Chapter 10

This Time

Chapter 10

Did I just close my eyes

Or did I open my mind

For the very first time?

Perfect Change - Dakona

On Monday, a new parchment appeared on the notice board, and Severus slouched down the steps and joined the throng of seventh-years reading it.

'More career counselling,' Neville said glumly. 'My gran wanted me to be an Auror, like my dad ...'

Severus glanced at him, seeing the self-denigration in the other boy and feeling an empathetic thump of concern. He knew precisely how that felt, as well as where it led. 'Sod what your gran wants,' he said gruffly. 'You go with your strengths.'

A defiant grin touched Neville's round face. 'Yeah,' he said, punching Severus' shoulder as he squeezed through the crowd to go down for breakfast. 'I can do what I want.'

Severus watched him go, a brief flash of satisfaction bringing a half-smile to his face. Professor Snape's experience wasn't all negative...he had cared fiercely for his Slytherins and done his dead best, as their Head of House, to guide them well.

The notice board also contained a sign-up sheet to meet with Professor McGonagall about one's career plans and a table full of leaflets for possible jobs was set up near the portrait hole. Severus stared at the announcement with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mates were humming with excitement, but he could not join in. He didn't need career counselling. He'd had his counselling twenty years ago with fat old Slughorn, who had, by that time, ceased to have any use for Severus because Lily had already dropped him as a friend. Apparently, Slughorn had decided that talent would not be enough to make a success of Severus Snape if he did not also have the power of influential friends behind him.

Slughorn had been right, damn him.

And now, he was in no better case than he had been then. He looked like a seventh-year, he studied like a seventh-year, he even had a fucked up love life, just like a genuine seventh-year...but it was all a sham, wasn't it?

Who was he fooling? He might have his mates convinced that he was seventeen-year-old Adin Prince, and Hermione Granger might believe in his performance enough to want him for her boyfriend, but he wasn't seventeen. He was not their peer, and he had no business immersing himself in this life...and wanting it...as if he belonged here.

Turning away from the notice board, he pushed his way through the fringe of the crowd rather more roughly than he might have done on another day, only to come face-to-face with Hermione.

'Where are you going?' she asked him, seemingly alarmed by the expression on his face.

He paused, stunned that she would speak to him after their last encounter, longing more than ever to wrap himself around her and lose himself in the comfort she represented...but he had no right to her, in any way. Sneering mightily, he turned and retreated from her, blindly pushing his way to the portrait hole, intent on reaching the dungeon where his first class of the day would be held.

As he strode through the corridors, ignoring the insistent growling in his stomach, one thought pounded in his mind: He had to find the answer to deactivating the Dark Mark Curse and get out of this ridiculous charade before he was entirely lost in it. He had to get back to his old life...the one he had earned for himself by the accumulated merit of his past actions...and be miserable, as he deserved to be.

So you won't hurt Hermione, Adin agreed, adoration for the girl lurking like a candle in the gloom of his soul.

Because you don't deserve a second chance, his adult self sneered, unimpressed by the adolescent drivel of a lovesick school-boy. Lucius and Draco didn't get second chances...by what corruption of logic do you imagine that you deserve one?

'I don't,' he muttered, utterly convinced.

'The time release component comes before the intent adjustment, can't you see that?'

'No, it can't...look, if it doesn't come after, then what's to stop it from altering the outcome?'

Hermione stood at the chalkboard in the Room of Requirement, one arm flung up in demonstration of her point, whilst Severus stood across the room, scowling at her. Professor Dumbledore, Jared, and Allison watched them as if they were a tennis match.

'All right,' Severus challenged, plucking a chirping chick from the cage on the counter and placing it on the floor at Hermione's feet, 'if you're such a know-it-all, why don't you show us how it's done?'

'Adin, no!' Professor Dumbledore said, stepping forward to retrieve the chick. 'We haven't worked through the steps yet...you must be patient.'

Fighting the urge to shout at the old man, Severus whirled and brought his fist down on the countertop, making the implements there jump. 'I'm bloody sick of being patient!' he snarled.

'Perhaps this will be a good stopping place for us today,' the Headmaster said, returning the fluffy yellow chick to the cage with its fellows. 'Please review your notes and come to class on Wednesday with your comments.'

Severus clenched his jaw, fighting to control his irritation. The Headmaster was the first out of the door, with Jared and Allison following, their heads together in whispered conversation. Severus stalked out in their wake, glaring at the stone floor, but Hermione remained behind, staring at the spot where he had stood, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

Severus spent more and more time in his room studying at his desk and avoiding the library alcove, which called to him with a Siren song of almost unbearable seduction. He had no idea if Hermione had returned there, or if she avoided it as he did. Although he puzzled over the details frequently, he couldn't quite work out how he'd lost all control of the situation. He remembered with rather maudlin nostalgia his first two months in Gryffindor Tower, when he had been unfettered by the raging need to find Hermione Granger and shag her into submission ... shag her until they were lost in the bliss of one another ... shag her until he could forget his old self and his old life ... shag her until all that was left was his amazement that this woman wanted him as he wanted her...with every cell of his being ...

Overcome again by the vision of her in the genie outfit, he closed his eyes and imagined coaxing the harem pants down her thighs and thrusting into her warmth as he now thrust into his fist, replaying over and again in his mind the heat of her open-mouthed kisses, the silk of the bare skin of her torso beneath his questing hands, and the impassioned whimpers she had breathed into his mouth on Halloween night.

The day of their first Quidditch match, he was awakened at first light by the pounding on his door; when he opened it, he found Potter, Ron, and Dean all dressed in their Quidditch robes.

'Come on, mate!' Dean said. 'The team eats breakfast together on match day...where're your robes?'

At their table in the Great Hall, the team consumed their breakfasts in companionable silence. After a time, fellow Gryffindors joined them. Some wore badges, others House scarves, and Neville showed up with his face painted in House colours. Severus found the low drone of tension amongst the players to be electrifying, and the encouragement of their Housemates, whose unshakable belief in yet another Gryffindor Quidditch Cup bordered on fanaticism, cheered him immensely. By the time he stepped out into the weak November sunshine with the rest of his team, he had no thought for his troubles; he was simply a boy anticipating a morning of soaring about on his broom, being cheered on by the people in the stands.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and they were off, crimson robes darting and swerving amongst the yellow. Severus wielded his bat, coordinating with Peakes to protect their players and to bedevil the Hufflepuffs. Time and again Severus nipped between one of the Chasers and a Bludger, whacking it and sending it towards a Hufflepuff player. The Hufflepuff Beaters, Mulberry and Hazlitt, had been playing their positions opposite one another for five years, and their moves were synchronized to nearly an art form. Severus and Peakes did not have that fluidity with one another and were required instead to depend upon the keenness of their eyesight and the swiftness of their reactions.

The Gryffindor Chasers were clearly superior, for the score was soon 120 to 50. If Potter could catch the Snitch, the game would be over, with Gryffindor the winners.

Severus began scanning the sky for Potter, making it his business to know the location of each Bludger and his team's Seeker at all times. Kincannon, the Hufflepuff Seeker, dived, and Potter hurtled after him. But just as quickly as he had begun his whirling descent, Potter changed course, climbing straight up. Following Potter's line of sight, Severus saw the gold glint of the Snitch...and the other thing he saw made his blood run cold. Mulberry and Hazlitt, from opposite sides of the pitch, had each hit a Bludger towards the Snitch...and by Severus' estimation, the two black balls, the Snitch, and Potter would all soon attempt to defy the laws of physics by occupying the same space at the same time.

Flattening himself on his broom, Severus raced to reach the spot in time to prevent his Seeker from being knocked out of the air. He judged that if he were able to get between Potter and the Bludgers in time, Potter could catch the Snitch, and Severus could bat one of the Bludgers away ...

Severus and Potter arrived simultaneously. Moving to intercept the nearest Bludger, Severus whacked it with all his might, sending it flying towards Mulberry just as he heard Potter's victory shout. They had won!

In the next moment, the world exploded in blackness and pain.

Madam Pomfrey revived him with old-fashioned smelling salts.

'What the fu...' he began, struggling up, but blinding pain screamed through his head, and the room spun sickeningly. He sagged back onto his pillow and looked at the group surrounding him. His wind-swept team mates stood over him, their faces anxious. Ginny was crying.

'Adin,' she whispered, patting his arm, her eyes...not so pretty as Hermione's, but still big and brown...swimming in tears. 'If you hadn't hit that Bludger, it would've knocked Harry off his broom.'

'Yeah, you daft bastard, so you let it knock you off your broom instead.' Potter looked down at him gravely. 'I owe you a life debt, mate.'

'You bloody well don't,' Ron objected, peering over Potter's shoulder. 'You caught him and flew him back down to the ground, so I'd say you're even.' He grinned at Severus. 'You look like hell, Adin...how do you feel?'

'... not quite that good,' Severus managed to croak.

'I have to put him in pyjamas and treat his injuries,' Madam Pomfrey interrupted, making shooing motions with her hands. 'A fractured skull and concussion are nothing to sneeze at!'

Potter paused for a moment, resisting the matron, looking intently at Severus with Lily Evans' green eyes. 'Thank you,' he said.

Severus felt as if his head was about to split open, but he could not resist his Quidditch Captain's words. 'No problem, Harry,' he said quietly, realising it was the first time he had ever spoken the other boy's first name to his face. Harry, with the familiar green eyes ... Harry, whom he had always, always protected ... Harry, who trusted him now to protect the team, as well ...

For a moment, Harry gripped his hand, and then Severus was alone with Madam Pomfrey, hospital-issue pyjamas, and a nauseating array of potions.

The pain potion gave him a floating, spacey feeling, but although he drifted off to sweet dreams frequently, he did not sleep for long. Madam Pomfrey checked on him regularly for the first several hours, the last time coming to him in her dressing gown. 'Don't hesitate to ring if you need me,' she said, nodding towards the bell on his table. 'You should rest comfortably enough.'

He was sitting on a blanket beneath the beech tree by the lake on a warm, sunny day, with Hermione's hand in his, and all was right with the world...only someone had started a Muggle lawn mower, and the thing was bloody loud.

'Turn it off,' he muttered, but the noise continued, and then something rather cold touched his nose.

He opened his eyes to find Bother standing on his chest, purring loudly, her form illuminated by the single candle on his bedside table. He saw then that another figure hovered over him.

'Hermione,' he said, recognising the nimbus of bushy hair backlit by the candle. He wasn't sure why she was there, but he was certain she belonged with him. 'Hi,' he added, giving her a smile.

'Hi,' she whispered back with a little sob, reaching out, her fingers hesitating at his cheek, as if wanting to feel him. 'I'm so sorry you were hurt.'

He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her touch, reaching to hold her palm to him with one hand and beginning to stroke Bother with the other. Yes, that felt exactly right.

She made a sound, somewhere between a hiccough and a laugh, and he opened his eyes again, looking up at her face.

'Pets aren't allowed in the hospital wing,' she said softly, 'but Crookshanks led Bother to my room tonight, and she wouldn't stop crying until I brought her to you...she seemed quite sure I would know where to find you.'

He smiled at her again, feeling happy and safe, and her lips trembled a little bit as she smiled back at him, her eyes questioning.

'I wondered where you were,' he confided.

She pulled her hand away then, the beginnings of a frown crossing her face, and Severus felt an immediate twinge of unease. Why was she unhappy?

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said stiffly, her withdrawal as complete as if she had pulled a curtain between them. 'I only came to bring your cat, and here she is, so I'll go now.'

He reached out to her then, and she stepped back, beyond the reach of his fingers. 'Don't go,' he pled.

Her expression contorted a bit, as if in indecision. 'Do you even remember why you're in hospital?' she asked.

'No,' he said, realising it was true. His head pained him, and he didn't remember anything very clearly, but he knew one thing for certain: Hermione belonged with him.

'You took a direct hit to the head with a Bludger,' she said, seemingly torn between exasperation and something else ... something that might make her stay, if he played his cards right.

'Was I in the stands?' he asked. Had he been sitting in the stands with the teachers? No, that wasn't right. He pushed to remember, and his head throbbed with pain.

When he grimaced, she reached again to put her hand on him, this time stroking his fringe back from his brow. He arched into her touch, which made the pain recede a bit.

'No, you were playing,' she murmured. 'You really don't remember, do you?'

He shook his head once and grimaced at the resulting ache. 'Don't go away,' he said. 'I'll try to remember, if you want me to.'

'Don't worry about that now,' she said, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. 'Just try to rest. I'll stay for a bit.'

Bother chose that moment to walk to the end of the bed, curling up at his feet, and Severus moved to his left, ignoring the thudding of the pain in his head. 'Sit up here,' he said.

'No,' Hermione answered, as if a bit scandalised. 'Madam Pomfrey wouldn't like that.'

'It doesn't hurt as much when you put your hand on my forehead,' he said then, pushing his advantage, watching her face from beneath his lashes.

'Adin,' she sighed, leaving the chair and easing onto the hospital bed. 'I don't know why I do the things I do for you.'

He smiled, happy to have her with him, and when she stroked her fingers over his forehead again, he almost whimpered at the lessening of the throbbing pain.

'Is that better?' she whispered.

He nodded, loving the feel of her hand moving gently over his skin as he did so. 'You make it better,' he said simply.

He drifted then, finding a space of comfort in her presence and her touch, allowing the cocktail of potions he had been given to cushion him as he healed. After a time, her hand was gone from his face, and the bed moved, as if her weight had shifted. Instinctively, Severus' hand found her arm and gave it a tug, until she laid sprawled half atop him. He circled her torso then with an iron grip and opened one eye, smirking into her indignant face.

'You said you'd stay,' he reminded her.

'You're going to get us both expelled!' she whispered. 'Let me go...I don't want to hurt you by fighting to get away!'

He held her more tightly still, turning his face into the fragrant tangle of her hair.

'But I need you,' he explained, closing his eyes again.

'You're impossible,' she muttered.

'Yes,' he agreed, knowing it was true.

She sighed. 'Does your mum tell you so?'

'Don't have a mum,' he answered, cuddling a bit closer to her, wondering if he could convince her to come under the blanket with him.

'Oh!' She sounded very contrite. 'I'm sorry, Adin, I didn't know. You've never told me about your family.'

'Nothing to tell,' he said, burrowing in her hair a bit, until his nose found her ear, which he nuzzled contentedly.

'Is it just you and your dad, then?' she asked, finally beginning to relax in his embrace.

'No dad,' he said softly. 'Just me.'

The cloud of her hair moved over his face, and he drew back a bit, until he saw her face upon his pillow beside him, her eyes distressed. 'Did they die in the war?' she whispered.

'Been gone a long time,' he said. Then, unable to prevent the words, he added, 'You're so pretty.'

The yellowish candlelight did not permit him to see any fluctuation in her colour, but she quickly averted her eyes from him. 'Your potions have addled your mind,' she said. 'I'm not pretty.'

'Are too,' he answered doggedly, sure of his facts. 'Prettiest girl in our year.'

'Hush,' she said, sounding pleased in spite of her words. 'You're not making any sense. Just be quiet and rest.'

'Want to kiss you,' he confided sleepily.

'No, you don't,' she answered firmly, making another bid to scoot away from him.

He tightened his hold and tugged her closer. 'Do,' he answered stubbornly. 'Later,' he added, when he realised that he didn't have the oomph to raise his head from his pillow.

'I'm not your girlfriend,' she muttered darkly as he began to drowse again.

'Doesn't matter,' he said, drifting into sleep, his mind supplying, because I love you.

When he awoke, the candlelight was guttering out, spitting and flickering, and Hermione was breathing softly on the pillow beside him. Her last words hung in his mind as if she had just spoken them, and the muzziness he had experienced before was gone: He knew exactly how he had got himself in hospital, and he realised what a villain he had been to pull this girl into bed with him...this girl whom he wanted but could not have.

'No,' he whispered to her, and her eyes fluttered open, as if she, too, were resuming their conversation where they had left off. 'No, you're not my girlfriend, but I'd be the luckiest bloke in the school if you were.'

She pressed closer to him, her warm breath fanning over his face as she spoke. 'All you have to do is ask,' she said.

He closed his eyes, the pain in his head gone, but the agony that began in his chest and streamed through his body very much present. 'I want to,' he said, 'but I can't.'

She was very still beside him, and he waited for the standard Hermione outburst, but it did not come. At last, she said firmly, 'Open your eyes, Adin.'

He did so, unable to deny her something so small, in spite of his fear of what he would see in her face.

'Why can't you?' she said seriously, looking into his eyes without flinching.

Old habits die very hard, and Severus was not proof against all of his old ways. A non-verbal incantation, and he was in her mind, his passage feather-light, her memories and emotions laid bare for him to know...but he could not bear to acknowledge what was so plainly there for him to see, and he withdrew from her, his exquisite agony amplified beyond measure.

You can't have it, the implacable voice told him, stirring into wakefulness in his time of vulnerability. And even if you could have it, you couldn't keep it...not when she knows who you are...she'll be horrified.

'I can't tell you,' he whispered brokenly, relinquishing his death-grip on her for the first time in hours and unsurprised when she pushed away from him and rose to her feet.

'If that's the way you want it,' she said, and she was gone, the bedside candle guttering into darkness in the wake of her passing.