Time Out of Mind

Disclaimer: I own nothing Harry Potter related. I'm making no money. Please, powers-that-be, leave me alone to play with my thoughts.

Chapter Two – Time Out of Mind

He awoke several hours later, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the greying curtains.

He quickly scanned the room with his eyes and realized he was home. Before moving, he took inventory of his body, hoping to ascertain how much it would hurt to move.

Naked. Definitely naked. He wiggled his toes and flexed his calf muscles, expecting his right leg to protest. The muscle felt stiff, as if he'd run a marathon the day before. The elf must have healed his broken bones and flesh. He flexed the muscles in his thigh, then bent his legs at the knee and rotated his ankles. Everything, though sore, was in working order. He went through the same motions with his arms and determined they were no worse for wear. He moved his head slightly, expecting the low, dull ache of a concussion to kick in, but nothing happened. He lifted the blanket to survey the damage to his torso, expecting to see dark, purpled bruising...he found some slight swelling, but nothing more.

Throwing aside the sheet, he slowly swung his legs to the side before sitting up. After waiting a few moments for dizziness to set in, he was surprised again when all he felt was a bit of nausea. He stood gingerly and walked to his full-length mirror. He turned to study his back in the mirror. There was some slight swelling along his spine from where the bone had been contused, and there was a bruise where his broken ribs had been and the faintest outline of a boot print, but honestly, he was surprised at how well he looked. He had to figure out a way to thank that elf.

Looking at his clock, he realized he had little over an hour before his presence was required back at the Manor. He entered the bathroom, turning on the shower and allowing the water to heat. While waiting, he took inventory of his mouth and tried not to gag at the sight of so much blood coating his teeth. Grimacing, he set about to cleaning them...his teeth may be crooked and yellow, but surely they didn't need to be blood caked. He brushed his teeth the Muggle way, the action soothing him as the room filled with steam. He swished with an antiseptic, which burned his abused mouth. Spitting out the last of the blood, he entered the shower.

The shower beat down on his head, massaging the bump he'd received from hitting the wall. Much of the tension left his body as the warm water ran down it, and he ached to sit down on the floor of the shower and rest... He quickly roused himself. It would not do to be distracted in the shower and be late to breakfast. Moving as fast as tight muscles would allow, he performed his ablutions and turned the water off, shaking the moisture from his hair. He reached out and grabbed a towel, slinging it about his hips before leaving the tub.

He dressed as quickly as he could, his body protesting the hurried movements, and then performed a drying charm on his lank hair and a depilatory charm on his face. Narcissa didn't approve of scruffy men and made her opinions on the subject piercingly clear. He kept the goatee just to spite her.

Turning off the lights, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor for the third time in two days. He stumbled as he landed, a wave of nausea setting in and his head spinning slightly. It felt like the worst hangover he'd ever had. He wished he'd taken an analgesic potion before Disapparating. Too late now.

Before he could knock, the door swung open, Dobby looking up at him with fearful eyes.

"Oh, it is being you, sir! I is glad you is well! I has this for you!"

Dobby dug into a fold of his tea cosy before handing him a small vial of Pepperup. The small elf's fingers were bandaged, and he could tell that at least some of them were broken.

"Thank you, Dobby." He quickly quaffed the potion as he walked into the foyer. "What happened to your hands?"

Dobby's ears wilted and he cast his eyes downward. "I... is being caught for removing the blood from Master's drawing room. Master forced Dobby to shut his hands in a bureau drawer." The elf began sniffling.

Snape growled. He was not particularly fond of elves, but the way Malfoy treated his rankled. "Does he know you helped me last night, Dobby?"

"No. He was not asking Dobby that, so Dobby did not tell him!" Dobby looked at him hopefully, his eyes begging him to be pleased.

Snape awkwardly patted the elf's head. "Well done, Dobby. I will not tell them. Now, please, go announce my presence."

Dobby grinned up at him, a strange, toothy grin that threatened to split his face in two. "Thank you, Master Snape! They is eating in the solarium this morning, sir!" He quickly vanished.

Snape walked away, surprised by his own actions. But the elf had twice put himself in danger for him, and he felt the need to protect him if he could.

He entered the sunroom and surveyed the inhabitants. The Dark Lord sat at one end of the table, Lucius at the other. Bellatrix and Rodolphus sat on one side of the length, her dark beauty outshining her husband's adequate looks, and Narcissa stood on the other side next to her husband, a hand resting upon her ever-swelling stomach. Even in pregnancy, Narcissa was just as lovely.

A chair remained for him between Narcissa and the Dark Lord.

"Do join us!" Narcissa announced. "You look famished!"

On cue, his stomach growled. Cursing his lack of self-control, he walked to his chair. A house-elf appeared, pulling the chair out for him. He sank into it gratefully. As well healed as he was, he still felt weak from the loss of blood. He kept his eyes trained on his plate, waiting to be addressed before daring to speak.

Narcissa crossed to his seat and piled fruit and a croissant onto his plate. "Eat up, Severus. You look positively peaked!"

Snape acknowledged her with a nod, then slowly rolled up his sleeves. He chewed carefully, savoring the flaky, buttery croissant. The juice from the fruit stung his gums a bit, but he was able to enjoy it.

Everyone else at the table conversed around him...Narcissa prattling on about Draco, Bellatrix feigning indifference, but looking secretly jealous. Lucius and Rodolphus discussed Quidditch as the Dark Lord watched over his followers with the look of a benign grandfather watching children play.

Snape continued eating, thankful for the short reprieve. He knew it would not last much longer.

"So, Severus, I have decided how you can repay me for your rudeness last night," the Dark Lord remarked, as if he were talking about something as mundane as the paper-delivery owl being late. The congregants at the table became eerily quiet.

"Whatever is necessary, of course, My Lord."

"Look at me, Severus."

Snape lifted his eyes, praying that his master would not enter his mind again.

His master studied him as a silver chain with a bauble at the end swung from his fingertips. Lucius sucked in a quick breath of air.

"Do you know what this is, Severus?"

Snape studied the object...he had no idea.

"No, My Lord."

"This, my son, is a Time-Turner." Snape's eyes widened; the Ministry heavily regulated Time-Turners. "One of my servants created it, and I have not yet had a reason for using it. Until now." He paused, giving Snape a look that dared him to speak. Snape kept quiet.

"It is a unique Time-Turner, Severus. The first of its kind. In fact, I'm not quite sure what it might do to you. You see, it can send you forward in time." Snape dropped his fork. "Yes, my dear boy. I assume you can figure out my plan."

Snape lost the ability to breathe; he struggled to comprehend what was happening. "You wish for me to go forward in time... to ascertain the identity of the child?"

"Exactly. Precisely! And, when you find his identity, assuming I have not already killed him, I wish for you to destroy him."

Snape's mind reeled. He was to kill an adult, not a child. In the future. What would happen to him? Would he age as he moved forward in time? What if he couldn't return? What if he failed?

He felt his master's eyes on him and knew he had to quickly formulate a response. "It would be my honor, My Lord."

Bellatrix looked irate, furious that she was not given this task. Lucius and Rodolphus looked relieved that they had not been chosen. Narcissa looked... pale, her normally pleasant features drawn and tight, her hand ghosting towards her stomach in a protective gesture.

The Dark Lord smiled as he tucked the necklace back in his pocket. "Tuck in, everyone! Severus has a big day ahead of him! And we all know just how scrumptious Narcissa's croissants are!" The Dark Lord began eating, acting as if he did not have a care in the world.

The rest of the meal rushed by in a blur of half-heard conversation and barely tasted food. Eventually, Narcissa called for an elf, who quickly cleared the table as Narcissa ushered everyone to the gardens. Snape rose to leave with the group.

"A moment, Severus?" His master's voice crept into his ear, twisting through his already damaged psyche. He paused, waiting for his master to approach him.

"I do not need to explain to you the absolute importance of this mission, Severus. You know how you were treated the last time you failed me. Do not disappoint me again."

Snape nodded, words failing him.

"I will give you one week to return. If you do not return by then, I will assume you have failed me, and your mother will be killed. Do you understand me?"

Snape swallowed hard, trying not to let his emotions crowd his face. "Absolutely, My Lord."

"Wonderful. I have taken the luxury of sending a house-elf to your residence to pack the sorts of things you will need to take with you. I have also given you a sizable amount of money. Let's hope our people are still using Galleons in the future!" His master pulled a small suitcase from behind an end table and handed it to him.

Snape attempted to smile at his master's levity but succeeded in merely clenching his teeth together in a forced grimace.

"Splendid!" Reaching into his robes, the Dark Lord took the Time-Turner from his pocket. "I have set this twenty years in the future. Apparate to a location you expect will be deserted even in the future and activate the device. By no means run into your future self. It may cause... problems."

"Yes, My Lord."

The Dark Lord walked away from him, heading towards the gardens. "Do not fail me, Severus."

Snape made to leave, his master's words ringing in his head.

Do not fail me.

He Apparated to his attic...he rarely entered this room; pieces of his horrid childhood resided there, items he never wished to look upon but, for some reason, could not purge himself of either. After his mother had moved out and into her tiny apartment, he had taken over the house, but yet he felt guilty moving or changing anything. She had been able to flee the bad memories that remained there after his father had died, but he almost needed them to remind him of who he was and where he came from, to give him constant motivation to rise above his Muggle ancestry.

He went to the attic even less often. There just simply was no reason to. Nothing housed up there was of any value, and the ventilation was awful. There was no way he would ever run into himself up there upon reaching the future.

The Future. What in God's name was his master thinking? He kicked at a particularly large dust bunny, irate that it did not have enough mass to feel cathartic. He attacked a box instead, wincing when his toes hit something hard.

He began to curse, horrible words pouring forth like smoke from a furnace. His hands found objects and threw them about the room, carelessly breaking anything in his path. His body was still weak, and he quickly tired from the effort. He sank onto a chest and ripped open the bag. The Dark Lord was right. Everything he could possibly need was in this small suitcase. Must have some sort of charm on it. Clothing, the aforementioned Galleons and, surprisingly, a great deal of Muggle money, potions, a potions kit, canned food, toiletries, a pack of fags and matches, a bottle of whiskey, prophylactics... Christ, really? Well over a week's worth of everything too.

The Dark Lord expects me to fail.

"Fuck!" he roared. If he failed, his mother would die. His mother, who had been through so much while his father had lived, who finally was living a happy life, a life which would end if he failed. He could not say goodbye to her; she wouldn't let him leave. She would tell him to hide, and if he had learned anything from the death of Regulus Black, it was not to hide from his master. Snape had never seen the Dark Lord as livid as the day Regulus had died...

No, saying goodbye to his mother was not an option. Snape might die attempting this harebrained scheme, but he would definitely die if he ran.

He studied the Time-Turner. There were notches on it for years, months, and days. So, in theory, he should easily be able to return within a week no matter how long it took.

So, why would his master say only a week? What if... what if the Time-Turner was faulty? What if it was created to self-destruct after one trip? What if it... broke? He would have to ensure that he had the device figured out by the time he needed to return.

He ran a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he Summoned an all-purpose healing potion from his bathroom and quickly downed the contents, hoping that his remaining injuries would heal. It would not do to have split skin for this endeavor. Who knew what he was about to go through?

Snape laid down on the dusty floor, the travel bag laying across his stomach, his hand on the strap. If he were to be moving through time, he would not allow himself to fall at the end of the trip. Assuring himself that he would be fine...that he had to be fine...he pulled the pin that allowed the dials to begin spinning.

The room began to whirl around him, motes of dust flying over him and sunlight repeatedly flooding the room and receding into night. The pain was intense; it felt as if he was being hurtled through the air, even though he could feel the hard floor below him. It was almost like the sensation of being on a merry-go-round that an obnoxious older child was spinning too fast. The dust around him suddenly cleared, and furniture zoomed into the room. A woman walked in and out each morning and night, but so quickly that he couldn't make out her features.

He felt disassociated from himself. His body was being smashed into the floor...the boards were going to consume him...and yet his consciousness felt as if it were falling through space. He heard high-pitched wailing in the distance, and it was minutes before he realized it was emanating from himself.

Tears leaked down his face, wetting the hair at his temples. After an eternity of the falling sensation, he finally landed into his body again.

He heard shrieking again, this time louder and decidedly... feminine.

The world tilted sideways; bright lights exploded in his eyes. He lost consciousness a second time in as many days.

AN: Wheeeee, it's a Time-Turner fic. The aforementioned conversation in my last AN discussed how many of the Time-Turner fics of circa 2-3 years ago all had the same formula (with the main exception of the bloody brilliant "Somewhere I Have Never Traveled. . ." by Savageland). That conversation spawned a much larger one about SSHG tropes in general, and out of all of that talking, this lightning bolt of Snape going forward instead Hermione going backward struck. We'll see how y'all think it turned out.

And now, a note on my last AN. When I said canon compliant, I meant big picture. People are born, live, and die the way JKR intended. Some of the minor details may be fudged, because if I didn't, that would just be me copy/pasting JKR. And that would be silly. No fanfic is completely canon compliant. But generally, it follows the high points.

As always, thank you to everyone and anyone who had input on this chapter. I love you all.