Chapter 3

"Severus..."

She couldn't move. Her limbs were bound to her sides. Sweat saturated the back of her neck and shoulders, intensifying the excruciating heat that consumed her body from head to toe.

Hermione hadn't had this dream for weeks. Just when she thought she'd recovered from the worst of her memories...

"Professor Snape... help me..."

Her eyelids wouldn't obey her commands. Unwilling to give up, Hermione was finally able to pry one open. Bright, white light of numerous candles hit her pupil, pain in her head and jaw shot down her spine. The immediate response to this was a whispered spell from across the room that extinguished every candle save one.

The Malfoy dungeon hadn't felt this warm in her memories.

Hermione tensed, anxiously awaiting the shrill pitch of Bellatrix's mad cackle and the picture would be complete.

"Calm yourself," a smooth, resonate voice demanded gently.

The pain seemed to vaguely subside at the realization that she wasn't dreaming. She exhaled at the feel of a welcomed body cautiously sitting on the edge of her bed. Hermione leaned towards the dip in the mattress, hoping the expression she was making mirrored the encompassing relief that slowed her heartbeat and spread to the very tips of her toes.

"Y-you have a fever."

Her husband's voice sounded bizarrely uncertain. Nevertheless, Hermione submitted to the persistent hands sliding through the hair at her temples, lifting her neck slightly. Cool glass rested against her lower lip. With acute patience, Hermione carefully trickled the contents of a vial down her sore throat.

Why was she taking a potion? She was in pain.... She had a fever.... Without warning, the memory of her arrival home hit Hermione like a Bludger to the head. She whimpered, recollecting the deafening vibration the base of her skull had created breaking through multiple layers of glass.

"I...I'm sorry... I tried to be careful...did I hurt you?"

"No." Hermione ventured to pry apart her eyes once more. Finding the task easier with the lights out, she gazed up at the familiar outline of her husband. At the feel of Severus extracting his hand from the side of her face, Hermione hummed in protest. Heaving a weary arm from beneath the tangled bed sheets she pressed the palm of her hand over Severus', nuzzling the inside of his wrist.

Maybe this all had been a dream. Severus didn't press his lips to her forehead like she'd expected. His arm seemed to freeze awkwardly for a moment before her bedroom door flew open and the familiar rhythm of her Potion master's angered screaming lulled her back to sleep.

With a growl of repressed infuriation, Snape shoved his younger-self into the nearest guest bedroom. Seconds before slamming the door in a petulant fit of anger, Snape reminded himself that Hermione was in the next room and needed as much quiet rest as possible.

Once the door had been silently shut, Snape pressed his forehead against it, willing himself to control his temper. "I should have known better than to leave you alone with her. It wasn't even a quarter of an hour...I asked you to watch her, not fondle the woman in her sleep!"

"She had a nightmare."

"She always has nightmares!" Snape whirled around with a snarl. Ready to hurl a stream of expletives, he clenched his jaw instead as he watched the young man pull his shaking hand through greasy hair.

"You say that to me like I should already be aware... And I didn't fondle her! She thought I was you."

"No shite."

The boy began to pace in obvious anxiety. "She talked in her sleep. Malfoy. Bellatrix. She even called the Dark Lord by his name."

Severus groaned, turning his face away from his younger-self's expectant gaze. He'd only wanted to... prevent... a few things. Save Hermione from whatever turmoil this boy could cause her...the turmoil he himself had once caused. I've made a right mess here, haven't I? Snape regretted leaving the boy alone with her, but he'd had no other choice. The Healer from St. Mungo's who'd looked Hermione over had said she'd be all patched up in less than a week thanks to a variety of healing spells and potions that Snape could manage on his own. As much as he wanted to watch Hermione round the clock, Severus still needed to attend to his basic bodily needs.

Snape had known that in attempting to change his past...Hermione's future...that there'd most likely be consequences. But he never anticipated the idea of 'fate' itself having a hand and refusing to be altered.

Sighing, Severus felt much older than his forty-two years. Pushing himself away from the door, he shot an irritated glace at the young man glaring at him with a presumptuous air. "We need a drink."

A house-elf popped in the center of the room. Silver tray braced on her bony shoulders, she effortlessly balanced an unopened bottle of Ogden's and two crystal tumblers.

"Thank you, Mops," Severus said wearily.

The house-elf shot her master a challenging glare. She floated the tray onto a small table between two armchairs facing the hearth. "Madam Snape?"

"She's... recovering..."

"Mops insists to attend Madam Snape!" Hands on either side of her hips, the house-elf stamped her foot in frustration, the frills of her blue baby-doll dress ruffling comically.

Her master smiled apologetically. "You know how Hermione feels about house-elf labor. When has she ever allowed you to lift a finger for her?"

"You is master of Snape house! Madam Snape'd let Mops nurse her if master demands it!"

"I will do no such thing," Snape responded quickly, as if the very idea was beyond contemplation. "Hermione forbids you to serve her, and as she's your mistress, you know you must obey."

Mops jerked back with a squeak, her lower lip trembling as if she'd just been hit. Huffing back the urge to cry miserably, the house-elf popped out of the room with a snap of her fingers.

Severus ignored the boy's stunned expression and stormed across the room. Sloppily filling both tumblers, he slammed the bottle down, nearly breaking it. "Stop gaping at me like a bloody a cod fish! Sit down, have a drink...or two...then perhaps we can talk."

He wasn't about to explain his relationship with the elf...or his wife for that matter...to this arrogant little prick.

Snape the younger leaned forward in his chair, arm extending towards the table that separated them. "She looks to be about the same age as me." He licentiously leered at the older man before adding, "Possibly younger..."

"Watch it."

The younger man continued, unwilling to abandon their previous topic. "Given her age, I cannot understand how she could know these people...the Dark Lord!"

"That is not your concern." He didn't want to have this conversation again, nor was he eager to repeat the same advice that he'd once scoffed at so many years ago. "I've lived one hell of'a life... experienced much more than you can even imagine. Obviously. Trust me when I say that not being told everything that will come to pass is more for your own good... than mine."

"He's dead," the boy stubbornly insisted.

"Would you shut your mouth for five seconds and remember what got you here? Don't you think you'd be better off not knowing damnable information? Do not ask me questions about my past, which hasn't happened to you yet. It's dangerous."

With a hiss of testiness, the young wizard gulped down the contents of his glass. Cheeks reddened from the potency of the alcohol, he unsuccessfully stifled a few choking coughs before topping off another tumbler.

Just when Snape senior had managed to relish a few moments of blessed silence, the boy dared to comment, "She doesn't look anything like her."

Snape the elder groaned. The 'she', of course, was Hermione. And there was only one 'her' Junior would compare his wife to. "Thank goodness for that," he answered truthfully.

"How did the two of you meet?"

"What did I just say, boy? I'm not divulging my life to you."

"Don't speak to me like I'm one of those ineffectual students! And I am not a boy."

"You're a boy to me."

"Then would that make Hermione a little girl?" He laughed nastily.

Severus' practically lunged from his chair, his urge to strangle his younger-self was so strong. "You are forbidden to speak of her to me."

"Tut tut... what ever is the matter, sir? Such hostility... Am I making you uncomfortable? I seem like a child to you, but how does it feel to be reminded that your own wife is obviously the same age as me...how old is she anyway?"

He rolled his eyes, disappointing his younger-self's attempts to goad him. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable in the least. Hermione had always been years ahead of her peers. And I know without a doubt that she's far more intelligent and responsible than you."

"Her eyes are brown." Young Snape appeared surprisingly subdued given their heated banter not moments before. The topic had changed drastically in the direction of a subject that neither were comfortable with.

Turning away from the boy, Severus sighed. "Let her go."

Both men were acutely aware of the identity of this elusive 'her.' Severus didn't want to see the look of hurt his younger self undoubtedly felt in reaction to his words. After a few moments of uneasy silence in which both men were unwillingly overcome with memories, Junior had built up the necessary emotional shields to continue the conversation.

"How can you say that...? Because of me...us...she's dead."

He knew he should possess some small measure of sympathy for the boy, but Snape had already paid his dues concerning this woman. Potter had succeeded. By Merlin, it was his turn to live. "I won't lecture you on this. I can imagine how fresh the pain of Lily's loss still is for you... but you'll soon come to realize that many people had a hand in her fate."

Expectantly, Snape the younger wasn't absorbing very much. Still staring at the fire with the ghosts of a fairly recent war fresh on in his young mind, he asked, "Is Hermione a Muggle-born?"

Snape didn't move, blink, or even swallow. For a very, very long time he'd prepared himself for such a question. A question he himself had asked. Exuding the appearance of complete impassivity, Severus' stomach clenched while he remembered his own reaction to learning this information about his future wife.

"Is she?" the voice asked again, restless for information that could compensate for that brown which had muddied precious green.

Blasted fetishes. Snape shook his head in disappointment, rising from his seat to return to his wife's sick room.

"I'm sorry," a downcast voice called after him.

Snape paused in the doorway. He heeded the sincerity in the young wizard's apology... so he didn't turn around to eye the boy skeptically. Severus wasn't prepared to trust his former-self so easily.

He remembered his own intentions back then. He had possessed no regard for what didn't rightfully belong to him.

Nodding briefly in acceptance, Snape left the room without spitting a cutting remark.

Did he have a right to hold a grudge against this boy's actions that had seriously injured his wife? Especially since said actions were a mirror of his own?

Snape had memorized the exact pattern of the frayed threading in the duvet he'd gifted Hermione for their one-year-anniversary.

The color, texture, and design were certainly beautiful. Even she had said so. Olive green, satin finish with floral patterns that seemed almost reptilian from afar.

Compliments for the household were certainly the norm...a common gift that the average newly wedded witch enjoyed.

But not his Hermione.

She liked it. She loved his effort in shopping for it. But the duvet's frays and loose threads were not her concern. Snape's incredible, brilliant, intelligent wife was certainly not one to sit at home and sew all day.

He learned that much later than he should have, but he wouldn't change her for anything.

Upon about the sixtieth time Severus had scrapped his forehead against the loose threading, a much sought after hand weakly touched upon the crown of his head.

"Hermione..."

His voice was a miserable mixture of distress and relief.

Snape knew she'd get better. He'd remembered her in this very room. This very house.

And he'd remembered the pathetic, old man who'd paced the floorboards until his young wife regained full consciousness.

Back then Severus had scoffed at such useless sentimentality...such weakness. Never would he let a... woman... know how much control she could have over him.

I've been such a fool... for so long.

Is Hermione a Muggle-born? Damn and blast! He didn't want his younger-self anywhere near his wife now. Snape the younger's question repeated in his head, reminding Severus of the type of man he'd used to be and it shamed him.

Lily's first time making love had been to the gentle murmur of 'Mudblood' hissed excitedly against her ear.

Both of them were only forth years.

Despite overall assumptions, that 'incident by the lake' was far more than his and Lily's breaking point. It was her last straw. Their sickening emotional tug of war hadn't finally ended until he'd unleashed their private nastiness for all to hear.

She'd certainly been the better of the two, and for so long he'd never forgiven her for it.

"Severus," Hermione murmured with increasing clarity.

That pitch of her voice was music to his ears. She was obviously feeling much better.

Having the boy here was certainly putting Severus' life into perspective. Never...not ever would Snape take his wife's love for granted. More importantly, he knew he'd never deserve it.

Eyes puffy and worn from endless fretting, Snape lifted his head from the mattress, meeting those intoxicating brown eyes that never failed to gaze at him in such uninhibited adoration. Words were spilling out of his mouth before he knew it. "Forgive me... please. I should have never... never kept this from you."

"Severus... what has happened?"

"You're going to be so angry, my dear."

"Possibly," she laughed. Pain engulfing her once more, she hissed through gritted teeth. "I remember... I remember your terrified expression in the study... and yet I remember your eagerness in fleeing from the study... Am I going crazy?"

"No!" Severus schooled his voice. "Both were... me...technically."

The silence that followed made him physically flinch.

"What?" Hermione finally demanded.

"Do you remember... in your third year...the... Ah... Time-Turner..."

"WHAT?"

"Please believe that I had never...I thought... I'd hoped to shield you from so much."

"Who was that, Severus?"

He opened his mouth in preparation for an explanation, his heart dropping to his stomach.

"YOU'VE KEPT THIS FROM ME?"

Severus spewed firewhisky back into his tumbler. On the verge of hysterical laughter, he hungrily listened to the married couple's endless argument that easily traveled through the thin walls. Every time that woman shrieked at the old man, she'd suddenly bark out a range of expletives from 'ouch' to 'Merlin's left testicle' from the pain of exerting herself.

"Hermione, please... I was hoping it would never come to this. That I'd be prepared to send him back the moment he got here..."

"All this time! Our courtship... my return to Hogwarts for my uncompleted seventh year... We've been married for two years, Severus, and you never thought to tell me!"

"I was trying to save you...in the most literal sense!"

"Well, it didn't work, did it?"

"NO! It did not!"

Young Snape leaned forward in his seat at the uneasy silence that had followed. How he'd love to be in there watching all this enfold.

Finally the old fart spoke again. "Do you have any idea how I have beaten myself over this?"

"Oh, have you? Really? In your personal beatings had you managed a broken jaw and concussion?"

Ouch! Bet the old goat didn't enjoy hearing that one. This Hermione seems like one tough bird. Severus sighed longingly. How he'd relish the enjoyment of breaking such a girl if she were his.

He had more questions about Hermione than ever.

"Never, not once, Severus, did you think it important to tell me that you had met me before?" Hermione's voice had grown very restrained, almost sympathetic. She must have finally achieved the amount of repentance she'd wanted from her husband.

Severus choked on his drink once more as the woman's voice magically amplified in his ears. "And I know you've been listening to us, you little shite! GET IN HERE NOW!"