Every Word

Summary: From I miss you to I miss you, with a smallish explosion.

A/N: My thanks to my alpha readers for this chapter: Anastasia, AnnieTalbot, and Indigofeathers.

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29: Every Word

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"NO NEED."

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When she opened her eyes the next morning, her first thought was, I miss you.

Neither history nor her Hogwarts canopy had any comment.

Sighing, Hermione slipped quietly from under the covers, dressed quickly and, grabbing her school bag and holding the door for Crookshanks, managed to leave without waking Lavender and Parvati.

After an exhaustive but thoroughly unremarkable examination after which Madam Pomfrey announced, to no one's real surprise, that Miss Granger was not suffering from any known affliction, curse, or identifiably Dark influence, Hermione made her way to the Great Hall for lunch.

History refused to let Hermione sit between Harry and Ginny. Hiding a resigned eye-roll behind her hair, Hermione obediently followed her feet, taking the open place next to Ron, who grinned at her.

For reasons she couldn't fathom, she found her twenty-six year old self roughly shoved aside for the entire meal, watching in idly detached bemusement as her younger self participated in the Gryffindor table's ongoing speculation regarding the forthcoming visit from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

Only once during the meal was she able to wrest control away from the sweeping tides of teenaged hormones and steal as much as a glance at Professor Snape.

He was ignoring whatever Madam Hooch was saying to him and looking straight at her.

His eyes. Her breath caught, twisting sharply in her chest, and she couldn't look away. Not so different from teenaged hormones after all.

History then insisted that she instead turn and notice Ron's hair.

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"Leave your bag by the door and take your usual seat."

"Yes, sir." Hermione watched as the door to the Potions classroom swung shut on her familiar and moved to her seat, awaiting Professor Snape's injunction to neither move nor speak.

He remained silent, however, and as on the previous evening, she did not know where to look. Anywhere but at him would be safe, she supposed, excepting that they were alone in the classroom and looking anywhere else would seem evasive....

Fine. Sighing inwardly, she looked up.

He stood behind his desk, examining her through slitted eyes as though she were a potentially volatile potions ingredient.

Uh-oh.

She endured his silent scrutiny for as long as she could, but finally had to speak. "Sir?"

"Your Head of House informs me that you were examined this morning, as arranged."

"Yes, sir."

"And that Madam Pomfrey found no cause for alarm."

That level of skepticism must cut... Hermione nodded.

"Be that as it may," he said, his tone revealing continued suspicion, "You are aware of the..." He paused, appearing to consider his wording.

Hermione sniffed inwardly. Theatrics. He knows exactly what he's going to say.

"... the unpleasantness concerning Miss Weasley during her first year?"

At "unpleasantness" she suppressed a snort. Instead, she nodded. "I am, sir." Bloody Hell, he thinks I've got Voldemort in my head. Then, Well, of course he does.

He moved out from behind his desk. "Despite Madam Pomfrey's assessment, I spoke with the Headmaster this morning."

She didn't know what to say, so she concentrated on looking attentive.

"There are limitations to what a mediwitch may do; more subtle forms of Dark magic require more experienced handling. I thus proposed to the Headmaster that you be subjected to Legilimency."

Hermione said nothing aloud, but her skin came alive with remembered intimacy and the scents from her Charm. Legilimency didn't necessarily require touch, but... I wonder if you'd like what you saw, Professor? Oh, keep your knickers on, Granger – History doubtless has other ideas...

He was still speaking. "Have you, in your extracurricular reading," – his tone lent that innocent phrase an air of perversion – "ever happened across Legilimency?"

Shite. Don't lie. "Erm..."

"An answer."

"I'm familiar with it, yes, Sir."

"Familiar." His gaze darkened, his eyes relentless in their focus on her own. "No Muggle-born Fourth Year could possibly be familiar with advanced magics."

She felt rather than heard some deeper challenge in his words, and the air grew sharp as though in presage to a duel, raising the hair on the back of her neck. "Sir, it's not what you think."

His voice coiled dangerously around her. "You presume to know what I think?"

Enough. She touched her wand, and a bottle of Veritaserum shot from his shelves into her hand.

His wand flashed into his hand in response.

Almost without thinking, she was on her feet and casting a reflexive Shield Charm, shattering his equally silent Summoning Charm, a burst of ice-colored light exploding between them. Shards of magic shot outward, smashing several jars and bottles and knocking a set of heavy shelves hard against the stone walls, rattling their contents.

In the shock of light, she caught his eyes – a hard darkness, betraying no hint of emotion, only determined power and absolute dominance.

A last stray spark caught the edge of his inkpot, sending the silver cover off its hinges with a ring of metal on crystal, igniting the long pheasant quill he used for marking.

Hermione held her breath.

His voice cut the air. "You dare..."

He tried again to summon the potion bottle, but she held her Shield firm, thumbing the cork from the bottle.

"Release your spell!" he ordered.

"Sir, I promise you, I do not have Voldemort in my mind." She let the cork fall to the table, her eyes holding his.

He kept his wand trained on her. "So the Headmaster seems to believe."

The cork rolled to the table edge and fell with almost inaudible softness to the stone floor.

The shadow of a smile crossed her face. "You don't trust him even now, do you?"

Professor Snape said nothing. She couldn't tell if he'd heard her.

Did Dumbledore hear him, I wonder? "Sir... did Professor Dumbledore explicitly refuse permission to use Legilimency on me, or did he just not hear you?"

He ignored the question, his face hard. "Release your spell and put that bottle down at once!"

With an outward calm she could not possibly have managed at fourteen, she repeated, "Did he actually refuse? In so many words?"

His eyes glittered with anger. "Conversations with the Headmaster are none of your business."

His refusal to answer sent her mind racing toward understanding. The coin prevented it. But why? No time now... "Professor Snape, if he didn't seem to really hear you, although you were speaking clearly, please, please, sir, just tell me? It pertains; I promise. If he did hear you, then I'll submit to whatever additional punishment I've earned, of course – but I'm nearly certain he didn't." She waited, resisting the urge to cross her fingers for luck.

Professor Snape didn't respond, but nor did he not repeat his order to drop her Shield.

Hm... thought so. Take your time, then, she thought, willing tension out of her wand arm lest it visibly tremble.

A long pause in which he seemed to be weighing his personal and, she supposed, his political suspicions against his obligations as a teacher.

Finally, his wand still at the ready, he nodded once. "He did not seem to hear me, no."

She nodded slowly, analyzing her sudden insight. So... if Dumbledore knew about my "possession" – no, not about me, just about the coin... if he knew about Athena's owl, he would try to use it... of course he would; he used everything... he'd see it as a weapon; he'd see that instantly – I think he'd be wrong, but would he rest until he'd exhausted its possibilities?

"If you are possessed of particular wisdom on this matter, Miss Granger, do share."

"Professor, I know this will sound mad, but... but have you ever heard of Athena's owl?"

No response.

"You didn't hear my question, did you, sir?"

His eyebrow twitched. "Unlike the Headmaster, I am neither conveniently nor even temporarily deaf." But something in his tone indicated that no, he hadn't heard her.

Which leaves me only this option. She lifted the potion and drank. She exhaled nervously; however twenty-six she might be, she had become, she knew, something of a wild card, and he held all power here. Finally releasing the Shield, she lowered her arm and placed her wand on the desktop. "Very well. Ask me anything."

Professor Snape's eyes widened slightly, and he stared, motionless.

Your move... Hermione thought wryly, then, Oh, sweet Avalon, I hope this wasn't a stupid idea...

"I do not have the Headmaster's permission to interrogate a student under Veritaserum. I should take you to the Hospital Wing immediately."

But he made no move to do so, and she saw speculation in his eyes.

She pressed what little advantage she had. "You yourself observed just now that I am no Fourth Year. Could even a Seventh Year have held a Shield Charm against you?"

His eyes flickered to her hands, which she kept deliberately away from her wand, and back to her eyes.

"You've said there is something 'off' about me."

He nodded almost imperceptibly.

She smiled ruefully. "There is something off about me, sir, but I promise you, it's entirely benign." She sat straighter and invoked the formalities of Veritaserum she had learned during the post-war Wizengamot hearings. "I attest that I am legally of age –" her mind ruthlessly observed that she had no idea what the legalities of her situation were, exactly; she told her mind to sod off. " – and with full awareness and by my own will, I give you my permission to question me under Veritaserum." She finished the formal offer by touching her wand briefly.

He stared at her mildly as she completed the official ritual.

Disbelief? Disdain? No matter. "Your move, sir," she said, letting her arms fall to her sides. "The potion's effects only ever last for half an hour, probably less, in my case."

"You've been questioned before," he said flatly.

"Yes, sir. Several times."

With a sharp, downward slash of his arm, he summoned her wand, and she flinched. "Are you harboring the Dark Lord in your mind?"

Hermione bristled. "You already know I'm not, sir."

Placing her wand behind him on his desk, he countered, "I know nothing of the sort."

"Would Voldemort drink Veritaserum in front of you – in front of anyone?"

"Are you His agent then?"

"No, sir."

"His messenger?"

"No, sir."

A long, assessing stare. Then he gestured curtly. "Sit."

She obeyed.

"What are you?"

"My name is Hermione Granger, sir."

"I know that," he spat.

"Then ask the question differently!" she flashed. "We don't have much time!"

"Recollect yourself, Miss Granger."

"I'm trying," she said. She collected her wits as well as she was able with the potion coursing through her mind.

"What is your purpose here?"

"I wish I knew, sir."

"Then what are you?!"

"I'm not a 'what'; I'm a 'who.' At the moment, I seem to be a Hogwarts student, but –"

"I've no interest in 'seems.'" Power emanated from him in waves, and she was suddenly aware of her heart beating.

"I wasn't finished yet. I am not a 'what,' I am myself, sort of; I am Hermione Granger and I both am and am not your student, which is truly disconcerting because I think I'm here because apparently, and without even my conscious knowledge, I've fancied you for years." Merlin, Mab, and Mordred, I did not just say that! Her heart pounded furiously as she tried desperately to stop talking.

"Veritaserum or no, you will address me properly."

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I've fancied you for years, sir."

Not as much as a blink betrayed whether or not he'd heard her.

Stupid... bloody stupid...

But his next question gave no indication she'd said anything beyond her name. "What year are you?"

She struggled to breathe normally. "Physically, I am currently a fourth-year student at Hogwarts School of –"

"'Physically'?"

"Yes, sir."

A mocking, skeptical eyebrow. "And the rest of you?"

"The rest of me is twenty-six years old."

He frowned. "Answer me."

"I did, sir. You didn't hear me."

His frown darkened. "There is nothing wrong with my hearing."

He seemed on the verge of movement – whether to summon the Headmaster or another teacher, or to send her to the Hospital Wing, or to shake her, she didn't know – "Of course there isn't, but I'm here under the auspices of Athena's owl."

He stiffened, movement averted. "What?"

"Have you ever heard of Athena's owl, sir?"

"It's a legend."

She blinked. "You heard me?"

"Of course I did," he said. "You expect to distract me with a fairy tale?"

"It's not a fairy tale, sir. Athena's owl is real."

"Accio Veritaserum." Professor Snape examined the bottle, his brows meeting over the bridge of his nose as he read the label, frowning. "Impossible."

"What is, sir?"

"I ask the questions here."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you in any way tampered with the contents of this potion?"

"No, sir."

"Athena's owl, you say."

"Yes, sir."

"What do you know of it?"

"It's a coin, similar in all aspects save one to an obol, the Athenian coin for the dead. The coin known as 'Athena's owl' is different in that it bears the image of an owl on both sides, not one."

"And its supposed purpose?"

"Its actual function is to bear the spirit of whoever tosses it to a time and place – in my experience, it always involves a temporal translocation; I suppose it could work only for place as well; I'm not entirely certain, having no first-hand experience with that sort of outcome. Theoretically, it almost has to be possible, but –"

"You're babbling."

"Veritaserum has that effect, sir." She swallowed. "As I was saying, it bears the spirit of whoever tosses it to a moment wherein they may find the wisdom they seek."

"It's a legend," he said again.

"It may have become legend, sir, but I assure you, the coin known as 'Athena's owl' is real."

He regarded her skeptically, his thumb rubbing the potion bottle. "Time travel, you say. Very well, since you seem to believe that, how old are you?"

"Fourteen. And twenty-six."

"Fourteen and... what?"

"You didn't hear me, did you, sir?"

"You spoke further?"

"I did, sir."

He shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, sir. I imagine it's the owl that's keeping you from hearing me properly. The coin, I mean. The premise on which it seems to work is this: When one is under its auspices, one may not in any way alter anything crucial to the development of larger historical events. I presume you cannot hear some of my answers because, were you to do so, your actions in the past – your future, I mean – might change, to who knows what effect." She paused for breath.

"You are rather articulate for a Fourth year."

"That's because I'm not one."

"What are you?"

"As I've told you, I'm Hermione Granger, sir. Doctor Hermione Granger, Assistant Archivist, British Library, Wizarding Branch, to be precise."

He shook his head. "You spoke further. After your name."

"I did, sir. I can only assume you were not permitted to hear it."

"Not permitted."

"By the owl, sir. The coin, I mean."

His lip curled. "You expect me to believe that you are here from..."

"The future, sir. Well, my present, really. From your perspective it would be your future."

"My future," he repeated tonelessly.

"Erm... well, sort of, yes, sir. To the extent that you have one, anyway; the metaphysics are rather complicated, and the question of your future is rather up in the air still. At least I hope it is." She gritted her teeth. "And I hope you didn't hear that."

"Hear what?"

"Oh, good. You didn't."

"This is most irregular."

She snorted. "You're telling me?"

"How dare you..."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Ask Demetrios if you don't believe me, sir."

He glanced at her sharply. "Demetrios."

"Demetrios of Alexandria, Bay-Laurel of Athena (2nd Class), currently Head Archivist, British Library, Wizarding Branch." She paused for breath. "Sir."

"I did not ask you for his vita, Miss Granger."

"In his case, Professor, I believe it would technically be a 'morta.'"

He glared at her.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's the Veritaserum. I can't help it."

"Silence."

A long pause in which he cast an efficient set of Contamination Inquiry Charms on the bottle.

When the bottle glowed blue, his brow furrowed, and he stood silently for a moment.

Hermione held her breath. Please, please, please just ask Demetrios.

Suddenly he nodded and, with a curt gesture indicating that she wasn't to follow, he wrenched open the door behind him, heading, she assumed, for the Floo.

She heard his short request: "Demetrios of Alexandria."

The pleasant voice of the operator spell replied, "At once, Professor Snape."

A pause.

"Good afternoon... Professor Snape, is it?"

Demetrios's voice carried to Hermione, and she closed her eyes, whispering to the empty classroom, "I want to go home."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Professor," Demetrios was saying. "How may I be of assistance to Hogwarts?"

"I've an inquiry concerning a legendary artifact whose existence requires substantiation."

"Oh, my, how fascinating – legendary, you say? I am at your disposal, of course..."

Hermione could almost see her superior fold his hands over his middle, see him smile his kind, patient smile, and she whispered, "I really, really want to go home. To see Demetrios. The Archive. And this man is a stranger to me, and I'm bloody fourteen, and Merlin help me, I just want to get my hands on his arse..."

"A student has recently displayed behavior that is more than slightly aberrant."

Hermione sat on her hands and kept listening.

"Yes?" Demetrios inquired mildly.

"The student claims she is under the auspices of Athena's owl..."

Hermione could well imagine Demetrios's surprise. It will take him a day and a half to find his eyebrows... She stifled a giggle.

"... and insists on its actual existence." Professor Snape concluded.

"How very curious..." Demetrios's voice went silent for a moment. "Yes, most curious. Might one inquire as to the nature of the student's, hrm, behavior?"

"She evinces more familiarity with subjects beyond her year – some rather esoteric – than can be explained by extra reading."

"I see... this student of yours, I imagine she possesses a rather precocious intellect?"

Hermione heard Professor Snape snort softly. "She would have her professors believe so, at least."

Demetrios laughed. "An intellect rather more bookish than practical, then... yes, yes... I begin to perceive..." His voice trailed away, then he must have shaken himself – a gesture Hermione knew well – for he continued, "Yes. Quite... do go on."

"Additionally, there is some irregularity in her speech and also in conversations pertaining to her."

"What manner of irregularity?" Demetrios's excitement was palpable even in the next room.

"When she speaks one cannot hear all of her words – although one is perfectly aware that she is speaking. Likewise, when one speaks about her..." Professor Snape coughed. "References to her sometimes appear to be inaudible to other staff members."

A burst of delighted laughter from the Floo. "Remarkable!"

A pause that Hermione knew indicated a scowl. "She is hardly remarkable."

"Oh, no, Professor, she is; I assure you. She must be, and you, I think, will have occasion to agree with me, although perhaps not for quite some time. Tell me, Professor – are the other staff at all, hrm, troubled by this student's behavior?"

"The Divination professor is beside herself, but that is nothing extraordinary."

Hermione heard Demetrios laugh. "They always are a bit mad. Luckily it's not hereditary."

"I do not follow..."

"Ah, no, of course not. My mother was the Oracle, you see."

"The Oracle?"

"At Delphi. Quite the scandal that was; they're supposed to be virgins, you know."

Hermione could not begin to imagine Professor Snape's expression.

"So, you are somehow implicated in the wisdom she seeks," Demetrios continued. Allow me to congratulate you, then."

Professor Snape made a strangling noise. "Me?"

"Yes, if you were able to hear her mention my little owl, you are the central object of her float... quite important to it, at least, although neither of us will know how or why for quite some time, I think... if ever, really... well, I shall eventually, probably, but you... hmm... I wonder..."

"Are you certain that particular madness was not hereditary?"

"Quite, Professor; quite. As an archivist, only the possibilities of the past concern me. The future is only ever imaginary; it rightly belongs to the mad." Demetrios's tone grew serious. "You're in for a rather discomfiting time of it, I'm afraid – but I've no doubt that retrospectively you'll find the right path everywhere. A lucky find for you, Professor. A very lucky find indeed. I do hope you won't give her too much trouble."

"What are you saying?"

"Athena's owl exists, Professor Snape, and its abilities are quite real."

"I find that impossible to believe." Professor Snape's voice was strangled.

"Oh, my word, I should say so; nonetheless, yes. It's been in my possession for aeons. I confess, I am quite looking forward to learning which of your students I shall find so very worthy... thank you, Professor; thank you. I'm absolutely bursting with curiosity, of course."

"Worthy?"

"Of course!" Demetrios's voice sparkled with patient anticipation. "My little owl and I have never been parted – I confess I can't begin to imagine what circumstances will prompt me to lend her... and speculation is pointless, of course."

"Her?" Professor Snape asked weakly.

"My owl, of course, which I shall evidently lend to your student in the future. Might I inquire as to the student's name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Ah," Demetrios said, a little sadly. "All I hear is a buzzing noise, I'm afraid. I am not to know her name yet, then. Well, so be it; Athena's wisdom prevails."

"Athena."

"Of course – who did you think created the 'artifact' we speak of? Oooh, that word does make one feel one's years..."

"Might I see it?"

"My apologies, Professor, but as I am long since dead, no part of me will manifest on your end, and I should hate to risk losing my little owl."

"I see." Hermione heard Professor Snape's robes rustle slightly. "There is no chance that the student is lying?"

"It is possible, of course, although were that the case, one would hope for something more plausible. But what you say about the student's speech, and your inability to discuss her situation with other staff... it's consistent with my own experience. Aristotle finds it annoying, when it happens. It gets easier, with practice." He chuckled again. "Most things do."

A skeptical noise from Professor Snape.

Demetrios chuckled. "Why, Professor – I presume that, as Potions Master, you do have other methods of inquiry at your disposal?"

"The Headmaster frowns on the use of any absolute methods when students are concerned."

"Does he really? How very modern of him... well, Albus always was his own Thestral."

"His... what?"

"Just an expression..."

A long silence. Hermione craned her neck but could glimpse only the edge of Professor Snape's robes through the door.

"Professor, is the student by any chance there with you?"

"She is serving detention in the adjoining classroom, and is no doubt listening to every word."

"My dear, can you hear me?" Demetrios called.

"Yes, I can, Demetrios – um, I mean sir," Hermione replied, an odd lump rising in her throat.

"No harm, my dear; no harm. I've no doubt that from your perspective we know each other very well indeed, and may I just say that I am simply bursting with curiosity, anticipating the day I eventually make your acquaintance?"

A laugh released the tightness in her throat, and Hermione called, "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much, indeed."

"You will tell me the whole story, won't you? When Athena returns you?"

"Of course! But..."

"Yes?"

Her words stumbled over themselves. "But I didn't toss the coin at all – it was a kitten who did, and I've no idea how to get home or even what wisdom I'm supposed to be seeking..."

"Ah, my dear, I'm afraid I didn't catch that."

"No, I suppose not."

"No worries, my dear; no worries. This conversation doesn't really happen, you know. Not unless it needs to have done."

"I don't understand," she said, faltering.

"Why, of course you don't; how could you? Some curiosities defy ready legibility, my dear, as you doubtless will learn." He chuckled. "Professor Snape, if that was all? I've a rogue windmill that's just appeared in the Archive, and it's wreaking havoc with the John Calvin papers..."

"A windmill has – ... yes. Quite. Your assistance is appreciated."

"Oh, the pleasure is mine, really – it's not every day I learn I shall break a silence I've kept since... well, for a very, very long time. My dear," Demetrios called to Hermione.

"Yes?"

"I shall look forward to meeting you, someday." His kindness filled the chill classroom, and her fondness for him somehow outgrew her heart.

"Thank you. And... Demetrios?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I miss you."

A small chuckle, and a rushing noise signaled that the connection was closed.

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Trivial Note:

1. Greek for "lucky find": hermaion. Isn't that nifty? :)

~ A.