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Forward to Time Past

By Claudia

Seven

Severus took a deep breath, a very deep breath. Then he pulled out his old watch, and found that the loop had started yet another ninety minutes later again. The duration of the loop thus had been reduced by more than a third of its initial length. Severus was not sure what to make of that, whether to be very worried or merely curious to find out how it would end; the thought of the loop ending on its own was too tempting to deserve serious consideration.

He raised his head to see where his wishes had taken him this time, and he was surprised to find himself in Ward Eight again.

"I wished us here," Hermione said. She was sitting up in her bed, left leg heavily bandaged. Her bushy hair framed her face in all its frizzy glory, as though nothing had happened; which was, partly at least, true. Severus smiled in relief. An overwhelming desire to hug her suddenly took hold of him, and it was all he could do not to act on the impulse and enclose her in his arms.

"Hogwarts would have been just as well," he offered, sitting down on the chair by her bed. His gaze travelled the length of white bandage that was wrapped around her leg. Her toes were exposed, and again he felt an urge, a need, the desire, to kiss every single one of them. Quickly, he fixed his eyes on hers.

"Thanks for taking me to the Muggle hospital," she said.

He nodded. It was still beyond him why it meant so much to her, and he had never been good at accepting thanks. Thanks had always been so tainted by the feeling of duty and obligation, by the sense of having to pay Dumbledore back, as though he could just do something to genuinely please someone, to do them a favour that was meaningful on a personal basis only – a favour that didn't encompass the good of the wizarding world. But her gratefulness somehow made the horror of the last hours worthwhile, to a certain degree at least.

Eventually, he noticed her expectant gaze. "It is as we guessed," he replied, "it's bleeding in your head that … ends a loop. It goes undetected until it's too late. There's nothing anyone can do. I'm sorry."

Hermione swallowed and looked out of the window. The day was as glorious as ever, and suddenly Severus realised how trapped, caged in, she must feel. He wished there was something, anything, he could do to release her from this temporal prison.

"Kiss me," she said, waking him from his reverie.

"I beg your pardon?" He must have sounded positively appalled.

"True Love's First Kiss. That's what's going to release us. I am certain," Hermione offered by way of explanation. She met his gaze evenly, calmly.

Severus was still as dumbfounded as he had been when she first suggested the kiss. Sweet Merlin, he couldn't kiss her! He was her mentor, he couldn't do it. Never. That was a kind of betrayal he could never bring himself to commit. Theirs was a relationship founded on trust, and on education. Any kind of relationship that went beyond being friends went beyond all the boundaries he had set for himself. Never would he dream of abusing a pupil's trust like that. Clearly, it was pure despair talking.

"First you lose your memory, now you lose your mind," he sneered.

Tears shot almost instantaneously into her eyes, they made them swim without spilling over. She stiffened a little and sat up straighter. "No," she said, not defiantly, dejectedly rather. "I have lost my heart. And now I have lost hope." And still she had the strength to look him squarely in the face.

He couldn't.

He whirled around on his heel and left the ward, billowing robes and all.

Severus Snape ran away.

Shame made him hot, and he could feel it sting his cheeks, how the skin suddenly seemed to being pulled taut over his cheekbones. He wished he could go back and change this ugly scene, but he knew that waiting for the loop to start over wouldn't do, because this was something Hermione would remember until the end of her days. For how many there would be.

He ran his fist into the wall. It was solid brick, whitewashed. The white skin of his knuckles was bruised and broken, and so probably were some of the bones, but as the pain pulsed through him angrily with the delay of mild shock he found that his outburst hadn't accomplished anything. He cradled his battered hand in his good one, managing to do so without hissing. He wasn't sure if the crunching sound was just something he had imagined.

"Sir?"

The voice was familiar, but he couldn't connect it to a face or a name. And he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it, just like the sound of bones breaking.

"Sir?"

It was the tone. Apprehensive.

"Longbottom," he said as he turned around.

The podgy boy of yore had changed into a man, had outgrown his childish features and changed into a good-looking, if not handsome, man. He responded to his words with an apologetic shrug. "Are you all right?"

For an instant, Severus was tempted to treat the man like he would the boy, but something made him suddenly appreciate Longbottom's company. He used to be Hermione's friend. If Severus couldn't go back to Hermione, then maybe it would do his karma good to turn to her friends.

Severus took a deep breath. "No, I'm not," he said in a neutral tone.

"Then let me take you to the casualty ward. Your hand doesn't look to good," Longbottom offered.

"How are your parents?" Severus asked, once underway.

"Fine, thanks," Longbottom replied, surprised. "Mad as ever."

Severus stopped. "I mean it, Mr Longbottom. What happened to Frank and Alice is among the worst things I have seen in my life."

Longbottom stood unmoving, clearly unsure whether he could trust his ears. Eventually, he turned around. "Thanks."

"There's nothing to thank me for, Mr Longbottom," Severus replied calmly.

In the casualty ward, a trainee Healer took care of Severus' hand. A few bones were broken, indeed, and two and a half spoonfuls of Skele-Gro later, they found themselves standing outside the casualty ward.

"Better?" Longbottom asked for lack of anything else to say, and to break the uncomfortable silence.

Severus looked at him long and hard. Here again presented itself the opportunity to talk about this madness. He was just not sure if Longbottom was indeed the right person to talk to, but he knew Hermione quite well – or at least that was an impression Severus had – and since he would have to explain his dilemma anew no matter who he talked to …

"The hand is better," Severus said, although it felt still on fire with Skele-Gro at work.

"I know this sounds weird, but," he began, "would you care for a drink?" The man's sensitivity was astounding, particularly towards him.

"How long have you got?" Severus asked.

So it happened that Severus ended up telling a former pupil the story of his life in this vicious circle. A pupil who hadn't ostracised him, despite everything. They were sitting in the visitors' tearoom, nursing their drinks, and the more Severus told him, the better he felt, just for being able to share it. It didn't matter to him, in that moment, if Longbottom believed him. It only mattered that he trusted him.

"It's like the teacup in the Time Room," Neville eventually said.

"Pardon?"

"When we were in the Department of Mysteries, you know, the day Sirius Black died."

"What about the cup?" Sirius Black was definitely a topic Severus didn't want to get into.

"It will never stop shattering itself to pieces, just to repair itself and shatter again," Longbottom explained. "It's not very helpful, but that's what comes to mind."

"It isn't," Severus said, finishing his tea.

A silence ensued, not entirely comfortable, tense rather with something Severus hadn't mentioned yet. Trust Longbottom to sense it. "But there's more."

"Isn't there always?" Severus replied sadly. "It's never simple and easy."

"I guess it isn't," Longbottom mused, but he had the grace not to press him any further. "If it's any help, just trust yourself." He looked at his watch surreptitiously. "Well, I'm afraid I've got be going. It was nice to see you."

Severus, who had been glancing at the dregs in his cup, looked up to meet the young man's eyes. "My pleasure. Say hello to your parents."

Longbottom nodded, and was gone.

Just trust yourself.

What would a witch like Hermione want with a wizard like him? He realised it was a question only Hermione could answer, but it wasn't a question she could answer now. He had walked out on her, had disappointed her – broken her heart. It was unforgivable, the Fourth Unforgivable if you wanted, and if she ever had an answer she would not have one anymore now.

Just trust yourself.

He loved her. It was that easy.

But did he love her for who she was, or just because she did love him? It was that difficult.

Severus pushed back his chair rather violently, almost knocking it over. In order to have this question answered, he needed to do some research. True Love's First Kiss was powerful magic, but ancient, and it wasn't exactly the most conventional approach to any problem you might have. With the advent of more complicated, difficult magic, this most ancient form of magic had lost in regard, if not in power. It was an awe-inspiring, earthy kind of magic, essential to the world and yet many were oblivious to it. Maybe except those newly in love, and artists.

What he needed was a library. In some of the old grimoires, or maybe even in a collection of fairytales should be something he could use. An instant later, he was standing in the cool, lofty marble hall that opened on the King's Library in the new building of the British Library. He had never much liked the thought of the Wizarding Section moving together with the Muggle collection, but considering the need to travel if you needed to consult with a Muggle book, it was probably the best. Banners were advertising one of the temporary exhibitions, and presently, quite a few people were assembling in the entrance hall for a guided tour or some event or other.

Severus swept past them, hurried up the steps and when he was sure that nobody was looking, he entered the Wizarding Section. It still looked the same. When the library moved, it had moved as it was, dust-motes, comfy chairs, candle stubs and all. Even the smell was the same. "But the security is better. When we put up the wards, we could do without quite a few of the old ones, you know," one of the staff had explained to him at his first visit in the new home.

But that had been years ago. Severus stepped up to the librarian's desk.

The middle-aged witch behind the counter was friendly and looked at him through the dirty glasses of a lorgnette. "How can I help you?"

"I've been wondering if there are any publications on True Love's First Kiss," Severus said.

The witch's brow furrowed. "Tricky," she said. And then added with a smile, "but I'll see what I can do for you, sir. Please, have a seat." She gestured at a group of comfy chairs that had been arranged around a low table stacked with magazines. Severus looked at it sceptically. He had spent quite many an hour waiting already, and time was running out.

"How long do you think it will take you to find something?"

The witch looked up from behind the card index. "Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes and no," Severus replied truthfully. He did have time and yet he didn't. Who knew what would happen once the duration of the loops had shortened to mere seconds?

"True Love's First Kiss is probably the most powerful spell to release people from the clutches of the Dark Arts."

He looked at her hard. "I am aware of that."

The witch smiled at him. "Yes. So don't waste your time looking it up. If you don't mind me saying so."

The librarian was right. Little was known about time loops or temporal accidents. Without doubt he would find hardly anything – if anything at all – about its effect on Time. Oswald would have mentioned it in his book if he knew, and Thyme –

Thyme was the one to send him on this quest, to impress Hermione so much. If anyone knew, then it was him.

"Thank you, madam, but I won't need this," he said, returning the slip of paper to her.

She just smiled secretively and nodded at him.

Half an hour later, he was back in Thyme's shop. Again, the shop was as empty and quiet as it had been at his first visit. Severus waited patiently for Thyme to arrive, as he was sure there was some kind of spell that alerted the shop owner about a customer's arrival.

He didn't have to wait long. An instant later, a witch appeared. A rather small witch. She wasn't older than four or five years, and was wearing a big man's dinner jacket, a girlish pink dress with printed flowers and no shoes. Her ashen hair was combed into two pigtails that stuck out from her head. "I'm Pippi Longstockings."

Severus looked at her askance.

"From the book?" the girl supplied, looking up at him full of hope.

"Ah, from the book." Severus had no idea what she was talking about. "What's your name?"

The girl cast him a strange glance. "Pippa," she said, her patience waning. "What's yours?"

"Severus Snape."

Pippa kept staring at him, unmoving.

"So, Pippa," he began eventually, unnerved by the staring contest. He was never any good at them, least of all when a certain tabby cat was involved. "I'm looking for Mr Thyme."

"He's my dad," the girl said proudly.

"And where is your dad, Pippa?" If he'd been around in the previous loop, he surely must be here now, too. Just as Longbottom and Lockhart. He just didn't meet them.

Pippa shrugged. "Gone out?" she offered, wanting him to jog his memory for her.

Severus inhaled deeply. Small children were even more difficult to handle than first-years. "Did he say when he'd be back?"

The girl shook her head vigorously, making her thin pigtails fly and whip her head. She seemed to enjoy the movement, though.

"Do you mind if I wait for him?"

"No."

Silence.

"But don't steal anything," she added with index finger raised.

"Pippa!"

The male voice made both turn towards the door, through which Thyme was entering his shop. "I'm sorry if she bothered her, Professor," he said, then he sent Pippa into the backyard. "What can I do for you?"

"You recognise me?" Severus asked in surprise.

"Unless you're talking about Hogwarts," Thyme said, "I assume you've been here before."

Severus quickly explained his dilemma. "You are the one who first brought up the whole True Love's First Kiss concept. I was hoping you could enlighten me a little bit more in that regard."

"I would love to, Professor," Thyme replied thoughtfully, "but I'm rather busy at the moment. Can it wait an hour or so?"

Severus looked at his watch. He could spare an hour or so, but not more. He had to be back at the hospital, to be with Hermione. "I've got one question, though."

With a gesture, Thyme encouraged him to ask.

"Do you think that True Love's First Kiss will release us from the loop?"

"It's very powerful magic. I can only advise you to try," Thyme replied slowly. "Sorry."

Severus studied his fingers against the backdrop of the polished countertop. Then he raised his head. "You've helped us a lot."

Thyme nodded. Having nothing else to say, Severus turned around and left the watchmaker's. He knew all he needed to know now, so there was no point in wasting one more hour of waiting for another solution that might even not exist.

But now that he had solved this problem, verified that a kiss would most likely release them from the loop, he had another problem. After what had happened earlier this day, Severus doubted that Hermione would allow him to kiss her. And even if she did, it all depended on the nature of their feelings when they kissed. Indifference wouldn't take them anywhere, or anger even. This kiss must be filled with love. True love. The desire just to leave the loop wouldn't be good enough for whatever powers were at play here to grant them their wish.

Anyway, he hadn't read her Chapter Eleven yet.

Severus quickened his steps, but he still felt the need to walk back to St Mungo's rather than Apparate there.

"I have lost my heart. And now I have lost hope."

Those were Hermione's last words. He, too, had lost his heart, but in his shock that she returned his feelings, had fallen in love him, he had done the Unspeakable. It made him numb with self-loathing and hopelessness.

And suddenly he found himself standing in front of the door of Ward Eight. He drew in a deep breath and entered. The last time he had felt so bad about meeting someone was when he had returned to Dumbledore. In a way, Hermione was a little bit like Dumbledore, idealist that she was, with a similar, if weaker power of conviction, and feeling of justice. Know-it-all.

He knocked and entered. Hermione was alone, and she appeared to be asleep. Sebekhotep's Book lay open on her chest and moved gently with the regular rise and fall of her breath. He drew up the chair from the table in the corner and sat. He withdrew the book from between her fingers and examined the pages. Browsing a little, he found that she had read at least three pages into Chapter Eleven.

Warmth filled him with an unknown tingly feeling that left him strangely light-headed. She had kept up with their calendar, eve when he wasn't there. It was, of course, the wisest thing to do, and he wouldn't have expected any less from her. It was normal, self-evident. He had nothing to do with it. And yet this gesture touched him so. He kept staring at the pages.

"You're back."

"Of course I am," he replied, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. Now that they were open, he noticed the lack of lustre in them, as if something had died inside her. His hopes fell, nothing remained of the warmth that had just rushed through him.

"Why?"

He closed the book, and studied the cover for a long time. Why did he always need so much courage to tell people how he felt about them? "I'm sorry," he began, "utterly sorry for what I've said. I just wanted you to know that."

Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position. She grimaced at the movement, and was relieved to be able to sink back into the cushions that Severus had managed to arrange behind her back. "So?" she prompted him.

"So, here I am, Potions Master and Old Git."

Hermione managed a smile. "I'd always hoped you'd never heard that."

"You weren't the first to call me that," Severus admitted, "nor the last."

"What do you want?" she asked sharply. "A dying witch's pity?"

"No," he replied. "I've made a mistake."

Hermione made a face.

"Forgive me, Hermione."

The coldness in her eyes made him shrink away inwardly. He had never seen this expression in her eyes before, and again he wondered what kind of a man he was to inspire it in a witch like Hermione.

"I can't," she began, and then touched his arm, "unless you forgive yourself first." The ice in her eyes was gone. She knew exactly what she was asking of him, and it had made her anger redundant.

"I love you, Hermione." The words had left his heart before he even knew he could actually say them aloud.

Severus felt all his resolve melt away with every moment of silence that passed. He suddenly felt very old, and tired. All he wanted was simply cease to exist that very instant, just close his eyes and surrender to oblivion. So old, and so tired.

He woke in a comfortable armchair, a blanket thrown over him. Disorientated at first, he had no idea what had happened, or what time it was. He started. What time was it?

Severus was on his feet again and by Hermione's side without even looking at his watch. It couldn't be too late, it simply couldn't.

But her eyes were dying when he made her focus on him. She smiled at him, if to console him or from relief, he never knew. He just promised himself, as he grasped her hand, that this would be the last time he would have to see her die.