November 16th, 1992

Hermione is 13

Snape is 33

Hermione Granger was very worried. She had been working in the library all evening, and realized only too late that it was already nine-fifteen. Students had to be in their dormitories by nine, so Hermione hastily gathered her books and ran out of the library.

There was something horribly wrong though…her abdomen was aching slightly, as if she'd eaten a bad porridge and it felt like she had been laughing uncontrollably and had peed in her pants a bit. It had only started when she'd abruptly gotten up, but she didn't pay much attention to it; it didn't seem too unusual. The castle corridors were dark, and there was only a single torch lit at the end of the hall. She knew from experience that after that torch, the halls would be completely pitch-black and finding her way back to the Gryffindor common room would be very difficult even with Lumos.

She clutched her abdomen. The pain was growing worse, but it wasn't terrible. She was more frightened because she was hopelessly lost, and the darkness was beginning to press in, compressing her skin, her body, trapping her soul in an all-too-finite cage it couldn't escape from. Horrified, she yearned for light, something to stop this rising panicky feeling that the darkness was causing…she even wished that a teacher would come sweeping down and rescue her from the blackness... She stumbled along the hall, trying to use her hands to steady herself against the stone walls, cold under her hands. Many portraits expressed this disapproval of this; they did not ordinarily enjoy being smacked in the face by a cold, clammy hand late at night, and this was no exception.

After making a few twists and turns, Hermione's hand no longer felt the touch of a cold, stone wall, but rather, empty air.

Hermione let out a small scream as she fell into the empty air. Much to her misfortune, it was not simply another corridor, but a full flight of stairs. She fell down on her side, wincing in pain as she finally hit the bottom. At least there was a torch in this room…but all it did was that it showed that Hermione was in a room she really did not like. She was in the dungeons.

Hermione sat straight up again; this only provoked the dull ache in her abdomen to turn into a full-blown cramp and she groaned in dismay. What the hell was happening to her? She consoled herself by rapidly gathering her books and vowing to consult Madam Pomfrey right after she got out of here….

"Just…what do you think you are doing?" a cold, silky voice asked behind her.

Hermione froze, a book halfway into her bag, as she saw a man's outline fall across the opposite wall, lit by the torch.

"Pro-professor," she stuttered, "I-I—fell…down the stairs."

"Quite to the contrary, you underestimate my perceptiveness, Ms. Granger. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out of bed late at night….and ten more for poor conduct, Miss Granger. One can not sleep when there are students tumbling around in the dungeons…"

He probably wasn't even sleeping! Hermione thought furiously, keeping her head down to collect the last bits of parchment scattered on the floor. She spotted a small, frayed strip of parchment and her hand, incandescent in the torchlight, reached out for it, her fingers closing around the strip when—

A slender, but strong hand, glowing orange in the light, clasped down onto the strip, and Hermione recoiled. Her Potions' Professor's face was glaring at her, his black eyes glittering with malicious delight.

"I think a Saturday detention will do nicely…I will have to have a word with Filch." Snape's lips curled up into a smirk as the girl let out a tiny whimper, her hand abandoning the spare bit of parchment.

The light went out of Snape's eyes and they resumed their cold, dead blackness; Hermione suddenly realized that they very much resembled the darkness that had been suffocating her not too long ago, but the glittering delight she saw…it was different from that consistent darkness she always saw when she dared to make eye contact with her Professor.

His hand crumpled the parchment and with no sound, it crumbled into nothingness. Hermione suspected that Snape had his wand tucked into those expansive black sleeves. He rose up, once again towering over her:

"Miss Granger, I do hope that you are not intending to sit there all night; I would be most…unhappy if you did so."

Hermione finished packing her bag and drew herself, trying not to let her fear show. Professor Snape was her least favorite Professor not so much because he was unjust and rude to Harry, but because he was well…intimidating. She secretly thought that he was good-looking too…he didn't burn his skin to a brown color like the boys all did and his hair was dark and long. But what entranced Hermione, and instilled her with the most fear, were his black eyes, glittering in the torchlight.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she whispered again.

What are you doing? She berated herself angrily, why can't you just tell him to come off of it like Harry does? Why do you let him cow you into—another cramp spasmed throughout her again; she clutched her abdomen, groaning.

"Do not think that will help the situation any further. You are merely annoying and inconveniencing me more. Get moving," he snapped. The girl, however, ignored him and her hand dropped from her abdomen, an intent expression on her face, as if she was trying to hide the obvious discomfort she had. Snape spotted a bit of blood on a spot of the floor that glowed in the torchlight—most likely from her decided pleasure cruise down the stairs.

Fuck. A student hurt…Albus will have my head for this.

"Stupid girl," he hissed, "Why did you not tell me you were injured? Follow me, quickly. I have some potions available."

Hermione was surprised at this bit of leniency on Professor Snape's part. Before she could look into his eyes again, questioningly, he had already swished around, his robes billowing menacingly. She followed him, still clutching her abdomen, wondering how he knew she had a cramp—

Wait a minute. A cramp?

Images of her hormone-crazed mother screaming at her father for Aztec chocolates flashed before her eyes.

Huh. Well at least the textbook said it wouldn't become regular until after the first year. Oh no, no I'm following Snape, and he thinks I'm hurt. No, no, no…

Severus Snape was deeply irritated. The know-it-all, the annoying girl, was hindering his latest drinking binge. He'd only had half a glass before he heard the crashing sound; he could not believe that the girl, which he had presumed to be intelligent, had the audacity to injure herself and then go tumbling down a flight of stairs.

"Sit," he commanded.

Hermione immediately sat at the nearest chair. For some reason, this sent a thrill of satisfaction throughout Snape. He liked the idea of uttering one word and having this small girl obey him. Snape soon realized what kind of thoughts this could lead to and immediately wiped it from his mind. He could've sworn he heard a chuckling that sounded very much like a woman's in his head.

Not far from Snape, a certain goddess with tawny, golden hair observed the scene that was now playing out in front of her.

"The girl's shadower will no doubt come very soon," Macha smirked in amusement.

She was now determined to have Snape fulfill his duty. The girl, Hermione, would only summon her shadower once she experienced her first signal of the onset of adulthood.

Snape scanned his array of potions quickly. He wanted nothing more than to administer it to the girl and get her the hell out of here. This room was his personal quarters, and he was now only getting angrier with Granger for making him more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Where did you injure yourself?" he snapped at her.

"Sir…I don't know. I was just reading in the library—

Surprise, surprise.

"…and then I realized that it was past curfew. I got my stuff and tried getting out of there as fast as I could, but then I felt this dull pain here—

The girl indicated her abdomen. Snape tried not to look at her breasts.

"…and then I started…well, um…." The girl trailed off, and Snape could see now, even in this dimness, that she was turning as red as a tomato.

A dull pain in the abdomen…puzzling.

"There's blood on your hand," Snape observed, watching her hand lie across her abdomen. "You surely remember being cut?"

"No, sir. It…I think I'm bleeding, but it's not a cut. The blood on my hand was probably just from my falling down the stairs." Hermione tried to steady her voice. She didn't want Snape to know how embarrassed she really was.

Bleeding…no cut. Abdominal pain…oh fuck. Why does this always happen to me? I'm a Potions Master, not someone who deals with every Gryffindor who starts bleeding for her first time. Fuck, he repeated to himself, fuck.

"Ms. Granger," Snape was now livid, "this is out of my hands. Confer with Madam Pomfrey, but you are not in mortal danger. Get out—

"But you're supposed to escort—

"Do not tell me what I am supposed to and what I am not supposed to do Granger! Find your own way to the common room and do not forget to report to Filch for detention Saturday."

"But it sir, it hurts—

"Out," he seethed, in a threatening voice.

Hermione obliged.

Why is he always so horrid? She thought to herself desperately, doesn't he ever have some compassion? Sometimes I think Ron and Harry are right, that he does work for You-know-who.

She staggered up the stairs, slowly ascending from the dungeons.

Although that was a strange experience…I could've sworn he was looking at me though. No! Don't think like that!

Hermione mentally slapped herself, but now all she could think of while trying to find her way to the common room was how Professor Snape, with the briefest flicker of those black eyes, had actually found a part of her appealing.

What is happening to me? she thought desperately.

Hermione staggered into her bed. She was so exhausted, and now that she knew what was happening to her, she didn't feel the compulsive need to wake up Madam Pomfrey at this time of the night. As she slept, t felt like as if her soul was slowly draining out of her to form an apparition….

As the girl slept, a colored mist was slowly starting to solidify at her side.

"It will be all right," the mist whispered, leaning down to kiss Hermione on the forehead.

The next morning, Hermione threw her underpants into the before anyone could see them and ask her about them. Especially Parvati and Lavender. She scowled at the thought of the girls who could really be prying sometimes.

Hermione changed into her robes; normally, she would've been eager to greet this Saturday morning in Muggle clothes and hang out with Harry and Ron, but right now she was anxious to see Madam Pomfrey and get some supplies for collecting the blood.

The medi-witch was bustling around in the infirmary although nobody was actually sick in there. Hermione suspected that the woman was preparing for a male visitor, since she was wearing a substantial amount of wizard cosmetics and was dressed in a particularly fine set of robes.

"Er, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione called out tentatively.

The witch jerked, but then her face relaxed.

"Oh, Miss Granger! Come in, come in! Is everything all right?"

"Well no…last night I was in the library—" Hermione sat down on one of the portable beds, "and I realized it was past curfew, so I stood up really fast and started putting all my books together. I felt a pain here," Hermione put her hand on her abdomen. "So, um…" she could practically feel her face heating up, "um…do you think you could-uh, give me something…to maybe help?"

Madam Pomfrey looked blank for a second, but then she started chuckling.

"Ah! I have just the thing for you…you're Muggle born, yes?"

Hermione nodded, wondering why Madam Pomfrey was taking this so lightly.

"I have just the thing for you." She turned and opened a cabinet with a key that hung on a chain around her neck. She rummaged around for a bit, but then she finally retracted a large, blue box.

"These are called pads. They're a Muggle invention to collect the blood—

"I know, it's just that—

"Oh, dear. Your parents never told you about this?"

"No, I learned about it in primary—

"Ermf," Madam Pomfrey looked at her pocket watch, "Well, I suppose I have a bit time. You might want to sit over there, dear…there's a sort of film that might help…I'll explain it all to you."

Horrified, Hermione desperately tried to stop the mad woman:

"No, Madam I already know—I just want to see if there's some sort of wizarding pad—

"Momentus Phot," Madame Pomfrey incanted, ignoring Hermione's feeble protests.

Hermione first was shown a diagram of a young girl. All her organs were labeled with the uterus leading to an arrow labeled REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM.

"This," Madam Pomfrey began, "is your reproductive system…."

Twenty minutes later, Hermione left the room, horrified. Images of the male genitalia, diagrams of the reproductive system, and an old lady mouthing the words "menstruation" flashed through her mind.

She absentmindedly turned the corner, the incantation to magically collect the flow, Sanguione, echoing in her head. She turned around another corner, past a suspicious-looking suit of armor, only to run right into her Potions' professor.

"Ms. Granger wipe off that stupid look on your face. It makes you look like a dying chimpanzee," Snape grunted.

"Uh…" Hermione said, not really focusing, "Sorry Professor…."

"Go to your room Granger, before I lose my patience."

"Uh…" Hermione's eyes flickered up to Snape's.

Snape's blood ran cold as he watched the once hardened eyes of Granger melt to a softness that he had never seen before in her. Her expression was totally blank, innocent, and held no trace of the insufferable, annoying Gryffindor student he knew too well for his own liking. Her eyes then slid to Snape's mouth and she watched it for a few seconds before finally averting it to the floor, downcast. Snape basically felt revulsion and momentarily, some amusement. He stepped aside to let the girl through, but then the revulsion gave away to entrancement as he studied her small frame, retreating to the Gryffindor common rooms. He marveled at the kind of structure she would have once she grew a bit older….

Snape shook his head, trying to clear it. He was tired of thinking about Granger. All he wanted to do was have a drink in his study…yes that would be good.

Both Snape and Hermione forgot about the Saturday detention, and Filch sat in his office by his all lonesome self, stroking the back of Mrs. Norris.

Macha was displeased. She constantly felt the urge to smack Severus in the upside, but she eventually felt lenient. It was true that the girl was just beginning to get her shadower and would not mature to her shadow's liking for some years. Still, Macha was impatient.

When Snape bumped into the girl the next morning, Macha's mood uplifted when she saw the shadowy mist now emerging rapidly behind Hermione. Good, good, that meant she was now getting her first adult thoughts. Adult thoughts didn't necessarily have to be sexual, but they were thoughts of a higher complexity, a higher understanding of how the world worked than a child's.

Macha's ego got a blow however, once she saw the goddess Hermione was gaining. Lilith and Macha had always been at odds.

Macha was always the fearsome, graceful goddess of war. She instilled a sense of intimidation and fear by her looks and her awesome power, and she had endured a great deal of hardships, including having been pressured by her husband to compete in a horse race while pregnant with twins. She had collapsed after the race and gave birth in public, so she had cursed all the males present and their descendants for nine generations.

Well, her husband hadn't been pleased with that so he encouraged her to shadow the ninth and last generation of one of the men present at that race. His name was Severus Snape, and since spending time with him for all of his life, she was now feeling bad she had cursed him…so now she was trying to make all the amends possible.

Lilith, however, was the only goddess that frightened and left Macha in awe of her. Instead of representing all things fearsome and war-like, Lilith was a goddess of wisdom and a protector of new-born babies. She was an exquisitely beautiful woman, with dark, streaming hair that strongly contrasted with Macha's own gold hair. Lilith also sported an elegant pair of wings that gave her the appearance of a dangerous, stormy angel. Lilith controlled part of the elements, which always defeated warfare.

Macha and Lilith had been friends at a very young age, but as their clear identities emerged, it seemed as if they were opposites.

Well, opposites attract; Macha mused at the mist, who was now forming the body and the wings of her competitor, Lilith. It would only be fitting that Lilith would be shadowing Hermione Granger. Lilith was well-reputed for her fierce independence and strong will, not to mention her intelligence. She didn't care what anyone would think of her. Essentially, Lilith represented the woman the girl, Hermione, would grow up to be.

Yes, Macha concluded, Lilith would be the perfect influence for Hermione, and Hermione in turn, would be perfect for Snape.

A/N: Normally there won't be as much mythology; this is just a little crash course for the beginning of the story. Basically the shadow-shadower relationship boils down to this: wizards and witches who have a great importance or destiny are assigned a shadower.

The shadowers form when they have their "awakening", something that happens when they get their first glimpse into the way things work in the adult world.

They then remain with their shadows until they die, and then they wait until an appropriate shadow is born again. That's all.