I began translating some of my stories and posted them only on AO3 so far. Lately, I thought, why not see if there are still some readers around here as well? ^^
This story is a time travel without Time Turner, features a side character that was only briefly mentioned in the books, and a setting I'm decidedly not comfortable with. I wrote this story following some prompts a former friend and fellow author gave me and she wanted Snamione, a happy ending, and a medieval setting. Well, strictly speaking, she wanted a crusade but I just didn't get around to including it so no crusade. She was still happy with the outcome, though. :)
Thank you, troesnaja, for your invaluable beta help, and thank you, Moana Nahesa, for getting the historical facts at least a little bit more correct than they were before. I swear, I'm such an ignorant twit with history... -.-
Oh, and don't mind the addition of the language in the title; the site just won't let me post two stories with the same title and I can't be bothered to create a second account for my translations. XD
"What time is it?" Hermione's voice was muffled behind the stack of books she was balancing on her arms. She had a hard time glancing over it and without Harry's intervention, she would have bumped into someone twice already – one of the obstacles being Filch who did have less sympathy for her than the Ravenclaw student before him. He'd threatened her with thumbscrews and scraping bubblegum from tables while Harry had tried not to laugh. Filch had also been the reason why she'd lost track of time.
"Ten minutes to eight," Harry answered easily. He only carried two books – and they were in his bag. "Are you sure you don't want me to take some of these?" He was observing her efforts suspiciously.
"Yes, I'm sure. I can drop them on my own." She groaned softly.
"Then at least use a feather-light charm!"
"No!" she gasped. "Madam Pince checks the books for traces of magic and -" Another gasp, this time not from dismay. "- and you would know that if you'd bother to borrow a book every once in a while."
"Does she now?" he mused.
Hermione cut him an irritated glance. "Yes, Harry, she does! If students don't handle the books properly and repair them with magic she of course wants to know!"
He rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself … Why do you even have to take back all of the books right now?"
At that, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "I wasn't finished working through them yesterday evening and the waiting list for these books is so long I wouldn't have got them again before exams. And since I have to return them within two weeks after I borrowed them …" Hermione stopped and heaved the stack of books onto a windowsill opposite the double doors leading to the library. She took a deep breath and shook her arms. "… I wouldn't have had enough time to return them after classes," she then finished her sentence. "Now it is exactly thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and …" She grabbed Harry's wrist and studied the face of his watch. "… fifty-eight minutes ago. So let's go lest I'll have to pay the penalty charge."
Harry shook his head turning around and entering the mighty hall of wisdom. Hermione had offered him to stay at breakfast – just like Ron – and meet her later at the classroom but he'd insisted to accompany her. And Hermione knew exactly why; he couldn't stand the glances anymore that Ginny cast him over her porridge. Hermione, however, wanted to spare herself from repeating the last evening. After all, it had been she who'd had to listen to Ginny's rant about Harry lacking empathy (that's why she had not – as planned – managed to return the books yesterday). Alas, she'd missed what he'd done wrong this time and at this point, she didn't dare ask anymore.
With a loud smack, she finally dropped the books onto Madam Pince's counter and had to quickly grab the topmost to stop it from slipping. Nodding contently, she brushed her moist hands on her cloak and stepped aside so the librarian was able to see her.
"You are late!" she promptly stated.
"Wrong! Now it is exactly thirteen days, twenty-three hours, aaand …" Once again she grabbed Harry's wrist. "… fifty-nine minutes since I borrowed these books. I'm totally meeting the two-week limit." She finished with a pleased grin, even having the nerve to wriggle her eyebrows.
Madam Pince, however, looked as if she'd taken a bite out of a citron. She glared at Hermione, then she fetched her wand and checked the books (Hermione cast Harry a triumphant glance, he rolled his eyes). And because she couldn't find any traces of magic on them her expression got even sourer before she took the books as if they weighed almost nothing and disappeared into the secret rooms behind her desk.
"Let's get out of here," Harry muttered and tugged at Hermione's cloak.
But she pointed at the book another student had just placed on the counter. "I wanted to borrow this book for months …" Every thought of her class that was about to start in a few minutes paled for a second and Hermione crowded the Slytherin with greedy eyes.
"Not now!" Harry hissed and yanked at her arm.
She followed him – sulkily and very, very reluctantly – back into the corridors of the castle. If it had been any other subject than Defence Against the Dark Arts that was scheduled for their first lesson, she would have been tempted to risk being late. Professor Flitwick would have understood and Professor McGonagall came a few minutes late to her first lesson most of the time anyway. Professor Sprout regularly lost students between her plats and rumour had it that Professor Vector had given lessons to empty classrooms because she'd forgotten it was the weekend. Professor Snape, however …
Harry cursed under his breath and suddenly broke into a run. "What time is it?" Hermione inquired breathlessly. She had difficulty keeping pace with him.
"Four minutes to eight!" he called back and didn't sound laboured in the slightest when he jumped down the last steps of the stairs. There he waited impatiently for her to catch up. "Come on!"
"I'm trying!" She tucked her schoolbag under her arm and sprinted alongside Harry through the corridors.
What felt like an eternity later, their classmates came into view and Hermione put her hands on her knees when she was finally allowed to stop. "Is he … here … yet?"
"Nope," Ron countered in a bored tone, leaning against the wall next to Neville, his bookbag discarded on the floor.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and did the same. Hermione glided down the wall. "… utterly … in vain …" she whispered groggily. Her knees were trembling.
"Be glad we're not late," Harry huffed. His breathing was only slightly heavier than in Binns's most boring lessons.
When Hermione finally managed to get back onto her feet she looked around the deserted hallway frowning. "What time do we have now?"
"Five minutes later than the last time you asked," Harry mumbled and Ron grinned.
"Meaning?" she inquired nevertheless.
He glanced at his clock – and arched his eyebrows in surprise. "Three minutes past eight."
"No way!" Ron blurted. "The bat's never late. Your watch has to be wrong."
"It's not," Hermione objected. "I cast a radio-clock spell on it."
"So he's r-really late?" Neville looked around, his eyes as huge as saucers.
"So it seems," Harry mumbled. Now he looked the corridor up and down as well.
"Weird."
"No, no …" Ron said, his formerly flabbergasted expression changing into a grin that resembled Fred and George's so much that Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "That's not weird, that's absolutely wonderful!"
And this opinion was shared by the whole class – to Hermione's silent disapproval.
Hermione felt ashamed. Very much so. But at first, she couldn't really be sorry that Snape didn't turn up this Monday morning. After they'd been standing in the corridor for about fifteen minutes Professor Sinistra had come to them, ushered them into the classroom and gone through a double lesson of theoretical astronomy with them. It had been so much more relaxing than their normal lesson with Snape would have been.
But when he remained missing for the rest of the week, a bad feeling settled in her stomach – and curiosity. Especially curiosity.
"Professor Snape has to tie up a few loose ends in London," Harry repeated on Thursday evening what Dumbledore had told him at one of their private meetings, imitating his tone of voice so perfectly that even Hermione grinned, "he will return soon."
"Pity," Ron sighed and pouted.
"That's all he's said?" Hermione pressed.
"Yeah." Harry shrugged and collapsed into the empty armchair in front of the fireplace.
"Something is odd about all of this," she mused and chewed on her bottom lip. "Professor Snape has never been absent. And if he had to go to London why didn't anybody tell us at breakfast on Monday? Professor Sinistra was completely clueless." She clicked her tongue. "Nobody knew that he would be away, I'm absolutely positive."
"Maybe he decided to be a full-time Death Eater again and left Hogwarts," Harry mumbled grimly.
"Then Professor Dumbledore wouldn't say that he will be back soon," Hermione reminded him.
"Are you sure? Maybe he thinks he can turn him back …"
No, she wasn't sure and so she kept silent.
The whole affair was a riddle that – Hermione didn't dare say it in front of Harry and Ron – was as strange as it was interesting. And it got stranger and even more interesting when Snape returned to class, as usual, the following Monday.
Nothing about him indicated that he'd been away at all. He appeared for their lesson in time, silenced them all with a glare and let them in with a grim expression, he himself staying at the door to count them – probably hoping to catch a few of them being too late.
Hermione, her nose once again stuck into a book, hastily put it in her bag but she was still the last one to enter the classroom. She cast the dark man a glance while her cloak and her bag strap were slipping down her shoulder. First, he returned her look with the same disdain she was used to seeing with him. But just when she wanted to look away to not get on his bad side before the lesson had even started something changed.
Hermione barely noticed it, the quick blink and the subtle yank of his head as if he'd just kept himself from staring at her. When she looked at him once again, unsure whether she'd only imagined it, he wore the same mask of indifference as ever.
"Are you planning to stand here all day, Miss Granger?" he snarled and arched an eyebrow.
"No, sir," she mumbled and hurried to the last empty seat in the front row. Frowning she pulled the chair from under the table and sat down.
"Chapters 4, 5 and 6," Snape proclaimed, "read, summarise, utilise. You have forty-five minutes."
A soft, a very soft murmur went through the class; apparently, he'd set his mind on covering the topics of two weeks in one.
But nobody could complain softly enough that one Severus Snape wouldn't hear it. "And if you don't start at once you can add chapter 7 as well," he added loudly. "Silence!"
"He said that it doesn't concern me." Invisible thunderclouds had gathered around Harry's head when he returned from his meeting with Dumbledore on Wednesday evening.
"Professor McGonagall told me the same," Hermione reported disgruntled.
"But it does concern us!" Ron objected. "We should know if Snape tries to kill you on You-Know-Who's order."
"Dumbledore also said," Harry continued, "that Snape doesn't pose a threat to me." He rolled his eyes.
"Maybe that's true," Hermione mused.
"Because …" Ron prompted her to continue, his eyebrows raised.
"Because Snape -" She paused and bit her lip. All of this sounded weird even in her head. Still, she raised her chin and began anew, "Because Snape looked at me strangely when he let us into the classroom the other day."
For a second, neither Ron nor Harry said a word. Then the former barked a laugh and changed a glance with the latter. "Hermione, it's Snape! He always looks strangely."
A crease formed on her forehead. "Something that's always a certain way is not strange but normal, Ron. And Snape definitely did not look at me normally!"
"You must've imagined it. Why should the bat look at you strangely? It's Harry who's to defy You-Know-Who."
"I did not imagine it," Hermione insisted and folded her arms over her chest.
"Even if he looked at you strangely," Harry interfered, "why should it mean that he hasn't returned to Voldemort's side?"
For a second, she pondered whether or not she should tell him that Snape had not looked at her strangely in that way but Hermione swallowed the words. "Maybe you're right," she mumbled instead and turned her eyes to the cold fireplace. She shouldn't give so much weight to a fleeting glance from Snape – even if a part of her very badly wanted to.
"If you don't get lost at once I will hex you into one of these books!"
Hermione reluctantly raised her eyes from the book she was reading. Madam Pince was standing in front of her, her hands on her hips. "You would never do that to your books," she countered.
"Do you want to risk it?" the librarian threatened. "Even I know a few works that I think should never have been published."
Hermione rubbed her teeth against each other. But it was probably better to accept defeat this time. When she'd collected her stuff, though, she hurriedly fetched a book from the shelves that she'd stumbled upon earlier, and went to the counter only to wait patiently until Madam Pince – who'd already deemed herself the winner of their little duel – would notice her. "What else?" she griped.
"I'd like to borrow this book. It sounds very fascinating." She pushed the copy of The Suspicious Copulatory Behaviour of Flubber Worms across the counter and had to bite her tongue to not grin in view of Madam Pince's bewildered expression. "Honestly, Madam Pince, I will miss you when my time here is up," Hermione said while she took the book and put it under her arm.
"Get lost!" was the answer.
Hermione shook her head chuckling when the library doors slammed shut behind her. Madam Pince even made a show of locking them, the bolt sliding into place with a sharp clang. Hermione went to the windowsill opposite the doors and sorted through her things without haste. Glancing at the book again, she grinned; maybe she would really take a look at it. Only when she was sure that it was past curfew she slowly returned to the Gryffindor common room. She was in no rush to get there. And she hoped for an encounter on the way.
If one was out for randomly meeting Severus Snape then it was most promising to wait for the curfew and still be outside of the common rooms. Hermione smirked to herself. Nervously. Maybe even a bit anxiously. But she smirked.
She took several detours, talked to a few portraits and stopped and waited every now and then to look out to the grounds through the blurry windows, even though her hands got clammier by the minute and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
Only about half an hour after curfew she was lucky – or she at least got what she wanted.
"Miss Granger …" Snape's voice sounded more pleased than reprimanding while he strode straight towards her like an avenging angel. "One ought to think a supposedly talented witch like you would be able to discern the onset of curfew on her watch."
"I am indeed, sir," Hermione replied politely and gripped her bag tighter.
"And yet I meet you after curfew, in the corridors of the castle." He stopped two steps away from her, his hands clasped behind his back.
"That I am generally able to discern the onset of curfew doesn't mean that I carry the respective tool with me. My watch is broken. Sir!" Talking to him like this, her legs were quivering so hard that she was sure he could sense it through the floor.
"Don't pretend you did not know that you should have long been in your common room," Snape growled but he got distracted by a horse that careered through one of the portraits next to them. He narrowed his eyes and observed the once again deserted landscape for a few seconds.
Hermione, however, observed her teacher. His jaw was tense, a muscle beneath his eye twitched, his hair was greasier than normal, his face paler. "Something will happen," she whispered and Snape's head jerked back to her.
"Nonsense!" he hissed. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for roaming the castle after curfew. Now make yourself scarce!"
Hermione tentatively stepped back but the words Snape had said only belatedly reached her mind. "Is it about Voldemort? It's the end of the term, it would fit the pattern," she pondered out loud.
Snape suddenly got very close to her. "I suggest you stop following this train of thought. Go! Go to your tower and don't leave it until dawn!"
His urgent voice and the intense stare of these black eyes caused Hermione to surrender. She might be a lioness but she also loved her life. So she whirled around and headed towards the stairs leading to the upper floor.
But behind her, she thought she once again heard the voice of the Potions Master, and the words he said rang in her ears even after he killed the Headmaster and fled the castle with the Death Easters that night. "Be safe, Hermione."
About a year later she was sitting in an armchair at the Burrow and stared at the threadbare carpet lying on the cold planks. She was tired, exhausted, completely knackered, although she'd already slept twenty hours since it ended – for the first time in almost a year in a real bed.
With difficulty, she raised her eyes from the floor and looked out the window. The sun was just rising, a sharp bright-yellow disc behind the veil of mist. Hermione took a deep breath, then she exhaled slowly.
The next moment, someone held out a cup over her shoulder and she blinked repeatedly. Baffled, she glanced up the arm that belonged to the hand holding the cup and found Minerva McGonagall's face on its other end – no less tired than she was herself. "Drink!" she prompted her.
Hermione's hand surfaced from the layers of blankets she'd wrapped herself in and took the tea. "Thank you," she said hoarsely. She'd screamed so much in the battle, her voice hadn't recovered yet. "Have you found him?" she asked, referring to Professor Snape.
Against her will, she saw him in the Shrieking Shack again. Saw his blood slowly spread across the old wooden floor, and the fear, open in his normally blank and cold eyes. She couldn't get rid of them, of these images of death and destruction.
Minerva sighed. "No, we haven't." A hardly noticeable jerk went through the armchair when the newly appointed Headmistress leaned her hip against it, now watching the sunrise as well. "There are traces …" She stopped herself and dropped her eyes. "But he is not there."
Hermione looked up at her round-eyed. "That is impossible," she breathed. "I saw him die! He has to be there."
Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid he is not, Hermione. A lot of time passed before we had the chance to go into the shack. And some Death Eaters escaped." She let these two facts hover, even pinned her lips together, perhaps so she would not have to say the conclusion out loud.
Hermione still heard it and gulped. A huge lump of something stuck in her throat and threatened to strangle her. Then she abruptly lowered her eyes and stared at the trembling surface of her tea.
One year. Hermione slowly shook her head and skimmed through the pages of the little notebook.
For one year she'd tried to figure out what had happened to Professor Snape. Not only after his death but also during the week that he went missing in her sixth year. But to this day – one day before she would leave Hogwarts, graduating as one of the best students the castle had ever seen – she might have learned a lot about him that she hadn't known but nothing about that.
Still, she'd written down all of the other bits and pieces. Neatly. Into the notebook that felt warm in her hand. She gently brushed over the leather cover which protected some of the secrets of Professor Severus Snape.
Thinking about all the things Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout had told her, Professor Dumbledore in his portrait and Madam Pomfrey during the quiet hours in the infirmary, even Madam Pince (if only after Hermione had promised to never step into the library ever again afterwards) - all of these people had painted a totally different Severus Snape than she'd known. A man who had his very own sense of humour, who had helped when he'd been needed and who had made a show of his grimness like others of their badges. A man who preferred a cup of strong coffee over every tea – except if it had been prepared what he'd called properly. Professor Sprout had explained every single step to her.
During the last of her school years that Hermione had spent lonelier than ever since Harry and Ron had already started their apprenticeship in the Ministry, she'd got to know Severus Snape. And now it was time to let him go.
"You were a man full of mysteries, sir. And apparently, you will take a few of them to your grave. I have to accept that."
She brushed the cover of the book for the last time, then she put it into a wooden case she'd transfigured out of a piece of driftwood for this exact purpose. She slid the lid on it and sealed it with a charm that would preserve this – for her – so important book for all eternity – especially from curious eyes. Nobody had to know about this. Then she hid the case deep down in her trunk.
Eventually, there was a knock at her door. "Yes?" Hermione rose and straightened her dress.
"Are you ready?" Ron's eyes got bigger when he saw her. "Wow …"
Hermione smiled and bit the inside of her bottom lip. He'd come for her graduation feast, she hadn't seen him for weeks. Not only because he'd been eagerly involved in his apprenticeship but especially because she'd been equally eager in trying to reveal the secrets of Severus Snape before her own set deadline. In vain. It was about time to return to her own life.
"Let's go, Ron." She went to him and tucked her arm into his. Together they left the Gryffindor common room and went downstairs to the Great Hall.
Hermione awoke with a tiny scream and was standing beside her armchair in a second. Her heart was racing and she looked around frantically, her eyes wide open.
Meanwhile, an at least equally horrified owl fluttered through her living room and only barely missed the ceiling lamp. Instead, it flew straight into the curtains and tumbled down until it landed behind the couch with a screech.
"Merlin …" Hermione mumbled and briefly closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her chest. From the open window, the first warm gust of spring blew into the room. She must have fallen asleep although she'd only wanted to sit down for a moment after her tedious night shift at St Mungo's.
The open window was the reason why the owl had been able to enter the room to sit down on Hermione's head. Which in turn had been the reason for her to startle awake from her nap.
Another screech tore through the silence and Hermione remembered that her feathered visitor had a problem. Her cheeks blushed and, meandering through the armchair and the coffee table, she kneeled on the couch. Peering behind it, she frowned. "I'm sorry," she said and reached her hand down to the magical mail carrier – which promptly bit her pinky. Hermione pulled her hand back. "Hey! No biting! Or I'll leave you down there forever."
This threat clearly didn't please the owl but the conciliatory howling caused Hermione to assume that they'd wrapped up a deal. Once more she reached down and this time, the owl let itself be grabbed and lifted up without objection. But it barely was on eye level with the windowsill when it struggled out of Hermione's grasp, dropped the parcel it was carrying and disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
"I've got owl treats!" Hermione apologetically called after it. But in vain.
Sighing, she slumped back onto her feet and looked around guiltily. At least until her eyes found the parcel the owl had brought. It was clad in simple brown packing paper and wasn't marked with a sender. Curiously she took it in her hands, turned and twisted it and eventually loosened the cords that kept it closed.
A simple book, clad in dark-brown leather, emerged. Hermione knitted her brows. The vigilance of the war had faded more and more during the last six years since there hadn't been any further attacks, not even from the escaped Death Eaters. The Wizarding World was wrapped up in a golden haze of peace and trust. If this haze was lasting was to be seen.
In this case, however, she decided for a closer examination and fetched her wand. Only when all of the usual evaluation charms turned out negative she dared open the book.
And was hit by a shock of a special kind.