THE SANDGLASS
By Nenya Entwhistle
Beta'd by Ziasudra and Lesameschelle.
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?
September 5, 1998 (Harry is 18)
Harry: "I have been waiting for this day," my Unspeakable says with an amused voice.
I narrow my eyes as I always do when I hear that particular tone. It's never bad, but never quite good either. What follows is almost always surprising, even shocking. "Why?" I ask with foreboding and suspicion.
"Because today you will learn something about yourself that you would not think is possible." I can imagine him smiling underneath his white hood. I wish I could see his face, but never once have I gotten a glimpse of it. He keeps himself shrouded in shadows. "Your reaction will be interesting."
"Don't you already know it?"
He doesn't deem the question worth answering, but pushes forward instead. "As usual, your metal file will be important, but I would listen to what your life case has to say."
"I always do," I retort. It would be so much easier to interact with him if I knew what his facial expressions were, even if he's more like stone than flesh. "Have I done anything that makes you think I would do anything rash?"
"You have in the past," he points out.
I grit my teeth and nod once. I'll give him that.
"Oh, and Harry, did I mention that you're going to the future?" I take my wand out about to cast the ghosting spell when my Unspeakable somehow manages to use wandless magic to knock it aside. "Did I forget to mention that you won't be needing the phasma phamatis spell?"
I don't even have time to get my wand back because I feel the familiar suction of time taking me. The words I try to say are snatched from me as I'm pulled away. I want to curse him. Why does he always sneak in vital information like that at the last second?
Damn him.
April 17, 2020 (Harry is 18, and Severus is 60)
Severus: I see a familiar dark-headed young man with glowing eyes. It's been a long time since I've seen his younger self, a year or more I think. He's said that it's trickier, trying to tell himself where to go in the future. The past is easier, more settled. The future is still to be determined. Yet he somehow manages to come, flinging himself over the boundaries of time and space to get to me. And he's even younger than ever.
I clutch the white paper where some of the more important dates are written. He doesn't always tell me when he's coming, but today he has. This date is boxed and starred. It must be very important. Unfortunately, he left no explanation as to why.
"Snape," Harry says and I know without a shadow of uncertainty that he doesn't know what we are. As he steps closer to me, I can understand why. I thought he was young, in his 20s, but I vaguely remember this flushed innocence about him when he was on the cusp of manhood. He's not yet an adult. He's close though, very close. "Where am I?"
The room is dark, and of course he won't recognize it. He's never been here before, has he? My mind wanders a bit, and it suddenly makes sense why he seemed comfortable our first time when he should have felt awkward. He had been here before. "My private chambers… at Hogwarts."
"You're still teaching?" he asks. "I thought you would have stopped by now. I never thought you liked it much… unless… is Voldemort still around?"
I inwardly cringe at the name. Even hearing it now after all we've been through doesn't make it any easier. "Despite the fact I might not have been a congenial professor," I remark, the acid in my words comes easily, "it does not mean I do not feel the need to pass on my knowledge to others and no he is not around."
"You make it sound like a burden," Harry points out.
"It can be one when the students refuse to try!"
His cheeks flush a light pink. It reminds me of the times he used to blush often, but not now—not anymore. He's lost some of that innocence, that naiveté that would have gotten him killed if he had tried to keep it. War is never a kind teacher.
"I…" he flinches and glances down at his hand. I know what it is and I'm curious as to what it says. "I guess if I'm not ghosting, you know the truth." I incline my head once; he doesn't need any more affirmation. "This," he says, waving a metal file, "is telling me I'm going to be leaving in five minutes and that I should tell you."
I am reminded again that this day is starred and yet nothing extraordinary has happened. I'm left pondering what my Harry wanted me to say. I try to think back to the days before, think back to what was happening when he was however young he was and however old I was. "How old are you?"
"18," he answers. "It's September 5, 1997 from the time I came from."
It's before that first weird meeting between us, when he was startlingly polite and respectful. Maybe he knew this. Or maybe he did not. Maybe it was only my childhood self that rung that civility out of him. And yet why do I have a doubt emerging in my gut?
I don't believe my younger personage could make Harry try to pursue me. It has to be something else. And at the back of my mind, I know what it is. I can feel a pulsing of certainty. This is the moment of revelation.
"Come here, Harry," I urge. "I have something to show you."
He hesitatingly steps forward. His reluctance might be from astonishment. This is probably the first time in his life I've called him Harry, and yet in mine it's been so many times that I have lost count. But he doesn't ask why. He just obeys me unquestioningly. How odd. Maybe he's already started to like me through my child self.
He's close enough now that I can touch him, and I do. My hands grip his arms and pull him into me. I'm not as strong as I once was, but he's so startled that he falls to me, adding momentum to my force. "This," I say and bend my head down, kissing him with a gentle fervor, "is it."
I let him go and his eyes are so wide and so disbelieving when he vanishes.
I press my forehead into the wall. I hope the idiot boy gets it.
September 5, 1998 (Harry is 18)
Harry: I fall to my knees. I still haven't gotten good at landing, and I'm probably going to be bruising pretty badly again. Sod it! While I'm throwing some verbal exclamations, I turn to the triangle where my Unspeakable stands. I might as well have spat some at him.
Merlin, he must be tickled to death. Snape and ugh… that kiss. I shudder and raise my hand to touch my lips, the lips he pressed with his own. The thought just makes me feel sick. I have nothing against him as a person and I actually like his childhood self, but to have him as a lover in the future? That's another story entirely.
"So the hero has returned," my Unspeakable remarks, standing like a smug post. "With revelations, I would imagine."
I jump to my feet and cross the room until I'm face-to-hood with him. "Why didn't you warn me of what was going to happen?" I hiss. "When you knew!"
"Why do you presume I know everything when I don't?" he asks. "I'm not a god."
"No, but you did know and you didn't tell me!" I exclaim. "I know you didn't!"
"Some surprises now and then, will keep you on your toes."
"I—"
"Harry," he says, "it was important that you did not know. It was important that Severus knew you didn't. But now you know, and you're on the right path with keeping the threads of probability that must be maintained."
I grit my teeth. One small tug, change, could separate one strand from the other and unravel the delicate weaving of our world. I understand this. He has explained it more than once, in detail and in summary. I know what could happen if I change things if I don't follow in the footsteps of what has already happened in the future.
"Am I with him?" I inquire stiffly. "Am I with him like that?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
I feel dread settle in.
Bloody hell.
December 26, 1968 (Harry is 19, and Severus is 8)
Harry: "I know it's the day after," I remark, gliding my body into the woods where I've hidden my surprise. "But I didn't think you'd mind too much."
"What are you talking about?" Severus retorts.
I vaguely remember the transition from young Severus to just Severus. It happened… too easily, and just remained. Besides, it's not like the adult Severus will ever be just Severus. Written in the fates or not, he still hates my guts with the heat of a thousand fires. You'd think if I was nice to him, he'd lighten up. But no—not him, not ever—he always has to be the stiff, stubborn wizard. You'd think hanging out with his child self might give me clues, but there is none forthcoming.
"Drogo?" Severus calls. "Why are you taking me here?"
I whirl around. "You don't know?"
He scowls. "I wouldn't be asking you if I knew."
"Well then," I respond, "if you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you'll be even more surprised than I thought you'd be."
The lines on his face deepen. "I thought I told you I didn't like surprises."
"I must have forgotten."
"Figures," he mutters. "You have such an awful memory."
I roll my eyes and keep flying forward. I stop abruptly when I reach the wooded area and hover over some old scrolls I had found in my vault. "These are for you," I declare, gesturing at the scrolls. "You mentioned you were interested in Potions the last time we talked, and you said there was nothing left in your family library to read anymore. I found these scrolls lying around somewhere so I thought you might like to have them."
Severus drops to his knees and picks up one of the scrolls carefully. "How did you transport it here? I thought ghosts couldn't carry anything."
I shrug. "I had help."
"Oh," he says and opens the scroll. "Wow, this is great Drogo. Did you know this is dated from the 16th century?"
Nodding is useless when your audience isn't paying attention. I settle for saying: "Happy Christmas" instead.
October 21, 1998 (Harry is 18, and Severus is 38)
Severus: There is something off about Potter. No one notices though, thank Merlin. I want to tell him to stop looking at me like this. It's unseemly how obvious he is. Does he not understand that he should at least try to hide his hatred of me? I might not like the brat, but I try not to make it too blatant. Now if only he could learn to do the same. But then asking Potter to learn anything would be… impossible.
"If everyone will please quiet down," Albus remarks, his eyes sweeping around the long table. They briefly land on Potter, who is too busy staring at me to notice. I wonder what is going through that old man's uncanny mind. Whatever it is, maybe he'll think to speak to the boy about this atrocious behavior. "Are there any important matters to discuss before we start the agenda for today?" Albus asks. He pauses long enough to be polite, but begins again quickly enough to stop anyone from really speaking. "Well, first things first… while the potential Aurors-in-training have increased significantly the last three years, the numbers still are nowhere near what they were in Voldemort's first Reign of Terror."
I shudder inside when I hear that name, though unlike many of the others here, I do not show my weakness. I suppose it is a sign of strength that the Headmaster and Potter dare to utter a word that strikes such fear into the hearts of so many. I should be glad that they are the ones leading this effort on our side. I do not know of any on the other who would speak of the Dark Lord's name without trepidation.
"…really think it's going to be that bad again?" someone asks. Who it is doesn't matter, but the answer does.
I wait like everyone else in the room, at the edge of the seat, to hear what Albus has to say. "Perhaps," he says, "it could be. We have no idea how much power he has regained. What Severus has told us is mostly inconclusive. Voldemort has not performed any spell that requires much raw magic other than the spell which brought him back to life, and in that he was mainly using the power of Harry's blood."
A pandemonium of questions breaks out. So many that they blend into a mixture of useless babble. How they expect Albus to answer, I have no idea. He is not a God. He might not even be the greatest wizard alive anymore. I scowl when my eyes again catch those green ones stealing glances on me. Potential aside, I doubt Potter has the time to become the most powerful wizard. What then if it is… the Dark Lord?
"…training has been stepped up," Moody says gruffly. He might have completely fouled up his time as a Defense Professor, but he is not a complete imbecile. If anything, he is a mule. "Most of the recruits are doing excellently." I notice that he glances at Potter. In affirmation or defamation? "They will finish at least a month early, if not beforehand. Then we will offer an opportunity for those that have decided to be Aurors after this spring's deadline the chance to start their training in another session, if they meet our strict standards."
"Do you think there are enough people interested?" Molly asks.
"There is," Moody says tersely. "I believe as time moves on and as the tension escalates, more and more qualified wizards and witches will want to join our efforts. It was like that last time."
"You don't think it'll be like last time, do you?" she inquires in a shrilly voice of concern and worry.
Moody stares at her with all the force behind his one good eye. "Yes, it could be. It could be—"
"What Auror Moody means," Albus states with complete solemnity, "is that it could very well be even worse than last time. Is that not right, my old friend?"
Moody huffs, crosses his arms, and nods. Only little movements bespeak the coming doom. I have suspected this for a while. That things are not going to get better any time soon. They will get worse and worse until people start to lose hope, like I have done in the scant few years since his resurrection. If not for trickery and foolishness—I glare menacingly at Potter—things would not have to be this way.
"I do not mean to frighten any of you good folk," Albus continues, "but I think it is imperative that you understand the gravity of the situation. This threat that he poses will not go away unless we do something about it. And to do that, we need the numbers."
"But," an unfamiliar wizard says, "don't we outnumber the… Death Eaters?"
"Their numbers are steadily rising from the disillusionment that our Minister has placed on our society," Albus answers. He suddenly looks his age, old and weary. But it flickers off his face the next moment. "I have not criticized Minister Fudge for his mishandling of Voldemort's second rise, but his indecisiveness and false assurances of security to the public is detrimental to the world we know and love. There is no choice but to be strong and stay strong.
"We cannot dismiss Voldemort lightly. I know what Minister Fudge is thinking, for how can a shadow of a man conquer the whole? But to underestimate your foe will only lead to disaster, and Voldemort is no shadow of a wizard. His body has been crippled into a grotesque form, but he still—I believe—is a formidable power to be reckoned with, regardless of whether he retains all of his previous power."
Albus clears his throat. "We have tried to use covert means, shadow operations to infiltrate whatever base the Death Eaters call their own, but we have had little success. Soon these small fights will break to the surface, into the forefront where our children will see, and where we can no longer deny what will come.
"And believe me, a war will come."
TBC
A/N: Some inspiration or motivation would be great. I've been on a writer's block for a month (which means I'm not churning out 5k a week as I usually am for this story). But I'm still 15K+ in front of you so updates should remain consistent for a good while. Thanks for reading (and double thanks to those that review, especially the ones that do it each time!).
Thanks to Dragon Smile (Thanks, I'm not really sure how people usually characterize Snape as a child, but it's fun), acr (Yes, I've already written that part, I'm about 15k in front of the readers), MoonKissedChild (Ah well, there isn't too much I can change from what I've already written), Echo the Insane (I can't really stop from deleting the story unfortunately, and I think b/c this is so different no one's reading it sighs), barbarataku (I have a very high rate of completion, so it's a high possibility it'll be completed as long as I stay motivated), Clodia (No, I don't have a master timeline. It's all in my head and if I forget, I have to go back and check. I have 3 betas, so they alert me if I'm doing something wrong. There's more Snape to come, though not much more on his family), duj, and Amaris Kincaid.
