I read over this recently, and decided that Serpentina is right, the love
story develops far too quickly. So, here is the revised ending, and I warn
you, I've written at least three more chapters.
*~*~*
Hermione waited patiently in Dumbledore's office. She had been summoned to meet him, only for the Headmaster to be called away. He had said to wait for him, and so she had, for over an hour. She found her thoughts returning to Snape. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned him, so she assumed he was still unconscious. She would have to visit him while she was here. Hearing voices outside the door, she turned to see a very welcome figure step into the room.
McGonagall swept into the room, pulling the startled girl into her arms. Hermione hugged the professor back, feeling deep relief spread through her that she had not lost her mentor. She felt a brief sharp pang as she realised that despite her best efforts, she had changed the future. Ron and McGonagall had survived Voldemort's attack, when before they had both been killed. What else had she changed? Had she jeopardised her future with the Potions Master?
'I am so very happy to see you well and safe, Hermione,' McGonagall sobbed, pulling a face as she realised she was crying. 'Look at me, it's ridiculous, isn't it?'
Hermione laughed with her, caught up in her joy at seeing the older woman alive. Dumbledore watched them from the door, reluctant to intrude on what was obviously a special moment for the two women. Minerva had always had a soft spot for Hermione, and she had been distraught when the girl had been brought to the Hospital Wing after the battle. None of the professors had even known she was in the castle.
He wandered into the room, sitting at his desk and playing with Fawkes as his wife composed herself, drawing Hermione down to sit beside her.
'I understand you had something you wished to ask me, Hermione?' he said softly, watching as the smile faded from Hermione's face.
She swallowed uneasily, unsure if the Headmaster would grant her unusual request, indeed if he would even entertain the idea.. Concerned, McGonagall squeezed her hand, wanting to give her support if she needed it.
'Yes, Headmaster -'
'Albus,' he interrupted with a smile. 'I think we've all seen enough these past few weeks to be able to use first names.'
Hermione smiled shyly, nodding in agreement.
'Well, then, Albus, I was going to ask if you would modify my memory.'
He frowned, nodding slowly as if he understood her reasons.
'Why, my dear?' McGonagall asked in surprise, ignoring the warning look she received from her husband.
Hermione sighed.
'I don't want people knowing about my . . . relationship . . . with Voldemort,' she explained. 'I don't want everyone to know that I killed my own father. I'd rather the whole thing would just go away. Tom Riddle was my father, and Voldemort used him to destroy thousands of lives. People just wouldn't understand that they were two separate people.'
Dumbledore gazed into her eyes, the twinkling blue orbs seeing past her obvious reasoning.
'What else, Hermione?' he asked gently.
'When I went into the future, my older self couldn't remember what she did to Voldemort, only that it was her. She couldn't help me work it out, and I don't want to change any more of the future than I have already.'
The Headmaster nodded, raising a hand to cut off McGonagall's protests.
'Very well, Hermione,' he said, pleased to see that his answer brought a relieved smile to her pale face. 'But you understand that to selectively modify someone's memory requires a potion?'
Hermione froze. Unbidden, images of Snape rose in her mind's eye. Him playing with their children, trying to protect her from Voldemort, lying pale and still in a hospital bed. Would his knowledge be required to brew this potion? She blinked, shaking herself mentally.
'No, I wasn't aware of that, Albus.'
He nodded, leaning back in his chair.
'Well, it just so happens that I have a Potions Master up my sleeve, so to speak.'
Seeing Hermione's face light up, Dumbledore congratulated himself on guessing correctly. She loved Snape as much as he loved her, and hopefully this would bring them together.
'Before you ask, yes, he is alive and well, if a little weak,' he told her, watching as a myriad of emotions flicked across her face. 'Still, his temper is just as glorious as before, so no doubt he'll be up and terrorising students again by the beginning of the term.'
McGonagall looked from Hermione to Dumbledore and back as a secretive smile spread across the girl's face. It was odd that she should be so pleased to hear of the Potions Master's recovery when only a few weeks before she had confessed to absolutely loathing the man. But then, she had just come out of her Potions exam, and Snape was never in the best of moods when forced to examine anyone, least of all a Muggle-born witch who knew almost as much as he did. Still, it was odd. McGonagall knew Hermione was a very forgiving girl, but this was almost impossible.
'May I see him?' Hermione was asking, barely able to contain her excitement.
Smiling at her infectious display of good humour, Dumbledore nodded.
'Of course, Hermione. You will be required to work with him to brew the potion, since only you know what it is you want to forget.'
Suddenly Hermione's stomach began to churn, tightening into a knot of nerves that seemed to come from nowhere. She forced herself to relax, thinking of the evening's she had spent talking with her older self. For some reason, just the image of herself in the future poring over a pile of essays and absently rubbing her pregnant belly was enough to calm her.
'I daresay Poppy is fussing over him at the moment, but if you would care to stay for dinner, I'm sure he can be prevailed upon to join us,' the Headmaster continued, smiling at the thought of Snape's reaction to the news that Hermione was here, and asking for him.
Hermione smiled, grateful for the invitation.
'I would love to stay, Albus, if you'll have me.'
'Nonsense, girl, he wouldn't have asked if you weren't more than welcome,' McGonagall said cheerily, wrapping her arms about Hermione again, as if she couldn't quite believe they were all still alive.
'And of course, you'll have to tell us about your plans for the future,' Dumbledore added, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
Hermione grinned suddenly, wondering just how much the old wizard knew of her trip to the future. She couldn't deny that she was quite happy for him to continue match-making, knowing that he was the only person Snape would take advice from. With Dumbledore on her side, she could hardly fail to snare the elusive Potions Master. Could she?
*~*~*
Snape stood in his workroom, pointedly ignoring the knocking on his door. He was going over his inventory, making various lists of what needed to be replaced, refilled, and ordered. However, he wasn't getting very far. His thoughts kept wandering back to a brave young Gryffindor and the risk she had taken to rid the world of her own flesh and blood.
Hermione. Now, when he thought of her, the image of her cradled safely against him as he carried her away from her father had been replaced with her standing before Voldemort, fully prepared to kill herself in an attempt to save so many others. Her gamble had paid off. Snape finally understood why she had been Sorted into Gryffindor, instead of Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. No other House member could have lived through what she had and come out of it fighting.
It seemed to him that every waking moment he was looking for ways to move his mind away from her. If he stopped working, even for a moment, his mind wandered to her lovely face, the haunting sadness in her eyes that somehow made her even more desirable, the softness of her chestnut curls.
He shook his head slightly, trying to draw his attention back to the task at hand. During his long recuperation from the effects of the multiple curses cast on his already weakened body, he had dreamt that she was sitting beside him, begging him to live, not to leave her. It had been so clear, so real, that he had almost let himself believe it. He would have, had it not been for the rest of what she had told him. That she had seen them, together, in the future, that she loved him. Such things he could only put down to his longing for precisely what she seemed to have described to him.
He did not deserve such happiness, he did not deserve her. Rather than join her father, she had risked her life to destroy him. What had he done to match that? He was a known Death-Eater, saved from Azkaban only by Dumbledore's insistence of his spying activities. She probably hated him for the way he had treated her during her time at Hogwarts. He suppressed a groan as the memory of her Potions final floated to the surface.
She'd completed the invisibility potion in spectacular time, with no mistakes, braving his stony countenance to test it herself. Disgruntled, he'd spitefully refused to provide the antidote, and she'd calmly made it herself, despite the anger he could sense brewing beneath the surface. When nothing untoward happened after she'd drunk the antidote, he'd spat a nasty comment at her visibly pale face, knowing that it would hurt her. He remembered how carefully she'd shut the door, obviously determined not to slam it, and exactly how furious McGonagall had been with him for making her complete two potions. Dumbledore had seemed quite amused by the whole thing, making Snape wonder just how long the old wizard had known about his feelings for her.
He wouldn't blame Hermione if she hated him, yet she had always treated him with the utmost respect. When she'd reappeared in her chamber, she had not flinched away as he moved towards her. He had fancied that he detected warmth in the gaze she levelled at him, and true fear when she realised that Voldemort intended to kill him. It was rubbish, a silly notion that held no basis in the truth at all. He was deluding himself. The best thing to do would be to harden his heart and get on with things.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he swore loudly.
'I'm terribly sorry, Severus, but you appeared to have gone a little deaf,' Dumbledore said cheerfully. 'I've been knocking on your door for the last fifteen minutes.'
Snape scowled at him.
'There was nothing preventing you from barging in the way you always do,' he snapped, silently cursing himself for not paying attention to his surroundings. He retrieved the quill that had slipped from his fingers and placed it next to the ink pot.
'Was there something, or are you just content to give me a heart attack today?' he asked acidly.
Dumbledore smiled vaguely, looking around the dungeon with distaste.
'You really should open the drapes more often, Severus, this room is positively dingy,' he said, deliberately not answering the question. 'With a bit more colour in this place, maybe the students would enjoy Potions more.'
'They're not here to enjoy Potions, they're here to learn it,' Snape muttered, knowing better than to voice his opinion out loud. He raised his voice. 'Is there a point to your visit, apart from commenting on the decor?'
Dumbledore smiled, hearing his friend's formidable temper simmering under his polite words. Severus Snape was making a faster recovery than he'd thought.
'Hmm?' he said absently. 'Oh yes, I was wondering if you were going to join us for dinner this evening. We have a guest who is in need of your expertise, and is hoping to speak to you.'
Snape frowned.
'What do they need?'
'The Oblivate potion, what's it called?' Dumbledore fumbled for the name, and gave up, seeing that Snape understood. 'There are certain things this person does not wish to remember.'
'I am fully aware of what the Obliviscor does, Albus,' Snape said testily. 'Who is in need of it?'
Dumbledore quickly suppressed an amused smile.
'Hermione Granger,' he said, watching as Snape stiffened, what little colour there was draining from his face.
'Miss Granger is here?' he asked quietly, all trace of his bad humour gone.
Dumbledore nodded.
'She requested that I Oblivate her,' he explained, 'but the potion is far more powerful than the spell, and her memories are doubly painful. I thought that you might be kind enough to help her through the brewing.'
Snape took a deep breath, urging his hammering heart to calm itself. Hermione was here, and she needed him to help her. He should have realised that she would not want to face what she had done, but had never dreamed that she would seek Dumbledore's help for it. The Headmaster was watching him closely.
'Of course, if you do not wish to assist her, I can always ask Poppy to help her,' he suggested, for once unable to read the younger man's reaction.
'No,' Snape said quickly. 'The Obliviscor is difficult enough for a Master. Poppy has her hands full with the injured in the Hospital Wing. I will assist Miss Granger in whatever she needs done.'
Dumbledore nodded, pleased that Snape had made, in his opinion, the right decision.
'So you will join us for dinner? In my office, seven o'clock?'
Snape sighed, recognising the signs that he had been manipulated into doing what Dumbledore wanted yet again.
'Yes, Albus, I will join you for dinner,' he said wearily.
As the older wizard left, smiling to himself, Snape closed his eyes, willing himself to be strong enough for this encounter. An image of Hermione's smiling face appeared behind his closed eyelids. Involuntarily, he smiled softly, a tender expression at odds with his stern countenance. Finally, he had a little time to change her opinion of him, for better or worse.
*~*~*
Hermione waited patiently in Dumbledore's office. She had been summoned to meet him, only for the Headmaster to be called away. He had said to wait for him, and so she had, for over an hour. She found her thoughts returning to Snape. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned him, so she assumed he was still unconscious. She would have to visit him while she was here. Hearing voices outside the door, she turned to see a very welcome figure step into the room.
McGonagall swept into the room, pulling the startled girl into her arms. Hermione hugged the professor back, feeling deep relief spread through her that she had not lost her mentor. She felt a brief sharp pang as she realised that despite her best efforts, she had changed the future. Ron and McGonagall had survived Voldemort's attack, when before they had both been killed. What else had she changed? Had she jeopardised her future with the Potions Master?
'I am so very happy to see you well and safe, Hermione,' McGonagall sobbed, pulling a face as she realised she was crying. 'Look at me, it's ridiculous, isn't it?'
Hermione laughed with her, caught up in her joy at seeing the older woman alive. Dumbledore watched them from the door, reluctant to intrude on what was obviously a special moment for the two women. Minerva had always had a soft spot for Hermione, and she had been distraught when the girl had been brought to the Hospital Wing after the battle. None of the professors had even known she was in the castle.
He wandered into the room, sitting at his desk and playing with Fawkes as his wife composed herself, drawing Hermione down to sit beside her.
'I understand you had something you wished to ask me, Hermione?' he said softly, watching as the smile faded from Hermione's face.
She swallowed uneasily, unsure if the Headmaster would grant her unusual request, indeed if he would even entertain the idea.. Concerned, McGonagall squeezed her hand, wanting to give her support if she needed it.
'Yes, Headmaster -'
'Albus,' he interrupted with a smile. 'I think we've all seen enough these past few weeks to be able to use first names.'
Hermione smiled shyly, nodding in agreement.
'Well, then, Albus, I was going to ask if you would modify my memory.'
He frowned, nodding slowly as if he understood her reasons.
'Why, my dear?' McGonagall asked in surprise, ignoring the warning look she received from her husband.
Hermione sighed.
'I don't want people knowing about my . . . relationship . . . with Voldemort,' she explained. 'I don't want everyone to know that I killed my own father. I'd rather the whole thing would just go away. Tom Riddle was my father, and Voldemort used him to destroy thousands of lives. People just wouldn't understand that they were two separate people.'
Dumbledore gazed into her eyes, the twinkling blue orbs seeing past her obvious reasoning.
'What else, Hermione?' he asked gently.
'When I went into the future, my older self couldn't remember what she did to Voldemort, only that it was her. She couldn't help me work it out, and I don't want to change any more of the future than I have already.'
The Headmaster nodded, raising a hand to cut off McGonagall's protests.
'Very well, Hermione,' he said, pleased to see that his answer brought a relieved smile to her pale face. 'But you understand that to selectively modify someone's memory requires a potion?'
Hermione froze. Unbidden, images of Snape rose in her mind's eye. Him playing with their children, trying to protect her from Voldemort, lying pale and still in a hospital bed. Would his knowledge be required to brew this potion? She blinked, shaking herself mentally.
'No, I wasn't aware of that, Albus.'
He nodded, leaning back in his chair.
'Well, it just so happens that I have a Potions Master up my sleeve, so to speak.'
Seeing Hermione's face light up, Dumbledore congratulated himself on guessing correctly. She loved Snape as much as he loved her, and hopefully this would bring them together.
'Before you ask, yes, he is alive and well, if a little weak,' he told her, watching as a myriad of emotions flicked across her face. 'Still, his temper is just as glorious as before, so no doubt he'll be up and terrorising students again by the beginning of the term.'
McGonagall looked from Hermione to Dumbledore and back as a secretive smile spread across the girl's face. It was odd that she should be so pleased to hear of the Potions Master's recovery when only a few weeks before she had confessed to absolutely loathing the man. But then, she had just come out of her Potions exam, and Snape was never in the best of moods when forced to examine anyone, least of all a Muggle-born witch who knew almost as much as he did. Still, it was odd. McGonagall knew Hermione was a very forgiving girl, but this was almost impossible.
'May I see him?' Hermione was asking, barely able to contain her excitement.
Smiling at her infectious display of good humour, Dumbledore nodded.
'Of course, Hermione. You will be required to work with him to brew the potion, since only you know what it is you want to forget.'
Suddenly Hermione's stomach began to churn, tightening into a knot of nerves that seemed to come from nowhere. She forced herself to relax, thinking of the evening's she had spent talking with her older self. For some reason, just the image of herself in the future poring over a pile of essays and absently rubbing her pregnant belly was enough to calm her.
'I daresay Poppy is fussing over him at the moment, but if you would care to stay for dinner, I'm sure he can be prevailed upon to join us,' the Headmaster continued, smiling at the thought of Snape's reaction to the news that Hermione was here, and asking for him.
Hermione smiled, grateful for the invitation.
'I would love to stay, Albus, if you'll have me.'
'Nonsense, girl, he wouldn't have asked if you weren't more than welcome,' McGonagall said cheerily, wrapping her arms about Hermione again, as if she couldn't quite believe they were all still alive.
'And of course, you'll have to tell us about your plans for the future,' Dumbledore added, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
Hermione grinned suddenly, wondering just how much the old wizard knew of her trip to the future. She couldn't deny that she was quite happy for him to continue match-making, knowing that he was the only person Snape would take advice from. With Dumbledore on her side, she could hardly fail to snare the elusive Potions Master. Could she?
*~*~*
Snape stood in his workroom, pointedly ignoring the knocking on his door. He was going over his inventory, making various lists of what needed to be replaced, refilled, and ordered. However, he wasn't getting very far. His thoughts kept wandering back to a brave young Gryffindor and the risk she had taken to rid the world of her own flesh and blood.
Hermione. Now, when he thought of her, the image of her cradled safely against him as he carried her away from her father had been replaced with her standing before Voldemort, fully prepared to kill herself in an attempt to save so many others. Her gamble had paid off. Snape finally understood why she had been Sorted into Gryffindor, instead of Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. No other House member could have lived through what she had and come out of it fighting.
It seemed to him that every waking moment he was looking for ways to move his mind away from her. If he stopped working, even for a moment, his mind wandered to her lovely face, the haunting sadness in her eyes that somehow made her even more desirable, the softness of her chestnut curls.
He shook his head slightly, trying to draw his attention back to the task at hand. During his long recuperation from the effects of the multiple curses cast on his already weakened body, he had dreamt that she was sitting beside him, begging him to live, not to leave her. It had been so clear, so real, that he had almost let himself believe it. He would have, had it not been for the rest of what she had told him. That she had seen them, together, in the future, that she loved him. Such things he could only put down to his longing for precisely what she seemed to have described to him.
He did not deserve such happiness, he did not deserve her. Rather than join her father, she had risked her life to destroy him. What had he done to match that? He was a known Death-Eater, saved from Azkaban only by Dumbledore's insistence of his spying activities. She probably hated him for the way he had treated her during her time at Hogwarts. He suppressed a groan as the memory of her Potions final floated to the surface.
She'd completed the invisibility potion in spectacular time, with no mistakes, braving his stony countenance to test it herself. Disgruntled, he'd spitefully refused to provide the antidote, and she'd calmly made it herself, despite the anger he could sense brewing beneath the surface. When nothing untoward happened after she'd drunk the antidote, he'd spat a nasty comment at her visibly pale face, knowing that it would hurt her. He remembered how carefully she'd shut the door, obviously determined not to slam it, and exactly how furious McGonagall had been with him for making her complete two potions. Dumbledore had seemed quite amused by the whole thing, making Snape wonder just how long the old wizard had known about his feelings for her.
He wouldn't blame Hermione if she hated him, yet she had always treated him with the utmost respect. When she'd reappeared in her chamber, she had not flinched away as he moved towards her. He had fancied that he detected warmth in the gaze she levelled at him, and true fear when she realised that Voldemort intended to kill him. It was rubbish, a silly notion that held no basis in the truth at all. He was deluding himself. The best thing to do would be to harden his heart and get on with things.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he swore loudly.
'I'm terribly sorry, Severus, but you appeared to have gone a little deaf,' Dumbledore said cheerfully. 'I've been knocking on your door for the last fifteen minutes.'
Snape scowled at him.
'There was nothing preventing you from barging in the way you always do,' he snapped, silently cursing himself for not paying attention to his surroundings. He retrieved the quill that had slipped from his fingers and placed it next to the ink pot.
'Was there something, or are you just content to give me a heart attack today?' he asked acidly.
Dumbledore smiled vaguely, looking around the dungeon with distaste.
'You really should open the drapes more often, Severus, this room is positively dingy,' he said, deliberately not answering the question. 'With a bit more colour in this place, maybe the students would enjoy Potions more.'
'They're not here to enjoy Potions, they're here to learn it,' Snape muttered, knowing better than to voice his opinion out loud. He raised his voice. 'Is there a point to your visit, apart from commenting on the decor?'
Dumbledore smiled, hearing his friend's formidable temper simmering under his polite words. Severus Snape was making a faster recovery than he'd thought.
'Hmm?' he said absently. 'Oh yes, I was wondering if you were going to join us for dinner this evening. We have a guest who is in need of your expertise, and is hoping to speak to you.'
Snape frowned.
'What do they need?'
'The Oblivate potion, what's it called?' Dumbledore fumbled for the name, and gave up, seeing that Snape understood. 'There are certain things this person does not wish to remember.'
'I am fully aware of what the Obliviscor does, Albus,' Snape said testily. 'Who is in need of it?'
Dumbledore quickly suppressed an amused smile.
'Hermione Granger,' he said, watching as Snape stiffened, what little colour there was draining from his face.
'Miss Granger is here?' he asked quietly, all trace of his bad humour gone.
Dumbledore nodded.
'She requested that I Oblivate her,' he explained, 'but the potion is far more powerful than the spell, and her memories are doubly painful. I thought that you might be kind enough to help her through the brewing.'
Snape took a deep breath, urging his hammering heart to calm itself. Hermione was here, and she needed him to help her. He should have realised that she would not want to face what she had done, but had never dreamed that she would seek Dumbledore's help for it. The Headmaster was watching him closely.
'Of course, if you do not wish to assist her, I can always ask Poppy to help her,' he suggested, for once unable to read the younger man's reaction.
'No,' Snape said quickly. 'The Obliviscor is difficult enough for a Master. Poppy has her hands full with the injured in the Hospital Wing. I will assist Miss Granger in whatever she needs done.'
Dumbledore nodded, pleased that Snape had made, in his opinion, the right decision.
'So you will join us for dinner? In my office, seven o'clock?'
Snape sighed, recognising the signs that he had been manipulated into doing what Dumbledore wanted yet again.
'Yes, Albus, I will join you for dinner,' he said wearily.
As the older wizard left, smiling to himself, Snape closed his eyes, willing himself to be strong enough for this encounter. An image of Hermione's smiling face appeared behind his closed eyelids. Involuntarily, he smiled softly, a tender expression at odds with his stern countenance. Finally, he had a little time to change her opinion of him, for better or worse.