Chapter Twenty-One

He had tried to ignore it for as long as possible. As a child the resemblance was weak at best, but as the girl grew there was little denying it. Potions lessons became a thing of nightmare as he was plagued, no longer just by Potter's arrogance and Longbottom's determined attempts to blow the entire classroom to smithereens, but by Emma's large brown eyes staring back at him from Hermione Granger's face.

He had never had much time for the girl. She was irritating, overly eager to please and often irrationally emotional. The knowledge that in a few years she would take it upon herself to invade his past churned in his gut. Harry Potter's best friend, a girl he had gone out of his way to belittle and insult, was going to force her way into his unhappy life to witness his poverty, his embarrassment, his tears. Good God, no wonder she had recoiled from his touch!

What had possessed her to climb into bed with him anyway? What kind of power did she feel it gave her to press her attentions onto the adolescent version of a most hated teacher?

That summer evening in Spinner's End he had opened his very soul to her, had told her things he'd told no one else. Her ready acceptance of his confession had been like balm at the time. Now it stuck in his throat like ground glass.

"You don't have to tell me anything." She had whispered. "I know you." And she had known him, known what he was to become, known how futile and empty his adult life would be. She must know his future, too. Something had prompted her to come, to take him up like some worthy cause. Was he an object of pity to her? Or had this simply been the most elaborate prank in the history of Hogwarts?

What angered him most - what fuelled the shame and resentment roiling turbulently within him - was how long he had been looking forward to her return.

How had he been so blind for so very long? He was so used to seeing Potter and his friends parade around the castle that he had stopped actually seeing them; they were always just there, a pain to be borne. It hadn't been until that blasted ball that the truth had finally hit him in all its horrifying, overwhelming glory. The whole affair had seemed like a ridiculous extravagance, especially given that all signs were pointed towards the Dark Lord's imminent return. Yet the ministry had insisted and Dumbledore had given his blessing and so Snape was forced to attend.

He had been standing there, bored and restless, counting down the minutes until he would be allowed to slink away, watching with disinterest as the champions processed into the hall. Suddenly, there dangling from the arm of the Durmstrang seeker, was Emma.

Severus only caught the briefest glimpse of her before she was whirled away into the opening dance but it was enough. Her upturned, smiling face, so perfect in his memory, was unmistakable. His heart seemed to stall inside his chest, sight and sound fading away, until nothing was left but the sound of his blood rushing in his ear and that one, brief glimpse of her. The swift, stinging joy at seeing her was replaced by the fear that perhaps somehow he had slipped inside his own shields. Karkaroff and Moodys' unwelcome attentions had dogged him for months now; caught between his former brother and his former inquisitor he had been lightly Occluding for weeks. Had his growing unease somehow prompted fantasy to spill over into reality?

He had scanned the crowd ceaselessly, finally to be rewarded with a second glimpse, this time of carefully arranged curls and blue silk. A new fear began to grow, the fear that somehow Karkaroff knew about her, that she was connected with his ill reputed school. Pushing his panic aside he let go the breath that he had been holding since first seeing her, his mind racing as he tried to settle on a course of action.

It was this pause that had saved him. Suddenly aware that he was being watched he hurriedly schooled his features into their accustomed mask of bland indifference and returned his awareness to his surroundings, studiously ignoring Moody's hostile glare. As hearing returned his was able to discern the words among the whispers that filled the hall.

"Granger. Hermione Granger. Potter. Gryffindor."

She spun into view again, laughing brightly in the arms of her escort, and Severus' overwrought mind finally made the connection that caused his blood to run to ice. Hermione Granger. The woman he had been waiting for, the girl he had been dreaming of, was a student.

He felt his gorge rising in his throat and knew that he had to escape from the overheated press of the Hall. He made his way blindly to the doors, rudely pushing past colleagues and Ministry representatives alike in his panic, heedless to their protests. Once outside he gasped at the evening air, willing the churning in his stomach to subside.

A student. His past was being haunted by a student. He wrestled with his shields, struggling to hold back the rising tide of betrayal, shame and anger. But his shields were now fatally flawed and nothing could stem the flood of emotions that welled up like poison inside him. The first rosebush exploded before he was even aware that he had drawn his wand. Leaves and petals drifted to the ground leaving only the ugly twisting of the stems behind. In savage satisfaction he raised his wand again.

-x-

How often had he yearned for her during the long decade since their last meeting? Through these last few tumultuous years? He had thought she might appear the day that Lily Evans' son had arrived to be sorted; now he realised that she had. All those times when he had wished for the gentle comfort of her presence he had instead been forced to endure the actions of her childish counterpart as she threw herself into the very situations that caused his ire: stealing his supplies, attacking him in the Shrieking Shack, winning the house points that stole away the Slytherin Cup.

Times had begun to darken, a change mirrored by the Mark upon his arm. The understanding that Emma would always arrive when his life reached its lowest ebb had spurred him onwards, even if her arrival would foreshadow a greater darkness still. Using that knowledge to summon her to his side had seemed like the answer to all his lonely prayers. It had taken such little effort for a Potions Master to procure the tiny vial to bait her. Yet it had been Miss Granger, not Emma who had flown to his side; a Miss Granger who had been taught the deadly significance of ridged glass containers in her very first year at Hogwarts, why such bottles were restricted to the highest shelves of the potion's store cupboard. She would have recognised the poison in a heartbeat, would have known the depths to which he was willing to sink in the hope of securing just a few more moments by her side. She had known the power that she held over him and yet still she had led him on -

His skin crawled with each memory of their time together; each and every moment when he had believed her to be his friend. He despised her, and yet, as the Mark twisted and grew there were moments when, in pitiable weakness, he had wished her back, despite her varied betrayals.

When she finally stumbled into his office, her dusty face streaked with tears, her look of pure joy at seeing him still had the power to cause his heart to soar within his chest. She uttered a little cry as she darted forwards, throwing her arms about him before he could even thing of rebuffing her and for a moment he submitted, allowing her to hold him as if he was the only thing that mattered in her world, finding comfort in the lie.

But it couldn't last. Anger rose, strong enough to end his agonising uncertainty, strong enough to push her away.

"Unhand me," he snarled.

"Thank God," she whispered, "Thank God." There had been something so terribly ominous about Severus' parting farewell that she had feared he might have been correct about the end of the spell. Returning to Spinners End to find it derelict had frightened her more than she had realised; she trembled as she held him, wishing with all her heart that he might wrap his arms around her, never to let her go.

At his command to release him she had merely held him more tightly still, her face buried in the scratchy fabric of his robes. He was still angry with her for what had happened after the summer storm but it didn't matter. Finding him again was all that was important; she'd simply have to find a way to make him forgive her. "Severus," she murmured, revelling in the chance to speak his name aloud once more.

Strong hands grabbed her wrists, forcing her to release him, pushing her away. She stumbled slightly, taken aback by this unexpected rough treatment. "You do not get to call me that," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You will address me by my proper title."

She was tempted to laugh but one look at his face convinced her that he was in deadly earnest. His dark eyes had narrowed and he was glaring at her with something so akin to hatred in his eyes that she took another step backwards. He gave the impression of being so tightly wound that for the first time ever Emma felt slightly afraid of him.

"Mr Snape," she amended. His eyes narrowed further and she corrected herself once more, "Master Snape?"

"Professor Snape," he ground out.

There was a ringing in her ears. A faint but persistent sound as if she had just been caught too close to a violent explosion. She shook her head to clear it but the odd sensation remained making it suddenly hard to focus.

"Professor Snape," she repeated dully. The shape of the words seemed to pull at her, urging her forwards. She shook her head again and watched the look of contempt that spread across Severus' face.

"No miraculously regained memories?" he sneered, the cruel expression twisting his face into something alien and yet shockingly familiar. She watched him in mute fascination, watching the play of anger and disdain across his face. He looked awful, she realised, his hair falling in limp, greasy strands, his skin sallow in the sickly light of his office. "Surely you don't intend to continue this farce?"

"Professor Snape," she echoed once more, wishing that she could think clearly. "Prof-" The memory completed itself with staggering force and Emma's hands shook as she tore the pink bag from the pocket of her jacket. There, sitting just below her toiletries, was the plain white envelope with its abbreviated address. She snatched it up and held it out to him. "This has to be for you!" she gasped. "This is why I found you - it has to be!"

He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you certain it isn't perhaps intended for Professor Sinistra? Or even Professor Sprout?"

Each word he uttered caught her like a blow. She dropped her arm and stared at him, searching his angry sneer for any trace of the man she had hoped to find, for the man who would hold her until the terrifying flashes of memory faded back into the spell. His eyes were completely cold. She swallowed.

"Why are those names familiar to me?" she demanded, her voice unsteady. Were they current staff members? She tried to recall them, seeing only glimpses of flyaway hair and dark blue robes. Had they been her teachers, was that what he was trying to tell her? But that would mean-

"Do you know me?" she asked, simultaneously excited and terrified of his answer. She had the feeling of standing on the edge of a high precipice where one step could carry her hurtling down into the abyss; as though her fate somehow rested in his hands.

There was not an ounce of kindness in his voice as he replied. "I am fully aware of who you are, Miss Granger."

The high pitched noise was back. Emma shivered, wrapping her arms tightly round herself. The feeling of wrongness had returned and with it the awful shifting nausea. She swallowed again. "Am I from this time?"

He flicked his eyes over her. "I doubt you can be more than five years older than your current student self."

"Are we friends?"

"Hardly!"

"Then why would I have bound myself to your timeline like this?" she begged. "Why you? Why was I carrying a message for you from the future? I know better than that; you can't just try to change the past!"

"I should think your use of a Time Turner in your third year would have taught you that if nothing else." Her head whipped up but he raised a hand, demanding her silence as he continued. "Nonetheless, I am quite certain you used the device to free a convicted murderer from Ministry control."

"I did what?"

"The same night you were nearly mauled by a werewolf." He delivered each word with cold force. "Oh, how that must have amused you. Listening so indignantly as I admitted that I had almost been killed by your precious Professor Lupin, knowing full well in a few years' time I'd be forced to meet him again in were form again. You even alluded to it, if I recall!"

"That was you?" she wondered, her head spinning painfully. "You protected me from the werewolf? That was a teacher?" After days of nothing his words were causing disjointed memories to eddy up with overwhelming intensity. She was shifting and spinning as though trapped in the spell yet here she was, both feet planted firmly on the ground. She was uncertain when she had started to cry but suddenly the tears were welling up and there was nothing she could do to check them.

"Oh, quit this ridiculous act, Miss Granger!" He spat, apparently finding some grim satisfaction in how each word caused her to flinch. His anger was palpable, filling the sparse office and pushing them further apart. Emma found herself struggling against it as she raised the envelope once more.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, just take it."

He snatched the letter from her outstretched hand and tore the missive in two. "Your meddling isn't welcome here," he informed her, crossing to the fireplace and dropping the pieces into the empty grate. "You are not welcome here."

"But last time," she countered. "In the Headmaster's rooms-" Because that had been the room she had glimpsed, hadn't it? The curious, curved walls of the tower lined with the portraits of head teachers of ages' past.

"We have never been inside the Headmaster's office."

So, that hadn't happened yet. Was this what he had apologised for? Was this the strange guilt that he had been carrying?

"Oh, Severus. I'm so sorry."

At her use of his given name something seemed to snap inside him. His carefully reined anger spilled over, flushing his face an angry shade of red.

"Get out," he screamed. "Get out!"

There was no trace of Severus left, just a rage that chilled her to the core. Terrified, she stumbled backwards into the waiting dark.

-x-

The spell was different this time. No shifting or spinning, just the sensation of being flung far, far away from him with a force that left her weak.

-x-

A girl with red hair caught her in her arms. "Thank goodness that didn't work. I knew it was too soon to try. Maybe we should just accept that this isn't the sort of magic to mess with."

Lily Potter. Emma pulled herself out of the younger woman's grasp to glare at her

"You!" she began, only to falter when she realised that the girl's face was wrong, her eyes a deep brown colour, not green at all.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The room seemed to swim. Not the dimming sensation that suggested she was to be thrown through time, but a horrible tilting that brought panic and nausea, distorting the features of the red headed girl even further.

When was this going to end?

Suddenly she was on the floor, light and pain exploded behind her eyes and she realised she must have hit her head. The redhead knelt beside her and laid a gentle hand on her cheek.

"Hermione? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

Hermione? Well, of course that was her name. Silly of her not to have realised sooner. The pain in her head increased and she was relieved when the world shifted to black.