Hermione Granger and the Crystal of Time Chapter 37, a harry potter fanfic

AN: Sorry about the absolute lack of review replies. Note to noob writers. Do NOT get a wild hair and decide to rewrite your last chapter days before it's due to post. No matter how fantastic your Great New Idea is, it's still a crap idea. I give you the longest chapter in the whole fic, and I ask you to read it slowly while I scotch tape the ending back together.

Hermione tucked the loose curl back into her bun, raising her eyebrows and blowing out a breath at her reflection. It had taken her nearly two hours to dress for this occasion, and she was down to worrying about one too-short curl sending the wrong message. Up seemed too cold. Down was a bit too informal. She smoothed her hands down the front of her tailored robes, tucked her gold badge into her pocket, and slid her wand up her sleeve. Taking a step back, she decided it would have to do. Professional, yet pleasant, was what she'd been aiming for, and this was about the best she could do.

She turned away from the mirror and headed out the door.

Harry met her as she was coming down the stairs. "Where are you off to? It's Saturday."

"I've a meeting," she said, pecking him on the cheek as she passed.

"At work?"

"For work. It won't take long, and then I'll have my day off after all."

Harry gave her a speculative look. "You've been working nearly fourteen days straight. If you keep it up, you'll run yourself into the ground."

She smiled at his concern and headed for the door. "Relax, I'm taking a long weekend. Ron nagged me into it. Honestly, the two of you are a fantastic motivation to get my house fixed. It's like having two extra mothers."

"Can't you at least say two brothers? Or even fathers?"

She turned and looked back at him speculatively for a moment and then shook her head and walked on. "Nope. I stand by my word choice," she called over her shoulder.

"Remember, Quint's coming over to show us how to cook bangers and mash," he called. "Be home by tea."

"Yes, Mother."

With a laugh, she stepped out onto the doorstep of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Patting at her hair to make sure the curl stayed in place, she pulled her wand out. Narrowing her thoughts down to destination, determination, and indigestion, she popped away to Hogwarts.

Arriving at the gates, she checked her curl again and tapped the gate with her wand. It swung open on silent hinges and closed again behind her as she made her way up the path. Her stomach twisted into fresh knots, and she fretted nearly the entire way to the castle, but when she reached the main doors to the castle, a curious calm flowed over her and she knew she was doing the right thing.

She pushed the door open and sighed.

Severus was standing stiff as a statue just inside the door. He looked good. Better than good, really. He was dressed in his usual black robes, and his hair looked freshly trimmed, if still over long. His demeanor was what she'd expected, stiff and unyielding, with a sense of being poised on the edge of rage. She could tell he was assessing her in much the same way, and wondered what conclusions he drew from her appearance.

"Good morning, Severus."

"May I ask why you requested a meeting?" he asked. She could detect nothing from his tone but bored disinterest. That had been expected as well. The three weeks of silence since they'd returned from Tierra del Fuego had been an eloquent dissertation on his level of interest.

"I am sorry for the imposition. I understand it would be preferable to let sleeping dogs lie, however, there are a few official things that need to be cleared up."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She looked around at the empty entry hall. "Is there somewhere more private we could talk?"

His eyebrow rose even higher. "I suppose the teacher's lounge is available. The castle is not exactly empty, but those faculty members that are here hardly use it in the summer months."

She pursed her lips. Eloquent, indeed. "I think you might prefer somewhere private enough to ensure we're not disturbed."

He frowned at that, and she could see his mind racing toward possible conclusions. "Very well," he said, again, with no particular inflection. "Right this way."

He led her up the stairs and the sound of his boots seemed to echo endlessly in the emptiness. He surprised her when he passed through the DADA classroom and through his office as well. She found herself thrown a little when he led her into his private rooms and gestured to his settee. She chose to remain standing, walking over toward the fire because that's where she'd always felt most comfortable.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you. You're very kind, but this shouldn't take long."

"Then I will ask you to get to the point."

She sighed. "Do you remember when this all started that I was having a great deal of difficulty in finding any information at all?"

"I do."

"And I learned that all traces of the last event had been purposefully erased?"

"Granger, I have many flaws, but one cannot count among them a feeble mind. I remember everything. Get to the point."

She lifted her chin slightly. "I need to take your memories."

That caught him off guard. His eyes went wide as his brows flew up. One hand jerked up into the air, and he clutched it into a fist as he visibly struggled for calm.

"No one tinkers with my mind," he hissed.

She shook her head slowly. "It will be a light interference. The only memories I'll need are those related directly to the crystal. You will still remember that you were involved in an investigation pertaining to an event, and everything else involved, but you will be mistaken in what you believe the event pertained to. Ron and Harry believe we were tracking an artifact that ended up destroyed. I have been keeping to that fiction with everyone immediately involved. The only thing else I'll leave you with is a slight aversion toward wondering further about the entire chain of events. It will be less interesting to you than your last clothing purchase."

Again, she could see his mind churning, chasing down all the possible ramifications. His eyes darted to hers repeatedly, only to dart away again. His face flushed, and it was becoming apparent that he was growing more upset.

She sighed. "If you wish, I could remove any memories of us that you find particularly vexing."

"No," he snapped. He stood up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse."

With an apologetic wince, she reached into her pocket, pulling out her gold Unspeakable badge and handing it to him. "You have no choice," she replied softly. "The Obliviates are far more subtle with the subject's cooperation."

He stared at her badge as if it were poisonous. "When did this happen?" he asked, flicking a contemptuous hand at it.

"The day we all met in Kingsley's office. I'd intended to resign as soon as all of this was over, but I decided against it. I have an entire department to rebuild, and I've found I really do have an affinity with time. It's slow going. Abel has agreed to stay and share his knowledge, but we don't get much accomplished with only two people. However, others will come eventually."

He snorted. "I thought you weren't supposed to speak about such things."

"You won't remember when I leave."

His eyes went wide and then his brows snapped down. "I won't allow it."

She sighed. With the exception of Mary Worple in Azkaban, everyone else so far had been extremely cooperative. It had lulled her into a false sense of ease. She'd known he'd be difficult; she just hadn't accurately gauged the level of his stubbornness.

"Severus, if your concern is that I'll discover the depth of your duplicity then let me reassure you. I'm not feeble-minded either, and with these three weeks to reflect, I've figured an enormous amount out on my own. I know you were influenced by the negative aspect of the crystal, like everyone we were up against, but I also know that your motivations were nowhere near as selfish."

He closed his eyes and turned away, staring off into the empty grate of the fireplace.

"I don't blame you," she said. "Once I could take a step back, it wasn't hard to understand why you used me. You've mourned Lily for over twenty years. Yes, I'm still a bit hurt, no woman likes to find she's been used, but it's mostly injured pride and bruised heart. In the end, it doesn't matter. You made the right choice, despite your original motivations. As I said, if it would make it easier on you, I can remove any unpleasantness you don't wish to dwell on."

"No," he said again.

She huffed. "You don't have a choice in this," she snapped. "I'm sorry if you feel violated, but I've a duty to perform, and I won't leave until it's discharged. Don't make me force you, Severus. I can and I will."

He turned back to her slowly, his eyes flashing a warning she was too slow to heed. "Expelliarmus." Her wand flew from her hand, and he caught it with insouciant disdain. He took two measured steps until he was standing right before her.

She straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed, despite her alarm. "Don't be foolish, Severus. Are your memories worth Azkaban?"

"My memories are priceless," he said in a soft voice. "You cannot take them from me."

"I have no choice but to take them from you," she said in a voice full of regret. "But if you tell me what it is you fear the most, I can try and ameliorate the loss."

He stared at her, his eyes calculating, and finally said, "Even if you take away only those memories directly related to the crystal, you will be damning me to a life of nothing but ghosts and ashes. I gave you this world. I demand a place in it as my price."

She frowned. "Severus, you hold an important place in this world. No one can take that away. There is far more to you than ghosts and ashes. You must understand, I have a duty. I will only take the knowledge there was a crystal."

His eyes glittered with anger as he whispered, "No."

Taking a deep breath for patience, she said, "Is this about Lily? I won't interfere with your memories of her. I won't touch them. I'll only take the last ones, where you actually saw the crystal, and the memory of returning it to me."

"It's not about Lily bloody Potter! You can't have them! Not while I live," he growled.

"Severus, there is no need to be so dramatic! You won't notice they're gone."

"I will," he snapped. "I'll notice my life has no meaning again. Saving your world gave my life a purpose. If you take it away, I'll have no peace with my past!"

She blinked. "And you do now?"

"Yes. When I chose this," he slashed his hand through the air, "I chose to let the dead stay dead. You cannot take that moment away."

"I won't," she said. "I'll only take—"

"No! No and no and no! What part can't you understand? I'd rather be dead."

"Severus, I—"

"You want them so much? Then have them!" He lifted his wand, and she jumped back as he hissed, "Legilimens!"

She cried out as she felt his attack, throwing up a defense that was, as yet, only rudimentary. However, his presence stayed only long enough to grasp onto hers and drag it back into his own mind. Disoriented, she grabbed onto him as she found herself under siege from not just his memories, but his thoughts and emotions. The first thing she became aware of was the primal howl of pain, an absolute devastation that turned her soul to dust. Images flickered in and around the pain. She saw herself, among many, many other faces… One pushed its way to the forefront, and she cried out at the magnitude of the loss.

She's dead. The only true friend she ever had is dead, and it's her fucking fault… She was weak and scared and cowardly, and she killed her Lily…

Hermione felt her knees give out, and he pulled her against him as she sank under the weight of his bone-crushing despair.

With a low moan, she realizes she's responsible for so many more... Marlene KcKinnon, Vincent Crabbe, Colin Creevy, Cedric Diggory, Edgar Bones, Ted Tonks and his daughter, Nymphadora, Benji Fenwick… Gods, the list was endless. So many people who would have still been walking the earth if she hadn't been such a fool. The orphans she'd created, the life she'd condemned Longbottom to…

The pain, the pain was overwhelming… Oh, Albus… Albus…

He stands before Dumbledore, trying to read the warrant for his arrest as his hands shake in terror. It's the first time he's felt anything since the days following Lily's death, and it's galling that all he can feel is fear. He's been afraid for the last three years of his life and had wrongly believed that with the Dark Lord defeated nothing could scare him again.

The threat of Dementors proves him wrong. They terrify him.

He looks up, clinging to the last shred of his dignity to keep him from begging. He won't beg. Not to this man. Never again. He'd done everything he'd been told, and Dumbledore had let her die anyway…

"Don't worry, Severus. I'll make sure you don't get kissed. You've earned your freedom."

Severus feels the relief and self-loathing crawling under his skin. How can he want to be alive when Lily's dead?

He carries the box of Sober-up Potions and Headache Remedies up to the fourth floor staffroom as he does every year on orders from the headmaster. It's the only way the wily, old goat can make him attend the staff Christmas party. As he approaches the door, he hears Minerva yell, "Charity's at the door!" and a loud guffaw.

He pulls open the door, and they all burst into raucous laughter, pointing over his head. He looks up in confusion and sees the one sprig of mistletoe that he'd not already found and Vanished. Adolescent imbeciles.

He glowers at them all as the new Muggle Studies teacher sways toward him. "I'm not afraid! Nothing scares me!"

Before he can react, her arms are around his neck, and she's kissing him. She tastes of whisky and garlic. When she pulls away, he sneers at his fellow staff, furious at being the object of their amusement.

"Ha!" Burbage cries. "The jokes on all of you! Severus is a wonderful kisser!"

He blinks and swivels his head back around to look at her.

It's his birthday. He sits in bed with a corner of the blanket thrown over his hips, polishing off the bottle of wine as he stares down at the sleeping Muggle Studies teacher sprawled next to him. He contemplates prodding her awake with a toe and telling her to fuck off. Not only was she a lousy lay, but he'd got her piss-drunk this time and she still hadn't given him so much as a peck on the cheek.

Slag.

He contemplates seducing Narcissa again. After a few glasses of wine, the ice princess would kiss a house-elf…

Charity rolls over in her sleep and when her hand brushes against his leg, she makes a happy little sound and curls her arm around him possessively.

Perhaps she's not as bad as all that, he thinks.

"Severus, please…"

"Avada Kedavra!"

He watches Dumbledore fall over the wall. He can't hear what happens next, he's too busy screaming inside.

"Severus, please… we're friends..."

"Nagini, dinner…"

Severus smiles blandly at the Dark lord's mirth as yet another weight drags his soul closer to hell.

"Coward!"

"Wake up, old man. You have to wake up."

Snape feels someone slap him and opens his eyes in anger. Pain. Oh, Christ, the pain!

A face hovers above him, and his eyes are slow to focus. Lucius. It's Lucius. Gods, he looks awful.

Snape realizes he's lying in the floor of the Shrieking Shack. His eyes go wide as the memories return. The snake! The fucking snake! He tries to turn his head, searching for it and a fresh wave of agony washes over him. He can't move his neck.

He looks up into Lucius's eyes, feeling frightened… confused…. helpless… Why had Lucius saved him?

Lucius reads his question on his face and gives a small shake of his head. "I owed you for Draco." With a smirk, and he adds, "Besides, for some reason that completely eludes me, I've always been rather fond of you..."

Snape scowls and uses the anger to flip himself over, pushing himself to his hands and knees with a gurgle of pain. Malfoy grabs his shoulders and drags him to his feet with an ease that makes Snape shudder. The older wizard had always been deceptively strong…

Snape opens the package and watches as his Order of Merlin falls into his lap. He scans the accompanying note and then picks the medal up and tosses it onto his hospital tray. Meaningless. Everything is meaningless. He closes his eyes and tries to recapture the dream he'd had of Gertie. It had seemed so real.

Christ, they'd been so young and jaded…

Severus stands before his students, watching them watching him. It's his first class since the war. As he looks over the faces, so young, so frightened, so much the same as every year before, he wonders again if saving him had been another of Malfoy's petty revenges. With a sigh, he says, "Open your books to page twenty-six…"

"Run, Severus! Your mum will kill you if you get your new coat wet!" Severus watches as Lily takes his hand and dashes down the street to get out of the rain. She looks over her shoulder at him and laughs, and his ten-year-old self laughs back. He remembers her hand had felt so warm in his. He wishes he could feel that warmth just once more.

Maybe he can…

'Of course I do. You're you…' Severus replays her casual remark repeatedly as he watches Granger re-file the reports she'd been looking at. He notes the clumsy way she swaps out the tampered reports with fraudulent ones. His eyes dart over to Urquhart across the room. He's even less talented at subterfuge, the bloody Hufflepuff. His brother would have been ashamed of the way this one aimlessly shuffles through files, all the while staring at Granger's back. Snape narrows his eyes at him and stares until the twerp feels his attention, and then sneers as the fool flushes with guilt and starts pulling out files.

He glances back at Granger as she slams a drawer shut. He doesn't know what to make of her. Why would she have held her silence about his uncouth behavior all this time? He would have thought it enough ammunition for years of petty jibes, not just the one.

She straightens up and heads for the door, and his eyes sweep her frame in a quick assessing glance.

She really does have lovely tits.

The door opens, and his eyes widen as Caleb Lloyt saunters in. Christ, first Granger brings up Gertie, now he's staring at Lloyt. It has to be twelve years since he'd last seen the bastard. It must be the season to resurrect the ghosts of his past.

Snape feels his hair stand up at the way Granger seems to turn into a twit at the sight of him. He grimaces and closes his own notes, tossing his file into a box for someone else to put away.

"Do you mind?"

Drawing himself up to a halt behind Granger, he stares Lloyt down with contempt, letting him know in terms only a Slytherin would understand that Granger holds protected status.

He sees a flash of understanding and anger in the other man's eyes.

Good.

"Dear lord! Did you see the paper? Look!"

He sets down his tea and turns to give the Headmistress his full attention. He blinks several times as she rattles the newspaper in his face, and he has to snatch it from her before she makes him cross-eyed.

The headline is alarming enough, but when he scans the article, one name leaps out at him. Granger has nearly been killed in a vicious attack in Myanmar.

He spends the rest of the breakfast staring daggers at the students while wondering why this bothers him so much.

"I was warned I was wrong about you. I should have listened."

He stares down at his notes and scowls. Why should he care what her opinion was? She was just… Granger. Granted, she was amusing and ridiculously easy to bait—she'd even managed to score a few hits, something no one had done in ages—but she was just…

He sits in a stew, irritated that someone would have told her she was wrong about him. The fact that she was wrong had nothing to do with it. It was the principle of the thing.

Lloyt. He should have known. That stupid bastard had ignored his warning. Surely she's not that gullible. He should say something, warn her, not that anyone had ever heeded his warnings.

"He's only interested in one thing."

"True, but that's not a problem anymore, now that I'm not his boss."

His head snaps up in surprise.

A slow, sexy smile of invitation tilts the corner of her mouth. "I like older men."

He feels a frisson of desire and assesses her warm, brown eyes, with their flecks of honey-gold, the high cheek bones, the rosebud mouth—he has a weakness for a beautiful mouth—and her pointed little chin. She's certainly pleasant to the eyes when contemplated in this light. He catches her gaze and revels in the pink flush creeping onto her cheeks.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes indeed.

He feels an effervescent thrill as he sees her respond to him. It obliterates his initial impression that she was too young for his taste. Her eyes dilate and her lips part, just slightly, and he knows that he could probably take her right here on the table. A few more whispered words and a few privacy charms and he could be a very happy man.

He totes up the consequences and decides the loss of honor isn't worth the conquest. He knows he could make her enjoy it, but her regret would be swift and harsh. Her silence about his rude behavior in St. Mungo's deserves more respect, and she's oddly pleasant company. He decides to leave her alone.

But not without a warning. Little girls shouldn't play with matches…

"Craving a bit of experience, are you?"

"It could be the birth of a new type of magical species, or a fantastic new magical artifact. It could be a rift in the space-time continuum allowing one to change history or shape the future, and it might even be a chance to chat with the Buddha…"

Severus seizes on that one phrase to the exclusion of everything else. '…to change history…'

Gods, he'd trade his nutsack for a chance to change history.

He watches Granger disappear through his Floo and feels his mind struggle as two thoughts vie for primacy. They are both disturbing in their own way, but for two wholly different reasons.

The first makes his blood run cold; it might really be conceivable to change the past.

The second makes his blood run warm… Granger's coy 'Not tonight, anyway,' has left him… hungry.

As he tidies up the wine glasses, he finds himself hoping that Lloyt got his head bashed in over a gambling debt. He heads toward his bed, popping open the buttons on his robes.

He pulls them off, and as the chill of the castle walls stipples his exposed skin, his mind starts listing his dead.

He sits in the Minister's office, feeling his skin crawl. A prophecy. A plague upon fucking prophecies!

This could complicate things…

Gods, she looks devastated. And bloody Potter, of course he understands.

He sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly. Steady, Snape. It's a long shot, but this could work. You just need to stay focused.

Snape winces as her chin comes up and she stares them all down.

Gods. The way she looks at him as if he was her fucking friend…

What the hell was he doing here? This was wrong. He was wrong. Why was he doing this?

He shouldn't be here. She deserves better than this from him.

You can't change the past.

Can you?

He feels her stare and turns to her. He knows that she's responsible for killing the Turk. Urquhart hadn't said so in his report, but he didn't need to. Snape can see it in the dead expression in her eyes. Sitting across the room, she looks hollow. Fragile. And yet the heat radiating off of her when she looks at him belies her delicate manner.

He understands. She's numb. He's seen this look in his own mirror in the past.

She just wants to feel again, but doesn't want to have to think.

He wants to know what she's hiding.

He can give her what she needs. Quid pro quo.

He stares at her perfect, rosebud lips and chooses to let her decide.

Oh, but he could make this one feel…

"I want to not care…"

He sits naked in his bed and stares in terror at the play of early morning light along the curve of her cheek. His mind races from one primal need to another. The need to wake her and take her again, to ravish her body and feel her lips against his again. The need to throw himself at her feet and confess his duplicitous motivations and beg her to absolve him. The need to lock the doors and block the Floo so she can't ever leave. He knows he can't bear to ever see her leave.

He's terrified. He's out of control.

His gaze travels along the curve of her breast, and he feels a surge of possessiveness rip through him. Everything he's ever wanted is right here in his bed. She's perfect. Clever, beautiful, and fiercely loyal. He's waited years for her and never knew…

His heart won't stop racing in his chest, and the room doesn't have enough air.

Weak.

He's weak.

He feels small and terrified, caught in the battle between what he wants and what he needs.

Oh, gods, he wants her…

He remembers her words the night before—'I want to not care…'—and closes his eyes against the pain. Just because he wants her doesn't mean she returns the sentiment. This was supposed to be a diversion.

Best to stick with the plan.

His tempus charm goes off, signaling the start of another school day. He slashes his hand at it, silencing it as her brow wrinkles from the noise. He watches as she sinks back into slumber with a little sigh.

He's so pathetic.

He backs away, careful not to jolt the bed.

What he wants has never been important.

Sucking in a deep breath, he blows it out.

It was just a kiss.

Perhaps she'd already had too much to drink when she'd arrived in his rooms…

He drains yet another glass of wine, staring at the bedroom door. How dare she judge him?

He fills the glass again, ignoring the giggling imbeciles surrounding him, and just stares at the door.

She'd tossed him out of the room because she didn't like his fucking story. He'd warned her it wasn't a good story, hadn't he?

He gulps his wine, hoping it will soothe the burning in his gut. The bitter gall of having been judged before the whole tale was known. He hopes it will erase the memory of the smile she'd given him and the way her thumb had stroked his hand as well. Erase the horror he'd felt when she'd been hurt…

Draining the glass again, he tosses it to the floor and pushes up off the shoddy couch, swiping at his mouth with his sleeve.

How dare she judge him without knowing the entire story…?

Snape wakes up still drunk with hippogriffs pecking at his brain. He opens one eye to find her smiling down at him.

Closing his eye, he contemplates the question of whether or not being an adorable idiot is a bad thing. He decides it's not and that he needs to marry the wench while she's still young and stupid.

Just as soon as his head stops pounding.

He seats himself before Minerva's desk, staring up at Dumbledore's portrait. With a flick of his hand, the other headmasters leave. It's a privilege he still has as a former headmaster himself.

"What can I help you with, Severus?"

"A matter of ethics and philosophy," he replies.

Dumbledore twinkles and fold his hands in his lap. "Wonderful! And what's the topic?"

"Changing the past…"

Albus' twinkle dims, and he gives Severus a sad look. "You can't change the past, my boy. Only learn to live with it."

Severus takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "But what if I could? That's my question. If I had a choice between happiness or going back and righting the wrongs I've caused, which should I choose?"

Dumbledore stares into his eyes, and Snape has to remind himself that a portrait can't read minds. "Are we talking hypothetically? Or is there something you want to tell me?"

"Hypothetically, of course," he replies, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long debate. "The Summer is about to begin, and I'm already bored."

She'd given up. He can feel his physical reaction to her admission still sizzling under his skin. The knowledge of how close he'd come to losing her nearly unmans him.

Her face is all flame and shadow as she sinks down onto him. As he pierces her welcoming body, he wants nothing more than to slip deeper inside until he's hidden from the world completely. To spend eternity coiled around the warmth of her heart. He's content in these moments. The urgency that seems to have taken hold of his life fades away when he's with her.

He's so weak.

Every day, his resolve erodes, and all he wants is this. The way she gives herself to him so selflessly. The way she seems to need him, as if she cannot get enough. He knows he never will. It's so different with her. He feels an almost adolescent awe at how much more there is to be had when the heart is compromised.

And his is thoroughly compromised. He loves her.

He's never been so sure of anything before. The awareness had ripped across his entire being when he'd seen her bleeding on the rock by the water's edge. He was a fool to not see it happening. Looking back his heart had started gnawing on its leash after her first cheeky grin in the Ministry records office.

The knowledge torments him. The burden of the past is so heavy, but she is light and peace…

He's chained to his duty, but he's weak and human and needy.

He's terrified of losing her...

He wakes up and feels himself crushed under the weight of his dead. He can barely move, the grief is so heavy. He sees a shadow move on the wall by the door and realizes she's still here. He closes his eyes and sighs with profound relief. He's not alone.

Yet.

He will be once she understands. He's surprised that she hasn't seen it yet. Every day he expects her to turn to him with accusation. Every day his iron-clad resolution corrodes a little more, rusting from the oxygen she provides. He wants to tell her. Blurt out his poisonous truth and throw himself on her mercy.

He can't give in. Not when she's so close to finding her answers. His answers.

He hears her moving, whispering spells, and he pushes himself up out of the bed. His duty calls. A part of him doesn't want her to open that bloody box, and yet he knows if she doesn't…

…he will.

And then she'll hate him.

He holds her as the water sprays over them, torn between his bone-chilling dread of how close she came to his shame, his remorse for causing her tears, and the soul-sucking guilt from how he's been siphoning every scrap of knowledge from her under the guise of 'helping.'

These last days with her, having her in his bed every night, the way she wakes him with a kiss in the morning, have been the sweetest of tortures. A glimpse into what he could have had if he'd not been burdened. This is what he deserves. It's all he's ever wanted.

Christ, he loves her.

But it's such a fragile thing…

If she were to ever discover his past…

If she were to ever discover his present…

He shudders, and turns his face into the spray.

"Severus! I've been so looking forward to our discussion this week. I believe I've found a way it could work…" Albus sits forward in his chair, eager to thrash out their 'hypothetical' exercise again.

Snape settles down before his former desk with a pilfered glass of Minerva's whisky. "You mean how to impart the needed knowledge?"

"Yes! You see, we were stuck on the issue that only ideas could remain behind. And if you're limited by how long you can stay, then you're limited on how much information you can impart. But what about memories? They are, after all, only ideas…"

"So you're proposing that a strand of memory could survive after the owner leaves again?"

"I believe it could be a way to get around the paradox, yes. Your physical self would, of course, already exist in your past, but not your memories. Therefore, if the laws do apply and cancel out one of your selves, then I believe if you saved your memories outside your self, they might actually remain behind. They would have no counterpart and have no actual physical manifestation, and therefore, might be immune to the laws of both time and physics."

"Fascinating," he said, sipping his drink. He doesn't know whether to weep or rejoice. "Do go on…"

He has a duty. Everything else is just sadistic temptation. The little looks that she gives him. Her offer of a future together. All of it is just a sick enticement, trying to force him to abandon his responsibility. He can feel it, crawling along under his skin, clawing at him from the inside.

Yes, he could have her. He could keep her and together they could build a future.

But he's unclean. A murderer. His sins would taint everything, and in the end, she would hate him, just as Lily had. He finishes making the Portkey to Greece and sets it on the table before his fireplace. Staring into the empty grate, he resolves to not give in. No matter how tempted, no matter how willing to be tempted, ultimately, his duty lies with the souls of all the people he's killed.

He can do this. As long as he's the one to reach the crystal first, he can redeem all of his past misdeeds. What he wants is nothing in the face of that.

Besides, he thinks he's found a way to meet both needs. He just needs patience.

Twenty-five years' worth of patience.

He knows he can do it, he already has.

She's worth it.

Standing in his sitting room, he rubs at his chest to try and ease the ache. Wrong, he thinks. He was wrong.

No, he tells himself. She almost ruined everything. If she'd finished that sentence, he would have turned his back on everything. On Lily, on Albus, on Frank and Alice Longbottom… He's doing the right thing.

Shaking his head, he turns and looks back at the dying green flames. This doesn't feel right. Not at all. The way she looked at him, the flat tone in her voice. 'Yes. I believe we're finished.'

But it's for the greater good, he thinks. It's worth it, even if she's angry at him now. Nothing matters if he can reset the world and start again. He needs to separate out his feelings. This is no time to allow himself the luxury of emotions.

His desires are a weakness...

He scowls, unable to find peace with himself. He scrubs at his scalp, feeling the air thicken around him as it had in the tunnel to the temple.

He doesn't understand why it's so hard to separate what he wants from what he needs to do. He's always done it so well before. He killed Albus, for fuck's sake. She's just one person in the grand scheme of things.

Just… Granger.

She doesn't really care for him. She's only deluding herself because her own fears are too great. She just needs the momentary serenity she thinks she finds in his bed. He needs to keep his focus. She's using him.

'I want to not care…'

Why was it so hard to keep his focus? He was a spy. It's what he does. But now… it's as if she's broken him in some way.

Panic explodes in his chest, and he lunges for the mantle, grabbing up a handful of powder and tossing it into the grate. He needs to hear those words. Needs to explain. It can't be too late! She has a forgiving nature…

The green flames burst back to life, and he shouts, "Hermione Granger's!"

The flames gutter out, leaving him staring in horror at his empty fireplace.

Oh, gods… She's blocked his access.

He's lost her.

The pain in his chest turns into a searing fire, and he wraps his arms around it as he sinks to his knees and howls.

Even huddled on his knees before his fireplace, moaning out his loss, a part of him is still sound enough to begin to wonder if he's not going mad…

Severus tosses back the whisky and pours himself another with a shaking hand.

He hears her words echoing in his sitting room. 'Severus, couldn't you see to what extent that part went out the window?'

Did she think he was fucking blind? What she wanted was always right there in front of him. Taunting him. Only ever as far away from his grasp as a sigh and a surrender, and yet he couldn't fucking have her. Not yet. Not in this reality…

He drinks, desperate to numb the pain.

She was going to die. It had been there on her face, as plain as day. Not the fear of failure she'd worn like a veil these last weeks, it had been the horrible acceptance that had made him shake.

He'd needed to find a way to go with her. He couldn't trust those other dunderheads to do the right thing. Potter wouldn't go back far enough. It had been such a simple plan… get caught reading her translation and worm his way onto the team with a show of remorse and a little seduction.

But he'd walked into a trap instead. Everything in the room had been a lie. He'd panicked, thinking she'd set it for him, and then it had all gone horribly wrong...

Oh, gods, she knows… His entire body shudders from revulsion at the thought of what Gertie must have told her. He'd wanted to strangle her, so great was his feeling of betrayal, and yet when she'd started to cry, he'd almost tried to comfort her. The conflicting desires had nearly torn him in two.

He's ruined everything. He'd been so caught off guard that he'd been unable to hide his reaction and let his temper get in the way. The things he'd said were unforgivable.

If he'd still had a chance, he could excuse it. Anything he did was acceptable as long as he could reset the world and erase his actions. But now? How was he to get the crystal now?

He downs his drink and reaches for the bottle, only to find it empty. With a snarl he flings it against the wall watching with empty satisfaction as the glass shards rain down on his workbench.

It was ludicrous that he was sitting here hurt and betrayed when he'd gone to her room for the express purpose of manipulating and betraying her.

Oh, gods. The things he'd called her…

Dropping his head into his hands, Severus feels his sanity shredding.

The locket. There was something in that locket.

'I hate that I hurt you…'

He throws his head back and screams.

He stands atop the Astronomy tower, letting the wind buffet him and half hoping it will push him off.

He's powerless.

She's gone, off chasing a crystal he will never see. Saving a world he no longer cares about. He waits for the moment when his reality will change. Who will reach it? Who will be the bloody Saoshyant? He hopes it's Potter. Surely he would save his parents and the Longbottoms as well. All's not lost yet. It's just out of his control.

He's free, and yet freedom feels as dull and lifeless now as it did when Malfoy woke him up on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He's alive, but to no purpose. He's saved no one, and the woman he loves has gone off to die without him. He has failed in so many ways he can't begin to tally them, so he doesn't bother.

Still, there is a certain peace in surrender. He no longer feels tormented by the demons that had been driving him. He doesn't really care anymore. Not about his dead, and not about her. He's blissfully numb. His only emotion a vague satisfaction that now he can't betray her anymore. Of course, he can't have her either, so there is little reward.

A glimmer catches his eye, and he watches the streak of silver come closer. He finds himself only mildly curious as to what news is hurtling through the air towards him.

A silver weasel lands at his feet, and he hears Arthur's voice… "Severus, you must come! They've killed Philips. They must know where the crystal is. Hermione's in danger! They're all in danger!"

He closes his eyes for a moment, and in that instant, he feels all of his demons awaken. Opening his eyes, he throws himself off the tower, exploding into flight just before he hits the ground. It's but a moment before he lands outside the gates, and with a twist, he's gone.

He stands in the middle of the forest blinking away the retina burn as the Patronus fades.

It's over.

He's lost.

He feels his fragile sanity judder and tilt under the conflicting feelings of failure and relief until it rights itself and settles into place.

Confused, he takes an experimental breath and blows it out. He feels as if an enormous weight has been lifted off him. The demons have flown. He no longer feels as if he's being driven, trapped inside his own skin. He doesn't understand why he feels so serene.

He's failed.

He's spent months using her for his own ends. Along the way he discovered that she was precious and perfect and yet he still willfully undermined any future he could have had with her. Justifying it as for the greater good. He sacrificed his chance to have her in this reality for a chance to save the others and wait for her in another.

For nothing.

His confusing peace of mind evaporates, leaving only helpless anger behind. Some fuckwit had changed time just enough to leave him standing cold and alone in a forest on the arse end of the world.

He's lost them all. Lily, Albus, Charity, and his Hermione.

His anger grows. Everything he'd ever wanted had been his for the taking, and he'd thrown it away in a fit of madness. He finds himself growing angry with her. How dare she be so perfect? How dare she turn his life so completely upside down? How dare she dredge up his past and throw it in his face? And then, instead of the disgust he'd expected, she'd apologized. 'I hate that I hurt you…'

No one had ever cared if they'd hurt him before… Did that change the rules? Could he forgive her?

Would she ever be able to forgive him?

No. How could she? Winning her back would be just as hopeless a quest as trying to save Lily. He was done with foolish dreams.

He turns his head at the sound of a twig snapping underfoot. One of Chilikov's people coming to investigate the light.

He pushes the pain and confusion away, and lets his wand drop into his hand. Focus. With a feral grin, he Disillusions himself and lets his rage consume him.

Lloyt is still alive, and she's still in danger.

With a slash of his wand, he sends a reply, and then goes hunting.

Amends have been denied to him. All that's left is to try and atone.

And there you go...