Author's Note: Written for the 31 Days of Flash Fiction Event
Day 1 Prompt: He twisted his fate between his fingers.
Max Word Count: 1,500
Actual Word Count: 1,439
The Frequency of Fate
"What would I do to fix everything?"
It was a question he'd silently asked himself for years.
It was only now, with the old man standing before him, the chain of the time-turner pooling between gnarled fingers, that he said the words aloud.
"It will be dangerous." Albus' eyes were tired, and they both knew that his warning was a mere formality.
"When has danger ever stopped me?" Severus replied, his hand already rising to pluck the swinging bauble from the air.
His hand wrapped around the magical object, connecting him to his mentor and tormentor of many years. Albus held his gaze and released the chain.
"I will not fail. You shall see."
He twisted his fate between his fingers. The light bloomed and his form dissolved into tiny spots that winked out and left pinprick afterimages in the headmaster's eyes.
"If you succeed, Severus," Albus said quietly, "It is a pity I shall not know it."
As he turned, there was a shiver in the air, and he stood up straighter, his robes twitching and settling into a slightly lighter hue of violet. He winced, then stared in wonder as his blackened claw resolved itself into an unblemished hand.
There was pop in the air, and the sharp scent of ozone wafted into Albus' nostrils. He shook his head once, as though dislodging a mosquito, then turned and made his way back to Hogwarts Castle. The year had been peaceful other than a few incidents of wayward First Year students accidentally encountering grindylows at the spring festival.
Albus chuckled as he thought of how his husband was almost certainly going to scold him for puttering about the grounds like a washed-up guard dog. There hadn't been a major upheaval since the fall of his old flame Gellert. Albus certainly hoped that the recently created Mindhealer Institute would be able to cure the power madness and violence that some magical folk seemed prone to developing. A very promising student, Thomas Riddle had dedicated his life to mind-healing after his mother had an emotional breakdown and killed his father. She had been sent to Azkaban, but a new mind-healing technique, known as Sin-Eating, had been utilized under strictly controlled circumstances to bring about a miraculous recovery. Not only had Merope come to her senses, but she had worked through her psychological complexes and no longer used unhealthy coping skills or dark magic.
Mindhealer Riddle apparently gave all the credit to a mysterious mentor who'd appeared out of nowhere and gave him an outlet for his intellect when all had seemed lost. Now, donors of all sizes were pouring funds into the venture to help provide both mental and physical healing to the wizarding world, with a focus on helping patients to build skills to live a long, fulfilling life instead of using magic to coerce their way through.
Years of wrinkles from stress and trauma melted away as Albus reached the gates of the castle and the flickering torchlight brought his crooked nose into sharp focus. His eyes gleamed with a joy that hadn't been there moments before.
Something forgotten twinged at the back of Albus' mind, but he couldn't recall what it could be.
Albus tapped his forehead and entered the door, already intent on heading to bed. "Ah, well, I shall be sure to ask Minerva in the morning. She always knows what I've missed."
"It isn't a ghost, Harry," Hermione said.
"Professor Potter, please," Harry snarked. "I didn't ace my interview to be called Harry."
Hermione smacked him with a rolled up parchment. "Who was it that saved your arses from grindylows back in our first year when you and Ron got the bright idea to follow will-o-wisps?"
Harry blushed. "Well, who saved your arse when Draco Malfoy tried to hex your dress off at the winter formal?"
Hermione sniffed. "You know I appreciate you. I just respectfully disagree that he's a ghost."
"Oh, so it's a he now." Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, if you are seeing something glowing and transparent in your quarters, it's probably a ghost. Just yell at them to leave if they're bothering you. Although, maybe it could be caused by fumes from potions gone off. After all, your quarters connect to the Potions classroom."
"It's not—" Hermione stopped, took a deep breath, and shrugged. "It's not important. I'll see you in the morning, Harry— er, I mean Professor Potter."
"No, thank you, Professor Granger," Harry said with an exaggerated curtsey.
They both snickered and headed to their respective quarters.
It didn't happen every night, but there was a scent in the air, like ozone and cloves, and Hermione knew that it would happen soon.
Harry had been wrong. Hermione had a strictly controlled system to place stasis charms over anything that needed to be finished in the following class, and all other potions were disposed of properly before she left the classroom for the evening meal.
She placed her books and student essays on the table, then made herself comfortable by requesting a mug of spiced cider and some marmalade toast from the kitchens. Then, she sat in her leather wingback chair and waited.
Tiny, golden pinpricks of light began to coalesce in the air, until the outline of a figure became distinct in the murky firelight. He seemed to be holding something in his hands, but she could not tell what it was.
No, this was more curious than a ghost. The phenomenon reminded her of something she'd read about in her third year when she'd been given access to the Restricted Section. Time-Turners were known to put out a similar type of light, but use had been banned due to the dangers inherent with tampering with time. The peace and prosperity of the Wizarding World was a delicate balance that had been maintained for over a hundred years. No one wanted to destroy that balance.
"Hello?" she tried.
The figure seemed fuzzy, like a television with a bad signal, but she could see him turn his head toward her. He seemed surprised to see her there, sipping her drink as though he were a prime-time film.
"Who—" a voice buzzed, but then the light winked out and he was gone.
"Curious," she said, standing to run her fingers over the air where the figure had been. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all.
Hermione did what she did best. Research. It took weeks, but she was patient. She may have been Potions professor, but her arithmancy and charmwork was top notch.
The next time the figure materialized in her quarters, she was ready. The chalk circle on the floor grounded the figure with a thump, and she set crystal orbs spinning around him at the right frequency to shake the time-sand loose from his form. The golden light fell away until all that was left was a dark figure kneeling on the ground looking shaken.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice softer than she'd expected.
"I'm Hermione," she replied. "Who are you?"
He stood, looking around at her cozy decor, his expression bewildered. Then, he seemed to collapse in relief into the chair on the other side of her desk. "It's…all gone."
"Pardon?" Hermione looked at the man, and she had a strange feeling up her spine like she knew him.
"I did it," he croaked. "I wasn't supposed to come back."
"You were hovering in and out of existence," she replied brusquely, "I couldn't just leave you like that."
"Thank you," he said, and looked up. "You don't know—ah, but it doesn't matter."
"You look hungry; here, have some toast." Hermione held it out and he devoured it so quickly it made her laugh.
She sent an order down to the kitchens for a more robust meal, and watched him eat. He must have depleted his magical core, she realized.
"It's Severus," he said, when he was finally done. "Severus Snape." He didn't look at her.
"Your surname sounds familiar, but I can't put my finger on it," Hermione tapped her chin, then it came to her.
She grabbed something from her desk and brought it back to him, and he stared down at the moving photograph of an elegant wizard receiving some sort of prize.
"Spellmaster Snape," Hermione read. "Is he your brother?"
"No," Severus said, his eyes growing panicked.
Hermione looked at the photo and then back at him. Her eyes went wide. The time-turner, the dust, the mismatching frequency….all of it had been—
"Please," he croaked.
She smiled. "Your secret is safe with me."