning to him, she asked calmly, "Isn't summer a terrible time to plant things?"

He coolly replied, "Only April is the cruelest month."

"What if they're don't survive the years?"

Shaking his head, he folded his arms and looked at her pointedly, "And what if it rains today? What if you splinch yourself Apparating?"

"I can Apparate perfectly fine, thank you," she said tensely.

"Then go."

"But—that is—will you please go with me then?"

"You want me to go trespass and steal? Oh I see, make Severus Snape be the criminal." He pretended to react incredulously, leaning back and giving her a bewildered look for the full effect.

Hermione pouted, "You're already so dour, adding criminal to your repertoire wouldn't ruin your reputation at all!"

"Such kind words, Madge. You really are after my heart," he smirked.

The witch shoved him away in mock frustration and giggled, "Oh I don't know how I stand you."

Severus tried to wink at her but only succeeded in blinking with a sour expression. The absurdity of Snape, even as a young wizard, trying to wink made Hermione burst into laughter—if only Harry Potter were to see this.

"So will you go with me?"

"You're lost your mind."

"Absolutely."

The wizard stared at her in silence and her heart sank, he was going to refuse. Obviously he was going to refuse, he was just that type of man. Instead, to her dismay, Severus bowed to her courteously and offered a slender hand as if to ask her to dance, "Shall we go then? Show the way, mademoiselle."

"Hang on to your breath, I always hate this part." She placed her hand in his and held it tightly, careful to not lose him during apparition. It occurred to her that his hand was unexpectedly solid beneath hers while others' were the consistency of slippery silk during relocation.

They appeared with a pop by a wooden fence in the middle of large hydrangea bush. Feet tangled in its woody undergrowth, Hermione fell down into the adjacent fire-colored poppies with a small shriek. Completely contrary to her entrance, her companion stepped out of the bush graceful as a cat and pulled her to her feet. She watched him enviously as his long black robes barely caught in the twigs when he moved as he raised his arms to cast a disillusion charm.

"I trust you are unhurt," he sighed dramatically. "It looks as though those poppies are tragically disfigured. I do hope your grandmother is magical enough to fix them."

The witch covered face and muttered, "I am so mortified! I promise you my apparition skills are far superior to this usually. I'm a very capable witch, I swear!"

Dusting off their robes, the pair walked out of the flower bed and peeked around the garden. No movements in sight. Severus whispered to Hermione, breath brushing her ear, "Well? Which ones did you want?"

His low voice was so close that she could almost feel it carrying in her thundering heartbeats. Carefully, she pointed at the crisp blue irises, a small melancholy smile on her lips. Leaving her side, Severus walked over, wand out, preparing to remove a large rhizome bundle of the plants. But before he could speak a spell, she suddenly whisper-shouted for him to stop.

"This is going to sound terrible, but I just can't bring myself to blatantly steal like this. Perhaps we can go ask for them?"

The dark haired wizard cast a weary look her way. "I cannot believe you would try to waste my time like this. What are we going to say? Hello, madame Muggle, your dimwit of a granddaughter and I have just broken into your property, but don't be alarmed, we're only here for your flowers," he said mockingly, "Don't be such a prat. You're here, you're going take it, and you're going to like it!"

"Oh...fine." She relented. Hermione stepped forward and nervously fiddled with her camera strap as she watched him cut out the bundle. "Don't you need to keep more roots than that? How do you know it'll survive?"

"It's touching how much faith you have in me. I'll have you know my green thumb is legendary. Make yourself useful and prepare a bag, won't you?" While she transfigured up a bag from a rock nearby, Severus pulled the plants out delicately with a flick of his wand. Shaking the dirt off, he floated the precious flowers into her bag.

The witch smiled broadly at their stolen prize and said, "I just want to say thank..." Her words were cut short as he placed a hand on her mouth and roughly pulled her down to hide behind a big flowery bush. His movements were so fast that Hermione could barely register what happened.

Sound of sandals shuffling on wood drifted by; someone was coming and Severus's constant vigilance had not been wasted. An older woman in linen pants and a gauzy shirt came out of the back door. The Muggle woman glanced around the yard, disturbed by the rustling earlier. Severus reached for his wand but Hermione stopped him. Instead, she brought up the camera hanging from her neck and snapped a picture of the woman. The clicking sound of the camera gears drew her attention to them, but before they could be fully seen, Severus grabbed Hermione's arm and Apparated them away.

This second Apparation was far smoother than the first and landed them on a river bank of sorts. Upon further observation, it rather seemed that they were on the edge of a small island. Calm river water was a muddy blue green gleaming in the summer sun.

"That was far too careless of you!" he lectured.

"It's alright, she wouldn't have hurt us. Where are we anyway?" Hermione tucked the Polaroid picture into her dress pocket and turned to Severus, slightly disoriented.

He let out an annoyed noise and motioned for her to sit down, hoping it would ease her discomfort. When she was no longer on her unsteady feet, he explained, "We're on Penton Hook Island in the River Thames. Charming isn't it? This whole area used to belong to my family before they squandered their wealth. We can plant your flowers, no one's going to come steal them here."

Hermione nodded and peeled the transfigured bag back, exposing the stolen flowers. "Do you come here often?" she ventured.

"Yes. It's..." he hesitated, not wanting to give his true reasons, "No one to pester me here."

What he did not tell her was that this place infuriated him, it had been the spark which lit the fire for his ambition, told him that he was more than just a half-blood wizard. A young idealist, he had thought that a war on blood was the answer. His mother tried to quiet his heart, saying that it happened before his time, that they were meant to start again. But it was a philosophy he mistakenly refused to accept. He had thought that he was a Prince, far more than just his father's son, that one day he could take it all back. Yet instead of gaining back aristocratic status, Severus had became the very thing he hated, a heartless and bitter man just as his father had been.

A swish of his ebony wand removed the fabric altogether. Hermione was surprised that he put his wand aside and undertook the planting process without magic. She offered to help since burying the plants was a more involved and laborious process than digging them up, but he refused, insisting she would just cause him more work. Defeated, she could only sit and watch Severus painstakingly carve out a portion of the bank, separate the rhizome bases, and plant them each individually. His grace was not lost, even while his hands were immersed in muddy soil.

When he finished, she slipped her wand out of the inside sea-loop of her funeral dress and muttered a cleaning charm on him. The charm, it seemed, was a little too powerful, cleaning his greasy hair in the process, making Hermione bite back a giggle. Her gesture was received with a polite nod.

"Come and sit, Severus. You must be tired."

Before getting to his feet, Severus ran his fingers up the stalk of one iris and the top burst open in a flash of silvery blue. Plucking it from the bunch, he held it delicately between his fingers. Despite having seen many types of magic, Hermione couldn't help but be astonished. It was the same as the ones he had given her at Malfoy Manor.

"How?"

"Plants live by touch. They see beneath the surface of things." he gave her a small mysterious smile and gathered his light robes, stumbling over to lay down on the grass and handing her the flower in one smooth motion. "I trust my work is satisfactory," he said with a tired sigh.

"Quite," she quickly assured, turning the flower in her hands, still stunned by his trick, "It was wonderful of you to do this, you really didn't have to. I'm actually quite surprised that you agreed—why did you?"

Reclined and relaxed, he simply shrugged nonchalantly with eyes closed, "You asked kindly."

Surely there was more to it. "Well whatever the reason, you have my gratitude."

Severus propped himself up on his elbows and inspected her for a moment. His gaze was on her soft features and he seemed to be contemplating a long and recurrent thought. "Can I make an inquiry?" he said sharply.

Taken aback by the sudden seriousness, Hermione blinked and nodded dumbly.

"Do you speak to me in the future? My future self, that is."

A frown appeared on Hermione's face. "We're—hardly acquaintances then."

The man rolled onto his side to look at her more intently. "So we are in the same time frame after all," he said amused.

Hermione kicked herself for letting it slip. She leaned back and refused to comment further.

"Why do we not speak? Surely I must recognize you," he pressed.

"I only know of you, we're not acquainted personally," she replied simply.

"And you do not seek me?"

Shaking her head with determination, she responded, "It isn't like that!"

Unsatisfied with the answer but unwilling to reveal himself, Severus could only remain silent. Certain as tides, he knew he would always search for her with all of his power, even if he were a greying old man and she only a small girl. There was a hypothesis that had nagged at him for years. It made him fear the worst.

"What happens to me in the future?"

"Well, you take me to Malfoy Manor for their Yule party in 1988 and—"

Impatient, he tilted his head to face her directly and insisted, "No, in the far future! It's the least you could give me for my labors. Does the Dark Lord return? Will he punish me for deserting him? Do I—die before I am able to meet you?"

"Severus...please don't..." she begged, trying not to betray her distress at his guess coming so close to the truth. She thought of his tarnished memory written by the likes of Rita Skeeter. It broke her heart that the young melancholy wizard before her would die a cold and harshly bitter man that even she herself disliked. But fate knew no sympathy, and that was just the heart of things, was it not?

Picking up her camera again, she held the little window to her eye, only to see his hand outstretched to block the lens.

"This is obnoxious, Magdalene."

"Please, just one. It's a Muggle camera, there'll only ever be one copy!" she pleaded.

Letting out a purposely loud and aggravated sigh, he lowered his hand and looked straight into the lens. The Polaroid snapped and churned out its square photograph. Severus grabbed it and turned it back and forth, looking puzzled.

"It's blank! Muggle things are so worthless," he said with a disgusted tone, "Your usage of them has lowered my opinion of you by several degrees."

Hermione snatched it back and waved it in the air several times saying, "Rubbish, you are far too impatient. It has to develop. Give it time. See? Don't sell Muggles short, their inventions are quite incredible sometimes." She showed him the newly developing picture of him looking decidedly irritated, and slid it into her pocket before he could steal it from her again.

"It does not move?"

"Of course not!"

Smiling, she leaned down and whispered thanks into his ear and placed a small kiss on his cheek. Severus's eyes flew open wide at the touch of her lips and he turned abruptly to face her, questions of the future completely forgotten. The sudden and unexpected closeness of his gaze made Hermione draw in a breath of surprise. Caught between the emotion of terrible discomfort and intense yearning, she did not know what to do.

It felt as though a coveting glance at an unsuspecting object of affection had suddenly been noticed, forcing her to bravely forge forward or retract in denial. She wanted to feel the touch of his skin under her fingertips, the touch of his lips against hers, but couldn't find the courage to move, and it seemed, neither could he. They lingered, staring at one another, both hopelessly frozen.

Hermione closed her eyes hoping it would give one of them the encouragement they needed, but when she opened them again a second later, she was wedged back into her parents' little car, met by alarmed voices all around her. All she could feel was disappointment, because she knew the awful truth inside: that this moment had passed and would never be back. She could spend forever longing for the resolution of that tension between them, but she would never manage to go back and pick up where they left off.

Time did not permit this particular Hermione to meet that particular Severus again.

"Hermione! Just what in God's name happened!" Her mother's yelling shook her out of her daydream. Emotions and tempers were running high today.

"Don't worry mum, just a magical hiccup, that's all. Don't be so worked up."

Her mother was not to be placated by such an irresponsible explanation. "But you just disappeared! We very nearly were in an accident!"

"I promise, it's nothing."

"Oh let it go, we're here!" Her father declared, rescuing his daughter. He always had a soft spot for her and her magic.

Discontent, his wife huffed, "Straighten your dress and take off that camera! All grown up and still like this. Show some respect!"

"Yes, mum" Hermione replied demurely.

They poured out of the automobile when it was sufficiently parked and Hermione immediately excused herself, citing the loo as her destination. Out of her family's sight, she Disapparated with a pop. Upon arrival, the young witch gasped audibly at the sight before her. It was beyond her wildest dreams.

The river bank on Penton Hook Island had been completely overtaken by a sea of brilliant blue irises. Twenty growing seasons had seen them turn from a few stalks into a full field.

She fished out the little Polaroid pictures from her pocket and smiled at the mischievous young man with sallow skin and black hair. He was not handsome, no, but he was memorably striking. A crisp breeze filtered through her curls, tickling her cheeks, reminiscent of his touch.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione was alone without feeling lonely.


Footnotes:

1. Borrowings from the ever poetic Natsume Soseki (Kokoro), Tanya Davis (How to Be Alone), Francesca Lia Block (Echo), and T.S. Elliot (The Wasteland).