(A/N: Later on there will be a little bit of Deathly Hallows spoilers, so if you haven't read the book, then just look for my note, which will tell you when they are.)


Death Sat and Hell Followed

Chapter Twelve: Desertions


"Damn it!" James said angrily, banging his fists in earnest upon the table he had recently rejoined. "Why can't she just be straight for once? All the lies and secrets you never know what's real!"

Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point, decided to input his opinion, obnoxious as it was. "Mate, give it up," he said solemnly. "Not only is she impossible for anyone to figure out, but trying to decode what goes on in the minds of the female species is just futile. Simple as that. They're a completely different brand of existence and we'll hurt our brains if we try and decrypt it."

Lily, obviously, found this quite offensive. "Yeah? And what brains would those be, Black?" she said viciously.

Sirius pretended to pout, and, owing to the constant good looks that even Lily had to admit to, her stony fury towards him dissipated slightly—though barely noticeably, of course—against her better judgment. "Aw, come on, Lily," Sirius said, quite immaturely. "You know you can't resist me when I'm sad. And since when did I lose my name? There's nothing hugely wrong with 'Sirius', believe it or not."

James's hands twitched for a moment in jealously, before he realized Sirius was, per usual, trying to annoy the both of them. Needless to say, it was working. "Think again, Black," Lily emphasized firmly. "First name basis is a privilege. One which you especially can lose on a moment's notice."

"Well, you know what, Evans?" Sirius retorted childishly. "You don't get to be let into our awesome Marauders club then."

Lily laughed out loud, unable to control herself. "Like I'd want to? No, thank you," she said.

"Well I'm glad you're all having fun over there," Remus interrupted somewhat irritably from across the table, arms folded over his chest.

He wasn't sure whether it was Hermione's abrupt departure or some inner vexation of his own, but he was, in fact, annoyed. Lily, Sirius, and James turned to look at him curiously, honestly surprised that Remus had a somewhat angry look on his usually docile face. Truth was, Remus didn't have a solid idea as to Hermione's so unexplained leaving, and he was wondering where in the hell she had gone. And why James's statement bothered her so much. After all, she'd agreed to go to Hogsmeade with them, and so if she had some internal qualm with one of them, she wouldn't have gone in the first place. Which led him to believe that either James was really on to something with what he said or it simply reminded Hermione of some horror in her past. Or both, he supposed.

"I apologize, Remus," said Lily quietly. Remus looked at her, surprised to see the sincerity written all over her face. He hadn't meant really to snap, he just needed to think, and with their loud bantering, he couldn't practically ponder anything at all. "I didn't realize we were so rude and ignorant of you."

"Oh, he's just being…Moony," Sirius said, not being able to come up with an adjective at the moment. "Hey, Wormtail, you've been silent over there. You're not going to go all spastic on us again, are you?"

Peter jumped, having been forgotten a long time ago, and apparently off in the mind that they were somewhat shocked to see was actually doing some thought processes. "N-No, I'm not," said Peter squeakily. "Where'd Granger go? She was here just now, wasn't she?"

Sirius, James, Remus, and Lily all exchanged glances, part in mirth and part in confusion. Was he really that dense or was he jerking them around again? "Hermione left, Pete," James said slowly. Remus wasn't sure if it was to get it through to Peter or to mask his dubiousness. "A while ago. Where've you been?"

"Nowhere," Peter said. "I just—didn't notice she was gone is all."

Sirius frowned, the look not boding well for his features. "So you're either really unaware of what's going on, considering we all got up to see her, or you're joking. Rather weak if it's the latter, but…" Sirius said, question in his own voice.

"Sorry," said Peter simply. His watery eyes were darting around shiftily, but none of the rest could see anything wrong at the moment. "So what've you guys been saying, then?"

It was Remus's turn to frown as he looked at Lily, whose face was screwed up in a manner that showed her trying to figure out what was going on as well, before turning back to Peter. James and Sirius, of course, had let the matter go already, as the only grudges they could hold—apart from the brief time of the Hermione debacle—was for Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters. They had already started talking animatedly to Peter, though with all the back and forth Sirius did in talking with their weird finishing-sentence abilities, Remus couldn't exactly decipher what they were saying, instead turning to Lily again.

"What's your take on the issue?" he asked, giving her a smile.

"I don't think I could really inform you of that, Remus," she said, grinning herself, her familiar smile quite contagious. At his frown, she clarified. "You wouldn't like it."

"And why wouldn't I like it?" he asked.

"Because…" Lily started, then sighed at Remus's insistence for her to go on. "I'm not the most fond of Pettigrew over there, but I know for some reason he's your friend, and so therefore I know you wouldn't be okay with it."

Remus considered this, but looking at Lily's truly apologetic face and the way she vocalized her thoughts, he couldn't help but allow it. "Stop being protective," he said firmly, thought not exactly condescending. "Just tell me what you think. You know I value your opinion."

And it was true. Lily was one of the four smartest students in the school—James, Sirius, and Remus himself had, honestly, been the others—and their friend as well, much as she wanted to deny any amiable connections to James, Sirius, or Peter. This made her rather intuitive and able to make just about anyone like her enough to listen to her considerations, whether they were ones that that person would have enjoyed were it someone else saying them. As it was, Remus was intrigued as to hear her perceptions of Peter, and he knew that eventually she would give in, if he tried hard enough.

"You really do know how to charm a girl, don't you?" Lily said in jest.

"Not specifically my department, but I've been known to on occasion," Remus replied composedly.

Lily flashed him a smile. "Yeah…" she said distractedly. "I don't know…he just seems a bit…dodgy in my opinion. But don't be mad at me, I just…well…I don't know what exactly. I shouldn't have said anything…" She looked down abashedly.

"Don't worry about it," Remus said calmly, and Lily's eyes came up to meet his again, shame still shining, but diminished a bit.

There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the oddly dim sounds of Sirius and James's fanatical, line-crossing ideas. "So, what have—er—what've you been up to lately?" Lily asked Remus gently, breaking the now threateningly permanent ice again, her soft tone genial and welcomed to him.

He was startled a bit, having been disregarded and now talked to, but settled. "Not too much," he replied, maintaining Lily's intense gaze.

"What, not up to anymore tricks? You'd better not—you can't give up the authority figure status everyone believes," she said, trying and failing to be serious about it.

Remus laughed in amusement. "Lily, no matter what I do or how old we get, Prongs and Padfoot will always continue their crazy and prankster ways. Just watch, we'll be sixty-years-old and they'll still be playing practical jokes to people and conspiring against or with each other. Much as Prongs adores you, I doubt he could ever give that up. No offense," he said, still laughing.

Lily grinned. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she conceded, suddenly looking either nervous or uncomfortable—Remus couldn't quite tell. "Where'd you get those names, anyway?"

"Names? What names?" Remus asked, frowning.

"You know, your whole 'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs' epithet," she said quietly, like she wasn't really sure she should be asking. "It my not be my place to ask, but—"

Remus put his hand on her forearm to halt her, a semblance of regret in his own silver eyes. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, Lily. I just can't."

"I understand. No, really," she insisted, seeing Remus's dubious face. "I assume whatever it is isn't the most rule-abiding subject?"

"How did you—?"

Lily giggled. "Come on, Remus," she said mirthfully. "I may not be your guys' best friend or anything, but we have been in the same school for nearly seven years. I've learned that when any of you are secretive, it means something's not exactly legal necessarily. Probably meant-well, sort of, but still frowned upon nonetheless."

"Oh," he said simply, fidgeting slightly. He cast a nervous glance to Sirius and James over the table, Sirius meeting his eyes briefly with a practically unnoticeable querying look, but then returning to his and James's conversation. "They're sort of our, erm, Patronuses," Remus said carefully.

Lily raised her eyebrows at this information—they'd studied Patronuses in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, but only a few people had done it oddly enough, Lily included. Sirius, James, Remus and Peter had refused to do so because, Lily surmised, they thought they were above such "elementary magic", and even though Lily had not even a shred of doubt that they'd be able to perform it flawlessly—well maybe not Peter—she was somewhat intrigued by Remus's saying this.

It confirmed Lily's presumptions, although she was now wondering why they were practicing Patronuses if they weren't in classes. Remus may have been one to do additional schoolwork, but James and Sirius? Lily knew that the main reason they'd even passed their classes was because of their generally good test grades and charming personalities. No one could deny that they had an uncanny adeptness at using their refined charisma to achieve their way in or out of otherwise impossible circumstances.

"What sort of Patronuses would those be?" Lily asked, not able to contain her curiosity anymore.

Remus hesitated. He shot Sirius another wary glance, who, for some reason, met his eyes right away and gave an almost imperceptible shrug, which Remus took for Sirius trusting his judgment. Remus nodded, then turned back to Lily, her eyes positively glowing in fascinated interest.

"You know who's who, I assume?" he asked, and she nodded affirmatively. "I—well—mine is—mine's a wolf, pretty much," he said cautiously. It was true—that was his Patronus. Not his Animagus form, which he knew Lily wanted him to know about, although Remus technically didn't even have that to begin with anyway. Werewolf status came without choice. "Sirius's, Padfoot's I should say, is a dog; James's is a stag, and Peter's is a rat. Happy?"

His tone was a bit more annoyed than he really meant, but she didn't seem to hold it against him. "I'll keep it a secret," Lily said earnestly, though Remus's senses were still jittering in nervousness.

"And—And why would you need to keep our Patronuses a secret?" he asked as innocently as he could.

Lily smiled again, a devious look in her eyes. "I don't know, why would I?" she said mischievously, and he hesitantly smiled—which turned out to be more of a grimace.

"Lily…" Remus started awkwardly. "I'd really like to tell you, honestly, and if it were up to me, I'd inform you of it in a heartbeat, but it's not just my decision that matters here. It's Prongs's, Padfoot's, and Wormtail's, too."

"I know," Lily said resignedly, sitting back in her chair. "Well, you can't blame me for trying. But seriously—if there's anything I can ever do to help or something; to assist you all in some manner that doesn't involve anything too illegal, then just ask me, and I'll do it."

"This isn't just to make my conscience squirm and guilt trip me into telling you?" Remus asked suspiciously. She laughed, the sound true merriment.

"Well, maybe a little," she agreed, but Remus was much appreciative of her offer anyway.

It meant a lot that she'd be willing to risk part of herself to help people she had made it her mission to despise over the years. Remus had on some instances, this one included, wondered if Lily knew more than she let on. If she knew of Remus's true DNA sequencing now—knew of his werewolf identity. She definitely was smart enough, that wasn't even in question, but he vaguely was interested in knowing if she'd deduced the whole full moon absences of his, the fact that he'd just told her his Patronus, the scars he had, and numerous other symptoms. He shivered at the thought, even though it was a comfortable temperature inside.

These very strands of ideas sent more chills down his spine, and he loosened his tie a bit. "I'm—I'm going to go get some air, okay?" he said to Lily, getting up. James and Sirius halted their discussion for long enough to look at him in question, him merely pointing out the door. They got the idea.

"Do you need any company—?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said, cutting Lily's benevolent offer off. "I'll be back in a minute."

Remus got up from the table, politely draining his butterbeer beforehand and waving off Peter, James, and Sirius's questioning looks. He walked slowly out the doors, breathing in the frosty air, its iciness gripping at his lungs; oddly enough, he welcomed it. The burning sensation coursing through his chest acted like some sort of strange anesthetic, distracting him from the wild thoughts in his head.

Why had he wanted to suddenly get away from everyone? From James; Sirius; Peter; Lily? Was he destined to follow in Hermione's footsteps and bounce between pissing people off and confusing them? Was it only a matter of time before people barraged him with queries as to his change in attitude, or would they leave him alone? Knowing Sirius and James, there was no way he'd live this down quietly, and though Lily's intentions were pure, he knew she would be asking him questions as well, albeit in her own demure, well-meaning way.

"Remus?"

The voice startled him (again), causing him to look over his shoulder from his position on the cobbled street, the bar he was holding on to nearly frozen to his fingers. He'd found a spot that was fairly void of people, a rundown gate of sorts, which he was honestly surprised to find, considering it wasn't very far from The Three Broomsticks. The red hair and green eyes were vastly unmistakable even through her thick scarf, earmuffs, and ebony cloak, and he sighed.

"Lily." He said unemotionally. "I thought I said I didn't want company."

She looked slightly taken aback at his abruptness, but she ignored it. "Yes, well, I saw right through that," she said confidently. He raised an eyebrow at her claim, failing to see the logic in it. "You, Remus Lupin, may think you want to be alone, but I know better."

"Oh, do you?" he said coldly. This time there really was hurt in her eyes, and she backed away a half a step, looking at him like she'd never seen him before. He rubbed his hand wearily over his face, preparing to say something—anything.

"For Merlin's damn sake, Moony, Evans! I'm freezing my balls off!"

The joking yet somehow pointedly annoyed voice of Sirius was far from mistakable. He was not, like Lily, by himself, but had rather brought Peter and James with him as well, James still nursing what looked like a second round of butterbeer. Peter, quite to the contrary of his actions recently, was staring between Remus and Lily perplexedly.

"You didn't have to come out here, you know! So I'm sorry if I've promoted the chilling of your extremities," Remus retorted in the same unforgiving tone as he'd given Lily.

The broad smile was wiped instantly off Sirius's face, and he and James held identical looks of shocked disbelief, studying him incredulously. "What's your problem?" Sirius asked acerbically.

"My problem, Sirius, is that you people seem to have some sort of personal space violation fetish! Can't you get the hint to leave me alone? First Evans, now you two? Just bugger off!" Remus snapped angrily, his normally quiet eyes now blazing. Even Sirius looked positively stunned at Remus's outburst.

The air, while silent before, now seemed suffocating. Even through the slowly floating snow and the distant sounds of people milling about, the unnatural stillness seeped into every crevice. The rift that had been consummated starting with Remus's biting replies was suppressing everyone, threatening to overtake it all. Harsh, paralyzed stares were exchanged between the five, no one knowing who exactly to blame; it seemed they all, for some reason, suddenly harbored charges.

Finally, after what seemed a choking eternity, Lily's soft timbre broke through the barriers, or at least the silence. All eyes turned to her, Remus's especially with abnormal malice. "Please…" she said pleadingly, her gaze on Remus. His remained stoic. "Don't—Just don't …don't do this, Remus. This isn't you, this is—I don't know what this is, but it's not who you are. Whatever is wrong, you can't let it change—"

"Change what, Evans?" Remus interrupted wrathfully. Sirius and Lily gave sharp, quiet gasps of breath at his use of her last name. He never referred to her by Evans. It was Lily; always Lily. Remus ignored them. "How do you know who I am? What I am? What goes on inside of me? What do any of you know? Nothing! You know nothing about me! Don't pretend that you do! Especially you, Lily Evans—pretending to like everyone, pretending to like James and Sirius, pretending to like me. Don't start. Don't start with me! Just leave me alone!"

And so, without further outburst or action, Remus walked off into the now heavily falling snow, leaving behind a wake of anger as his form disappeared into the blinding whiteness, four very puzzled friends looking after him, knowing not what to do.


(A/N: Deathly Hallows semi-spoilers start here, so if you don't want to read something that references part of the book, then skip down to where my next note will be. It won't be all that detrimental if you don't read it, so don't worry.)

Hermione, meanwhile, had Apparated straight into the Hog's Head, the usually stoic customers barely giving her a passing glance. She walked straight and confidently up to the front, addressing the familiar (yet he wasn't in this time…in fact, he had no idea who she was) barman with a firmness she'd recently adopted. The kind that gave nothing of her personal nature away. That information was to be kept to herself.

"Aberforth?" she asked rhetorically, as she knew full well who it was. He simply stared at her, which she took as confirmation. "I need passage into Hogwarts immediately, but I cannot go through regular means. May I borrow Ariana for a moment?"

His blue eyes, so like and yet different from his brother's, showed shock for a moment, and she couldn't blame him. Far as she knew, not many people were aware of the way of passage into Hogwarts from the Hog's Head. It had been the saving grace she, Harry, Ron, and others had received in the Final Battle, and she'd been infinitely grateful.

She didn't figure she was necessarily hurting her future—Aberforth might remember her twenty years from now, possibly, but she doubted that with all his magical knowledge and observations, he would say anything about it. At least she hoped he wouldn't. Either way, she needed the passage now, and he was the only one to give it to her.

"You—You know of Ariana?" he said, his voice breaking a little, but whether it was from the pain still in his heart over the death of his sister or simple astonishment, she couldn't clearly decipher.

"Yes," she said quietly, trying to maintain patience. After all, if she couldn't persuade him, she'd get a lot of awkward questions and people to avoid if she just ran back into Hogwarts very much away from the group she'd left with. "Listen, I just have to get into the Room of Requirement, and I would prefer not to go through normal routes. I will use necessary precautions for it, but can I just please use it for a moment? It's essential."

He looked very much as though he would like to refuse right then and there, but perhaps it was the dire look on her face or his ingrained kind yet gruff nature that made him relent. "Charms first," he said.

Hermione nodded, trying hard to suppress a pleased smile. Looking around for prying eyes, she quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, feeling the bizarre liquidy sensation float down her spine and the eeriness of seeing her the same color and texture of the bar. She then put a kind of Shield Charm on the portrait and its immediate vicinity, making it seem as though she was not there at all and the portrait was not being used, should someone happen to look over there. If they did, all they would see was Aberforth, who, Hermione assumed, would be just as inconspicuously impassive as usual.

He nodded in annoyed satisfaction, and Hermione turned to the well-dressed young woman in the painting behind her, Ariana's beautiful smile greeting her. "May I go through?" Hermione asked politely.

Ariana merely smiled brightly in response, swinging forward to reveal a tunnel, one which Hermione knew the destination that, before, had been quite undesirable. Giving Aberforth one last look of thanks (he grimaced), she headed into the opening, and with Ariana's portrait closing, she was plunged into darkness. She lit the tip of her wand and headed down the dark route. After what seemed an eternity, she finally emerged into the Room of Requirement, and while it looked very different than the one Neville had created so many months ago and in a grimmer situation, she felt a bit of comfort from it nonetheless, unable to stop herself from seeing the D.A. meetings and the Final Battle congregation that had met here.

(A/N: Spoilers end.)

Remarkably, the Room had adapted to what she'd wanted, even though she hadn't done the customary walking three times in front of the invisible door. She supposed this was part of the magic of it and how much the user wanted it, but regardless, she was thankful. She looked around, observing her surroundings, trying to get acclimated to what this new environment was composed of.

There wasn't much furniture or lighting in the Room, and the small shafts of light that did make it through illuminated the musty dust twinkling in the air. There was a strangely intricately inlaid fireplace and a somewhat comfortable-looking couch, heavily filled bookshelves with obviously ancient tomes, and a large mirror that reflected every nuance with impossible detail. The fact that the Room wasn't all that spectacular irked Hermione—were her inner desires so dark and empty as the Room exhibited? Was it just her dank mood and attitude, or was she really that callous and cynical? She felt quite disheartened at the thought.

She sighed, about to ruminate some more on her lack of life, when something caught her eye, put into luminescence by a seemingly ethereal light. Drawn to it, she walked over trancelike, trying to make out the object. Once she did, however, she gasped in spite of herself, and she pressed her fingers up against it with longing affection. Because there, in all its pictographic, moving glory was a picture of her. Her, Harry, and Ron, in, by the looks of it, somewhere between fifth and sixth years; she couldn't really tell.

She vaguely remembered when this was taken—Colin had run up to them, per his usual zealousness, begging to take their picture. They had just been laying by their oak tree by the lake, enjoying the crispness of the air, clouds gracefully sliding across an azure sky. Reluctantly, though laughing internally, they allowed Colin to photograph them, Harry in between Hermione and Ron, who both had their arms around his shoulders, giving broad grins in spite of themselves. The Lake glistened in the background, leaves swaying and the miniature figures in the picture laughing and enjoying each other's presence like Hermione couldn't have predicted would happen too many more times.

That was the only picture of the three of them—there were a few other photographs, but those were of people Hermione both knew well and wasn't sure she knew at all. There were Lupin and Tonks, the entire Weasley family, Fleur included, Mad-Eye, Hestia Jones, and various other Order members; in the center of it all was before and after pictures of the Order of the Phoenix, the latter one substantially less occupied than the first. Hermione had to prevent herself from crying again at seeing everyone.

Not only was the first sad, Lily and James's faces smiling up at her, but the second one was, if possible, worse: Sirius with his haunted yet still beyond handsome face; an older Lupin, graying but boyishly attractive; a magnificently purple-haired Tonks; Hagrid taking up practically an entire row by himself…Hermione missed everyone. More than she thought possible. How she longed to be back in her own time. Hell, she'd almost take everyone gone compared to everyone not existing. At least in her era people would know of whom she was talking, and she could converse with the people that were still alive, the ones that knew all the horrors.

Not everyone in the Order had died; though it had taken horrific losses, there were still some left, whether or not they'd fought in the War. But now…there was no one she could talk to. Not really. Oh, she could try, but they would have no idea what she was telling them about. She might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all they'd know. Perhaps, she realized, that was the reason she was more than resistant to indulging Sirius, Lily, James, or Remus: even if she'd tell them, they wouldn't know what to do or what events and people she was referring. So she figured it would be better to keep silent. At least that way her memories wouldn't be contaminated with her explanations and their strange, oblivious questions. No…until they actually could truly commiserate with her, they'd best be kept in the dark.

She pressed her fingers gently to the photograph, though the figures did not react to her touch. They simply continued laughing and joking, naïveté rearing its undesirable and painful face. Instead, Hermione turned to another part of the Room where large mahogany bookshelves were filled to the brim, a fact the old Hermione would virtually faint over. But now, she wasn't sure how she felt about it, although she had felt an initial spark inside her at the innumerable books. Perhaps it was all the memories it brought back of her studying; her, Harry, and Ron researching ways for Harry to breathe underwater; Nicholas Flamel; Horcruxes…They stung her like a thousand piercing knives.

She shook her head in an effort to clear it. "Hermione, stop being ridiculous," she chastised herself, walking now determinedly over to the nearest one. "Oh, you're pathetic," she added at her renewed reluctance to move.

Finally, she peered at the closest books, having to practically have either the inane ability to magnify things or decipher titles that were completely pulled away except for a sliver of every other letter. The ones she had no idea the title of, she moved past, going to the next row. Here she took an intake of breath. There, in all their novelistic glory, were countless stories on time travel. Time travel and the mystifying effects and possible outcomes of it.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock, she kicked herself for not thinking of this earlier—what kind of know-it-all was she? Of course the Room of Requirement would have these books! If she wanted them, they'd appear. She reached up to the first, brushing the centimeter-thick layer of dust off of the cover. She opened it delicately, scanning the words quickly. Unfortunately, it happened to be in quite a different language. Apparently her mind hadn't been specific enough when asking for the books.

"'Quand chercher un chemin pour suivre, nouvel ou vieux, vous devez vous assurer qu'il n'est pas bloqué par vos barrières. Vous perdre dans la chasse. Mais est averti ; que vous trouvez ne peut pas être que vous avez cherché.' Well, that's just maddeningly unhelpful," she muttered, taking a minute to translate the passage in her head.

They may not have offered foreign languages at Hogwarts, but she'd endeavored to learn French ever since she heard her mother speaking it one day, and it had heightened when the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic had come to visit. And for the added benefit of simply knowing another language. She was just glad she'd learned it. She wasn't an expert at the language or anything, but she could understand a fair amount, and she could understand more than she could speak. Sadly, the paragraph she'd just read went in circles and made no sense, even if it were in English. She angrily closed the book and stuffed it unceremoniously back on its shelf.

She picked up another book, which turned out to be just as useless. "What the hell is the point of this, then?" she derided, annoyed, towards no one in particular.

"Interesting group of books."

She flinched in shock at this new voice, wand brandished in half a second as she crept around the bookcase. A shadow moved into the light, and she inhaled sharply at the face. She knew it quite well. She'd suffered through five years of Potions class. He killed Dumbledore. She was now, alarmingly, in front of none other than a seventeen-year-old Severus Snape.

His hair was just as dank and greasy as ever, eyes the cruel black, his cloak setting awkwardly on his bony frame like the attire wasn't made to encase such a scrawny, Dark Arts-obsessed body that was just as slimy as the hair he carelessly abandoned.

"Snape," she hissed angrily. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in? You know what, I don't care—just get out!"

Snape merely smirked, the expression uncannily, scarily identical to his future counterpart. There was no implication of the frail, pathetic boy that Harry had described in Snape's worst memory. Was it just because Snape had been in the presence of James, Sirius, and Remus, people vastly more intelligent and popular than he was, that he was so obviously cowardly and easy to make fun of?

That, right now, however, was not her most pressing problem. What she was really bemused and dazed about was how he got in here in the first place. Malfoy had gotten through the enchantment of the Room in fifth year with Professor Umbridge, but he had pretty much known exactly what to look for; what Dumbledore's Army was. But here was Snape, how didn't know her at all, and he was very real—how could he have surpassed the magic of the Unknowable Room?

"Answer me, you ingratiating, filthy son of a bitch!" she yelled at him, the venom lacing her voice a complete byproduct of her fury.

"Oh, calm down…what's your name again?" It was a question, but the indifference in his tone didn't show it.

"If you don't know, then why would I tell you?" Hermione spat, her face steadily growing whiter as he lingered still longer.

"So you have come to know of the Room of Requirement, have you?" Snape asked rhetorically. Hermione glared viciously. "How, if I may, did that come about?"

"None of your damn concern, Snivellus. What I do need to know, however, is how you came to be here with me inside. You knew not of my presence here and yet it allowed you entrance. What is this?" she said, her level voice saturated with aggravation.

Something like mystification of his own flickered in Snape's soulless orbs. "'None of your concern,'" he mimicked her.

Yet she took this as confirmation he didn't know either. This gave her a small bit of comfort, but also a chilling dread—he'd seen the time travel books, but so far hadn't shown he knew what she was up to or when she was up to, which she took to be somewhat a good thing. And yet…if Snape put two and two together…what would become of her? Her future? He'd guessed Lupin's true nature of being a werewolf without practically any tangible proof, and she knew how secretive he was, and she wouldn't put anything past Snape, especially if something piqued his Dark interest. And a time-traveling Voldemort dueler had to be at the top of his list.

Hermione took a silent, deep breath, trying to contain herself and regain control. She wasn't usually like this—she was the one always with the upper hand; the one that didn't let anyone get under her skin. Part of her brain told her this was Snape, the conniving, infuriating bastard that would get an irritating rise out of anyone. He stood there still, sneer plastered on his face, Hermione wondering again what had happened to the sickly, neglected boy that was in the Pensieve. She questioned if when Sirius, Remus, and James were around again Snape would have the same cocky manner, or if he would retreat to his former self. She preferred the latter. She didn't like the late-thirties Snape, and she certainly didn't like this new yet identical one.

"Fine," Hermione said with gritted conviction, having just come up with a sudden, and, in her opinion, brilliant thought. "The you'll just be disappointed."

She screwed up her face much like Tonks did when she would change her appearance, and with a resounding short crack, she knew she'd reached her objective. Immediately, the Room emptied entirely, leaving only a single ray of light shining on both of the Room's current occupants. Snape, having not expected this, started grasping at empty air, the book having vanished without a trace with the rest of the Room's contents. And while all the necessary things for Hermione to possibly figure out her dilemma were gone for the moment now, too, the livid look on Snape's face was priceless. It was her turn to smirk.

"Sorry," she said, quite insincerely. "My bad."

Snape's face morphed to a sneer of his own once more, but Hermione kept hers as well. "Don't get too confident," he said snidely. "I can just get all of these back later if I feel like it."

"Oh no you can't," Hermione said happily. "That's part of what I told it. From now forth, I am the only one who may access these books. All you will get if you try it is—well…let's just say you will have wished you'd not done it."

And with that, she departed the Room jauntily, the impossibly amusing look on Snape's face planted firmly in her mind. Once she left the Room, the door turning invisible (since even though Snape was still inside, it technically belonged to him now and shut her out), and she was left in a disturbingly deserted hallway. She, carefully looking around and casting the homenus revelio spell just in case, she reached into the bag she'd been carrying and pulled out a book. A very specific book. Because just before she'd seen Snape in the Room, she'd grabbed a promising-looking novel, Shrunk it, and placed it hastily yet reverently in her sack, knowing she might need it later. To be honest, she had no idea whether it was any good or not or would supply information that would be useful, and it was quite a shot in the dark, but she figured if she shot enough, blackness or not, she was bound to find something.


Well, I hope this was a good enough chapter for you all, and that it wasn't too short. I'd've made it longer, but it seemed like a good stopping point. As always, if you have any suggestions or requests, please review or PM me. Thanks.

Specific appreciations to:

Aly Martin, RannyBabiiex3, and The Almighty Cheez It (though I'm still dubious on the whole SnapeHermione deal……hah).