Chapter 5

"You may have tried to reassure me otherwise, Severus... But I just don't understand it!" Finally calling defeat, Hermione closed the book she'd been attempting to read for the past half hour.

Her husband had been gone all day, hunting down a variety of ingredients that were needed to complete an intricate potion. Hermione didn't want to bother him, but keeping her mouth shut had been very difficult. Severus' exhaustion was obvious. In not wanting to overwhelm him the moment he'd walked through the door, Hermione had waited until he'd settled himself into his favorite armchair beside her before besieging him with questions concerning this strange duel existence.

Past and present Severus Snape were living in her, home and it didn't make one ounce of sense.

Severus sighed, warily eyeing the door before finally speaking quietly. "I don't exactly understand it either... and yet it's logical to me all the same."

"But how? If Junior doesn't do or say the exact same things you did when you... abused the use of a Time-Turner..."

Snape's neck snapped in her direction, eyes wide.

"Don't you look at me like that! You know that that is exactly what you did."

"I'm fully aware of the mistakes I made, thank you."

Hermione threw her arms up defensively. "I'm dropping it... What I am asking is, even the slightest deviation from your previous choices would alter your memories, would it not?"

"No... yes. Yes and no."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Their conversation had become a repetition of the discussion they'd had the previous evening.

Severus groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hermione relaxed back into her seat, suddenly feeling guilty for her inquisitive predisposition. She'd merely wanted answers to these never-ending questions, but couldn't help looking away from the pain her demands were causing him.

"It does make sense in my mind," Severus ground out through clenched teeth before continuing more calmly. "Junior is me, so nothing he does... everything he does..." Explaining this was much more difficult than Snape had anticipated. "It is Junior's intentions that are precisely identical to mine...my past intentions I should say...so his current actions and my previous ones are blurring together. Ultimately, every minor detail becomes inconsequential in comparison to the... motives behind them."

Smiling to herself, Hermione tossed her book onto the end table and rose from her chair. Plucking the Daily Prophet from Snape's inattentive grasp, she effortlessly lowered her bum into his lap.

Severus' immediate response...his natural response...rendered him immobile. But once he remembered they were alone and that the door was locked, he allowed himself to express the wanton ease that only Hermione ever witnessed in him. Unsuccessfully masking a throaty groan, Snape greedily wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her hips down onto his growing hardness.

Hermione leaned back against his chest. "And what exactly would those motives be, Mr. Snape?"

Prominent nose against her temple, Severus allowed himself to glare callously, knowing she couldn't see his face. "Selfish intentions. I am certain you don't need me to explain that to you. He is locked in this house with only a house-elf, a wizard, and one witch to amuse him...I don't want to discuss this anymore!"

Hermione sighed. Given his dismissive anger, she was further reminded of their previous argument. Severus refused to tell her anything of his past actions...or of Junior's possible ones. In the very least, she was certain that if Junior was capable of anything seriously horrendous that her husband would warn her. But as it was, Severus was mum.

Since her husband had ultimately demanded a change in topic, Hermione thought that this was as good a time as any to inform him of what had transpired earlier in the day.

"Ron... visited... this morning."

His hands ceased their intoxicating massage of her waist.

"Excuse me?"

"I know, Severus. I know. But you didn't see him. He's getting... worse."

"Of that I am certain, and I don't need to see him to determine it. You cannot save everyone, Hermione."

"Why not?" she snapped before thinking.

"Let me rephrase that," Severus rasped through clenched teeth. Strong arms wrapped around her once more, urging Hermione back into her previous cozy perch upon his lap. "You cannot save those who are determined to live as miserably as they possibly can."

"Severus..."

"You dare to tell me that I am wrong in this? After everything?"

"I...no, of course not."

"Then believe it. Accept it. And God's sake, can you for once listen to me while keeping your mouth shut in the process?"

Heated by his scolding, she whirled around so he could see her defiant stare. But just when Hermione caught the slight tilt of his lip, Severus pulled her against his chest, finally silencing his wife the only way he knew how.

---

Twenty-three year-old Severus Snape didn't know what to make of them.

He especially didn't know what to make of his middle-aged self.

The man despised him, of that he was certain. Most likely Snape senior had never forgiven himself for the... accident... he had caused Hermione during his own trip to the future. And because of this, it was easy for the elder wizard to hold a fierce grudge against his younger-self.

Pondering all these misgivings in a very hot shower, Severus pressed his forehead against the cool tiles and groaned.

He didn't want to be in this reality one single moment longer. Snape wanted to go home.

Desperately.

If I even still have a home...

If he was able to return to 1983, Severus prayed to Merlin that Dumbledore wouldn't sack him for stealing the Time-Turner from the Headmaster's office.

Time-Turner, Severus repeated with a snort. Mrs. Snape had enlightened Severus as to the proper name of the horrid object. And how sufficiently it's been named... Time...reality as he'd known it, even...had been so rightly turned over that Severus was finding it difficult to make heads or tails of things. Back in his time, Dumbledore's invention had been exceptionally innovative, therefore naming the blasted thing wasn't even thought of yet.

Despite what had happened as a result of his manhandling the object, Snape hadn't truly intended to filch it...he especially hadn't planned to keep it for any stretch of time. He'd merely wanted to discover how the damned thing worked.

Well, I know now, don't I?

He snorted in disgust.

Snape turned off the shower and crossed the bathroom to open a window, expelling some of the humidity.

Palm flat against the mirror, he wiped away the condensation and glared at his own reflection. He glared because he was actually bothering to ponder the image before him and despised the reasons why. Severus admitted that his hair was significantly longer than his future-self's. Snape could see the...draw...in keeping it shorter upon his shoulders.

Perhaps when he returned to his time, he'd cut it a bit.

Perhaps.

He most certainly would not do it now. Severus didn't want that irritating woman to think it was for her benefit.

Frowning, he returned to his previous opinion and muttered, "Those two don't make any sense."

In the anger and resentment Snape senior had shown him, there was no doubt that the old fart loved his young wife. And after that revolting lovemaking session he'd been forced to listen to, there was also no doubt that they possessed a passionately... vigorous... relationship.

Snape threw his robes over his shoulders with a shrug. He supposed, that if expected, he could rise to perform such routine husbandly duties. The woman wasn't a breathtaking beauty, of course. Hermione had her own style of prettiness, which was improved upon by her lack of artificial enhancements.

Her temperament, however... Severus smiled wickedly. Yes, that had to be her main appeal to the middle-aged goat.

But...

Young Severus Snape possessed an endless supply of 'buts' concerning the married couple. He could visualize how he himself would interact with such a woman...and it wasn't coinciding with the mannerisms of his future-self.

Whenever young Snape happened to be in the same room with Mr. and Mrs. Snape, he noticed that the old man never touched her. He didn't kiss her. The most contact he'd seen was her hand gently cradled in the crook of his elbow.

His left elbow more often than not, actually.

And Severus the elder constantly maintained his severe expression, even when he gazed at his wife from across the room.

What was even more disturbing to young Snape was that all of this made the woman smile endlessly. Even the times she'd tease her husband to the point of inciting her own laughter, Hermione would then smile wider once she received an even harsher glare from the man in question.

Was this love?

Snape the younger couldn't say. He'd never experienced mutual love.

Whereas he'd certainly once loved a girl named Lily Evans, he hadn't experienced that crushing emotion until after her death. And as far as being on the receiving end of such ardor, Snape had been a very young man when Lily had gasped those three little words. At the time, the only response he'd known to give was an ungentle thrust against her hymen.

Enough! he scolded to himself.

Fastening the last button of his worn robes, Severus sighed, dreading the day to come.

What a way to spend Christmas morning...

The old man wanted his assistance in the lab today. If he was diligent and precise, Snape could assist his future-self in completing the potion that could send him back to 1983.

Hopefully, Severus would be sent back much sooner than the three additional weeks that he was expected to remain.

---

Forty-two-year-old Severus Snape was a licentious, beastly excuse for a wizard.

What a way to spend Christmas morning...

Cock in hand, Snape scolded himself over and over again as he gazed up at his flushed wife from his intoxicating view between the crux of her inner thighs.

Due to the sight before him, one hand had been appropriately employed in pleasuring himself while the other had been used to maintain Hermione's propped knee upon his shoulder.

Knowing his intentions to be perverse, Severus cursed his honor profusely for his merciless, wicked desires...and all the while he continued in his pursuit of said wicked desires. He slid his thumb across her stocking-clad leg until his fingers found themselves under the Muggle suspender that kept such a garment in place.

Magic does the trick so easily for witches, making a garter entirely useless.

But that hadn't deterred Snape from gifting his wife the one she was currently wearing.

Tongue swathing her sex eagerly, Severus attentively observed as he challenged the elastic as far as it could extend before releasing it...willing it...to smart against his wife's already bruised flesh.

She moaned loudly, back arching off the bed. Her modest bosom painfully strained against the Muggle corset confining her and began to spill over, gifting him with the rosy hue of an irritated nipple.

Horrid, despicable wizard...

Severus began tugging at the suspender once more. His wife moaned in anticipation, her wetness pooling into his mouth.

SNAP!

He was going to come.

---

Hours later, neither men enjoyed the situation they now found themselves in.

Alone, together, and in a windowless basement-turned-Potions lab.

"Are you even paying attention?" Snape senior snapped at his younger-self. Adding the necessary ingredients to his cauldron, Severus caught Junior's brief moment of distraction. "One day, you might find yourself in my position and will be forced to make this potion for your very own pathetic past-self. If we do not complete this right the first time you will be forced to remain here an additional month."

The young wizard rolled his eyes, resuming his monotonous task of measuring and labeling the newly acquired potion ingredients.

"One day you might find yourself in my position..." Well, since they were on the topic... Junior cleared his throat before asking, "So... how do Hermione and I meet?"

"You know I'm not going to tell you."

The elder wizard should have been more diligent against about releasing that snort of disgust before spitting out such a comment. Junior froze and truly observed the type of Potions lab he was working in.

It heavily resembled one he himself would keep if he happened to remain teaching Potions some ten plus years from now.

Good God!

Snape senior whirled around at the sound of glass shattering on the floor. "What did you drop?"

"It was... empty...did Hermione attend Hogwarts?"

The elder wizard snorted once again.

That was all the answer Junior needed. He was conversing with 'himself,' after all. Ignoring the mess on the floor, he snarled, "You were bloody daft enough to actually fall for one of our...for a fucking student?"

"Ah, so we're now talking about Hermione in relation to me and not you?"

"This is not a laughing matter!" Of all the horrid... Junior couldn't believe his ears.

The old man rolled his eyes, refusing to look at him.

"Tell me, Junior... What is more worrisome to you? The apprehension that you might never recover from your sick addiction to Hogwarts' populace of Muggle-born seventh-year girls... or that you might actually feel affection for one of your conquests?"

The peal of shattered glass echoed once more.

Both men caught the slip. After ten excruciatingly long seconds, Junior gasped in a disturbing, breathy voice, "Hermione's a Muggle-born?"

"FUCK!"

---

"No, thank you, Mops," Hermione insisted warily, irritated at the elf's persistent interruptions. She regarded cooking a meal as seriously as any other task she was determined to complete.

The house-elf stamped her foot upon the flagstone, tiny fists balled at her side. "But I's made the Christmas dinner last year!"

"And now I want to do it."

"Mistress should be resting after such a busy morning..."

"Dammit, Mops, mind your tongue!" Despite Hermione's guardedness, she couldn't help sending an uneasy glance towards the lone figure situated across the kitchen.

A figure that had been attentively watching her every move while sitting very, very still.

Hermione sighed, grudgingly yanking a rolling pin out of the elf's hand before the creature managed to inflect critical damage to her skull. If only Severus...her Severus...were here to assist her, Hermione might be able to mind her temper a bit better.

Yes, Hermione had allowed Mops to cook Christmas dinner last year. But that had only been out of pity. Now she knew better. She really knew better. Hermione had never owned her very own house-elf. Unfortunately she learned, much later than she should have, that elves couldn't comprehend the concept of pity. The more she had allowed Severus' house-elf...their house-elf...to do for her, the more Mops insisted and expected to complete the same tasks continuously.

And the young clone of her husband wasn't helping matters...at all.

Hermione slammed an iron pot onto the stove and screeched, "And what the hell is your problem? You've been rudely staring at me since you pompously strolled in here. Don't you have a potion to complete?"

Young Severus Snape flinched at the unexpected clang of metal, but was otherwise unaffected. Straddling a chair, he returned his chin to its perch upon the straight back. Hermione had been so distracted by his mocking smile that she hadn't caught the inconspicuous adjustment to his trousers.

Voluminous robes were a godsend when one wanted to hide an aching erection.

"I'm merely watching you cook. And... Mr. Snape... is cataloging the ingredients that were used today. There is no need for such hostility... Hermione." Severus' voice was richer than black velvet.

The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck rose. The only time she had heard that voice speak in such a tone was in her bedroom...

It made her very angry for some reason.

"And what is so fascinating about my cooking, if I may ask?"

"You do not use magic."

"And? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Severus barked quickly. Catching himself, he cleared his throat before continuing. "Nothing at all. So may I watch?"

Hermione merely grunted in response.

Severus the younger had been so quiet in his attention to Hermione's cooking that before long she had forgotten his presence. Not until she began scrubbing a pot by hand did she recognize the distinctive creaking of wooden chair-legs straining under the weight of a fidgeting body.

His... staring... was unnerving.

"What?" Hermione snapped again.

"So... I am able to entice you away from marrying a Weasley?" he asked casually, as if they'd been having an engaging conversation for the past hour.

"You know the Weasleys?" Hermione asked absently, caught off guard by the unexpected topic.

"One of them is currently my least favorite student."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure Bill will say the feeling is mutual."

Severus regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Indeed." Of course the woman would be acquainted with all the present and potential Weasleys. But all the same, Junior didn't enjoy the knowledge of it one bit. "Are you finally going to tell me your maiden-name, or shall I seek your husband's permission first?"

"I'll tell you."

"Just like that?" he asked gracelessly, caught off guard by her quick response. He'd been so certain that if Mr. Snape declared something forbidden, his young wife would obediently obey.

... Not one ounce of sense, these two, he quickly thought to himself.

Hermione flashed Junior a bright smile. His trousers felt tighter than ever.

Not until Hermione began speaking did he realize she was mocking him.

"I don't understand why you keep trying to intimidate me? I'm not afraid of you... after all I have seen 'you' naked. Tell me... is the slight curve to the left a natural born trait or did you have an accident on your broom when you were younger?"

For the second time this week, and probably his life to date, Snape flushed profusely. Traces of sweat beaded along his hairline. Under such a horrid threat of embarrassment, he flung himself up from the chair to stand in his habitual looming manner. Drawing his robes around his shoulders, Severus edged closer to Hermione's stance by the stove.

"It's Granger, by the way."

After a long, contemplative pause Junior responded, "Never heard of it."

"No, I suspected not."

Junior stepped even closer to the stove... and dared to lean into her.

He spoke casually the moment he detected a suspicious glance sent his way. "While the Weasleys have never been known for their money, they are one of the oldest, pure-blooded lines to date. Older than the Malfoys. And yet... you turned down an offer of such a marriage... for a half-blood of no substantial wealth or station?"

"I didn't love Ronald enough to marry him."

"Once again...an answer to a question I did not ask."

"That was the answer to your question, as a matter of fact. You're just too shortsighted to realize it. The simple truth is I loved yo..."

Severus flinched, stepping back quickly.

"...I loved Severus, and that was more than enough for me. I never cared for all the pure-blooded rot."

"Indeed?" Severus' cynicism was blatant. After a moment, he decided to take her proclamation with a grain of salt and advanced down an alternative avenue of possibilities. "Ah... I see. A Potions master's reliable salary at a prestigious school would have been a much more handsome conquest... especially to an over-achieving witch such as yourself. You do live quite comfortably here, don't you?"

Hermione froze, thoroughly revolted. "What are you insinuating?"

"Better to be comfortable with a half-blood than poor with a pure-blood, no? You did just say that you don't care for blood-purity. It appears my future-self's assessment of your character was accurate... Although it's disheartening to see myself so duped. But not only are you young, and attractive... you are highly intelligent. And it's obvious my appearance doesn't get any... better with age. So I suppose once I passed the age of forty, I knew I had no other choice but to settle... down."

"Severus would never say such a thing about me!"

"He didn't need to. It's blatantly obvious that you are an overachieving, money-hungry witch who'd probably grown comfortable to her life at Hogwarts and sought to replicate such easy living in her own home. All you Muggle-borns are the same! Always on the hunt for a formidable wizard to take care of you..."

Before Junior could make sense of Hermione's reddened face and appalled snarl, or the reasons behind it, her hand flew threw the air and collided painfully against his cheekbone.

His body was propelled a number of steps back before he managed to right his disorientation from such unexpected power behind the blow.

"You foul, disgusting excuse of a man! How dare you speak to me in such a way... in my own home!"

Junior wiped the blood from the corner of his lip, unsuccessfully masking his sadistically pleased grin. If the woman had hexed him, he would have been infuriated. Most likely he would have hexed back.

But Hermione had resorted to Muggle-dueling.

Blood rushed to his groin so fast it made him dizzy. Dizzier, disorientation considering.

"You don't know anything about me," Hermione continued. "I would never... I have never needed a wizard to take care of me. I've experienced some sick... the truest evil of men... and never went running to a man for help!"

Junior inflamed at her words. "What evil could you possible know?" he billowed. "Some of us have actually experienced horrors, so don't you dare speak of such things so flippantly. Spoiled, self-important Muggle-born!"

Hermione clenched her eyes. Electricity crackled around her. If she'd been holding her wand, sparks would've showered the room. "Mops!"

The house-elf popped into the kitchen in an instant. "Yes, Mistress?" she answered eagerly.

Hermione spoke through gritted teeth. "I've suddenly come down with a forceful headache. Would you be so kind as to finish this up?"

"Yes, Mistress! Mistress is so kind to poor Mops!"

Before Hermione reached the door, she grabbed at a wrapped box that Junior hadn't spotted earlier. Both hands clamping down on package, she hurled the box clear across the kitchen where is smacked against Junior's chest.

"Happy Christmas, you miserable git!"

Frowning, Junior waited until he'd distinguished the fading vibration of Hermione's stomp up the stairs before he reluctantly opened it.

His displeasure only increased considerably.

Inside the box was a brand-new set of black robes. Robes that were his alone and not some faded hand-me-downs that previously belonged to a foreign, devastating wizard who was to be himself at the end of eighteen-years.

Junior sighed, vexed at the strange, crushing emotion filling his chest.

He didn't understand those two...especially Hermione...one bit.

---

I am not apologizing... Junior said to himself for the tenth time the last hour.

Steeling himself for the unpredictable, he threw open his bedroom door and edged down the hallway. Junior refused to admit to himself that he'd been pacing his room, working himself into a right state.

No, he was not going to apologize to Hermione for his judgments against her. He was certain everything he said was accurate and the woman had merely grown angry at having such blatant, ugly truths thrown out in the open.

Junior's upper lip curled involuntarily. He grudgingly admitted...very, very grudgingly...that he should at least... thank... Hermione for the much desired new robes.

She had been acting the proper hostess and had been treating him decently, Severus admitted. It was this thought in his mind that bade Junior to loudly knock upon her bedroom door.

He wouldn't have dared such a thing if he wasn't certain that the old man had been wholly occupied down in the Potions lab.

A few tense moments passed without an answer. Knocking once more, Junior's hand stilled in the air when the door pushed away from the force of his fist.

"Mrs. Snape?" he called tentatively.

No answer.

Slowly pushing the door open in the hope of exaggerating his entrance, Junior called to her once more. When he received silence again, Severus carefully stepped into the bedroom.

It was empty.

That was when he noticed a door opposite him slightly ajar. A thin streak of bright light cut clear across the room's dark interior. Junior's ears prickled when he recognized the sound of off-key humming echoing against tile.

Junior edged himself closer.

All instinct told him that this was not only inappropriate but also incredibly dangerous if he were discovered. He knew exactly what Mrs. Snape was doing in there. The thunderous pounding of rushing water was telling enough.

But that cracked door called to him, ridiculed him. He needed to get closer.

Once Junior had managed to level his face against the doorframe, all licentious aspirations drained from his groin as quickly as his face whitened to a sickly pallor.

He was truly at a loss for words.

A part of him was exceedingly aroused at the sight offered, of course. His bollocks ached, begging for release after such a ... trying... day. But his rational mind warred with his fantasies.

Facing away from the door, Hermione was perched on the edge of the bathtub as she waited for it to fill with hot water.

Only a small towel was wrapped around her waist. She lowered herself to test the temperature of her bath, gifting Severus with the soft swell of one bare breast.

As Hermione raised her mane of riotous curls into a sloppy coil at the crown of her head, Severus' breath stopped short, and the rational section of his brain finally gained control.

What the hell?

The sight of her scarred back startled Junior to the point of rendering him nauseous.

He wasn't repulsed by the scars themselves, for there weren't that many and it was obvious that they'd been expertly healed. Only a faint scattering of white discoloration was visible.

It was the patterning of the scars that made Junior break out into a cold sweat.

"Impossible," he muttered to himself.

Those scars were very distinctive to a particular person's style of torture. A combination of the Slicing Hex and Cruciatus that only one woman he knew was able to master. And the only surviving victims encompassing such markings were permanently confined at Mungo's while the perpetrator was currently imprisoned in Azkaban, hopefully for the reminder of her life.

Unless...

He didn't even want to imagine the implication that those scars exposed.

"Impossible," he repeated once again, his baritone accidentally rising over the rush of water.

Hermione's back straightened.

Her neck carefully turned and immediately locked eyes with the dark figure hovering at her bathroom door.

Hermione didn't say a word. Her face didn't even twitch in anger or disgust.

And all of this went against Junior's expectations. He almost wished that she'd strike him again.

In less than two seconds, Hermione had risen from the tub with such apathetic deliberation that she hadn't bothered covering herself from the young man's unblinking gaze.

Junior's appalled expression had ripped all sexuality from this encounter.

Her face totally indifferent, Hermione smoothly grasped the edge of the door and propelled it to slam against his face.

Severus didn't say a word. It took much longer than he would have liked to acknowledge before he finally removed himself from her bedroom.

By the time he returned to his room, he recognized that the crushing, suffocating heaviness he'd suffered in the kitchen had returned with a vengeance, and it had nothing to do with the new robes he'd been given.