A/N: One reviewer asked for their current ages, and I am helpless but to oblige.
Severus: 20; Minerva: 27; Septima, Rolanda, and Pomona are 29, 30, and 31 respectively; Walter is in his forties; Sybill is 12; Aurora is 16.
LINE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN—Adults
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Severus didn't know what to do with his long arms and legs; his hands were two giant claws getting in the way. He looked around the Potion Master's office. He wouldn't have known this was his office if Filch had not escorted him down here, still staring at him like a creepy berk. As was his cat.
Asphodel soaking in worm-brine shimmered above the doorjamb. Every knife and stirring rod was in its proper place—he knew they were stored correctly, and that he must have been the one to do it, but he couldn't remember putting anything away. Or how he had acquired them, or become a teacher.
This situation was bizarre. Yesterday, he had been a child; today, he was no older than a student. His head felt full of iron every time he tried to conceive of what was happening to him. He was eighteen years too young and his body could feel that things were not right.
Random memories kept coming back at odd times, though he had only been awake for about two hours. Two decades were gone. He had been a part of a war and couldn't remember most of it.
He slumped into the most uncomfortable chair he had ever seen (or felt), knowing he could have sat in the professor's chair behind the desk. But he didn't.
It's supposed to be my chair, he thought, putting his head down on his arms. It is my chair.
His brood was interrupted by a knock at the door he had left open.
.
Hermione could see a sliver of the gloomy office and a pale hand dangling over the edge of the desk from her place in the hallway. Black hair spilled over young Professor Snape's arm. Without lifting his head, he waved his hand so the door would open further. He was sitting in the student chair instead of his own.
As Hermione walked in, he turned his head, angling to see her. His lips hinted at a sneer.
I should have planned what to say. It was very strange to look at this different version of Sevvie—Professor Snape. "Are you alright?"
He was half-twisted in his chair, his crossed arms still on his desk. "I went to sleep as a child and woke up as this. So, no, I'm not all right."
Hermione bit her lip and tangled her fingers together. "Well…do you feel alright?" He's horrible again, she thought. I shouldn't have come down here.
He relaxed his eyebrows as he turned back to face his desk. "Pardon my temper. I feel fine."
Hermione's mouth came open.
"Now you're staring at me." He glared the door, probably wishing he could run through it.
"Sorry, I just…you don't really apologize, much, I guess."
Severus gazed at his left arm, at his Dark Mark. "I don't remember much. But this. I can remember getting this."
"I bet," Hermione mumbled. She covered her mouth, afraid—the Professor Snape she had always known had never tolerated references to his Dark Mark.
His black eyes glanced over at her. "Judging by your stricken face, I would say the future me does not allow that sort of remark."
"Sorry, Professor," she said at the flagstones.
"I don't even remember becoming a professor." There was something of a pout, disappointment mostly, on his face. "How can I possibly run a safe classroom?"
"I know you're able to teach at this age," Hermione said, sounding confident.
"And how would you know that?" he drawled.
Hermione lifted her chin. Sevvie had never talked to her that way—he always accepted what she said, wide-eyed and fascinated most of the time. But he had regained his deep voice and cold eyebrow. He was the intimidating man again instead of a sweet, lonely little boy.
"I know the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores of every professor here, and I know all of their qualifications. You became the Potions professor of Hogwarts at age twenty-one and tested for your mastery two years later."
Snape's eyes grew wide like Sevvie's would.
"And…I've seen your work from your school days." Scrawled in a book—still counts. "Teaching even the seventh-years should not be a problem for you."
Severus composed himself; his sneer, on thirty-eight-year-old Snape, had frightened hundreds of students. But, as Hermione could feel in the pit of her stomach, it elicited quite different reactions when found on the twenty-year-old version's face. When an adult glared, it was intimidating; when a peer did it, it was inebriating. That's why ninety-seven percent of the female student population always found Draco Malfoy attractive.
"Have you always been so preachy?"
"Yes."
That clearly was not the reaction he was seeking. He changed tack, thankfully; he was going to allow conversation instead of trying to intimidate her out of the room. Hermione had seen him do this to other professors, but no student had ever passed that test so easily before.
"What student is going to listen to me now?" he asked, scowling at the rows of jars behind his desk. "I hardly look any older than you."
Hermione pulled her hair over her shoulder. "I'm twenty. So I'm not the best example of a typical student."
"Aren't you a little too old to be in school?" Severus looked flippant but was eyeing her, observing her. He had never noticed 'Mione was older than Ron and the others.
"Extremely," she said, airy. "A Time-Turner and a war kept me from finishing on time."
Severus averted his eyes. He denied the desire to rub his Dark Mark. Somehow, he knew there had been a war, could feel he had been a part of it. But he couldn't remember. "Why did you come back to school?"
"I wasn't done learning yet."
The man looked taken aback before he smiled.
Hermione was stunned. A real smile was on his face; he looked almost embarrassed about that smile; he looked down, then observed the shelves.
"That's a very interesting answer, Hermione."
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While Severus observed the meticulously ordered shelves, Hermione observed him. He could feel her eyes on his back and shoulders. The tingling under his skin didn't bother him.
He turned his face away from her so she wouldn't see embarrassment crawling up his cheeks. The tingling didn't bother him one bit.
Her breathing was quiet, but louder than the dungeon silence. It may have been the cause of all the heat in the basement, but Severus didn't think so. He thought he imagined it, remembered the warmth from sharing a blanket at night.
Who had been the dunderhead that allowed him to sleep in the same bed as a female student? And allowed Minerva to sleep in the bed with some randy, teenaged boy? A bawdy Gryffindor no less?
You're the one being bawdy, he thought. Yes, the office was definitely too warm. And too small.
How could he be thinking of 'Mione's flat stomach and curved legs while she stood right next to him? She had read him Beedle the Bard for Christ's sake!
While he was busy dithering, Hermione came closer. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand approaching his bare neck. He hadn't realized how much of his scarred skin had been exposed by Ron's t-shirt.
'Mione was so close the hybrid scent of peppermint and candied oranges trembled at his nose. He didn't turn to look at her. The proximity of her fingertips to his skin made his fine hairs reach forward. But she never touched him.
He asked so quietly he could barely hear himself: "What is it?" She knew his scar was there. Why was she gawking?
"It's gone."
It's gone? A moment passed before he understood. The scar. His hand moved so quickly to his neck Hermione jumped back.
She reached out then drew away—she was going to search his back and chest for more scars before she realized he wasn't a child anymore. He was sad she hesitated.
To mask whatever emptiness he had in his stomach, he asked, "What happened?"
Hermione pulled her hair into her hands and began twisting. She didn't want to tell him. "You were bitten by a snake. Voldemort's snake."
He had dreamt of a snake. Frequently.
"He found out you were a traitor. You were…quite mad, when you woke up, afterwards. At me." She tugged her braid, looking at anything else but him.
"Why?" Had she done something to encourage an attack? He could remember being branded, but couldn't remember the appeal of the Dark Lord. Lily hated the idea—
Severus bent almost at the waist, clutching his mouth and gut simultaneously, hoping to keep down the bile.
"Severus!"
Lily. Lily was dead. He had done it. Drove her away. Told the Dark Lord the prophesy, incomplete as it was. He had done it.
Hermione clutched his shoulder, squeezing anxiously. "Sev, what's wrong?"
He thought about Lily hopping off the swing—and then Minnie hopping off in the Great Hall—then 'Mione blowing the hair out of her face every time she swung forward. It was too much. He had seen too much.
His intestines quivered.
LINE
Minnie lay curled up on the topmost row of the Gryffindor section in the Quidditch stands. The sun felt glorious on her grey fur. She felt so free, so unburdened without those robes and skirts and stockings. She did miss her long braid, though.
Below, Mona stood in the snowy Quidditch pitch, watching Rolanda whiz about. Rolanda hooped and hollered, imagining a Quaffle in her hand—a zoom—a goal!
"Ten points to R. G. Hooch!" she bellowed.
Pomona clapped.
Rolanda swooped down, hopping off too soon and stumbling in the snow. "I feel great, don't you? Wanna go for a spin on the old Comet?"
Pomona shook her head. "I'm afraid I do better on tera firma."
"What a fuddy duddy." Rolanda swept her fringe out of the way. "I need a haircut. Why's my hair so long? It bothers me."
Pomona shrugged. "Shall we check out the greenhouses now?"
Rolanda shouldered the broomstick. "So, I've been thinking."
"About?" Pomona asked as they shucked towards the exit.
"About the future. Or, I reckon it's the past, right? You know what I'm talking about?"
Pomona nodded. "I guess. How we are normally."
"Yeah. I keep remembering Charity."
Minerva stood up on her four paws, the old wood scratchy against her pads.
"Me too."
"And how Snape got her killed."
Pomona didn't say anything.
Minerva dug her front claws into the worn-down seats.
LINE
Severus squatted next to his desk, Hermione still holding his elbow, her other hand rubbing his back and shoulder, whatever part of him she could reassure.
His stomach acid had retreated. But his lungs felt tight. Hermione was smothering him and he didn't mind.
"Are you alright?"
But that didn't mean he could speak. Lily was dead. What had been the last thing she had seen? He swallowed back more vomit. The Dark Lord. Or that Harry. Her son. Potter's son.
"I'm fine," he croaked. He liked when her palm flattened against the curve in his spine.
"Are you sure?" She tried to coax out a positive response by nodding.
He rubbed his eyes, his elbows on his knees. Is this what it felt like to be older? Hurting everywhere but not seeing the cause?
He swallowed the burn in his throat. "Just nauseous," he lied.
Hermione sat back on her heels.
Severus's elegant hand felt the top of his head, trying to push the headache back down. Hermione wondered how he could make sad so sensual and then blushed.
"Does your head hurt?" she asked.
Long fingers pressed into the sinus cavity of his cheek. "Immensely."
"I think you'll be able to teach just fine," she encouraged, though she was afraid he might overwork his brain while doing so.
The man's lips thinned and he rubbed the back of his neck. "The children will all try to take advantage of my young age."
"Did they do that before?"
"They do it to everybody. They can sense weakness, like sharks—except they can talk."
Hermione laughed at his interesting analogy. "I can't imagine anyone would forget the rules of the classroom that you've scared into their heads."
"I should hope not." He used the desk to haul himself to his feet. "I'm more concerned about Minerva and Aurora."
Hermione took his offered hand. "They might remember things before term starts."
"Aurora is younger than her oldest students—they're going to walk all over her." He leaned against his desk. "And Minerva—little boys are from Hell, and they're twice as devious as demons when they're thinking with their rampant hormones."
Like that Neville, he thought. He looked pretty guilty when he woke up this morning. Like you're anyone to talk! his mind butted in.
"Fleur is pretty, and she hasn't had problems—right?"
Severus's eyebrow had gone up, dubious, before she had finished.
"Has she?"
"She came into the staff room, complaining, for the first month, of several young men trying to gauge her receptivity." Now how did I remember that?
"She never mentioned a thing," Hermione murmured.
"Would you tell everybody if the same thing happened to you?" he asked as he moved towards the door.
"No, I suppose not." Hermione waited for him to lock the door before they ascended through the dungeons. "I'm not entirely sure she likes teaching, actually."
"Are you going to be teaching?" he asked, his eyes slanted towards her though he kept his chin forward.
Eyes down in self-review, she said, "I'm not sure yet. That's what I wanted to do, but now Harry wants me to run for the Wizengamot." Talking with older Severus was not as intimidating as Hermione had feared it would be.
"You sound unhappy about that."
"I think I'm too young for so much responsibility."
"You can kill the Dark Lord but you can't run a ministry?" A smirk tainted his lips.
Hermione grinned at him. "That's a little bit different." That smirk had always been sexy but coupled with his youth, and a baritone conversation, Hermione had to focus very hard on the topic at hand. "If Harry would wait until the summer….I think I would do it. But I really would like to get my certification. I mean, I'm already halfway done. It would have been a waste of time, if I didn't finish it."
"You can't do both at once?"
"Everyone will tell me not to finish the accreditation until I have more time—and Harry will offer another Time-Turner, and I'll end up throwing away another year of my life, all because I can't stop myself from wanting to know more!"
"Tell him to wait."
Severus was so soft-spoken, she didn't hear him over her rant. "Sorry?"
"Tell him to wait. He can assign someone to your place temporarily. They are modeling it after the Muggle ministry, aren't they?"
"Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "I suppose I could ask him…but what if that person starts implementing programs that I think are stupid? And what if they challenge their removal and my replacing them? They'll say I'm not qualified, or Harry's using favoritism, and that I'm a mad harpy who will try to force everyone to give up their house-elves—"
"Slow down." They both paused in the low-lit corridor.
"Sorry, she sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"If you're so worried, tell Potter you will do it only after you graduate." He tucked his hands into his crossed arms.
"I never said I would do it."
Severus grinned; it was slight, almost nonexistent, but Hermione could see it. "I think we all know you want to do it. You're just nervous about it. You've never been an MP, I assume."
Hermione chuckled. "No, I haven't." She peeked up at him. "You think I should do it?"
"Don't ask a former Death Eater to help you make important decisions. It never turns out." Depression and regret coloured his expression.
She leaned forward, whispering as if she were telling a secret. "I don't consider you a Death Eater, you know."
His face ten percent teasing, ninety percent challenging, he asked, "What do you consider me, then?" The two were very close.
"A very complicated person." She returned to her state of perfect posture. "A complicated person that should help me make this decision."
They began walking again. "Wouldn't you rather take career advice from Minerva?"
Hermione faltered. "I—well, Professor McGonagall didn't follow me around for three weeks." Professor Snape wanted her to go bother someone else with this.
Severus could sense she was about to leave or to change the subject. "Can you think of any other career you would like better?"
"I don't know, being a real teacher might be nice."
"You should do what you want," he said. When he wasn't scowling or sneering, he just looked sad.
"I don't know what I want."
The corners of his lips twitched upward. "That's probably a good thing. You'll always have something to strive for."
She smiled at him.
Severus's out-of-control hormones wanted nothing more than to bend Hermione over a table every time she smiled at him. His stomach felt nauseous, forced to house both feelings of lust as well as disgust. This girl was his student; he was not the same age as her, but thirty-eight. Besides—he hadn't cared to sleep with anyone or even consider it for fifteen years—why start now?
Easier said than done, with this body, he thought as they approached the doors of the Great Hall.
"How do you know so much about Muggle parliament, anyway?" she asked as she examined her split-ends.
"I am half-Muggle, you know. It's odd that didn't come up during my stint as a child."
Brown eyes slanted up at him. She paused in front of the door. "I tried not to pry, you know."
"I'm sure that took all of your considerable reserves of self-restraint," he smirked.
Hermione tried to look angry but the grin peeked out. Severus looked over her shoulder when he heard the doors to the school creak open. Hermione wondered why Severus's face had changed into angry surprise.
When she turned, she saw a ninety-year-old man with a long, white beard strolling towards them, his purple and silver robes sparkling under the torch light.
"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked.
LINE
Hermione sat at the back of the room, behind all the teachers, staff members, and babysitters. Severus, Minerva, and Aurora sat in front of Dumbledore's desk. Fawkes blinked at them all. Sunlight filtered through the thick glass windows then sparkled off the bird's feathers.
"I notice you are looking quite a bit younger, Albus," Severus said through clenched teeth.
"I suppose this was your revolutionary new treatment?" Minerva asked, almost as terse as Severus.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, with his infamous grandfatherly smile on his face.
The resplendent office was thick with unspoken questions.
"I assume whatever affected you affected everyone else as well," Ron finally said, forging ahead. Little Sybill swung between his and Lavender's hands.
"That is the tricky part—it shouldn't have," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.
"Headmaster, how was the treatment given to you?" Everyone turned back to Hermione. She was sitting at the back of the crowd, arms and legs crossed, leaning forward to listen.
"I have been sworn to secrecy," he replied, airy. Minerva rubbed her temples with a sigh, and Severus's fists clenched.
Hermione pressed on despite his reticence. "I don't need to know names, or specifics, yet. Was it a spell?"
"No. It was a powder."
"No one else knew about this?"
"No. I left as soon as the powder was administered."
Severus's head snapped around. "You left here?"
"Yes. Straight from the hospital wing."
Hermione sat up straighter. "The powder was in the hospital wing? Did any of it get in the other potions? Spill anywhere?"
"I don't believe so."
"Excuse me, Albus?"
Everyone except Sybill turned to the portrait of former headmistress Sarah Browben. "Albus, your phoenix is covered in dust. Didn't you ask him to deliver your letter to Minerva in the hospital wing?"
"Yes, you called him to the infirmary, didn't you?" Headmaster LaCroix asked from the next frame.
Everyone turned to gawk at the phoenix sitting on his perch. Fawkes ruffled his feathers; dust sparkled and sprinkled on the floor.
"Minerva, were you the only one to read my letter?" The headmaster had his profile to the teachers, so he could watch his phoenix instead of the angry glares of his staff and students.
"I read it to everyone," she replied, touching her mouth, piecing the clues together.
"Did anyone else handle the letter?"
Severus said, "I did."
"That is all?"
No one else said anything.
"Aurora, you and Sybill are the youngest. You didn't touch the letter?"
"We both coughed," Aurora said in her sweet, sixteen-year-old voice. Her eyes were big and blue, and her skin hadn't a single blemish.
"Are you saying your bird kicked up the dust and it got on us?" Severus asked, growing impatient with the slow dissemination of information.
"Yes, it seems that Fawkes is covered in the dust that cured me," Albus said. Everyone drew back from the bird.
"Not all of us were affected," Fleur said from Ginny's side.
"You all have magical creature blood," Hermione explained from the back. "Hagrid is half-giant, Professor Flitwick is part goblin, and Fleur's grandmother was a Veela. I doubt whoever made that powder intended to use it on half-creatures."
"That's brilliant, Hermione," Ron said. Lavender's lips thinned.
"I assume the people who are the youngest were the ones directly exposed to the dust," Dumbledore postured.
Severus pinched the space of skin between his eyes. "When will it wear off?"
The benevolent old man shrugged. "I don't know."
Severus's fists clenched. Minerva put a hand on his arm.
"I can say that it will wear off. The only way to maintain this age is to undergo intravenous infusions of the liquefied version of the dust."
"Intravenous?" Neville asked.
"Doesn't that mean you get hooked up to a straw?" Ron asked Hermione.
"It's a Muggle thing," Hermione said slowly. "It's odd that a wizard would know it."
Dumbledore looked his brightest student in the eye.
"So, we can fix this?" Aurora asked.
"No. You can only wait for it to wear off." Dumbledore looked nonchalant.
"We don't want to stay this way!" Aurora said. "Professor Snape, can't you do something?"
"Perhaps if I had some of the dust—"
Aurora glared at the bird. Fawkes drew back.
"Albus," Aurora said, her voice dangerous. "Give Severus that bird." Her sixteen-year-old temper was coming out.
"Hold on there, Aurora," Rolanda said. "I like being this way. I bet I'm not the only one, either."
Pomona and Walter nodded.
Minerva didn't care either way. Severus, Septima, and Aurora wanted to change back. Sybill was too little to understand what was going on.
"I wonder how long it will take to wear off," Hermione muttered into her hand.
Professor Wrinkle stumbled forward, fell to his hands and knees.
"Walter!" Septima cried. Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side.
Everyone drew back with a gasp. Professor Wrinkle had returned to his age of eighty-seven.
"Well that's an improvement," Luna said.