A/N- Sorry this took so long. Hope you like it though.

Disclaimer-As always, not mine.

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Chapter 19- Meeting a Figment

She felt dizzy. Where… What happened? She took a deep breath, lifted her head off the desk, and noticed that the book was missing. Missing? She looked around her frantically, a strange panic overwhelming her dizziness. What happened to the book? She stood up from the chair… Wait… Hadn't she been sitting on the bed? She quickly dismissed the confusion from her head, knowing there had to be a perfectly reasonable excuse for her mistake, and started to tear the blankets from the bed.

"Oh, blast it!" It wasn't there. She looked back to the bookcase and worried her lip. It was even, not the odd slant it had been when she removed the book from underneath it. Had she been dreaming? Well, there was only one way to find out. She slowly stalked up to the door, took another deep breath, and reached for the handle.

It turned. She was no longer locked in. Or, it was all her imagination, and it had never been locked to begin with. She sighed at the thought and left. As her mind was playing tricks on her, why not go fetch a glass of water? She turned back to the door and made sure it was secure before she whirled back around… Umm…

Uh-oh. Her eyes went wide as she whirled back to where she came from, only to find the door had vanished. No… NO! This wasn't happening, she must be dreaming, she had to be… Right? She pinched herself, and felt pain flow up her arm. Or maybe not… She twirled about to see if she could see anything, in any direction. There was no such luck. There was nothing. Literally nothing. Just… Gray. Gray everywhere; gray concrete floor, gray sky, and no sign of any walls or extremities of any sort, anywhere. At all. Shit.

She suddenly found it hard to breathe, her heart raced and suddenly felt claustrophobic, in spite of the fact that she was not enclosed in any sort of space that she could tell. She needed out of there. Now. She suddenly burst into a dead run in whatever direction she was facing. She ran at that pace until her legs burned so much she could have sworn that she could no longer feel them. In a bold attempt to make them normal, she slowed down only, to lose her footing in the effort. Gracelessly she fell forward and braced herself for the hard impact of the pavement, squeezing her eyes shut as she whimpered. It never came. She just… fell.

Hesitantly she opened her eyes, and quickly closed them. If her vision had served her right, she was currently falling off of a very high building. One that looked similar to Hogwarts, but more like it was situated on top of a huge mountain. She opened her eyes again, and confirmed that what she had seen was true, and the queasiness in her stomach was in fact due to falling rapidly in the air, as she could see the tall cliff wall whizzing past. When had she flipped over so that she was falling not face forward, but backwards?

She felt the desire to cry out, scream, flail or… do something other than just fall, but what could she really do? Cast a charm? "Accio Wand!" Nothing. She curled into a ball mid-air to search herself. Her wand… It was gone? So much for that thought. Suddenly the sound of falling started to turn into a roar and she closed her eyes. Please let this be a dream… She held her breath and waited for the impact that didn't come. Instead, the sickening sensation in her stomach ebbed away, and she forced herself to open her eyes. Green… Green? Before she could question the sight any further, she fell heavily on something soft. She flailed at the impact and she fell off of whatever it was she had landed on. She pushed herself up from a very plush dark green floor to look at what she had landed on. It was a very fluffy green sofa lounger. Where was she?

She shifted into a full sitting position and looked around. Well, the place was definitely Slytherin in style. The ceiling, walls and floor were all in shades of green, and the trim was all in silver, embossed with snakes. What wasn't green or silver was black. The sight was sickening, really. She moved so that she could stand and tried to find a door, knocking at miscellaneous places on the walls. After about five minutes of fruitless efforts to escape, she flopped down on the sofa in the middle of the room. She sat; quietly thinking to herself, wondering what in the world was going on. This couldn't be a dream; it was all far too real. She stared at the wall in front of her, willing something, anything to make some sort of sense in this strange place. If this was Snape's diary, he was completely warped. Warped beyond all comprehension.

Well, she always wondered what went on in the man's head, so this was her own fault really. The longer she sat there, the more she was convinced that she was, indeed, inside the strange book she found. She had to be. She rubbed her eyes and then continued to look at the wall. Wait… There was a shadow there, it was barely noticeable, but it was there. She stood, and placed her hands at the edge of the shadow, doing her best to figure out what it was. A slight indentation, and… It was a door! She started prying at the thing, sending bits of paint to the floor. Suddenly a sound awfully familiar to the clearing of a throat sounded behind her, but she ignored it. A moment later, she heard it again, and she turned around, her jaw dropping at the sight in front of her. It was him, but he looked her age and his nose was straight. Still unorthodoxly large though.

"Amused as I am watching you," he leaned against the dark green lounger and crossed his arms, "I feel that I must inquire what, precisely, are you attempting to accomplish?"

Surprising herself she blurted out, "Holy cricket! It's you!" She winced at her own words. How very mature.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You know me? How?" He removed himself from the lounger and approached her. She backed away, but he followed, bringing his arms up and effectively pinning her to the almost-door behind her.

She stared at him a moment. There was absolutely no mistaking who the man was in front of her. His hair was still quasi-long and greasy; his voice, even at this age, had that dark, deep timbre to it, and not to mention… Did he always wear buttoned-to-your-throat shirts? "I…"

"I said, how do you know me? When I ask a question, I want an answer. So explain, immediately," his voice lowered to a hiss as he leaned in towards her ear, "or else I will take measures that will not be so pleasant."

Harry had told her about Tom Riddle's diary once, and he stated quite clearly that he could not be seen, nor heard. This was no ordinary diary, or at least, not in the same league as the one Harry had found in their third year. She quickly licked her lips, highly uncomfortable with his close proximity. "Well sir, it is obvious to me, that in spite of the noticeable age difference, you are none other than Severus Snape." She took a deep breath, and was about to continue when he interrupted her.

"Think girl, I did not ask you who I was, I asked you how you knew. There is a difference in that statement."

Urgh, he was no different in his youth than he was now, irritating bastard. "I was simply… I was going to say…" Oh sure, now words fail her…

The younger Snape's eye twitched, and leaned up on his arms. "You're rather annoying. Do you ever articulate, Hermione?" How does he know her name? She hasn't mentioned it yet.

She felt her cheeks grow hot, and she didn't know if it was out of anger, embarrassment, or both. Angry, because he just called her annoying, especially when he was the one to force her into coming in the first place, or embarrassed because he had just used her given name. It sounded so… odd… coming from him. Very, very odd. She chose to ignore the odd feeling and speak instead. Surely that would clear her head. "Of coarse I can articulate, sir. It's just that I wasn't… I really don't know what I was expecting. This place is quite confusing, you know."

"I see." He narrowed his eyes and regarded her a moment. "Now that you defended yourself, would you mind terribly if you would answer my question?" While he was talking he had managed, somehow, to press himself even further into her.

To say the least, she was quite disconcerted, especially taking in the fact that their noses almost, yet not quite, touched. "Hermione?" His voice was breathless, almost in a whisper, and she felt herself begin to get uncomfortable, in a completely different way. She shivered as an errant thought came to mind. At this age, even with his harsh features, he was striking. Who knew? Wait… Snape. Oh! How could she ever even think such a thing? It was Snape! If he were to ever find out about this, he would kill her. He would fall over in shock, and then kill her in revenge, to hell with the mess it would leave behind. She quickly shoved him away and ducked under him, surprised that he let her move away so easily. She looked back at him, eyes wide as she tried to calm her nerves. He seemed like he was going to kiss he, how… thoroughly disturbing. She took a few deep breaths as he crossed his arms, eyes once again narrowed in regard. He almost looked amused, damn him. Egotistical bastard. Remembering her anger, she regained her nerves and crossed her own arms. "I know you because you taught me Potions for seven years, and am now currently your apprentice. You also despise me for being an 'annoying little know-it-all' as well as a few other reasons, and as for those, I am not willing to talk about it at the moment."

A smirk played on his lips. "So she can speak after all." He paused. "You're lying."

"About what?"

He crossed over to her and grabbed her by her wrist. Her eyes grew wide in realization that it was her left hand- the one she had cut on the frame. He brought his finger to the puffy scars where her skin had been shredded and slowly traced them. He did not lift his gaze from her wrist as he spoke. "How?"

"I cut myself, by accident. I was in the infirmary for nearly a week afterwards."

"Had a close brush with death, did you?" His voice was sour, and she jerked her hand away.

"Yes, not that you care. You have told me in no uncertain terms of this."

"I see." He looked away from her. "Do you know what I am, Hermione?"

She paused, and pursed her brows. "You are a diary, aren't you? Harry found Tom Riddle's diary once…" She trailed off as he turned to her, a curious look on his face.

"Harry?"

"Oh, you don't know?" His blank look confirmed the question. "Harry Potter, my best friend."

A sneer fell on Snape's lips. "I see. No doubt related to James Potter?"

She nodded. "He was his father, actually."

He looked away again. "I have heard of Riddle's diary. Literal memory captured inside a book. Created to steal the essence of life from another and eventually turn whole if something were to happen to the real Tom Riddle… Voldemort, whichever you want to call him." He slowly brought his eyes up to hers. "Rest assured, I am not a diary, nor am I really the man that you know. We have led separate lives since I was sixteen, and, if I am correct about your age, I have been alone in this book for longer than you have been alive. Your hatred for him need not extend to me."

"I don't hate you… Him… however."

He raised a brow. "Don't you?"

She regarded him for a moment, trying to figure it out herself exactly, before she responded. "There is a difference between irritation and hatred." When he did not respond, she changed the subject. "If you are not a diary, what are you then?"

"I am a figment, living in a charmed book. When you go back, you can look it up if you like." There was a defeated sound to his voice. "I think I will send you back now. I have much to think about." He looked back up to her. "I have not seen, spoken, nor written anyone in at least ten years. I…" He looked away again. "I just need time to adjust, this is all a bit disorienting to me. Will you keep me? Take me with you?"

"I will."

He looked her in the eye. "Promise me."

"I promise." She offered him a small smile, and found herself falling again, and the world around her swirling to the point she had to close her eyes for fear of being nauseous. Suddenly she fell into something soft and opened her eyes to find herself back in the room at the manor, in the large fluffy bed it all had started at. She looked down at the book in front of her and scrawled on it was 'Until our next meeting.' She involuntarily shuddered at that and closed the book. Even though he said he was not the same person, they both came from the same person. His personality and motives would still be the same as he was still Snape. She knew him well enough to know that he never did anything without some sort of reason. So, only one question formed in her mind. What was in it for him?