Now, I know that some of you have already read the sixth Harry Potter book. Well, guess what? I haven't. Since some of my friends told me that it would ruin my fanfic, I've decided to finish this before I read it. I can't even read fanfics anymore because those have spoilers too! I will request no spoilers on who dies or what happens to Hermione, Severus, Albus, or Minerva (and any other characters I happen to add later) in any reviews. If what happened in the sixth book is so outrageous that I can't read it and still continue this, I wonder if anyone will still read this now…but it is fanfiction, so I can make up my own plot, can't I?

I do not make any claim to the characters, the time turner, or any magical or non-magical thing that I did not create. I suppose that would leave only the park, his house, and maybe the street down the block…oh, and I do not own Napa Valley or Jane Eyre, neither.

I find that I only have time to update every once in a while instead of the once every week that I wanted to, so please, have patience. I happened to write part of this in a notebook at Music Camp and finished typing it up here.

No one's told me anything about not being able to answer reviews or not, but just to stay safe, thank you for reading my story, and I hope you like this next chapter.

Severus sighed as his eyes roamed from the pages before him once more. As much as he'd looked forward to taking one of his books and reading it in his own library, it wasn't enjoyable as he thought. Rather, a sort of loneliness was creeping in, but from where, he didn't know. At Hogwarts, wasn't he always by himself in the dungeons? Perhaps the lack of presence in the rest of the house was beginning to affect him, for, after all, there was always someone else in the castle, even if they weren't with him. Placing the book face down on the table beside him, he pushed himself off the comfortable armchair he had been sprawled on and stepped toward the large windows, gazing into the distance.

Past his gardens, he could see the road that led to the front gate. Across the street, he knew there was a park, and he only had to turn the block to get to its entrance. Deciding to take the opportunity to go outdoors for a bit before the clouds completely blocked the sun (the day was starting to get cloudy), he picked up the book, marked the page with his finger, and marching downstairs, he left the estate for the presence of the muggles.

Inside the black gates, the forlorn feeling immediately left him. Frolicking children, strolling couples, and chattering families were around him, minding their own business, their voices blending with the twittering of the birds and the gentle lapping of the pond's water against the shore. Trees yawned overhead into an ongoing arch, the leaves creating dapples on the shaded path. Spotting an unoccupied bench under a large sycamore tree, Severus made for the seat, settling in comfortably. Taking in the view of the green lawns before him for a moment, he opened the book he had brought with him and lost himself in the text once more, barely aware of the buzzing voices around him.

He had just flipped the page when he felt someone stumble slightly against his leg, which he had crossed over the other in habit. Looking up quickly, he saw a young woman in front of him. He was about to glare at her, but before he could do anything, she began speaking, stuttering an apology.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see your foot—I didn't hurt you did I? I was reading, you see, and…"

Something in her voice stopped him. Why did it sound so…familiar? Her brown, fluffy hair, bright hazel eyes, the way she talked…it reminded him of someone. But who? Pushing those thoughts out of the way, he realized she was still babbling.

"…I'm really, really, sorry, really, I—"

"I'm fine." With those words, he returned to his book. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her confused look and then her back as she turned and hurried on her way. And he'd wanted to make a new life in this world. Nice start, Severus, he told himself bitterly. No one expects you to be cold to them, so why not loosed up a bit? Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, he turned his attention to the book on his lap, looking up every now and then as the incident stayed on his mind.

The air was beginning to cool as time stretched on in the park. Many were leaving, and the damp smell of rain tickled his nose as Severus shifted in the hard wooden bench once again. He looked up from the book in his lap, unable to concentrate. Thoughts of the familiar woman that he had bumped into, or, rather, that had bumped into him, lingered in his mind. After trying to squash down the image of her numerous times, they still popped up, working his brain as he tried to remember who she was.

I know I know who she is, he thought. That voice…I could have sworn I've heard it before, and more times than I would have wanted to too, at that! His brow furrowed in concentration.

After staring at the same page for a long while, not taking in any of the words on the page, he gave up on the task he had assigned himself. Since when had the task of reading become so difficult? It wasn't as if there was anyone bugging him but himself. Placing the now closed book beside him, he stretched, raising his arms above his head as he arched his back. With a sigh, half-composed of relief and half made up of restlessness, he decided to leave. Picking up the tome beside him, he, out of habit, dusted himself off before leaving, the puzzling thoughts still swirling in his mind.

His feet, he noticed later, had led him out of the park, but instead of heading in the direction of home, he found them carrying him down the street to one he vaguely remembered as lined with boutiques and small shops. As he crossed the street, cautiously looking both ways before hurrying down, curiosity took over, and he slowed to peer into the windows as he passed by.

One was a florist, every shelf filled with arranged poppies, daisies, and other flora in pots and vases, both in and out of season. A turning card rack by the bouquets of roses and late summer colors stood before the counter, which housed dried flowers behind in the display window. It was closed; no one was inside. Next door, young children swarmed in a confection shop, pointing at the various chocolates, gummies, and sugars in their respective jars and boxes as their parents hurried to keep up with them, the cashier person smiling all the while at the eager youngsters. Severus watched for a while, comparing a certain little boy to one of his more mischievous Slytherins, two whispering girls to the gossiping Hufflepuffs he always came across in the halls. The cowed first years he had lectured, the bubbly, eager third years as they made their way to Hogsmeade…the memories bought back waves of pain, and he stayed rooted to the spot, just gazing in the window. While it served to turn his mind to something else, a small part of him nagged that this was not what he had wanted to find here. He was moved out of his reverie by the chilly autumn wind sweeping the street, and pulling his thick coat over himself, he continued down the sidewalk, passing the occasional pedestrian.

From between the wisps and locks of raven hair that tickled his hair and blocked pieces of his vision, he saw that the next building was a real estate office, and the one next to that was a boutique, filled with antiques and small relics. Leaving the outlandish items with hardly a second glance, he continued on. The next store caught his attention, though. It was a modern culinary shop, filled wall to wall, floor to ceiling with pots and pans, silverware and glasses, plates and serving dishes, appliances and cookbooks. Pushing open the metal and glass doors, he entered the building, glanicng at the counter as he passed it on the way to the books against the left back wall. If he couldn't apply his skills to potions, why not use them for cooking?

The first one he picked up was a book on chocolate and desserts. Not many knew, but he had a sweet tooth for dark chocolate, and every once in a while, when he happened to pass Lupin in the halls, he would receive a chunk and would pop it in his mouth. As he flipped through pictures of crème brulees, chocolate mousses, and trifles, he scanned the recipes, noting what he needed. Maybe the candies Albus and Minerva had given him would come in useful after all.

Placing the book back at its place on the top of the stack, he flipped through several wine guides and books on grilled meats and salads before settling on the book on chocolate and one on wine and its accompaniments. What could he say? He was in Napa Valley.

After buying small sets of dinnerware and clever tools that would later on become useful in the kitchen, he left, carrying two large paper bags. He felt glad that he had exchanged all of his wizarding money for muggle money before leaving, things could get complicated if he hadn't. He reminded himself that he still needed to buy food, or else there was no need for the new dishes, and that there was still the garden to take care of. On those thoughts, he realized that the mug from that morning was still in the sink. He was going to have a hard time washing off the stains, he mused.

He noted that it was beginning to drizzle. The sky had no more patches of blue, and was covered completely by only a soft blanket of pastel-like grays. He didn't care much, for even without a hood, it seemed nicer out here than it would be in the lonely estate. Besides, there was still much to explore. Those thoughts were chased away, however, when the rain began pouring harder, and he stepped under a nearby overhang to survey the rest of his surroundings. He spotted a café across the street, nearly empty, but cozy enough. Deciding to take shelter there, and to take a sip of something warm while reading the book he hadn't been able to finish earlier, he glanced at both sides of him before dashing across the street, head down, bags bumping beside him with ceramic clangs. Clumsily, he made his way in, now dripping puddles on the floors.

"Sir?"

He looked up, startled. Seeing a waitress peering hesitantly from behind the threshold of what he supposed was the kitchen, he relaxed. He was about to answer when she hastily clattered over in thin high-heels, seating him and mumbling something about finding a towel. He placed his things gingerly on the tiled floor, and after hanging his coat on the chair back, he bent over to reach for one of the books he had.

He noticed that the ends of his hair were dripping, plump droplets rolling slowly from the damp strands. Straightening up, he was about to reach for a napkin when the waitress returned, a fluffy towel that looked as if it had been used to dry dishes in her hand. It looked clean enough though, and since it would be much more effective than paper napkins, he took it gratefully.

Moments later, comfortably settled with a pastry and a Styrofoam cup on the table before him, he leaned back, book opened in front of him as his mind drifted away.

Severus balanced his days between working in the garden (when it wasn't raining or too damp), reading in the library, cleaning and taking walks by the shops as he slowly acclaimed new furniture. The thought of driving a car had never appealed to him, and after having his items delivered by the deliverymen and having them placed at the right spot under the combined effort of two men, he would lounge around, doing nothing. However, he did have a daily habit of going to the park for the comfort of civilization, and he made a mental note to do that later. Today, after a long morning of sleeping in and shifting around the library, he decided to look through the chest in the small corner room, one he hadn't touched for years.

The top creaked open, heavy on the rusting hinges. As he let the slab of wood fall against the wall, he leaned back on his heels, staring at a small glinting piece laying gently on top of the velvet that covered his belongings.

It was the time turner, the glass crushed, but all of the pieces there. The magical sands had been emptied out, and all that was left was the battered metal and glass shell. Picking it up between his fore finger and his thumb, he let it rest in his palm, letting the light play on the embossed letters on the side. Hermione J. Granger. He had forgotten he had picked it up before the fighting had started. Someone must have emptied it out of his robe and thought it was his, without a second glance at the faint name. Placing it down on the coverlet, he picked up the velvet, time turner still nestled in the folds, and placed it on a nearby stool, turning back to the things inside.

On one side, books were stacked, notebooks, storybooks, two old journals, a sketching diary. He flipped through them, remembering the beginnings of stories he had written and never finished, the pictures he had traced out of wonder as he listened to the familiar stories, the thoughts and memories he had painstakingly recorded everyday, the pencil lines that made up objects in the halfway filled sketchbook. Moving those to a pile on the floor, he let his hand linger on the slightly dusty covers before reaching in again.

One of the treasures was a small jar, filled with paper stars his cousins had made for him as a birthday present, tied around the neck with three of their stained hair ribbons. Even if the gift had seemed feminine, he had always admired the perfect little folds of paper. Next was a hair ribbon he had used on special occasions, with a cloak clasp with the Snape crest embossed on the silver metal dangling from it. Gently lifting the hair ribbon, he let the pendant slide off, trying to tie his still rather short hair up with it. As the silken folds kept sliding out of place, he gave up. I don't even know why I ever wore a hair ribbon…I must have been really old-fashioned. I should really consider cutting my hair sometime… He placed the small cut of cloth nearby, close to the pile of items beside him. Beneath the objects he had just taken out were stacks of pictures, frozen without the magic of the wizarding world inside them anymore. He vividly remembered the large family gatherings, the many summer parties, the uncountable Christmas balls, his lessons with the strict tutor, the nights away from parents and home, the first forlorn day at Hogwarts…placing the pictures back inside the chest, he stood up, closing the cover with a snap as he blinked back tears. Leaving the books and the time turner where they lay, he stood still for a moment before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. He had hoped to lock the memories in there as well, but they continued following him down the hall, bringing unbidden tears to spring in his eyes, blurring his vision.

Deciding to leave for some fresh air, and hoping to clear his head, he grabbed the book lying on the table where he had left it in the entrance room. He was about to reach for his coat when he peered outside, and realizing that it was quite warm, he left it hanging on its hook, pocketing the keys before descending the front steps. Now was as good a time as any to take the walk to the bench under the shade, so he turned the block and approached the front gates.

The leaves had turned scarlet, ochre, and golden, falling to carpet the park grasses with bright colors. He had seen the same woman there everyday, hurrying back from somewhere and taking a shortcut through the park in front of the bench he always occupied. He would steal glances at her behind his book, but he could never figure out why she seemed so familiar. She, of course, just passed by at her hasty pace, not showing any signs of having seen her before. As he sat at the bench again, he didn't realize she was staring at him rather curiously until he flipped the page.

He looked up in annoyance. "Excuse me. May I help you with something?"

A flustered look appeared on her face as she realized he had noticed her staring. "I'm sorry, I just noticed the book you were reading and couldn't help wondering if you were enjoying it too…I just finished it two days ago." She offered a small smile.

"Oh." He flipped over to the cover of the book, looking at the words Jane Eyre printed on the front. "I'm just rereading it. I've read the book a few times before."

"It's one of my favorite books. Doesn't it seem to relate to the author's life a lot?"

So she reads the prefaces too. Hmm. Not too ignorant to the details. He nodded. "Her life was a great inspiration for the book…Charlotte Bronte, I mean. A pity her life wasn't longer."

The woman agreed, then blinked. "Oh! I'm sorry, you don't know who I am, do you? My name's Jane, like hers." She pointed to the book and gave a wry smile at the coincidence.

"My name's…Severus." He offered his hand, hoping that she wouldn't notice the strange name, but she remarked upon it anyway.

"Severus….I've never heard the name before. I like it though, it's very unique. Unlike mine."

"Just because it's common it doesn't make it bad."

"I happen to wish…" She trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

He wasn't concentrating on that, though. Unlike her, who had never heard his name, he had seen her name time and time again. He nearly dismissed it as seeing it too many times in the book he had been reading before bringing it back. He studied her face for a moment, the embarrassed look on her features reminding him of someone…

With a sudden jolt, he realized who she was. He'd seen the name in his grade book, right in the middle, never a red mark in the boxes by her name, written on every assignment in neat, trim letters... They found her…she was hit with a memory curse…hospitalized in St. Mungo's…released into the muggle world…Out of the jumbled thoughts in his head, he pulled out a name.

Hermione Granger!

I'm sorry I haven't been able to update a lot (make that at all) but marching band and honors classes have kept me busy. I'm hoping to finish my edit of my other chapters and to finish writing another chapter I'm adding in between, but I'll have to see. Hopefully, I'll get somewhere. Thank you for reading this, and please review!