A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to review. And the fun finally begins!
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Three – Abysm of Time
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How is it this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else,
in the dark backward and abysm of time?
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The lake looked like a pool of molten gold as the rising sun reflected upon the water. From the shore, she absently gazed at the concentrical waves made by the giant squid every time its head peeked above the surface. Suddenly, a pair of warm arms enveloped her from behind.
"I thought you weren't allowed to leave your rooms during the day," he purred in her ear, making a shiver run down her spine.
"I was beginning to go insane locked up in there. Besides, it's not as if I was likely to bump into anyone at this time of the morning."
"Well, I found you, didn't I?"
"But you were looking for me."
"That I was." He spun her around softly and lowered his mouth to hers.
After a moment, he reluctantly broke the kiss. "There's something I've been meaning to give to you." He reached into the inside pocket of his robes, producing a small black velvet box which he handed to her. She opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a simple white gold chain with one single square-shaped emerald as a pendant.
"I'd like you to have this. It belonged to my mother."
"Oh, but I can't…," she started to protest, but he placed a finger over her lips to shush her. Taking the chain from her hand, he swiftly unclasped it and fastened it around her neck.
"I don't know what to say," she said as she caressed the green gem.
"Well, you can't go wrong with a simple thank you, you know," he teased. "Traditional and to the point."
She giggled and threw her arms around his neck, covering his lips with her own.
Hermione Granger jerked awake and sat bolt upright in bed as if electrified. She shifted to her side and curled up, squeezing her eyes in a desperate attempt to fight the consciousness that crept up on her.
Eyes firmly shut, she tried to hold on to the weak shreds of the dream. She concentrated fiercely, but the harder she tried to distinguish the man's features, the blurrier they became. She could still feel those arms around her, she still relished in that feeling of being so loved, so cherished. It had felt so real… but all dreams are supposed to feel real, said a sceptical voice inside her head.
She looked at the clock on the nightstand beside her bed. Five thirty. Sighing, she hugged her pillow and closed her eyes, but after a short while she abandoned any attempt to go back to sleep. The dream had unsettled her far too much, mainly because it was far from the first of that kind that she had had lately. They had started one week ago, after what she mentally called 'the incident', and now came nightly, it never failed.
The worst of all was her absolute certainty that she knew the boy in her dreams. She had read enough Freud to obsess over the idea that her subconscious was trying to tell her something important, to point her to someone she already knew and obviously had feelings for.
She looked again at the clock on her nightstand. Almost six. Groaning, she untangled herself from the covers and left the bed. Since she was obviously not going to fall asleep again, she should at least try to use her vigil in a productive way. She tiptoed to her desk to pick her copy of 'Insanely Advanced Transfiguration' and rushed back to bed as fast as she could. No matter how strong the Warming Spells she cast, they didn't seem to have the slightest effect on the icy stone floor of the Head Girl's room.
Hermione propped herself up against the headboard and placed the heavy book on her lap. After staring at it for a couple of minutes, she finally pushed it towards the far edge of the bed. As fascinating as the subject of human Transfiguration was, she really didn't feel like delving into it at the moment. She let out a snort. How unlike her. How unlike Hermione the bookworm to turn down a book.
Strange as the feeling was, it wasn't the first time she had experienced it in the last few days. It was the weirdest sensation, having to adjust oneself to one's own life, and for whatever reason, she felt oddly detached from that life since she had come back.
Perhaps it was the fact that she was now three months ahead in all of her subjects, so her usual obsession with classes had receded, but it was something else, she knew. She felt herself drifting apart from her previous life in general and her friends in particular.
It made her feel uncomfortable, sitting with them in the common room and having to talk about Quidditch and classes and whatnot and not sharing with them what was probably the most important thing that had happened to her in… well, ever. She felt as if she was betraying her best friends, and with that feeling came an amount of guilt she couldn't free herself of, no matter how often she repeated Dumbledore's words in her head. So she had ended up avoiding them at all costs. Not that they had noticed anything amiss. As far as Harry and Ron were concerned, the upcoming NEWT's were apparently the perfect excuse for any odd behaviour she might show.
The situation with her friends only added to her feeling of isolation. She had gone through a surreal experience and there was no one she could discuss it with except for Dumbledore, whose eyes eerily twinkled every time he looked at her, McGonagall, who surveyed her with so much motherly pity that made her uncomfortable… and Snape. Yeah, as if she could talk to him. Still, they had developed a friendship of sorts in those three months out of time and in a way she felt lied to by him, as she did with Dumbledore and McGonagall but worse, because… well, she couldn't explain why, but she did.
Hermione had noticed that Snape dutifully ignored her in Potions class and for some reason she couldn't explain, her quintessential urge to raise her hand at every opportunity had left her completely. Maybe it was knowing the other Snape, the one that had tutored her for those three months spent in the past. He had made no sign whatsoever of acknowledging their… association, but Hermione was dying to ask him. After all, he had known. For all of these years he had known. Granted he couldn't interfere, but still… Almost seven years without one single hint, not a word, not a sign. Nothing. She wondered how he would react if she was to address the matter directly… and decided that, if only to see the expression on his face, it was worth a try.
That day after Potions, she told Harry and Ron to go ahead to lunch without her and hung behind the rest of the class until the last of the students had left. Snape sat at his desk, apparently engrossed in grading papers.
"Is there a reason for you to inflict your presence upon me outside lessons, Miss Granger?"
She inhaled deeply and took a few hesitant steps towards him.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you since… since my accident with the Time Turner, Sir."
A flash of something unidentifiable crossed Snape's face, but it disappeared so fast that Hermione was left wondering if she had imagined it.
"Well?" Hermione didn't seem to notice how the irritated edge in his voice sounded oddly forced.
"I wish to thank you, Sir. For your help with the… eh… tutoring in… back then."
"That had nothing to do with me, Miss Granger. Students do not generally ignore the Headmaster's orders."
She wasn't going to let him do this to her. Her shoulders defiantly squared, she insisted, "Still, I'm grateful and I'd like to thank you."
"Is there anything else?"
So that's how it was going to be. She shook her head and turned to leave. When she had almost reached the door, Snape called out to her.
"Sir?"
"You're welcome, Miss Granger," he said, not looking up from the parchments on his desk.
They lay sprawled on a soft furry rug in front of a crackling fire, her head resting against his chest.
"They told me today I might be able to go back soon," she felt her own words reverberating inside his ribcage.
He stiffened slightly, then spoke in a low hoarse voice, "Would it be ridiculously selfish to ask you to stay?"
She sighed. "It's not my decision, I just… I can't."
A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of a log plopping inside the fireplace.
"You are… from the future, aren't you?" She craned her neck to stare up at him wide-eyed, providing all the confirmation he needed. "Don't worry, I won't ask you anything." A pause. "Just… am I there?"
She looked into his eyes and answered truthfully, "I don't know."
He wrapped his arms around her even more tightly, burying his face in her hair.
"But I promise that if you're still there, I'll find you," she added.
Hermione awoke with a start and found herself panting.
She patted the bed for her wand and whispered a soft 'Lumos'. Her vision was blurred. When she raised a hand to her eyes, she realised with shock that sometime during her dream she had started to cry.
TBC…
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Quote from The Tempest. Ah, the fun of messing with poor Hermione's head… I really shouldn't be enjoying it so much!
