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Forward to Time Past

By Claudia

Four

Twelve hours.

That's how long it took for a loop to come full circle and repeat all over again. Again, Severus had been unable to do anything. When he had cried out for Hermione to be careful, all that had left his throat was a pathetic little something that sounded as if he were merely clearing his throat.

Again, the violent crash had Hermione fly across the car's bonnet and hit the ground with a sickly sound. She lay sprawled on her back like a rag doll. Her bag had landed with a heavy thud a few feet from her, little wonder that the Time-Turner was crushed between the books and whatever else Hermione carried around with her.

"Sir," she had whispered before passing out. Something else had flickered up in her eyes besides the sheer terror and pain of it all. But it had been gone too quickly for Severus to grasp and appreciate it.

Anger had risen inside him, and there had been a moment when he thought he'd have to choke from it. He had gathered her in his arms when he readied himself to Apparate.

Severus stared at his hands. He was sitting in the relatives' room again, and he had already helped himself to a cup of tea. What was worse, he wondered, having to stand by and do nothing and watch Hermione die time and again – or dying time and again. He hoped it was a relief from her pain, a cruel, perverse one, because she would have to live through it all again after—

After what? He stood and went to the window. It faced the courtyard, the entrance to the casualty ward was across the small expanse of tarmac, where he had Apparated with her in his arms. If the loop lasted twelve hours, then what happened to the other twelve hours that made up this day – or rather, days? He felt rested, come to think of it, once the rush of adrenaline had abated. And he was not hungry. Hunger came in the course of the loop, comparatively normally. Or did the loop start over again immediately after Hermione's demise? Was there no break for them at all? It would explain his lack of memory. His life would go on after Hermione's death, somehow, but there was no memory of telling Bones or catching help to resuscitate Hermione, or of his going home and having to tell Minerva. There were – thankfully – no memories of the dreams he would have in his sleep. No memory of staring into the fire and drinking to her memory.

That meant that every time they started over, it was without the events after her death.

Quite right, Severus mused, for what was left when your life ended?

Nothing, neither to her, nor to him, and there was no reason for the loop to allow for an "afterwards" for Severus. It was bad enough to watch her die.

He craned his neck to look at the patch of blue sky above the courtyard. It was clear blue, as it would be after a night of cleansing thunderstorms. The sun was powerful enough already to make the black ground steam as he sucked all wetness out of it.

He turned around. He was still alone in the room.

Why was he here? It was Hermione who had carried the Time-Turner. Why did it affect him too? They hadn't been touching at the moment of the accident, or weren't linked to each other by any other means. True, there was a delicate bond of friendship between them, but he wouldn't deem it powerful enough to warrant his presence. A perverse sense of humour that kept him mercifully oblivious of his life after her death, as if in exchange for his sitting by her side.

Again, it was Bones who talked to him about Hermione's condition, once he had explained his presence, and her parents' absence.

But what she told him afterwards truly took him by surprise.

"Ms Granger has fallen into a coma," Bones said.

Severus sat.

Until then, he hadn't included in his musing the possibility of things changing inside the loop.

Having taken a seat next to him, Bones continued. "She suffered a seizure during the examination. I'm afraid that the only thing we can do is wait."

"Isn't it ever," Severus muttered. Hermione's coma complicated matters as well as it simplified them.

"Your presence might help her, though," Bones continued.

He looked at her.

"She asked after you," she explained, "when she was still conscious."

"I shall have to leave her for an hour or two," Severus said, unwilling to argue about this. There was no leaving her, so much was clear, had been clear, in fact, since the previous loop. Since Chapter Seven.

Nicola Bones touched his arm in understanding. "Of course, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He shook his head.

Back in the ward, he repeated his little ritual of covering her naked shoulders with a warm towel. He put away her bag into the nightstand next to her bed, and with a swift flick of his wand hung her robes at a peg on the door. It had just settled there when Bones came in.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that it might help Ms Granger if you talked to her. A little. So she knows she's not alone?"

Severus sighed inwardly. He felt awkward enough as it was talking to her when she was awake, by her bedside, practically holding her hand. His bedside manners had never been very refined, quite possibly because he had spent too many an hour in a hospital. But talking to her when he couldn't be sure she was actually listening? He could have that in a classroom full of fourth years, thank you very much.

"Of course," he replied automatically.

Bones beamed at him, and disappeared.

"Well," Severus muttered, turning back to Hermione. "I shall put a theory of mine to test now, Ms Granger. I shall probably be gone for an hour."

His hand was already on the doorknob, when he added: "I will be back."

In the steamy courtyard, in the dazzling sun, he wondered where to go first. There were so many possibilities, and he hadn't given one of them priority over an other. He Disapparated.

And found himself, unsplinched, in his quarters. Nothing had changed here, everything was as it had been when he had left it. From the table by his bed he retrieved the copy of the book he had been reading yest— on the eve of Chapter Six. He would need more to read than St Mungo's had on offer, and rather different books too, if he was to entertain Hermione and himself. A chapter a day was a good idea, but it occupied hardly an hour of their time. So the slim volume disappeared into his favourite book-pocket. He added a quill and parchment, too, you never knew. Then he left his quarters for the Head Mistress' office.

The gargoyle at the foot of the revolving staircase leaped aside at the words "House Cup" – quite a password at the end of a school year – and hurried the moving steps upwards. Minerva was in, of course. Otherwise it would have made little sense to come here, but of course, Severus had known before. He knew Minerva's timetable.

"Severus," she greeted him, the 'r' in his name rolling over the tip of her tongue. "I didn't expect you back quite so soon. Did everything go all right? I was under the impression that you and Ms Granger would celebrate."

"There was an accident, Minerva."

"Oh dear!" she rose behind the desk. The usual platter of sherbet lemons had gone, and the spot Fawkes' perch had occupied was equally empty. Yet Dumbledore's presence was still felt in the rotund office, even now that his portrait was empty. Severus felt strangely let down. Not that he didn't trust Minerva, on the contrary, but Albus commanded a far more extensive knowledge of Time-Turners.

Severus explained concisely what had happened. It made little sense, because by tomorrow – or Chapter Nine, rather – he would have to explain himself again, but maybe he would discover something new, or Minerva's opinion helped.

"A time loop." She had come to sit opposite him in an armchair by the fireplace.

Severus nodded, and surrendered to the luxury of a proper armchair and the comfort of having unburdened himself of this mystery. He didn't reject responsibility, he merely sought out the advice of a wise woman. He had, however, omitted the ending of each loop.

"It affects Ms Granger and myself," he repeated, patiently, mulling it over.

"So if you returned tomorrow, you'd have to explain everything again," Minerva concluded.

"Which frankly I appreciate," Severus admitted. "I cannot understand why I am affected when it was Ms Granger who carried the Time-Turner."

"That's strange indeed."

Severus produced his watch from its pocket. Nearly an hour had gone by, and he took his promise to Hermione quite seriously. "Do you know of a book on Time-Turners in this collection?" He gestured at the books in the glass-fronted bookcases lining the walls from bottom to unfathomable, dusty, shady top.

"There is one on the shelf over there," a wizard from a portrait chimed in. He was pointing at a shelf to the left of the fireplace. "It's called Time. It's the best of its kind, on its topic."

"You're probably right, Oswald," Minerva agreed, pushing aside the thought that it was quite natural for him to say that; he had written the book, after all.

Severus turned around to look at Oswald the Occidental. The background of his painting was full of hour-glasses, sun-dials and grandfather clocks. He nodded at the canvas person to acknowledge his suggestion. "Would you mind if I borrowed it?"

"Not at all," Oswald said, "I have a feeling I'll get it back in no time."

"Oswald!" Minerva exclaimed, scandalised. She had opened the bookcase and summoned Time. It landed in Severus' arms. It was a heavy volume, beautifully bound in deer skin with red edges.

It was only then that Severus realised. "I Apparated directly to my quarters."

Minerva looked at him. Her eyes went wide behind their square spectacles.

"Might be due to the time loop," Oswald offered.

"Probably," Severus muttered.

"That must be it," Minerva agreed. The wards in and around Hogwarts were impenetrable, even now that the war was over.

Severus stood and readied himself to Apparate back to St Mungo's.

"Severus?"

He looked down into the concerned eyes of the witch in tartan robes.

"How often have you been here before?"

He smiled wanly. "It is the first time now."

"Will you bring Ms Granger here?"

Slowly, Severus nodded. "I think so, yes. Once, at least."

Minerva smiled. "Take care, Severus."

An instant later, he was back in the steamy courtyard of St Mungo's. He wasn't sure if he would take Hermione to Hogwarts at all. He had to talk about it with her first. Poppy and Minerva were as much Hermione's family as her parents, he dared say, and she hadn't wanted them to come and see her a second time. It was important that she agree to this; he certainly wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to go to Hogwarts at all. He would understand. The people at St Mungo's were strangers, and it was an entirely different story that they had to treat her again and again, because she was just a patient. But Poppy really cared for her.

He entered the ward, the heavy volume under his arm. Hermione lay there as still as she'd been when he had left her. For a moment, he wished she were merely asleep. She looked peaceful, and wherever her mind was, he hoped that she wasn't in pain.

"I am back, Ms Granger," he announced softly. He put the book on the table by the window, then he took off his frock coat, and hung it on the second peg on the door.

"My theory has proven to be sound," he continued.

Severus felt silly talking to her. He lapsed into silence and drew a chair up to her bedside. He could leave the hospital and go to Hogwarts. The loop even allowed him to Apparate directly to Hogwarts, something that was normally impossible. Yet at the same time he had experienced a feeling of urgency to return to Hermione, a feeling of uneasiness and the fear of loss. It had been very similar to the instincts he had developed during the war. Now that he was back in her ward, the feeling was gone.

Another fact was that the accident happened so quickly, that it was impossible for him to do something, anything, to save Hermione's life. Grabbing her around the middle and Disapparating with her took too long a time; there was no hope in that regard, since he couldn't even grab her by the sleeve and yank her back onto the pavement. A Portkey was likewise useless because he didn't have one on him, and again, there was too little time to create one. Yelling wasn't much use either, and he couldn't insist they take the tube as planned because the loop set in when Hermione stepped from the pavement into the street. The accident and her fatal injuries were inevitable.

Severus supported his head on his arms, propped up on his knees. What was he to do? It was maddening, this feeling of helplessness. And because of his inability to do anything, he felt responsible for her death.

He raised his head.

As if she were sleeping. They had cleaned her up and taken care of her visible injuries, and she looked peaceful for it. Too peaceful, because wherever she was seemed a better place than consciousness. Severus couldn't blame her. Nothing was sweeter than oblivion in a situation such as hers. The weightlessness you experienced, the feeling of leaving behind the shattered shell that your body had become to your soul was powerful, and tempting.

He glanced at his watch. It was early in the afternoon; as if on cue, his stomach began to rumble. He was hungry, but he didn't fancy anything special, so he might as well grab one of the tearoom's sandwiches that all tasted the same. Maybe a peach, too, or some other fruit.

"I'll be back in a minute," he heard himself saying. He smiled. Despite himself, the words had come naturally, as though he habitually spoke to comatose students.

The sandwich tasted bland, of nothing in particular, although he had picked tuna mayonnaise. Full of hope, he sank his teeth into the velvety skin of the peach, expecting the sweet yet slightly sharp juiciness to explode on his tongue, but the peach didn't titillate his palate either. He felt the velveteen skin on his tongue, and some of the juice was dribbling down his chin, and the texture of the flesh was as he remembered. It even smelled like a peach. The taste, however, wouldn't come.

This was something new.

In the previous loops, he hadn't paid the food much attention, had eaten to keep himself on his feet rather than for pleasure. Tod—this loop, however, he had fancied a peach, and the tuna sandwich, too, but they tasted of nothing. They had texture and moisture and scent, but the taste was wanting. Disgusted, disappointed, he dropped the peach onto the empty plate and stood to leave.

Back in the ward, he began to read Hermione Chapter Eight, which took him the better part of an hour. Then he dedicated his time to Oswald's book.

"I went to Hogwarts," he found himself saying as he settled down next to her bed with the book in his lap. He always sat by her side, even when using the table in the corner for support would have been so much more convenient and comfortable. "Minerva lent me a book called Time by Oswald the Occidental. You might have seen his portrait in her office."

He opened the old volume and examined the index. Strangely enough, the book exuded the smell so typical for old books. Just like the peach had smelled like a peach. He furrowed his brow.

"I'm here," he said in reassurance. To whom, he wasn't quite sure.

After a while, he said, "A time loop, Oswald writes, is a rare occurrence, and the reasons for it a manifold, but it almost always includes a broken Time-Turner. Now imagine that." He went on reading for a while, before he closed the book. "It's not much of a help, I'm afraid."

Severus stood and went to gaze out of the window. Just like yesterday, the weather had cleared up after the thunderstorm, and people were out in the grounds enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, walking or just sitting on benches.

An image imposed itself on his mental eye, the image of Hermione in the casualty room, naked to the underwear. He could see her rosy toes, and sometimes a bit of lace flashed up, and he could see her face when the Healers moved around her. Her narrow knee, and the freckle on it.

Severus shook his head and turned around to the Hermione lying in bed, motionless and silent. The unbidden images had left him disorientated for an instant, followed by an intense bout of shame. Hermione was injured, he couldn't think of her like this, see her like this.

He breathed in deeply. He knew, however, that this wasn't what he was thinking it was, a misdirected feeling of attraction. It was more the dread he had been carrying around inside him, the fear of actually seeing her like this. Hermione had not been seriously injured since the incident with the basilisk. The war and its end had left her physically unharmed, almost miraculously so. And now this.

Before he knew it, he found himself brushing a lock out of her forehead. He withdrew his hand quickly, as if the touch had stung or burnt him. As if she'd wake from his fingers in her hair.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and turned away to watch the people in the garden.

After a while, he turned around abruptly, as if, again, he needed to get away from a thought, or a feeling.

"I hope you don't mind if I read you a bit from one of my books," he said softly, and settled back into his chair. "We have to keep Ms Weasley's book to keep track of the time. And if you don't like it, I can always go back to my quarters tomorrow and get another one. Or if you—" He was positively talking to her.

He studied the black linen of the book for a moment or two. It was all right to read to her, he was even beginning to enjoy it, but it was still an entirely different story to talk to her when he couldn't be sure she was listening. He had never been one to enjoy listening to his own talk.

As if on cue, and as if the Fates had decided to play a trick on him, the door opened just when Severus was opening the book, and in ambled Gilderoy Lockhart. Or what was left of him.

"Lockhart!" Severus said, very close to snarling.

"Have me met before?" Lockhart said cheerfully, a little too cheerfully, and offered Severus his hand.

"We have," Severus murmured.

"I'm afraid I can't remember you," Lockhart replied, a little wistful. It had been years since the Golden Trio had exposed him for what he was, quite conveniently by being rescued by Mr Weasley's broken wand which had Lockhart's own Obliviate backfire badly.

"Oh, who is this?" Lockhart had discovered Hermione, and turned his full attention on Hermione. He stepped up next to her bed from the opposite side. When he caressed her cheek with his fingertips, Severus felt a surge of protectiveness and annoyance at his impertinence rise up inside him.

"That's no business of yours," Severus sneered. "If you could leave us alone now."

"She's Sleeping Beauty," the blond wizard with the impossibly coiffed hair whispered. It was impossible not to notice how awestruck he was. "Isn't she?" His forget-me-not blue eyes were positively beaming.

Severus was about to reply something, when he realised that Lockhart was right. She was beautiful, if in her own way. And he almost pitied the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for his childish delight at his discovery.

Just then, the door opened again, and in came a Healer Severus hadn't met.

"Ah, Gilderoy, there you are!" the Healer exclaimed in mock-annoyance. He was quite possible gladder to have found the escapee than not. He noticed Severus. "I'm sorry, sir. I hope he wasn't bothering you."

Severus' face remained impassive as he nodded. "That is all right."

Lockhart was still drooling over Hermione's prone and helpless body, smiling at her with an adoration that he once had reserved for his photographs.

"Gilderoy, come now," the Healer said, grabbing him by his lilac robes.

"This is Sleeping Beauty!" Lockhart announced to the Healer, beaming. Severus turned away. Lockhart had always been pathetic, but this was ludicrous.

"Yes, and you mustn't wake her. The Dwarves will be quite angry when they find out you disturbed her," the Healer explained as if to a two year old.

That worked. Lockhart giggled, and put his fore-finger to his lips. Then he went away on tiptoe. Pathetic, really.

"Now, where were we?" Severus mumbled as he sat down again, and picked up the book he had dropped next to Hermione's hand. He began to read.

At the end of the fourth chapter, Hermione's increasingly laboured breathing became irregular, and her hand was twitching. Severus grabbed it, knowing that she had only minutes left. "I'm here, Hermione. Don't worry, I'm here," he said, pulling the rope whose bell alerted Bones or whoever was in charge of the ward.

With his other hand, he smoothed her hair out of her forehead, and he continued to murmur soothing words until she was finally relieved of her pain and agony.