Of Potion Making.

Summary: Hermione casts a pebble into the tides of history. Ripples happen.

A/N: My thanks to everyone I pinned down for this one, especially and as always Ana, whose influence is also evident in the chapter art.

25: Of Potion Making.

"... expert... oh, dear." Eyeing the file once more, he tilted his head. "So dolorous, this decade... but perhaps... yes. A change of tempo... just the thing..."

Demetrios spun once, struck a sudden pose, and swept into Hermione's office.

-----

The boys were still speculating wildly about the Tournament that night at dinner, apparently requiring only the occasional disapproving sniff and priggish comment regarding "finding out soon enough" that her 14- and 26-year-old selves were both quite happy to supply.

This left her with her reading notes – now covered with pages of Want Hermny bak - and her dinner to occupy her mind.

Both were, unsurprisingly, insufficient.

She sighed and reached for the top book in her satchel. Which it was didn't matter, really; it wasn't as though anyone would notice or care.

She twirled her fork idly through her shepherd's pie and reviewed her day.

Kicked out of class... thanks, Crooky – although I can hardly blame you; you must be beside yourself, for all your stodgy dignity. Cedric in the stairs... then Severus (Professor Snape, Granger. Professor Snape...) in the corridor – detention – and again the second Crooky's paw crossed the threshold into Potions... another detention... I don't even think he looked at me... I hope he didn't, anyway...

She concentrated on stabbing one pea onto each of her fork tines and contributed another priggish sniff to the boys' conversation.

She was wondering morosely how she was to get through two detentions with Professor Snape without any eye contact when, with no warning whatsoever, she felt her elbow fly into Ron's ribs.

What the...

"Oy, Hermione, whassat for?" Ron said, swallowing a mouthful of potato.

"The students from Beauxbatons," she found herself saying, "are quite superior in their understanding of Charms, and..." Even as the words were spilling out, she wondered what the forces of history found so important that she was compelled to utter them. "... however physically attractive any of them might be."

She found herself dragging her satchel from under the bench, stuffing a book into it, and stalking out of the Great Hall, whereupon the forces of history left her quite suddenly once again in command of her own feet, standing in the Entrance Hall.

Lovely. Didn't even get to finish my dinner, she thought. Might as well go back to Gryffindor tower. Hm... I wonder...

She turned over why history obliged her to bruise Ron's ribs as he yammered about how beautiful the Beauxbatons girls were rumoured to be. Something to do with Fleur, perhaps? How could that have affected the outcome of the... oh, no.

She stopped halfway up the stairs and blinked.

Her budding relationship with Ron. Of course. Had the outcome of the war really depended on that?

She chewed her lip, seeking to connect invisible dots. If we'd not had feelings for each other, what would have changed? The Forest of Dean, perhaps... he had to desert us so he could come back just as Harry found the sword... his jealousy... oh, grand, just grand.

Unenthused about spending the next who knew how long responding stupidly to Ron's... well... stupidity, she stood for a moment in a minor dudgeon, then brightened, remembering that she'd soon be back and forth between the quarreling boys. Once Harry's name had come out of the Goblet, and for as long as their fight lasted, she and Ron had tacitly set aside their hormonal what-have-you for a few weeks.

Well, that'll be a reprieve, anyway. Of course, I should be back in my own time by then... Mimi, I hope you had a good reason for this.

Crookshanks twined about her ankles.

"Oh, I know, poor thing; you're still hungry. So am I..."

Adjusting her the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she made her way through sparsely populated corridors.

One day at Hogwarts and three new black marks on her permanent record...

Well... no sense wandering about aimlessly. Best put time to good use. It's not as though I actually need to study; I could sit N.E.W.T.s tomorrow, probably...

But the thought of settling in for an intensive revision of material she'd long considered elementary didn't inspire her to stay still for long; after a half an hour in the library, putting time to good use seemed to involve a lot of aimless wandering, a bit of reading, and surreptitiously letting Crookshanks satisfy his frequent urges to sniff her hand and stare at her with large, mournful eyes.

With three days to kill before her first detention – Friday night, after double Potions with the Slytherins – for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was bored.

---

Severus leaned back in Hermione's armchair, holding an empty snifter.

He'd remembered assigning detentions, but he could recall no clear visual memory of her. Her presence in the stairs when she ought to have been in class had merely registered as "out of place"; her ruddy cat's paws in his dungeon even more so; both times, he'd responded more or less automatically and continued his day.

Perhaps his past self would be wise and assign her cauldron scrubbing.

No. She would be doubled over for cauldron scrubbing.

Ingredient sorting, then.

Worse. That would involve proximity. Her eyes – they would trouble him. And although, strictly speaking, he didn't so much mind if his past self had a bit more trouble – the limit to what he could endure had been reached and surpassed a thousand times before – he would very, very much prefer to keep child Hermione in the past, where she bloody well belonged.

For the third time that hour, he muttered, "Oh, do wake up."

His admonition didn't work any better than it had the first two times. Hermione lay on the lounge, breathing softly.

More brandy.

He had no idea how quickly time was passing in the past - Was it Friday morning yet? Afternoon? - but the more brandy he could get in his system before his memories started doubling, the happier he'd be about it.

Double detention with Hermione Granger.

He groaned.

---

By Thursday evening, Hermione had concluded that she'd had no idea she'd been influencing history so much. Her constant low-level bickering with Ron – required. She'd sorted that out. Helping Colin Creavey with his D.A.D.A. homework – obvious. A quick smile to a Hufflepuff whose name she didn't know – he later fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. His bravery was somehow my doing?

Most of them she could figure out, but when the "sweeping forces of history" required that she repeat her thrice-daily refusal to let Lavender and Parvati practice their make-over Charms on her, she gave up, the "sweeping forces" becoming, in her mind, "the perving tides," as they seemed far more interested in her personal life – or what amounted to it at 14 – than in whether or not she paid attention in class.

She found this more than mildly offensive.

So although she'd made it through the next two days without real incident, she was no closer to understanding why she was in fourth year – and more to the point, for how long – than she had been right after she face-planted into...

His lap. Oh, sweet Merlin. She felt her face redden. Go to sleep, Granger. Thinking about him won't make detention any easier. And who knows? Tomorrow morning, I might wake up in... She shut her eyes hard, but her mind continued, ... Severus's lap. Professor Snape's. My flat, my flat in London. Oh, bugger all this for a lark...

But Friday morning, she opened her eyes once again to her faintly moth-eaten Hogwarts canopy.

"Oh, screw me sideways, enough of this," she grumbled, getting out of bed.

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, could you just go and have a morning pee without announcing it for once?"

"Sorry, Parvati." Hermione yanked her jumper over her head and left the dormitory, Crookshanks slipping into stride alongside her, making for the dungeons.

Crookshanks would follow her to Double Potions this afternoon – there was simply no stopping him – and she had her permanent record to consider, even if it didn't count.

Would it count?

She paused halfway out the door, her mind racing. She'd no doubt Demetrios would still hire her, but her application for advanced study... was that guaranteed, in her future?

She stood there worrying that question, brow furrowed, until Parvati interrupted, begging her to shut the door, "For pity's sake – you're letting half the draft in the castle in."

Hermione slipped out.

She had to talk to Professor Snape. Severus.

Whichever.

---

Halfway to the kitchen, he stopped short, nearly stepping on Mimi.

He remembered a new knock on his door – on the door to his private study, to be precise.

No student ever dared – bollocks – what in blazes are you thinking, Granger?

With a reflexively professional glance at the cauldron - "The glow should emerge after six hours, beginning as a slight effervescence..." Check. - Severus reached grimly for the brandy as he remembered the knock repeating.

---

Frowning, she knocked again.

His voice was muffled by the thick planks of the iron-bound door. "Identify yourself."

"Hermione Granger, sir."

The door didn't open. Well, fine; I've no choice.

"Your class is not until this afternoon. Do recall the rules for my classroom and leave your familiar in – What do you mean by entering my office without leave?"

Whoops. Perhaps I had a choice after all. Shite.

"Explain yourself."

Well, I'll try; let's see if this works... Hermione was careful not to look at him as she closed the door. "I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt you, sir, but that's precisely why I need to speak to you."

She heard him draw a breath, no doubt to blister her severely. Quickly gathering her muster, she turned and looked him straight in the eye.

---

In London, Severus's hand tightened hard on the bottle.

---

He towered over her, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Your impertinence is..."

She kept her eyes locked on his. He's so tall... or I'm still shorter... oh, stop it, Granger! She spoke in a rush: "Forgive me for interrupting you, sir, but I haven't much time... well, that's not precisely correct; it's more that I don't know how much... but regardless..."

"...inexcusable and will you stop babbling?"

She shot him a reflexive glare and saw him stiffen. "I know it's inexcusable, and yet I seem to be able to do it anyway, which may be precisely why I'm here; I don't know – regardless – I can't help Crookshanks's following me. He will keep on, and there's not a bloody thing I can do about it, and I don't blame him, not one whit, poor thing, because..."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"Because – Professor, have you ever heard of Athena's owl?"

---

In Hermione's kitchen, Severus was chanting, "Send her to Pomfrey... send her to Pomfrey... she's distraught, you fool, just – just get her and her eyes out of your office –"

---

Demetrios floated a few inches above Hermione's desk chair, his ghostly feet hovering over the desktop.

Her student folder snapped open before him and he picked up the latest parchment. "Ooh, insubordination! My, my..."

He leaned back and watched the mirror ball spin lazily on the ceiling.

The box containing Hermione's permanent record changed color from pale gold to vaguely...

"Peach! And... perhaps with a tinge of apricot?" He peered more closely, then shook his head. "Too soon to say; too soon to say."

He settled back and stared dreamily at the ceiling, murmuring, "He'd be so proud of you, dear... so proud..."

---

She had no idea if he'd heard her; the words "Your detention is extended from Saturday afternoon to after dinner Saturday night" hung in the air.

It's a date... do not say that do not say it, oh, for Merlin's sake, his eyes...

She could not see anything in them beyond sharp annoyance, which she found rather amusing, and, she had to admit, vast indifference, which she didn't like at all. Grow up, Granger – he's distracted; the Mark must be getting darker now, but he doesn't know what it means; not yet...

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, sir. I'll see if I can leave him with Hagrid."

"And on Saturday," he snarled, "I shall expect you immediately after lunch and again immediately after dinner."

She wanted to laugh. To sing.

And more than anything she wanted him to touch her.

She dropped her eyes and feigned fourteen. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Indeed."

And she remembered, and her heart fell. You have no idea how sorry, Severus. None at all.

She had no voice. Her eyes raised to his once more.

He almost flinched, and his eyes narrowed. "Get out."

She nodded.

Then she thought, Granger, you're pants at subtlety. And a first-class perv.

---

Hermione, Hermione, what are you doing?

It was her eyes, but more than her eyes.

He could read every emotion in them now, including what he'd seen at the last.

Apology.

On that Friday morning that had never really happened, he hadn't known what it was, but that was beside the point. He'd been distracted by the Mark, and besides, she was a child.

He leaned against the counter and frowned.

He'd been stupid and blind far, far too many times for his own liking, but soon, in the past, he knew the Mark would have his every nerve-ending thrumming with awareness, his eyes and ears recording the smallest anomalies, his mind replaying them endlessly for any indication, any sign...

... and the right and wrong of stupidity and blindness blurred with the passage of time.

Damn her eyes.

She'd seen too much, and there would be no hiding it. Not then, for her; not from him, now.

She'd watched him die.

She was no actor.

It was only a matter of time.

He hoped he'd send her to Pomfrey. To Dumbledore.

Away.

"Wake up."