THE SANDGLASS
By Nenya Entwhistle

Beta'd by Ziasudra, Lesameschelle, and Irishgirl12000.
Note: This story has been rearranged from last time and will remain strictly PG-13.

Time is a tricky thing,
It ebbs and it flows,
Where it goes, who knows?

January 9, 1968 (Severus is 8)

Severus: I told my house elf about seeing an apparition of a person pop into the field, and I wonder if I ought to tell Father about the stranger. But Meery was insistent, in her way, that I not tell my father about it. I understand why. It's not like he even cares that I exist. I'm nothing to him.

I glare at the portrait of my mother that I sometimes love and worship, but hate now. Why did she have to die? Why did a stupid Muggle disease have to kill her! She should have been stronger, she was a pureblood witch! There was no reason for a Muggle weakness to kill her. I twist my face into a sneer that I often saw on my father's face whenever he used to look at her before he would banish her to her personal rooms, where he no longer goes.

My sneer falters when I see Mother's eyes blink sadly at me. I can read every one of her faces, and this is one that makes me sad. I hate it when she's sad, and I hate it that I can't hear her voice. But every one of her portraits has been silenced by an obscure spell that only Father knows. If only I could find it… but what would I do if I did? I can't go against him. I'm not strong enough.

He hates her so much that I almost forget that he used to love her, love me. And he probably hates me too, when he remembers I'm still around. But mostly he stares right through me as if I'm not real. I don't know if it's better or worse. It's bad enough that I've lost my mother, but did I have to lose my father too?

He might have never been as affectionate as Mother was, but… he is my father—and I miss having him around.


October 9, 1998 (Harry is 18, and Severus is 38)

Severus: At least at this meeting, I'm not required to baby-walk Potter to the room. And this time maybe I won't be forced to sit next to him. Last time, I think with a sneer, just because we arrived together and arrived last—thanks to his hopeless tardiness—there were only two seats left.

To my great misfortune, when I arrive, there is only one unoccupied seat left, and it is next to my most illustrious student… Potter. I hold back a grimace and sit down. Perhaps if I try to ignore him I can forget that he is again plaguing my existence with his mere presence. Now if he would only stop smiling at me in that ridiculous manner of his. Does he not realize that I truly dislike him?

Sometimes I feel I could go as far as to say I despise him. Especially when he's grinning at me like an imbecilic fool. There is nothing to grin at. I don't see why he feels he has to pretend to be glad to see me, hiding his loathing under a pretense of good nature; I would much prefer honesty.

"Now that Severus has joined us," Albus remarks after I reluctantly take the seat next to Potter, "shall the meeting convene?"

I am amused how Albus alludes to the idea of a democratic system when there really is none. He is the Head of this Order and his word is law. I stifle my desire to roll my eyes when everyone cries in assent. I settle back into my chair and prepare myself for another long, mundane meeting about how bad the situation is getting and how more should be done to stop it.

"Any important announcements before we begin our agenda?" Albus asks.

My bored black eyes scan the crowd, hoping to cow any prospective speaker that would make this meeting any longer than necessary. Unfortunately, per usual, Arthur Weasley does not get the meaning of my glare. I wonder if he thinks it's a go-ahead to speak. Those blasted Weasleys need more brain underneath their atrocious red hair or a modicum of ability to read expressions with a grain of common sense.

"Actually," Arthur says, standing up from his chair, "it has come to my attention that perhaps not all of the Ministry's resources are being utilized to help in the effort to subdue the threat of You-Know-Who." He pauses for a grand effect that he cannot hope to achieve. "I realize that the work the Unspeakables do is classified, but do you not think it is strange that we do not even know how many of them there are? Official numbers aren't even kept. There are no records whatsoever.

"So we really have no concrete idea what their purpose is, if they are even expending effort to help in this fight. Considering the Department of Mysteries take in a significant part of the Ministry's allotted budget, do you not think they should be more closely monitored, so that we know what they are doing against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Several voices chime in, from the Wizengamot and Aurors as well as Ministry folk, but the voice next to me does not. Potter probably has nothing good to add to this rather interesting subject matter. Who would have thought that a Weasley could think to such a degree? It's almost impressive.

If there weren't so many inherent problems to his proposition…

"Please sit, Arthur," Albus says with a damned twinkle in his eyes. It has to be some kind of Congenial Glamour, though which I have yet to discover. Knowing the Headmaster as I do, it's probably so obscure that he retains the only copy of the incantation known to wizard-kind. "And if the rest will settle down?"

It's amazing the power one man holds over a room of forceful personalities. It should be our right to dominate him with our voices, but somehow—with some special quality only he possesses—Albus compels us all into a standstill. A pin could drop and its sound would resonate in our commanded silence.

"Arthur and the rest of you should realize that the Unspeakables indeed do valuable work that must be kept under the heaviest veil of secrecy," Albus remarks, his eyes drifting over each and every member of the Order. "I am sure you are aware that they guard the prophecies and other similar mysteries. I can assure you that the Unspeakables are doing what is in their power to stop this war. They are not as secluded as you all would believe."

"But Albus—" a witch, a member of the Wizengamot, begins.

"We must not doubt our allies even in their mysteries," Potter speaks up, rising from his seat. I itch with the impulse to take him by the hand and drag him back down before he says something foolish. "It will divide us and weaken us. We cannot afford that."

"Mr. Potter," the witch, Marchbanks, I believe, says, "their activities still cannot remain in the dark. We must know what they are doing so we may plan for the best course of action, to put their talents to best use."

"What if their talents are already being put to their best use?"

"I would think as an Auror-in-training, Mr. Potter," she says in an increasingly nasal voice, "that you would be most interested in where your division gets shortchanged. I believe that your Department's funding was reduced by 15 percent last year due to the request of the Unspeakables for more resources."

"I believe what they do is important," Potter says, pressing his lips together stubbornly.

"Important enough that somehow You-Know-Who almost managed to get his hands on the prophecy?" Marchbanks asks.

I hear Potter suck in a hissing breath. "I believe everyone already knows whose fault that was." He pauses. His green eyes flash dangerously before dropping when Albus directs his attention toward his protégé. "It was mine."

I nearly avert my eyes from him. It is unlike Potter to admit he is at fault. My eyes slide instead to Albus, who appears as imperturbable as he always does. I shudder to think that Potter is turning into a mastermind like him. That is what the Headmaster wants, isn't it? It has never been a secret that Albus has watched over and mentored the Boy-Who-Lived more carefully than even his precious Marauders. But I scarcely think even Albus could interfere with Moody's intensive Auror training. So what has changed Potter from a rash man into something much like the man he needs to be?

"Harry is correct," Albus remarks in a firm voice. "The Unspeakables have an important role to play, even if we do not know what it is. Who knows… they might even be here among us?"

It would be rude to snort or roll my eyes, but no one here could be an Unspeakable. There is such myth, legend about them that it is hard to believe they would be among the wizards and witches here. It would a pity if they are.

"If there is nothing else," Albus says, "shall we move onto the agenda for today?"


October 21, 2008 (Harry is 28, and Severus is 48)

Harry: It's been more than ten years since the war broke out, and it's still going strong. Thank Merlin, there is the occasional ebb of the tide. It makes me weary to think about how many years that we still have left before this can all end. But we're getting there; I've been working with Severus from past and future. Hopefully, in the present he can stop the course of this war like his future self says is possible.

Of course, nothing is certain until it happens. Time has a funny way of changing on us. It's an inconsistent thing. What happens in the future can be irrevocably changed if some details are told or known before they should be. It's the reason why I don't ask unless I'm told to ask. It's better not to know the details, possibilities are enough.

"Stop thinking," Severus says, coming up behind me and sliding his arms around my waist. "It does no good."

"Shouldn't you listen to your own advice?" I turn my head slightly and press my cheek against his neck.

"My capacity for thinking exceeds yours."

I almost laugh. "I take it you're done for the day?"

"Yes," he says. "I'm done with trying to teach idiots the fine art of Potions."

I turn in his arms until I'm facing him. "Why do you continue to teach?"

"Someone must," he responds and pushes me against the wall. He bends his head down and kisses me and I ask no more questions.

He's right—someone must.


July 31, 1998 (Harry is 18)

Harry: "So you're back," my Unspeakable says when I fall to my knees in front of him, "a bit faster than I expected."

I groan when I stand up, feeling older somehow. "I went back in time."

"Yes, you did. It's your gift."

"I don't understand though. I did it without a time turner," I mutter. "I went back in time without using magic."

"You did use magic. You used your own magic within you, which shifts you in time to where you need to be," he says. "It is the power that the Dark Lord knows not."

"But how?"

My Unspeakable offers me a hand, gnarled and wrinkled. I take it and he pulls me up with more strength than I would expect from an old man. "It tends to stay within certain bloodlines," he says. "There are quite a few Potters that have been Unspeakables."

"Then why have I never heard of them?" I demand.

"Unspeakables tend to remain hidden in the shadows."

"Then why haven't you?"

He adjusts his robes until they once again cover every part of his body. "Because you are one of us."

"I am going to be an Auror."

"You've seen Snape as a child," my Unspeakable says. "He's your life case. Without you to guide him, he will become lost, and that will change the present you now live in and do unmentionable damage to the future. And my boy, you can be both an Auror and an Unspeakable. You are a field Unspeakable, so you won't be restricted to the Department of Mysteries as others are. You, like me, can live a double existence."

I look at him carefully, trying to see if I recognize anything about him, but all there is to note is striking white. "Who are you?"

"Your Unspeakable."

"What's your name?"

"You may call me whatever you wish," he says, "but I cannot give you my name. Your circumstance is extraordinary, to the point where you even know you have an Unspeakable. Before you, this would be unheard of. I felt your case could be an exception. You needed convincing and I am the best person to do the job. I know you better than you know yourself."

I wish I could see his bloody face! "You can't know me better than I know myself."

"I saved your past, I see your present, and I know your future," he declares. "Can you say the same?"

"But I know my feelings and my thoughts better than you."

"I know what you will do, and you will be an Unspeakable. It is your destiny."

"It is not."

My Unspeakable starts to circle around the tempus temporis shape. "You can deny it all you want, but when your gift calls you to go where you must—you will go. It will be harder on you without the training and guidance that I can give you. I know, since I have been in your place once… a long time ago."

I have the sinking feeling that he's right, that I cannot escape this. But I don't want to be locked into another role that I must play simply because I am Harry Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. "I've already screwed up," I say. "Snape's seen me."

I see him smile in my mind. "He was supposed to. Subsequent meetings will need to be more clandestine on your part, of course," my Unspeakable remarks. "But this one breach can be excused as you were not prepared to be flung back in time."

"I won't do this."

"You have no choice, my boy. You already are an Unspeakable in the future and the past, and so you will be in the present." He stops at the highest point in my line of vision. "You can say no, but you will still go."

"Tell me how to control this time traveling thing then!" I demand.

"It's not something you can just forget about," he says. "You will be compelled to travel back and forth, forward and back. If you go voluntarily, it will be easier on your body, mind, and soul. If you don't, it will be harder. There are very few Unspeakables like us for good reason. This is harder, much harder than anything you will ever learn in Auror training."

"It's just time traveling."

"You have yet to experience being in a place where another you also exists. It does things to your mind, warps it, to know that there are two of you and one of them isn't really you but is. I can teach you, help you in this if you will allow me to."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you will have to face this on your own."

I breathe in. "Why wasn't I told earlier?"

"Would you have believed?"

Would I? "I don't know."

"You believe now though."

"I cannot disbelieve."

He offers a hand. "Will you voluntarily join us?"

"I…"

"But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not," my Unspeakable begins in a deep, powerful voice, "and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

"I know that, I've heard it, read it many times."

"For neither can live while the other survives."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Take my hand," he commands. "I have said what I have said."

I do not take the hand.

"Take it," he urges.

"Tell me what you mean!"

He lowers his hand. "Think on it and come back tomorrow."

He lifts his hand and everything shifts away, folds over. And when everything is once again still—I am the only one in the room.

Alone again.

TBC

A/N: I have no idea why it was deleted the first two times. It just says your story has been removed. I think someone thought this was chan, which it's not. Please review (and take those bad memories away). I don't think they removed it for the slash.

Thanks to those that review, you made my day: Clodia (I'm glad it's interesting b/c a lot of ppl seem not to think so, at least that's my impression when ppl don't review), Black Lion (short enough time?), Khronos, glassdragon2, Imagination, redfox13, Rowana S (As I said, I found it puzzling to. So I've taken all the mildly R scenes out, not terribly important in the early going, but will be in the later going).