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?


July 27, 1971 (Harry is 19, and Severus is 11)

Harry: "What do you mean it's too far for you? Don't you come farther from farther away than where Hogwarts is?"

I cringe. Perhaps, I used the wrong word—the wrong word by far. I should have known that Severus would never accept a shoddy answer like that. I should have known he would badger me until I gave a complete explanation. I might as well give it to him. At least, the version I'm allowed.

"The protection spells around Hogwarts make it impossible for a ghost that doesn't belong there to enter the grounds," I explain, catching his eyes and hoping that he believes this. "And also I'm not a very strong ghost."

Severus shutters his eyes. "Does that mean you were a weak wizard?"

I cringe inside. "Not necessarily."

"Then what makes a strong ghost?" he inquires. "I would think having lots of magic when you're alive would correlate to being a strong ghost."

"You know my magic theory isn't good."

"No, it isn't," he mutters. "You aren't much good at anything."

I dislike it when he gets like this. I'd like to believe he doesn't mean to hurt me with his derogatory statements, but I get the itching feeling it's precisely what he means. I hope it's only his father influencing him. I've heard enough from what he's said to glean what his childhood has been like. I think even living with the Dursleys would have been better for him. How sad.

"But still, it would be nice to have something familiar when I'm there," Severus says. "I don't know what to expect really. I've read Hogwarts, A History from front to back, but while the knowledge of the school is there—it lacks the information about what the actual schooldays will be like. And… I am concerned what it'll be like being around so many children." He twists his face into a sneer. "Juveniles are so very irritating."

"You are young yourself," I point out. "I'm sure that there will be others like you."

"Perhaps," he says. "I hope to Merlin I don't end up in Hufflepuff."

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Because they're a house of rejects and misfits."

"You shouldn't say things like that without concrete proof," I admonish, feeling like Mrs. Weasley scolding her children. What an odd feeling, considering everything that will come. It's like I'm… the one who is forming him into who he will become. "It would be ignorant of you."

"Well, I'm not," he snaps. "I am well informed about the quality of those in that particular house. They almost never amount to anything worthwhile. Even Gryffindors do far better in life than Hufflepuffs do, and that's not saying much as those hotheads tend to let their emotions rule them when it's through brains and cunning that you really win."

"And how do you know this?"

"My father, of course."

I suppress a shudder. His father must be a delightful wizard. "Perhaps," I say, "you should reserve your opinion until you can see firsthand for yourself?"

"And the reality will probably be worse than the presumption," he remarks acidly. "I don't understand why you care what I think about Hufflepuffs or why I am not allowed to think my own opinions—"

"They aren't your own opinions!" I snap. I almost feel my face twisting into a frown. "They're your father's. Don't you think it's time you did some thinking on your own for a change?"

"Were you a Hufflepuff?" he asks suspiciously. "Is that why you won't tell what House you were in?"

"If I recall correctly," I remark with considerable control, "I don't even remember my given name."

He scowls, but reluctantly gives in. "If you had to be in a House," he asks, "which one do you think you'd be in?"

I wish the blasted metal file would warm up around now. It doesn't. I still look at it anyway. To my keen disappointment, there's no helpful advice scrolling for me. Bloody thing never works when I need it to.

"I honestly don't know."

Severus smirks. "I think I know."

"What?" I ask with trepidation.

"Hufflepuff."

Funny, I didn't know he has a sense of humor.


November 23, 1971 (Severus is 11)

Severus: It is miserable here. The only good thing is that I'm safely ensconced in Slytherin. Father ought to be pleased with that, I was selected as a member of the same House as him. And of course, I'm not in the House that my mother was in. Thank Merlin. If I had been, I shudder to think what he would have done.

At least the portrait is safe for now. I sit with my legs bent before me and stare above the headboard where I've placed my mother under the privacy of my bed hangings. She is smiling at me and she looks happier than I've seen her for a while. I try to smile and fail. I hate this place, this school, where I'm ridiculed for my used clothing and my wretched looks. It's even worse than the situation at home. Father mostly leaves me alone, but not the students here—not the Gryffindors.

My mother loses her smile, and drifts closer to the edge of the painting. She would say something comforting if she could, but her voice is still lost to her and I have not found a way to replace it. I suspect the necessary spell is located in the Restricted Section of the library. If I bide my time and get on a Professor's good side, maybe I'll get the slip that will allow me to enter with legal grounds. If not… I will find another way.

I am Slytherin, am I not?


October 17, 1971 (Severus is 11)

Severus: Someone bumps into me and I lose hold of one of the scrolls that Drogo gave to me for my birthday. I cringe as I watch it fall and hear the old wood crack. When I look up to see who has caused the incident, I see a familiar shade of red hair. It's that girl from Gryffindor. I don't even need the confirmation of her school robes.

"You clumsy mudblood," I sneer and bend down to pick up my scroll, jerking my hand back when hers almost touches mine. "Watch where you're going."

Her face turns red and her eyes are far too green. I can feel the anger in her, but she knows she's in the wrong and hands me the scroll she knocked over. "Sorry," she says and turns around to leave, but a dark-headed boy grabs her arm.

"Why should you apologize to him when he called you that?"

She shrugs and tries to pull her arm from him. I know who this boy is. James Potter. I've met him before, when my mother was still alive. She was his father's cousin. They were close because both were their parents' only child. But I have no wish to be friends with anyone associated with my mother. Father would not approve. I pull my scroll closer to my chest and start walking away.

"Snape," Potter calls, "you shouldn't say things like that."

I ignore him and keep going. One more turn and I'll be in Slytherin territory and he won't dare to follow. No one but one of us ever drifts down here to the dungeons. It is our sanctuary.

"Snape," he says, his feet making a horrendous noise against the stone, "apologize to her."

I don't have to turn around to know that he's dragged her to the border of the divide. "She was the one at fault," I spit out. "She should watch where she's going."

"You don't just call someone names like that!"

"Forget it," she says. "He's not going to apologize."

I tense my back. She's right. I'm not.

"You're just like him, aren't you?" Potter retorts vapidly. "You don't have a smidgen on decency in you. I have no idea why Aunt Cecily chose to marry such a dreary, horrible wizard."

"Potter!" the mudblood snaps. "Don't say things like that!"

I whirl around and feel my features twisting into one of my father's vicious glares. "My mother was the one that wasn't decent, dying on us like she did. You have no idea what you speak of, Potter, so I suggest you keep your moronic mouth shut."

Potter's lips twist into a smile that oddly reminds me of my father. "You are blind then, Snape. Your mother was an angel, and you—you are a devil just like that bastard. He killed her you know. He suffocated her soul until she died. It was his fault."

I clench my fists and stalk over to him. It would be more impressive if the edges of my robes weren't tattered, bare-threaded. "My mother was weak," I hiss, thrusting my face up into his. I lack the inches to be intimidating. He towers over me, though he is no bigger, only taller. "It was her fault to die from such a weakness."

Potter throws back his head and laughs. "Your father lies to you, Snape."

I hit his chest and he just keeps laughing. The mudblood girl tries to drag him away, whispering to him that he's saying awful things. Untrue things, too. I don't see why she's still here. She should have left. This is only between Potter and me. It does not concern her.

"I think it's your father that is spreading falsehoods," I sneer. "The propensity of a Potter is to never see what is so explicably clear to the rest. You like to pretend you know everything, but what you know is only what you wish to believe."

"Potter," the mudblood calls, "we have class in five minutes."

Potter has an unattractive glare on his face. He leans his head down until we're almost touching. "This isn't over, Snape." He turns around, and a charming smile replace the ugliness. "You are all right, aren't you, Evans?"

"I'm fine," she mutters and starts walking away. "But you know, you're really no better than he is."

I see Potter's shoulders slump and I file that information away.


June 11, 1999 (Harry is 18)

Harry: "Why can't I be there for him?"

My Unspeakable walks around the triangle, pacing like he tends to whenever I'm saying something he doesn't agree with. "Do I need to answer that?" he asks instead.

I scowl and it probably looks like one of Severus'. "Yes."

"You cannot be there for him at Hogwarts. It would change things too much."

"But am I not suppose to be a guide? To help him through life?" I inquire. "Isn't that my purpose?"

He stops walking. "You must realize, Mr. Potter, that most Unspeakables are never known to the people they are helping. Your case is an exception."

I grit my teeth. "Then what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait until Hogwarts is over?"

"You will see him during the breaks when he goes home," he says. "And you may always see him at Hogwarts, watch him as I watched you grow up."

I blink. "You watched me grow up?"

He inclines his head. "Indeed, I did. How else would I know you as well as I do?"

"And I can watch him?"

"Yes," he answers. "There are times when you must watch him without his knowledge."

"When?"

"You know," he says, "you are much too impatient."

I persist with my question: "When?"

"But you are young, and you will learn that haste is not always the best. Going too fast when you should slow down is a downfall of many. You must learn it soon, and I know it will be difficult."

"I…"

"Listen to me," my Unspeakable snaps. "You must not do anything foolish when you are merely observing what needs to happen. You cannot stop what must be. There is a certain progression of darkness and bitterness that he must experience to become the man he is destined to be. You have no right to tamper with that."

"I know," I mumble. "You have told me this already."

"But you have been altering the future, Harry," he says. "Don't you know? Haven't you thought? You are interacting with him, something very few Unspeakables do. Do you not consider the effect this is having on the present? And the future?"

I swallow hard. "You could ask yourself the same question."

He throws his head back and laughs—I catch a glimpse of his shadowed face. It's familiar, yes, but too shrouded in darkness that I cannot make out any distinction as to who he might be. But something in my bones tells me that I know who is behind the cloak and hood. This is someone from my past, present, and future.

"Sometimes I forget how together you can be," he remarks, "and how a simple choice can change the course of the future."

"What has changed? From what choice?"

"You have."

I blink. "What? How?"

He starts to pace again, around the tempus temporis. "By a decision I made."

"Was it a good change?"

"I have no idea." He stops in the center. "But I know that changes are rarely good."

"Then…why?"

"Why did I do it?"

I nod.

"Because I was told to."


December 19, 1971 (Harry is 20, and Severus is 11)

Harry: "You weren't there for me when I needed you!" Severus shouts. It's odd to have him yelling at me. I can hear the anger in his voice, but it was done by tone, not volume. I guess this is living proof that Severus really has mellowed a bit with age. He is not quite as tempestuous as he was. "I needed you," he says with a strange note of desperation. "You should have found a way to come. You're a ghost, and there are ghosts at Hogwarts—you could have found a way."

I wish I could reassure him with my arms, but if comforts comes—it must arrive intangibly. But I know that my words won't suffice, not when it's been months and he is as bitter as he is. He wants someone to blame, and like the Severus I know… he shoves it all onto my shoulders. I let him stalk around me, burn some of his anger away. I know some time has passed before he sits down next to a tree and crosses his arms over his chest. When he does so, I glide over to him and hunch my body next to him. I don't dare touch him though. What good can cold hands do?

"Would you like to tell me what's wrong now?"

He turns his face away. It would be easier if I could feel the tension running through my body that my mind feels. It would a physical outlet for a mental problem. All I can do is sit and wait until he talks. I stare down at my hand and will the file to heat up, but it has been telling me less and less as the years have gone by. It's like I don't really need it anymore. But I do. I do. I'm only 20—well maybe 21, if you factor in the time traveling—I don't know what to do. I'm still too young.

"Severus," I say, "I know something is bothering you, and it will make you feel better if you tell me what it is."

"Why?" he sneers. "So you can realize how awful my life has been and laugh at me?"

"Have I ever laughed at you?"

He swiftly jerks his head toward me, his black eyes an abyss to lose yourself in. "They have."

"Then they aren't worth your time."

A tentative smile comes onto his face. "After all," he says bitterly, "they're only Gryffindors."

The hollow cavity of this form lacks the tightening that my real body would feel right about now. I want to ask him questions about why, but my hand burns and I look down briefly to see a warning telling me otherwise. My curiosity must be delayed. Not that I don't have an idea, but did his hatred really start this early?

"So what House did you get into?" I inquire. "Was it the one you wanted?"

"Slytherin," he answers, not sounding as proud as I thought he would be. "It's the one I should be in."

"Should be?"

"It's a Pureblood dominated house," he explains like I'm an ignorant being. "And the Sorting Hat said I wanted to prove myself, and that I would find that there. That the only house that was right for me was Slytherin."

"You also have a thirst for knowledge," I remark. "You could have been in Ravenclaw."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Perhaps, but I'm Slytherin."

"Congratulations then."

He hesitates. "Thank you."

TBC

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, it really does help. Thanks to opening up the hits, at least now I'll know who's not reviewing sighs. Ah well, I can't get anyone to review. A bit depressing to know actually how many people don't care to review. So really hugs all those that do review. You're really special and encouraging.

Thanks to Amaris Kincaid, toolazytosignin, darkess-knight (Well, Harry was already softening up to the idea of Snape as a person, friend before he was hit with this knowledge), Lell, Lady Lightning, Silverthreads (it's also very difficult on the author), nljfs.