A/N: Response to the "THERE'S SOMETHING I'VE BEEN MEANING TO TELL YOU..." Challenge on WIKTT.
A/N II: This story really started out differently. It suddenly got away from me.
"Sometimes the world gets a little out of control, don't you agree?" Hermione found herself asking. Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and nodded bemusedly."It certainly does," he agreed.
"Your costume ball really upended my sane little corner of the universe, I'll have you know."
"Did it now?" Dumbledore twinkled.
"Of course, that was the point, wasn't it?" Hermione added thoughtfully. Dumbledore didn't bother replying; some questions don't need answers. Instead he set his elbows upon his desk and leaned towards Hermione. The girl still showed the signs of her difficult ordeal.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you about the salad at the costume ball."
Hermione blanched. "The... salad?"
"Yes. One of the dressings was tainted."
"Rotten?"
"No... contaminated by a potion."
"I'm sorry?" Hermione said, feeling very wary suddenly. She had a rough idea that she was not going to enjoy what Dumbledore was about to reveal.
"Professor McGonagall was putting together quite a party, but she got... distracted... and somehow a prankster, shall we say, spiked the salad dressing."
"What could possibly distract Professor McGonagall?"
"Ah, Miss Granger, a person in love can easily forget themselves."
Hermione blanched again. "In love?" She sounded like a very befuddled parrot, she thought.
"Yes, of course. I thought everyone knew about Minerva and Argus."
"Professor McGonagall and Filch? REALLY?" Hermione was taken aback... and also, admittedly, a bit disgusted.
"Yes," Dumbledore smiled. "But to the point..."
"The salad dressing," Hermione said, willing herself to ignore the mental image of Professor McGonagall and Filch snogging.
"The salad dressing, yes. It has been several weeks since the costume ball, and you do not remember anything. You think the party was last night, correct?"
"Yes..." Hermione said, utterly confused.
"The salad dressing, see? It contained a rather interesting compound involving memory and... well, time travel. You are going to be transported back in time, no differently than when you used the Time Turner. You are going back to the morning of the ball, and you are going to relive that day until today."
"WHAT?" Hermione screeched, jumping out of her chair. "No way am I going through all this again!" she yelled.
"My dear, you don't know the half of what you went through. But I assure you, this time I will make every effort to ensure we don't arrive... here... again."
"I have no idea what you are talking about," she pressed urgently, but Dumbledore was no longer sitting across from her. She was suddenly in her bed, clutching the sheets and sweating something furious.
"Hermione, are you all right?" a voice in the dark corner asked.
"Sure, Lavender, I'm fine," she panted. Had she dreamt the whole episode? She sighed with relief. "Oh, good."
"What?"
"Nothing... I'm just... glad that didn't really happen to me," Hermione mumbled, mostly to herself.
"Go back to sleep," someone else offered grumpily. Hermione smiled slightly and did just that.
----
"If it was a dream, why is the bulletin there again?" Hermione wondered aloud to herself when she finally roused herself from sleep and descended into the common room. A two foot notice on the bulletin--a costume party. To ease tensions, it said in what was unmistakably Dumbledore's thin scrawl. To confuse and annoy me is more like it, thought Hermione. The very real possibility that it hadn't been a dream was lurking right behind Hermione's immediate panic. She was used to time travel, after all--she knew it was possible. And if Dumbledore had really told her about the salad dressing--well, who knows what that could mean.
"Ooh, a ball!" Sandra Martin, a first year, swooned. Hermione looked at her disapprovingly.
"Really. It's just a dance, you know, not the bloody Quidditch Cup," Ron grumbled as he joined them at the bulletin.
"At least you have a date," Ginny broke in. Ron immediately blushed the same scarlet as his sweater. "What about you, Hermione?... Hermione?"
Hermione snapped to attention. She could not stand this. The whole damn ordeal over again. She forced herself to answer Ginny with a noncommittal, "hmmm," before turning away. Trying to quell the panic rising within her, she focused on remembering what she had done last time. Panicked, as she recalled. At least for the Yule Ball, she'd had Viktor. Who would go with her to the costume ball? Ron was happily dating Luna, and Harry--well, Harry was a bit of a downer lately. He wasn't going to go.
Hermione remembered she had made the same decision--the common room would be quiet and deserted, the perfect atmosphere for catching up on her Arithmancy. Maybe Dumbledore hadn't wanted her to go. He'd be aware, surely, that they were on their second take of this day? And he'd know the horrible night she'd endured--and change it. Feeling satisfied and relieved, Hermione headed down to breakfast.
----
"Oh, no," she whispered as she recognized the first few words of Dumbledore's announcement. An award for the best costume--magical or non-magical--would result in one hundred house points and a shopping spree in Hogsmeade. When she had heard this news the first time, she'd been thoroughly excited--her father had been undergoing some legal troubles and was sending her less and less money. She'd gone weeks without buying a new book, or even a new quill--something she found a great injustice.
This time around, Hermione couldn't get excited. Was it worth it, really? Some material possessions? Would it worth the humiliation and heartbreak of the ball?
"I reckon that would be nice," Ron said next to her. "Luna's made us costumes. I don't know exactly what they are, but she's pretty creative."
"I'm not going," Harry said. Hermione hadn't been surprised to hear this, and she hadn't tried to change his mind. Now, she saw her opportunity--he was her only chance for a date.
"Harry, maybe you'll feel better if you get out of your room and do something. We can go together--friends only," she stressed as she saw Ron's jealous glance at her.
"I don't know, Hermione. I can think of several things I'd rather do tonight--no offense," he added awkwardly as she slumped over with a sigh.
"What's this? Granger's pathetic attempt to get Potty to go with her to the big dance?" Draco asked loudly. "Poor MudBlood can't get a date!" The Slytherins jeered and laughed as Hermione's face began to burn. She could not stand this happening to her again. She simply wouldn't go.
"I would like to remind you all that prefects are required to attend the costume ball," Dumbledore said suddenly. Hermione groaned and put her head down on the table. Ron promptly bumped it as he reached for the gravy.
-----
Hermione sat down in Potions, head still spinning. It was all happening exactly as it had last time. She had frantically run to every boy she knew, to find that all of them had dates. She had even toyed with the idea of Flooing Viktor, but Dumbledore had not said they could have outside visitors. She had to show up with someone. She couldn't get out of it now.
Even more taxing than the business of finding a date was the fact that people were acting a little... strange, today. As she pulled out her quill and parchment, she heard Draco's laughter. She turned slightly, hoping he wasn't laughing at her. She saw the idiot trio crowded around a table, whispering, their faces red with suppressed giggles. "She couldn't stop staring," Draco finished, eliciting a fresh set of laughs from Crabbe and Goyle.
"Settle down," Professor Snape snapped, storming in as he always did, looking as he always looked. At least some things you can count on, she thought. Like grease.
Then, suddenly, she was noticing things about Professor Snape--like, namely, the fact that he was a male. And he would be more than a suitable date--wouldn't he? She wouldn't be expected to giggle or flip her hair vapidly... she could just show up and hope to win the prize. In sum, she was desperate, and he was there.
She mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? He was head of Slytherin, first, and a teacher second.
"I need to calm down," she whispered to herself.
"I would agree, Miss Granger. You are panting so loudly I can hear you from here," Snape droned icily, sending Draco into peals of laughter. She saw Draco waggle his eyebrows at Snape. What was that about?
"Gits," Ron muttered to her. She forced a small smile and turned her attentions to the lecture, promising herself that she'd figure out this whole mess--and quickly.
-----
Two hours before the event found Hermione laying face down on her bed, attempting to smother herself with her pillow. How had the whole day gotten away from her? She'd been so upbeat after Potions, certain that there had to be one boy, any boy at all, who didn't yet have a date. She'd prodded Harry some more, finding him entirely unresponsive. She shuddered as she remembered how she cornered Harry in the corridor and told him how she didn't think she could go without a date.
"Just don't even go, Hermione," he had said finally.
"I have to," she said, although she wasn't entirely sure why.
"Why?"
She had just shrugged and headed in the opposite direction. Call it a matter of pride, but she didn't want to think about what Draco Malfoy and the other snooty Slytherins would say when she didn't show up at all. She paused in the hallway, looking down the stairwell that led to the Potions room.
"Do you need some assistance, Miss Granger?"
Hermione yelped and jumped. "Pr--pr--Professor," she said, struggling to find her composure.
"Calm down, Miss Granger, I don't intend to attack you."
"Feeling kind today, are you?" she snapped.
"It's a matter of too many witnesses," he supplied easily, smirking. Hermione relaxed somewhat, looking not directly at Snape, but at a point slightly above his forehead. She had already discovered he was easier to talk to on a one-to-one basis. Even if he had refused her request to be taught Occlumency. He hadn't been as rude as she'd expected.
"Going to the ball tonight?" she found herself asking. Snape practically recoiled in horror.
"I'm patrolling the gardens, yes, but by no means am I attending the soiree."
"I don't think I will be, either," she said thoughtfully.
"It's hardly worth the time and trouble," he agreed.
"And I don't have a date."
Again, Snape seemed repulsed. "Fascinating," he said, looking slightly to the left as if for escape.
"Sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks redden. "I didn't mean to--"
"No trouble, Miss Granger. Get along, then," he added, not nearly as harshly as usual. She scampered, feeling tears stinging her eyes. What the hell was going on with everybody?
This question persisted as she walked into the common room and saw a group around a table, heatedly debating who is better: Hogwarts professors or Dungbomb manufacturers.
"Look, the people who run joke shops, they rule the world," Ron was saying. "Fred and George have made boatloads of money."
"No, no, no, you've got it all wrong. OSTRICHES rule the world! It was in a poll!"
"Now, Luna, listen--"
"It was in my father's magazine. So it's true, Ronald."
"Luna, I don't think you're even supposed to be in our common room, are you?" Harry wondered snarkily from his place in a corner.
"Probably not, but I wanted to tell you something funny."
"What?" Harry snapped, clearly assuming that nothing Luna could say would amuse him.
"I walked past Dumbledore earlier, and he was..." she began tittering uncontrollably. "I saw Dumbledore..." she began laughing again. Harry sighed.
"You saw Dumbledore WHAT?" he snapped again.
"Well, he was talking to himself, but he kept repeating the same thing over and over. He looked like he was stuck in a time loop!" she went into peals of laughter again, tears spilling onto her cheeks. No one else cracked a smile. Hermione's heart was racing--
"What?" she asked quietly, coming closer to Luna.
"I even," Luna took gasping breaths, "asked him what was happening. He smirked, said something weird and then started all over again."
"Something... weird? What did he say, Luna?" Hermione asked urgently.
"He said... don't worry, you'll find a date!" Luna exclaimed, laughing yet again.
----
Hermione snapped back to reality from her memory. She didn't know what Dumbledore was playing at, exactly, but she couldn't escape the fact that there must be something important happening at the ball. If this time incident was just the result of poisoned salad dressing, then she was a codfish. Dumbledore had planned this, somehow. She pulled herself reluctantly to a sitting position, staring at the mirror on the opposite wall. She sighed heavily. "I'd better get in costume, then," she muttered.
----
"Oh, Hermione!" Lavender gasped as she came down the staircase. "You look gorgeous!"
"I do?" Hermione asked, surprised. She had decided on wearing the same costume as last night--she didn't have time to throw a proper glamour, so she was forced to wear makeup. She had let her hair loose but tamed it quite a bit, adding some sparkle to complete the fairy princess look. "These wings are a genuine bother," she said as she felt them sliding down her back.
"You do look good, Hermione," Ron said, his face flushing. He was dressed as a--what the hell?
"You look... orange, Ron," she returned, suppressing a laugh.
"Luna thought it would be neat to be pumpkins," he explained.
"Sure," Hermione smiled. "And where is lovely Luna?"
"She's meeting me there. She said she had to help someone else with their costume," he explained. "Did you... are going with anyone?" he asked awkwardly. Hermione felt herself blush.
"Not... exactly," she said smoothly. "I'm really only going to try for the prize. I don't intend to do much socializing," she explained, holding up her Arithmancy text. "I'll be reading this."
Ron smiled. "You're mental."
A commotion at the portrait entrance drew her attention away from her waspish comeback. "Oh, princess Hermione!" came a teasing cry from Ginny, who was unsurprisingly costumed as a cat. "Your Prince Charming hath arrived!"
"Wh..." Hermione began, losing the rest of the word as her mouth dropped open. She heard Ron's jaw perform a similar act as a costumed figure crossed the room towards her. Her first coherent thought was of Harry, but unless he'd learned a spell to add several inches to his height, it was not Harry... or any other sixth year she knew. Before she could even close her mouth in order to reopen it and speak, her mystery date had grabbed her rather firmly round the waist and steered her from the room. She wanted desperately to object, but admittedly couldn't think straight.
She managed to pull herself together to say, "Wha..." rather breathlessly, eliciting a slight, short laugh from her companion.
"I wouldn't abandon a lady in distress," came his silky reply. Hermione felt her knees wobble, but Professor Snape's grasp prevented her from utterly collapsing.
"Professor... Snape?" she whispered disbelievingly.
"Yes, Miss Granger. I'm escorting you to the ball, and if you wish to remain living, you will not ask why."
Hermione merely breathed in response, and again felt herself being moved along the corridor. Somehow, Dumbledore was responsible for this. She was going to kill him, the twinkly idiot. She was being ushered down a corridor in a frilly dress with makeup on, by Professor Snape of all people. This was not exactly how her dream evening would have gone. She had even dropped her Arithmancy book, damn it all.
"Moo."
"What?"
"Moo," Snape said again.
"Why are you mooing?" she hissed as they descended the stairs, spotting the crush of people entering the hall. "This is going to be awful," she muttered.
"It's going to be an adventure."
"I hardly need an adventure," she pointed out. Snape shrugged.
"Moo," he said again. Hermione suppressed an urge to rip off his mask and beat him with it.
"Why are you saying moo?" she demanded.
"No particular reason."
"Take off your mask," she said suddenly.
"Are you insane?"
"Listen to yourself--you're mooing and acting cheerful. At a ball. I don't believe you're Snape."
"I truly am. That blasted girl's done something to the costume--"
"Oh, no. Luna made it?"
"Do you think I would dress myself as Prince Charming?"
"Point taken." Hermione took a deep breath as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "Let's get this over with," she said, more to herself than to Snape, who was lagging behind her as if suddenly realizing what he was planning to do. "Come on," she hissed, yanking his hand, which she had just realized was entwined with her own. She dropped it as if it burned. He pretended not to notice and reluctantly walked forward.
"Nice to see you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted them at the door. She shot him a very angry look, but was swept along by the crowd before she could speak. She twisted around and saw him watching her with a knowing smile.
"Why on earth would he want this?" Hermione asked, realization creeping into her veins as if she'd been poisoned.
"That question is unhelpfully vague, Miss Granger, and thus impossible for me to answer."
"This will sound crazy, but I've been to this ball before," Hermione said hurriedly as Snape guided her to a table near the back of the hall, as far removed from the rest of the crowd as possible. "Professor Dumbledore said there was something wrong with the salad I ate--that I would be traveling back in time and redoing this dance." She stopped, expecting Snape to laugh. Instead, his entire body had gone rigid, as if he was focusing every molecule on her words. She continued quickly, "But you weren't my... you didn't come last time, at least not with me. Draco assaulted me and you caught him... and then it gets really hazy," Hermione said slowly, realizing this for the first time. She clearly remembered Draco shoving her against a wall and shouting, although she couldn't remember exactly why. But after seeing Snape pull him away, she couldn't remember anything else.
"Miss Granger, let's dance," Snape said as he noticed a group of students coming their way. Hermione found herself being led around the dance floor as effortlessly and suddenly as she'd been whisked to the stupid ball in the first place. She barely noticed how easily they moved, she was concentrating so hard on what the hell was happening.
"What the hell is happening?" she asked, a bit louder than she'd meant to, which must have been what prompted Snape to bring his index finger down upon her lips.
"I can only explain if you promise to do the impossible and hold your tongue," he said, his tone much gentler than anything she recognized and could connect with Professor Snape.
"I can try," she replied, smiling slightly. She really couldn't stop herself from asking questions most of the time, but given the circumstances, she would certainly do her best.
"You and I are married," he said, grasping her tighter as if anticipating she would pull away. Which she tried to, at any rate.
"What are you talking abo--"
"Hold your tongue or I'll cut it out," he said simply. She snapped her mouth shut and nodded slightly. He continued, "I'm Professor Snape, yes, but not the one you spoke with earlier today. I'm--"
"From the future? Oh, no," she whispered, suddenly going into laughter nearly as deranged as Luna's.
"Do not mock me, Miss Granger."
"I'm not mocking, you, sir, I'm sorry. I'm mocking--oh, this whole situation," she tittered, bringing one hand to rest on her mouth, leaning her forehead against Snape's shoulder.
"It is quite unbelievable, I know. But you know Professor Dumbledore and his sometimes far fetched plans. Last time you attended this party, you were beaten very severely by Mr. Malfoy and his companions. You remember some of this, I'm sure. You also remember my belated attempt to stop the attack."
"And then Dumbledore whisked me into his office and started talking about salad dressing, of all things. Lettuce is vogue, don't you know, I only wanted to play around for an evening. The next thing I know, I'm married to my professor."
"I do realize the absurdity of the whole affair, Miss Granger. Dumbledore wanted to allow you to have a better night, one that didn't result in your suicide attempt months later."
"My WHAT?"
"You heard me perfectly well, Miss Granger, so I suggest you do not continue this pattern of interruptions. You attempt suicide, rather unexpectedly and uncharacteristically, at the end of your sixth year. I discover you and attempt to save you, successfully as it turns out."
"And I fall in love with you," Hermione whispered into his shoulder, starting to feel pieces click into place.
"It certainly happens in a more roundabout way, but I suppose that's correct."
"So you came back to make sure that never happens again?"
"I came back, Miss Granger, because I wanted to make sure it does happen. As you would learn if you would just shut your silly mouth for once. We're
married in the world I have, shall we say, traveled from. But you are not alive."
"This just gets better," Hermione commented dryly. "Let me guess, I'm involved in a freak accident involving a salad?"
"Wrong for a change. You are murdered by Draco Malfoy."
"Oh, sweet mother of mercy. Stop this! What is this, a sick joke? Just stop it!" she found herself shouting, Snape desperately attempting to grab her, but she wriggled loose and ran for the doors. As she fought her way through the crowd, she suddenly found herself being lifted off her feet by a giant hairy thing that turned out to be Hagrid's arm.
"If you go running into that hallway, you will run straight into Mr. Malfoy. He's been told to be on his behavior this time around, but there's no accounting for a Malfoy's behavior."
"This time around? I can't take this," she sobbed.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Granger, but I am doing the best I can," Snape said softly. Hagrid released her and she slumped into the nearest chair. She could feel the collective eyes of Hogwarts upon her.
"So much for avoiding humiliation this time."
"We didn't do this to avoid your humiliation, Miss Granger. We did it to avoid your death. Remember that," Snape warned. She shook her head slowly.
"I really don't understand any of this," she urged. "I had a weird dream about Dumbledore, I wake up and the whole school is off its rocker--"
"About that... it's a somewhat unfortunate side effect of dabbling in time travel. People sometimes remember future events, at least residually. The result is rather... erratic behavior."
"Is Luna from the future, too?"
"No. From what I understand, her erratic behavior is nothing new," Snape said, sounding very nearly amused.
"Point. Now, what about Draco?"
"I thought you couldn't take this, Miss Granger. If you can suppress your damnable need to know everything for one moment, you should make sure you really wish to know the rest."
"I do. I know I do. It's just a lot to handle, you know. In the span of an hour I've attempted suicide, fallen in love, and been murdered. That's a lot to handle
at once," she pointed out with a wry smile. She was rewarded by a soft chuckle from Snape--something that caught her off guard. She had to remember this wasn't quite the same Snape. "When do we get married?" she asked him quietly. He visibly tensed but answered her.
"Four years after you leave Hogwarts, just after your graduation from university."
"And when am I..."
"Only six months later," he said quietly, his voice tense. Hermione reached for his hand, not knowing why, and was surprised when he allowed her to take it. "I couldn't take losing you--so I found a way to fix it."
Hermione understood suddenly the gravity of what he was discussing. "Maybe we should go outside?" she suggested. He nodded and stood, pulling her along.
----
"Draco murdered me because he was jealous? That doesn't really sound like the Draco I know," Hermione protested.
"Doesn't it? To the Malfoys, one thing above all else is important--power. In any situation. Mr. Malfoy feels he must have the upper hand. When he advanced upon you at the ball, you rejected him, inciting his anger. He harbored it, as Malfoys tend to do. When we married, he simply couldn't live with the knowledge that you had spurned him for me. Your inability to hold your tongue didn't win you any favors, either," he added bitterly.
"So he just killed me? What happened to him?"
"I condemned him to a fate worse than death--he was to join me in finding a way to bring you back, or he would be tried for his crime. And I would see to it that he received the maximum penalty allowable by law. Don't doubt that I wanted to see him punished. But..." he paused, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. Having removed his mask, Hermione could see his hair had picked up a few stray white strands, and the lines around his mouth were slightly more pronounced. Aside from these subtle differences, he was the very same Snape--at least physically.
"But what?" she prodded after a minute of silence.
"I wanted you back more than I wanted him punished," he said quietly, looking away.
"Are you embarrassed?" she asked him, trying to be gentle. She wasn't quite sure how to be gentle with Snape, but she tried to find some of those residual memories she was supposed to have.
"That's none of your business."
"It's a little bit my business, actually."
"My feelings do not concern the sixth-year you. Which is who you are. Remember your place."
"My place?" Hermione flared. "Where is that exactly? Being tossed back and forth in the throes of space-time?"
"I know this is difficult for you. It's difficult for me, too, believe it or not. I don't even know if this will work, and its my only chance to get back the woman I love."
Hermione was quiet for several minutes. "What happens to you? You're not so... hateful."
"People can change, Miss Granger. You certainly do. Or at least, you will."
"I guess I must, since you and I as we are now... in my now, that is... we're hardly a suitable match."
"I disagree, but it doesn't matter. We're running out of time. The other me is going to be patrolling the corridor soon, and I need to be gone by that time," he
rose suddenly, looking down at Hermione warmly for one moment. "This damned costume makes me do strange things," he complained.
"Like moo?" she asked mildly.
"Yes. Like that."
"You did say time travel leads to erratic behavior," she reminded him, standing.
"You'll forgive this, then," he said, leaning to her and gently pressing his lips against hers. She recoiled for one brief instant, before fully feeling the warmth of his breath upon her face, the strength of his hands on her body, the solidness of his shoulders beneath her fingers. Then she utterly surrendered, going so far as to return the kiss. He pulled away gently, slowly, as if not wanting to hurt her.
"You have to remember not to hurt Draco tonight. You'll have one final encounter. You simply have to be strong, now and in the future. You are--and will be--to intelligent and important to be lost to fate."
"I think I can manage it."
"Sudden change of heart?"
"No, I just realized everything I have to look forward to," she whispered, not bold enough to meet his eyes. She could feel a smile spreading across his face, and looked up to catch it. But he'd slipped his mask back on, effectively concealing the true Prince Charming within.
"Get inside, Miss Granger. Albus told me to give you a last message to carry with you."
"Oh?"
"Remember that some things don't change, but only because other things do."
----
Hermione walked past Draco and gave him a small smile. He licked his lips and swaggered over to her. "This isn't finished, Granger," he whispered huskily.
"No, Draco, it isn't. We're rather lucky in that regard, don't you think?"
"What are you talking about, Mudblood?"
"Draco, you don't need to be caught up in me. I don't want you, and I never will. Furthermore, you don't really want me. Dig in deep, you'll realize what I'm talking about."
"Granger, you're being an idiot."
"Kind of changes things, doesn't it?
"This isn't how I planned this," he admitted.
Hermione smiled again. "Someday, Draco, you'll be glad this day went differently."
"Differently? What are you talking about, Grang--"
"Mr. Malfoy. I believe this lovely little party is about over. What a pity," Snape's voice floated from a shadow, dripping with sarcasm. It was just about the most beautiful thing Hermione had ever heard. "So perhaps you should lead the young Slytherins back to the dormitory?"
Draco scowled. "Fine, sir," he snapped, pulling away from Hermione. "There you go, Granger. Something to look forward to," he spat. She smiled again and he walked away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder. She sighed.
"Some things don't change," she said quietly, laughing a little.
"Only because some things do," Snape added, swishing past her with what almost looked like a smile.
"Something to look forward to, for sure."