A/N: This is an SSHG-centric fiction. You have been warned.
Note that the story opens when Hermione is eleven. Do not be discouraged!
There will absolutely be no storytelling that puts an underage (under 17) girl in a compromising position. Please read and review :)

September 1st, 1991

Hermione is 11

Snape is 32

Severus Snape was sitting at his usual spot beside Minerva McGonagall and Flitwick. Albus Dumbledore was conversing quietly with Minerva, but Snape made a point of indulging the woman with a few extra sneers to make his point: he was not pleased at being excluded from their private conversation.

The Headmaster finally raised an eyebrow at Snape, eyes twinkling, once Snape "accidentally" spilled some pumpkin juice on Minerva's robes.

"Oh, really Severus," the older woman sniffed, "You could very well do for an attitude adjustment. You should know that firewhiskey is particular difficult to magically remove." Minerva then promptly removed the spiked pumpkin juice's stain from her robe without so much of a hint of difficulty.

"Now, Severus, you know our policy on drinking during the workday…." Albus gave Snape an indulgent smile. Snape couldn't believe it.

"Yes, Headmaster. I wonder, maybe I wouldn't be driven to such indecent behavior if I were more able to participate actively in staff discussions…but unless the Gryffindor crowd would prefer to retain their sense of modesty—

"For goodness sake's Severus, don't start again on that," Minerva interrupted, abruptly standing from the table. "If you would excuse me, Albus; I need to go fetch the first years from Hagrid." She then swirled around, her robes smacking Snape in the face.

"Lovely woman," he sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you must know," Albus said conversationally, leaning across the table to swipe Severus's spiked goblet, "We were the discussing the arrival of the Potter boy."

If Severus had been eating (which he wasn't) he would've choked.

"The Potter boy?"

"Why, yes, have you forgotten already?" The Headmaster took a swig of Snape's misleading "pumpkin juice", "James' son. It's been ten years since the Potters' deaths. He's of school age now. Ah, that's spankin' good juice." The Headmaster smacked his lips in delight before returning the goblet to Snape.

Snape stared at it dubiously before finally deciding to banish it to the dark, murky depths of the kitchen sink.

Right on cue, Minerva sauntered into the Great Hall, putting on her air of self-importance. Bloody witch, just because she got to read off the names and glare at them as they made the long, odious journey to stick a talking hat on their head—

"At least they aren't drenching wet as usual this year," Flitwick chirped, "Even Peeves has spared some time for curiosity."

Sure enough, Snape noticed the Poltergeist popping up behind various first years without them noticing, scanning for the Potter boy. Snape refused to lower himself to that level, but he soon felt his eyes swaying….no, no it must be the pumpkin juice.

The Hat had finished its song and Minerva was now starting to read off names.

"Bones, Susan!"

"Finnigan, Seamus!"

At that name, the hat called out its first "GRYFFINDOR!" The Gryffindor table burst out in applause. Snape curled his lips up and gave a whopping one clap of his hands before flinging them down into his lap before anyone, God forbid, noticed.

Minerva then cleared her throat and called out:

"Granger, Hermione!"

Snape was about to reach for his pumpkin juice, only to remember that he had already banished it. Dammit. He looked up and—

"Well? What do you think?" Elli folded her arms in obvious satisfaction.

Macha, the goddess of war, was standing upright, with her arms folded in obvious dissatisfaction.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said in a contemptuous voice to the old woman.

"Careful girl, you want to mind your manners." Elli drew her lips into a smile. Elli was a formidable presence with her white hair, which was full and thick, not to mention wavy; she wore a blue tunic with an olive green cape securely fastened to it.

"Oh, very well," the beautiful young woman snapped, "She's adequate enough. But Severus might not…entirely oblige."

She walked around the dark, brooding man, frozen as a scowl was just beginning to creep up his lips. She draped her arms around his neck and stroked his cheek with her right hand.

"And besides, I'm quite possessive."

"I know you are," Elli snapped, "You're really quite impetuous. You can't keep your shadow to yourself all the time."

Macha drew herself to full height, hands reluctantly leaving Snape, and she flipped her golden, braided hair impatiently.

"Speak for yourself old woman. You've kept that man to yourself for all of his one hundred and fifty years. And you haven't let him have any fun—by God, you made him old the moment he was born." She drew her sword and thrust it in the direction of Albus Dumbledore.

"I am the goddess of old age," Elli defended herself.

"Bah!" Macha pushed her sword back into the hilt. "And you're the strongest of all gods and goddesses. Quite fitting for your shadow though."

"You're straying off topic."

"What is the topic!" Macha thrust her palms out in annoyance.

"What do you think of her?"

"I just said she was adequate. Her shadower hasn't appeared."

"Ah, but she will soon enough. Intelligent girl like that."

"Mhmm…" Macha was now absentmindedly tracing Snape's jawline.

"Girl! Do not manhandle your shadow!"

"How can I resist?" She giggled, but then she moved with amazing grace towards Elli.

"What would you have me do then?"

"You have to give him the whisper of release."

Her eyes widened. "Never!"

"Then he will end up like my shadow, Albus."

Macha briefly glanced at Albus and immediately returned to Snape. She shot Elli a malevolent look.

"Macha, I know it's hard. But the girl…look at her. She's perfect."

"She's going to be a student."

"Since when do you comply with mortal biases?" Elli snapped.

"Point taken."

Macha leaned to Snape's ear, her back arched gracefully. She whispered in his ear:

"I release you."

Elli watched in approval as Macha closed her eyes in quiet focus…the room was beginning to move again, only much slower…only two people remained at constant speed.

Severus Snape was still quite disappointed that he had so hastily banished his pumpkin juice. He would be needing it very soon…James Potter's son! The boy was going to be some arrogant, egotistical thing, modeled after his not-so-dearly departed father.

Snape thought he felt something brush against his ear:

"I release you."

He shivered; was there a draft in here? Blasted witch probably didn't even bother to close the front doors…and with the Stone here too.

"Granger, Hermione!" Minerva called out again.

The whole world seemed to be moving very slowly…Snape could only fixate his eyes on a certain, young girl who removed herself from the crowd of first years.

She had bushy, brown hair, delicate, pale skin that suggested hours spent indoors, and sharp, brown eyes. She was one of the smallest first years, but she seemed to emanate an age that he never saw in young girls. To his surprise, her eyes, too, were fixated upon him. It was strange…everybody else was moving so slowly, but he sat there staring at the girl who was now confidently making her way towards the stool with the Sorting Hat.

Suddenly, his ears exploded with sound. Everybody was noisy again, and Albus Dumbledore was chuckling merrily at something Professor Sprout said into his ear.

"Shh, the girl is being Sorted now," the old man unnecessarily shushed the staff table. The only sound that they were making was the sound you hear when the silence is deafening.

The Hat took a few moments longer with the girl, this Granger, Hermione.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it roared.

The Gryffindor table burst into applause once more, but Snape didn't bother giving his nanosecond-one-clap-then-hide-it-under-the-table-before-anyone-sees. He was too preoccupied with the missing goblet of pumpkin juice. Where were those damn house elves?

"Potter, Harry!" Minerva called out, her voice ringing clearly.

The Great Hall became silent, but that silent only lasted for one, sweet moment before the miscreants started whispering among themselves quietly.

"…it's that Potter boy."

"…you know, the one who defeated You-know-who…"

"Doesn't look like much does he?"

Snape glared intently at the boy who now emerged from the crowd. The resemblance to that bastard, James Potter, was incredible. Snape reveled in the fact that the boy was thoroughly terrified-looking. He made it his priority to make sure that that fear was reinstated in every Potions class he would have the boy in.

Minerva jammed the Sorting Hat over his head and he sat on the stool, eyes squeezed shut tight and fingers clenching the edges of the stool.

Oh good, he'll be sorted into Hufflepuff then. I only wish James were alive to see his son sorted into that House of dunderheads and weaklings. Snape suppressed the urge to snicker to himself evilly.

And yet…the Hat took a long time. The longest of them all. Minerva was now growing distraught, but he noticed that the Headmaster was slowly nodding to himself, in understanding. It was as if he was listening to someone whispering words of wisdom into his ear.

The Hat whispered something so quietly that only the Professors at the staff table could hear it:

"Slytherin."

Snape recoiled in horror. Slytherin? He wasn't sure whether to be pleased (James' son in Slytherin! And the boy being in his House would make it much easier for Snape to have him expelled by third year….) or concerned. He knew it wasn't in the Potters' nature to be in Slytherin, as James so dutifully informed him while having him hang upside down, baring all to every (fortunate) girl passing by. If the Potter boy was in Slytherin, Snape would be sure that it would be something to do with Voldemort. The Headmaster had a theory…but then again, he always had some ridiculous theory or another.

Finally the Hat exploded:

"GRYFFINDOR!" It roared the loudest than it had that evening.

The Gryffindor table burst into ecstatic applause, those lousy scumbags jumping into the air with glee. Potter was clapped onto the back and was offered numerous words of congratulations.

"We got Potter! We got Potter! We got Potter! We got Potter!" Fred and George were skipping into circles, arms linked with each other, shouting jubilantly.

Those damn Weasleys! Snape vowed to deduct at least fifteen points from each of them before the week was over.

Soon, the Sorting was over. Dumbledore rose and gave his customary, on-a-need-to-know basis speech, and with a flick of his hand, the tables groaned and creaked as hundreds of succulent dishes appeared.

Snape poked at a pig, but then it squealed at him fiercely. He decided to forgo the pork.

"Are you Jewish?" Flitwick leaned over, whispering to him in a conspiratorial tone.

"I wish," Snape said dryly.

Then he focused his intent gaze on the Potter boy for the rest of the night…something was nagging him at the back of his mind though….

"Wonderful," Elli breathed, hands clasping together in delight.

"For you maybe," Macha scowled.

A/N: The plot goes that every important person is assigned a 'shadower' or a goddess so to speak. Gods are not entrusted to this important duty however, and the females tend to have a problem with falling in love with their shadows, which is why their protection is only offered to those individuals of great importance.

Whole chunks of goddess time (which will be rare) will be broken by the grey bars. Otherwise, tidbits will just be italicized.