Hermione was already waiting for him when he arrived for "tutoring" that afternoon. She had a stack of books in front of her, as if their purpose was really to catch him up on the Hogwarts sixth year curriculum. Perhaps she feared someone would wander in and catch them not "studying"?
"So how was your first day?" she greeted him brightly, as if it really were his first day at Hogwarts.
Geoffrey shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. Though that Draco Malfoy is as big a swot as his father ever was."
"Yes," laughed Hermione. "He is, isn't he? Although you didn't…" She broke off, looking shocked.
"Didn't what?"
"Didn't … have the advantage of being sorted into Slytherin this time. I'm sure he'd have taken to you if you had," she finished lamely.
Geoffrey strongly suspected she'd devised that explanation on the spot. He realized though that prying would likely be useless; she probably felt that whatever she'd originally intended to say would distort the time line or something like that.
So he said nothing, and Hermione continued speaking nonchalantly. "Professor Dumbledore should be here any moment. He wants to get us started in determining how you'll fulfill the prophecy, but it would be too suspicious for him to work with us every day."
"Well, that is a relief. The less I see of him the better. As for the prophecy. I've been wanting to learn more about it; you really didn't tell me much before –"
"All in good time, Geoffrey." He whirled around to see that Professor Dumbledore had appeared behind him. How did he do that? "All in good time. Won't you be seated?"
Dumbledore motioned to the chair next to Hermione and it slid back away from the table in response, waiting for him to sit down. Reluctantly Geoffrey seated himself, and then looked pointedly back at the headmaster as if to say, "Now what?"
The old man looked to Hermione and asked, "How much have you told him?"
"Just that we need his help to defeat You-Know-Who," she answered. "None of the specifics."
"I see," sighed Dumbledore, turning back to address Geoffrey. "You must understand we have a very tricky situation here, my boy. We need to furnish you with sufficient information for you to fulfill your part in the prophecy, but must be wary of disseminating knowledge which might change your future. I find that the knowledge that your future has already occurred gives me little comfort; the mechanics of time work in strange and dangerous ways and even the slightest knowledge might upset it irrevocably. Therefore, I ask you to trust me to tell you that which you must know, and to not concern yourself overly with that which I am not free to tell you."
Geoffrey snickered. "I don't trust you at all. You may have forgotten by now, but you proved to me just how little my life matters to you when Black sent me to be eaten by a werewolf!"
"I assure you I have not forgotten, dear boy," Dumbledore replied sadly. "I have long since wished there had been a better way to handle the situation, one that would have protected Remus as well as been fair to you. But, angry as I was with Sirius, I could not allow Remus to be sacrificed in order to punish him publicly."
"So you said at the time." Geoffrey didn't believe him any more now than he did the first time. "Just don't think any of this is about my trusting you, because it most definitely is not."
"Be that as it may, there is much we cannot tell you. Once you go back to your own time you will need to proceed with your life as you would have, and as you have in my own history. So I must ask you again not to seek out information about the past twenty years. It is unfortunate enough that some details about the future cannot be concealed, but this is unavoidable for reasons which will eventually become apparent. And of course there are some things best told gently. Miss Granger," he turned to Hermione. "There are certain facts dealing with matters of the school's faculty that I fear must be revealed. I trust that you will be able to introduce the subject in an appropriate manner?"
Hermione gulped at his request, but nodded slowly. The headmaster continued. "Very well. The task we have before us is a daunting one. We know from the prophecy that you, Geoffrey, will help one of your classmates to blind Voldemort. I feel that this choice of words may be significant; the seer did not merely say "kill," or "vanquish" or any general sort of word but specifically stated that you will blind him. I feel this is where your research must begin. We do not know when or how you will accomplish this. It is our mission to discover a way."
The aging professor cleared his throat. "It may be possible to find clues as to how we might proceed. I suspect, Miss Granger, that you will be able to determine the best place for the two of you to start your search for these clues."
Again Hermione nodded. Geoffrey realized that there was much she hadn't told him during her recruitment efforts.
"Splendid. I too will attempt to discover what I can, though I suspect much of the onus will fall on the two of you. We mustn't meet openly or we will generate suspicion. However, either of you may contact me through Professor McGonagall. Simply end your daily Transfiguration assignment with the words "More study would be required to verify these findings," and I shall make arrangements for us to meet.
"More study shall be required to verify these findings," repeated Hermione. "I understand."
"Well then, I shall leave you to it. Best of luck to you both." He turned to exit through the back door, and then disappeared.
Geoffrey made a face at his exiting body. "Typical! He leaves us to do all the work! We're just students," he grumbled. "How are we supposed to figure this out without any guidance? Somehow I don't think a simple Conjunctivitus curse will do the trick, or you wouldn't have needed me to perform it."
"No, I imagine not," agreed Hermione, who was staring off into space as if distracted. "I think some of this will make more sense to you shortly. Come with me!"
She stood and held her hand out. Geoffrey eyed it suspiciously; people just didn't try to hold his hand. She retracted her hand, frowning. Good going, thought Geoffrey. Now you've probably insulted her. "Where are we going?"
"I need to show you something. Come on!" Hermione strode purposefully toward the door.
Geoffrey followed, wondering if he'd finally get some real answers or whether this would turn out to be a totally useless "bit of information". They walked down the corridor past the armour gallery and into the trophy room.
"Now where is it?" Hermione was mumbling to herself as she browsed a wall of Quidditch Cup photographs. "Ah, here we are. No, wait!"
He had been about to take a closer look at the nearest photograph but turned to face his companion. "I brought you here because there are some things that you need to know. About your future."
"I thought I wasn't supposed to learn about my future," asked Geoffrey, with just a hint of bitterness.
"Well, this is one thing you will need to know. As Professor Dumbledore said, there are certain things that you might find out by accident on your own, and it's much better that you find out now when we're alone and you can react naturally to them." Hermione pointed to one of the pictures in the glass case to her left. "Do you recognize anyone in this photograph, Geoffrey?"
He leaned in to look. It was a photograph of the members of Slytherin House (he could tell by their uniforms) and it appeared that they were holding the House Cup. He scanned the faces of the students, who glared back at him defiantly but didn't really recognize anyone.
"This tall one looks a bit like Antonius Flint," he offered, pointing out a mean looking boy who snapped at his finger.
"Yes, that's his son, Marcus," agreed Hermione. "Anyone else?"
He looked them over again, then shook his head.
"What about their Head of House, Geoffrey?" she prompted gently.
Their Head of House? Geoffrey hadn't even noticed him, as he was standing off to the side… he felt his heart lurch. The professor looked like an older version of himself! "You've got to be kidding me."
Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder, and this time he resisted the urge to flinch. "No, Geoffrey, it's you. You're going to become a Hogwarts' teacher when you grow up."
"Impossible," he insisted, his ire rising. "I hate Hogwarts! I've been miserable here ever since I was a first year. There's no way I would ever come back here willingly after graduation. Ever."
"Nevertheless, you do come back to teach here," Hermione assured him sadly, finally removing her hand. "It's already happened. I know – you were my Professor too."
Geoffrey could tell she wasn't lying, but he still found it difficult to believe her. If he knew anything, he knew that what he said was true. He had been counting the days until he would graduate and be free from the school and those in it who had been making his life a living hell. But the picture before him seemed to prove her statements. He was in that picture. Professor Severus was looking strangely back at Geoffrey, as if both recognizing him and not at the same time. Still, he didn't want to believe it. "So what did I teach, anyway? McGonagall's still here so I know it wasn't transfiguration. Not that that ever was my best subject anyway. Trelawney's new, but I'm certainly no seer. Unless I did carry back all sorts of forbidden knowledge from my time here now, yes, then people would think I was a seer..."
Hermione laughed, interrupting his train of thought. "No, you're not a seer, thank goodness. You taught Potions. You were the Potions master."
"Potions master… that sounds so prestigious. Kind of nifty. But I still don't see why I'd ever become a teacher! It's not like I love children or anything like that." None of this made sense.
Hermione sighed. "I don't know exactly why you decided to teach, Geoffrey. But you were Hogwarts' Potions master and Head of Slytherin House for many years."
"Hmph," grumbled Geoffrey. "Well, at least I came to my senses eventually, seeing as I'm obviously not still here. I take it that's why you brought me here. Your version of me left, and you couldn't find him, so you had to do something drastic?"
Hermione was shaking her head so Geoffrey tried again. "Or maybe, I didn't want to help you! I'd probably finally broken free of that crackpot Dumbledore and I told him what he could do with his prophecy!" He liked that version much better.
"Not exactly." Hermione bit her lip, as if uncertain what to say next. She took him by the arm, leading him across the room. In his curiosity Geoffrey forgot to be shocked that she was touching him. "There's one more thing you need to see."
She stopped in front of a tall crystal case and turned to look at him. Her eyes were shiny, as if she were trying not to cry. Geoffrey was surprised, but before he could comment she pointed to a small statuette. It was oddly shaped, like a small cauldron. He bent down to read the inscription.
"For services to the school
and all Wizard-Kind
To Severus Snape,
Respected Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House
Killed in Action
October 13, 1996"
Geoffrey stumbled back as if he'd been kicked. Hermione caught his arm, keeping him from crashing into the case behind him, but he pulled out of her grasp. He couldn't breathe. He turned and ran, out the door. He had to get away.
He ran down, down, down, desperate to be alone. He was going to die. He wanted to lock himself in his room and bury himself under the covers and tell himself that this was all a dream. He was going to die. He wanted to go back to his own time and forget any of this had ever happened. He was going to die.
He didn't realize just where he was going until an angry voice shouted, "Just where do you think you're going, Hufflepuff?"
Shite. Geoffrey realized that he'd automatically run down to the dungeon and was now just outside the entrance to Slytherin House, where no Hufflepuff should be. He would find no solace there.
He shot an expletive back at the older boy before turning to charge back the way he came. He didn't want to go to his new room; the Hufflepuffs were too cheery and would no doubt ask lots of annoying questions about what was wrong. He could hardly tell them he was upset because he'd just discovered that he was dead.
He ran back up, up, up towards the library. He could hide there. Madame Pince shushed him as he stormed in, so he forced himself to walk calmly and quietly back to the furthest of the stacks. He was somewhere between Magical Fungi and Carnivorous Ferns when he fell to his knees. He rocked back to lean against the shelves, burying his face in his arms.
He was dead. He was dead. He was dead. The sentence kept repeating itself in his mind. He'd never left this hellhole of a school and then he'd died. He'd known of course that he'd die someday, but he'd thought he would at least get to do something fun first. But this future left him with nothing to look forward to.
He felt his chin quiver. He would not cry, he told himself. But the tears formed anyway. They fell silently down his cheeks as he mourned the pathetic life he hadn't lived yet.
"Geoffrey?"
He didn't bother to look up. He knew Hermione's voice well enough to recognize it. "Go away."
She put a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off, this time not caring if he offended her. He was dead, what did it matter?
"I wish I hadn't needed to tell you all that. Really I do. But you would have found out eventually! Almost no one knows who you really are, anyone could have mentioned Professor Snape in passing and then you might have blown your cover," Hermione explained in a soft voice.
"Blown my cover?" he whispered fiercely. "Blown my COVER? You just told me I'm dead, Hermione. I couldn't care less about my cover!"
"I know. I really am sorry. But this is so important! You don't know just how bad You-Know-Who is! You haven't seen the horrors we have! I wish there had been another way, one that wouldn't be so awful for you. But Professor Dumbledore said –"
Geoffrey snorted. "It's always 'what Dumbledore said!' He's never cared who gets hurt, as long as it serves the 'greater good.'"
"I know," replied Hermione softly. "Personally I think it's disgusting how he uses schoolchildren to fight this war. But what if he's right, and it is the only way? Letting You-Know-Who win is unthinkable. We must stop him."
She looked around. "We shouldn't be talking here. Anyone could hear us. Come back with me, and then you can shout at me all you like."
Geoffrey wanted to argue the point, but saw that no good could come of their being discovered. "Very well."
The two walked silently out of the library and then Hermione led him up several more flights of stairs, back to the strange room she'd taken him when he'd confronted her back in his own time. The room looked different this time; it no longer resembled a bed-sit. It did, however, resemble his own room back in Slytherin House. Books were stacked neatly on his desk, and his ramshackle Cleansweep was resting on hooks above a bed that looked very much like his own. Geoffrey turned to Hermione. "How did we get back here? I didn't see you use the Time Turner?"
"Oh, I didn't! We're not really in your room. This room must have sensed that that was where you needed to be though. That's what this room does. I've found it very useful on several occasions, not the least of which when I went back in time to fetch you." She motioned towards the bed. "Come on, we'd might as well make ourselves comfortable."
Geoffrey hesitated, feeling rather peculiar about the idea of climbing into a bed in front of Hermione. She apparently had no such qualms, however, because she climbed up to sit crosslegged near the foot of the bed. Geoffrey reluctantly joined her, propping the pillows up to lean against them as he faced her.
She must have been right about the room, because somehow sitting on this bed that wasn't really his made him feel a little better anyway. He pushed the awkardness of their relative positions out of his mind and asked her the question that had been lurking in his mind.
"How did I die?"
"You were a hero, Geoffrey. You-Know-Who had sent a group of Death Eaters to attack an orphanage filled with half-blood and muggleborn children. You found out about it, and volunteered to sabotage the operation. You managed to warn the headmistress in time for her to evacuate most of the children, but you were intercepted by Death Eaters and, well, you were outnumbered." She sighed, resting her chin in her hands. "You were hit with the Killing Curse. You know what that means."
The sick feeling returned to Geoffrey's stomach at the thought of the Unforgivable. He'd cast many a curse in his day, but never one of those. It was unthinkable. "But what was I doing there in the first place? If I was a teacher, why was I sabotaging Death Eater operations? It doesn't make sense."
"You know Professor Dumbledore. He's managing this war against the Dark Lord from his office. You were one of his many agents in that war. As for why you did it," Hermione shrugged, "only you will be able to answer that."
He was a hero, she'd said. As impressive as that sounded, he was still dead. The life he'd been told he would lead horrified him, so far was it from his hopes and dreams. No. Geoffrey vowed to himself right then that he would find a way to escape his fate. All of it. He would lead the life that he chose, not the one that had been prescribed for him.