Déjà vu

Chapter Nine – Déjà vu

"Why?"

His portrait-self held him in a fixed glare of disappointment. "Why what, you insufferable boy? I would think you would have a better command over your own vocabulary by now. As I recall, the Dark Lord did not suffer mealy-mouthed minions well."

"Why does it have to end this way? Something or someone wanted me to be here now! Tell me what I need to know to survive."

"And why should you survive? You, a murderer, a Death Eater? Before your life is over, boy, you will allow innocent children to suffer and die. Why shouldn't you die?"

"Because we will not be that old when this happens! Because what is the point in coming to the future and receiving all of this knowledge just to die? Why work so hard for accolades I will never enjoy? What's the point?"

Somehow, the portrait above him zoomed in so that all he could see was his older face. "The point? The point, you imbecile, is that everything you know will cease to exist if you do not perform your duty. Dark magic will pervade the entire wizarding world. The Dark Lord will win, and all the Muggle-borns will die. She will die."

"Don't hold her over my head, you git. You know we haven't loved her in years."

He had to give his portrait credit...that was one impressive eye roll.

"Not Lily. The brilliant woman currently residing in the attic!"

Snape began really listening at this. Brilliant? He knew that he was usually reserved in complimenting others. To hear himself throw this out so easily surprised him.

"Brilliant? Don't you mean show-offy swot?"

The figure before him simply glared. He knew himself well enough to know he'd just said something very wrong.

"That 'show-offy swot' is the only reason you're going to make it to the ripe old age of thirty-eight looking as old as Nicolas Flamel, so you had better change your tune, boy."

"Her? Certainly she's smart...the spells she's been using to hold me in the attic have been quite impressive."

"Impressive? She created half of them herself. On the spot. Including that Year-Erasing Charm. You know how long it took us to develop even one of our spells."

The portrait was right. Sectumsempra had taken months to develop: countless hours of research in Latin and weeks to perfect after that. To create spells on the spot under untold amounts of stress was...

"... Brilliant."

"As I said."

"I still don't see why I have to die for all this to work. Why can't I survive the bite? If all that kills me is this badly healed nosebleed, why not go to a Healer the second I return to my time and have it fixed properly? Why can't I live past thirty-eight to find someone brilliant for myself? Someone like her? You do seem to like her well enough."

His older self sighed and finally zoomed out to normal portrait size. "Live? In what world would we be allowed to simply live? In what universe would a murderer, a Death Eater, the killer of the most beloved wizard since Merlin himself...don't ask me why...be allowed any sort of life? If you choose my path, you end up a hero. Have you not noticed? History loves dead murderers. Look at the Muggle Che Guevara, for instance...adored by so many, yet how many people did he kill in his life? Would he be so lauded if he had survived?

"Spies never live to receive their rewards. Why does James Bond live and get the girl? Because he is not real. Do you not understand? We were doomed from the moment you accepted the Dark Lord's brand. No amount of good done on your part will fix the fact that we consorted with the devil, boy. You can continue that life and be damned anyway, or you can do as much good as you possible can and hope beyond hope that whatever higher power is out there forgives you when you die."

"You seem to think Granger is so bloody important, but I just don't see why."

"Hermione is important because she is, in my estimation, the only person alive who wouldn't have called the Aurors to come deal with you, nor would she use her position over you in some sick revenge scheme for the pain we caused her when I was still alive." His portrait crossed his arms and, for once in the conversation, would not look at him directly. "That woman was the most inquisitive, most annoyingly stubborn student I ever had, and she knew it, too. I never saw her hesitate to defend the underdog... Ask her about her attempts to liberate house-elves sometime." His portrait-self smirked. "And she was the only student I ever heard defend me. To her best friends. For behavior even I admit was unfair."

"But why is she helping us? It is one thing to keep me from escaping, but she has actually been kind to me. And it's clear she hates who I am."

"Yes, she hates who you are now. But that really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Did you not read the book carefully? She was there when we died."

"Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with..."

"Did you really read the book or did you merely skim it? Did you read the part about our death? I suppose you read the part where she attempted to stop the bleeding, to resuscitate us, to make us comfortable when she could not fix the damage? No, neither she nor anyone else did any of those things."

Guilt. She's helping me out of guilt. Guilt, at least, was a motivator he understood. Guilt had gotten him through several years of his life.

"So, assuming I even believe anything you're saying, how am I to know what to do? Are you going to give me any guidance, or are you just going to throw me back into the fire? To leave the Dark Lord is not... recommended. What assurance will I have that, if I go back, change sides, and do my best, I will even be able to make it through to... die?"

"Everything about this cycle must be kept the same. You are playing with time travel, boy, and forward time travel at that. Something Hermione is starting to realize is that there is absolutely no real literature on the subject. Luckily for you, with that absolutely horrid autobiography and my journals that I'm sure you will nick before returning upstairs, you'll have the greatest primer ever for going back and doing this right. Unless you take the coward's route..."

The memory of his nightmare still clung to his brain, the outright hate blazing in the eyes of his professors. So many people in his life had called him a coward, and now to have to hear it from himself...

"Yes, I can really see how not wanting to die makes me a coward! You're absolutely right. Except as I see it, if I listen to you, I willI die, and if I continue in the direction I am in now, I only might die!"

"MIGHT die? Have you forgotten who you are, you pillock? You're the Half-Blood Prince. Not the Pureblood Prince, not Severus Malfoy, and certainly not Lord Voldemort, Jr. Do you really believe that once you have outlived your usefulness, the Dark Lord will keep you, a lowly half-blood, alive? Use that supposed intellect we have and really think about the situation you got us into! Leaving that life behind and spying for the Light is the only chance you have to die with even the tiniest bit of control over the moment it happens."

His brain was swimming. When he had joined the Death Eaters, it had been because he wanted a family, a group of friends, hell, just a group of people who did not hate him. Who respected him and found him to be of value. Which would make sense if he were pureblood. His portrait was right; why would a man who wished the death of all Muggle-borns elevate him, a half-blood? He had been nothing more than an embarrassment to Slytherin House since the Sorting Hat had somehow gotten confused and placed him, with his second-hand robes and tattered books, in with the wizarding elite.

There was so much to absorb in such a short span of time.

"How much time do I have?"

"Before she wakes up? About an hour."

He was really beginning to be annoyed by his older half. "NO! How long do I have in whatever year it is?"

"A few days."

"And our mother?"

"If you listen to me? You will not cause her death."

"How? You know the task that was put upon us...kill the child. Which obviously I don't do. According to what I've just read, the Potter child is alive and well and has been victorious over our Lord."

"Your lord, boy. He hasn't been my "Lord" in two decades."

"How?"

"It's all in the notes. Go copy all of Hermione's research and our journals, and take it upstairs. I'm sure you will find the time while she is gone tomorrow to read to your heart's content. Now get yourself upstairs before she finds you out."

And with a crack, his portrait-self Disapparated.

I didn't even know portraits could do that.

On his way back to the attic, he paused in the dining room just long enough to copy the materials he would need. He quietly slipped upstairs, the fear of discovery lessened greatly by the acquisition of his wand. He cast the necessary Silencing Charms and tiptoed up the attic steps. Making sure the entrance was warded properly once again, he stopped long enough to hide his wand in his bag and to place his shrunken books under the cushions of the sofa before lying down to sleep, reciting potions ingredients in an attempt to keep his mind distracted from the night's events.

---

A body floated through the room like a buoy bobbing in the ocean. Snape stood there, masked and robed, next to his brothers and sisters, all with their attention fixed on their Lord. The body was limp, its face covered by its hair, limbs pointing out at inhuman angles. A glint of a ring on its hand caught his attention, and he recognized the crest.

Regulus.

A tapestry of light hurtled from his Master's wand, reds and yellows and blues. The body contorted awkwardly, some spells slashing through skin as others cracked what few bones weren't already broken. Blood arced throughout the room, more than he ever thought possible for one body to hold.

A final blast of toxic green light slammed into the body, which fell from the air and landed with a heavy, wet squelch on the tile. He stared at the body, its back facing him, trying desperately to imagine his friend as he had been in life and not this mutilated carcass in front of him.

Slowly, Regulus' head began to turn. An impossible feat, as the Dark Lord had just cast the Killing Curse. The Death Eaters around him began to whisper and twitch.

The head continued to turn well past how far it should normally. As it turned past its shoulder, he realized this wasn't Regulus.

The eyes of the man found his. Black, fathomless eyes unblinking in death. A face far too lined for its age.

He began to scream as his brethren cheered the death of the last half-blood in their ranks.

---

She awoke to moaning, the sort she had not heard for years. Harry had often groaned and screamed in his sleep...sometimes Voldemort had been the cause; other times, it was just Harry's own mind torturing him in his sleep.

She had never been able to listen to Harry suffer. He had always been so haunted for days after those dreams whether they woke him or let him sleep through it. When they had been running for their lives that last year of the war, she had often woken him from the dreams just to try to alleviate his pain. Sometimes, Harry had responded violently, striking whomever dared sit on his bed and touch him...something he always felt guilty about once he actually awoke. More often than not, though, he simply had grabbed whomever roused him up and clung to them, his body wracked with sobs. That was why Ron usually had made her to wake Harry; Ron was not generally up for early morning, same-sex cuddling.

As much as she hated to admit it, there were times when she almost had looked forward to Harry's nightmares. The isolation of their months alone had been awful, and the excuse to hold someone and to be held in return had been welcome. While Ron and she had not yet come to a true understanding regarding their relationship, Hermione had known something was coming. Nevertheless, Ron had always felt squicky about cuddling in front of Harry, saying it was not fair to Harry when he was all alone. Still, even Ron could not argue against comforting the Boy Who Lived when Voldemort had just been rummaging about his mind.

Knowing it was probably the worst idea she had had since the beginning of this situation, and hearing Snape's older self in her head mocking her horrible prisoner-keeping skills, she approached the sofa and gingerly sat on the edge. He was lying on his side, facing the room, a pillow clutched in his arms, his hands gripping it so tightly that she could see the whites of his knuckles. His hair fell across his face, and only his nose peeked out from the strands.

She gently brushed his hair away from his face. His skin was warm to the touch, almost feverish, and she wondered if he might be ill. The light from a streetlamp illuminated his face, and she saw tears leaking from his eyes. Grasping the end of her sleeve in her hand, and wondering what sort of dream could possibly make Severus Snape of all people cry, she began drying his face.

His hand suddenly shot out, wrapping around her wrist and gripping painfully. His eyes, full of rage and terror, met hers, his face contorted in fear. His gaze faltered as he gained consciousness, and then tears welled in his eyes. As quick as lightning, he forcefully pulled her to lie down on the sofa, her brain screaming that this was wrong, that he was going to harm her after all. She tumbled onto the sofa, somehow landing supine. Before she could begin kicking, screaming, and biting if necessary, he curled his body around hers, his head resting against her chest, his arms and legs wrapping around her like Devil's Snare.

"Please," he whispered.

His body began shuddering against hers, and she knew he was holding back from crying aloud. Images flew through her mind...stories from Snape's diaries of his wishing someone had comforted him as a child when he would wake up terrified, memories of holding Harry in the exact same way.

Unbidden, the feelings of guilt over Snape's death...the fact that he had died alone, with no one to soothe his pain...washed over her. The feelings she had run away from every day since he died.

The man in her arms, head cradled to her breast, tears soaking through her shirt, might be a Death Eater now, but he would mature into a man who would deserve this comfort. In spite of her conscience screaming at her that this was a terrible idea, she put her arms around him, a hand snaking up into his hair to caress away the tension. As she whispered nonsense to calm him, she felt his body go limp and his breathing even out. It was early yet, only about five a.m., and she had time to stay before beginning her day. Besides, it had been a long time since she had been held, too.

---

He awoke groggy and feeling strangely bereft. As he opened his eyes, he scanned the room, hoping to see that she had already departed and had left him something to eat. Instead, he saw her seated on the floor, her head at eye level with his, her eyes watching him, and her lower lip caught between her teeth. She was already showered and dressed in a smart top and a flowing knee-length skirt.

"Any particular reason you're gawking at me this early in the morning, woman?"

"What was your nightmare about?"

Nightmare? He forced his sleepy brain to concentrate and thought back over the little sleep he gotten. He had had the Regulus nightmare again, but something had been different this time...

His face, looking up at him from Regulus' corpse. The gravity of everything his portrait had said finally hit him.

"Don't remember."

"Liar! It was written clear on your face just now that you remember exactly what happened. And given how much you were crying earlier, it couldn't have been good."

Crying? He didn't cry and certainly not in front of her. He shifted his head, and the smell of berries wafted from his pillow.

The smell was enough to trigger the rest of the memory. "You tried to wake me, didn't you? And I... I grabbed you, didn't I?"

"Something like that..."

"Why did you allow that? I thought you hated Death Eaters?" He gave her a piercing look, hoping to unsettle her.

She glared at him. "Well, you did grab me, didn't you? I couldn't really extricate myself until you'd fallen back asleep. You seem to forget that I knew you after... No, no, you're just trying to get me to talk again."

He groaned inwardly. Of course she would think that. The first time she was opening up to him since he got here, and he was not actually grilling her for answers. The answers he needed were actually under him now, poking awkwardly into the cushions. He was glad that she had not noticed earlier.

"Yes, I may have forcibly cuddled you, Granger. But you didn't have to wake me." He paused and searched her face, trying to guess what she was thinking. "Why did you?"

She gave him a defiant look. "Tell me what your dream was about, and then maybe I'll answer your question."

Knowing there was no way he could get her to stop asking about it, he figured he'd give her the condensed version.

"Do you know how Regulus Black died?"

She raised an eyebrow. "The Death Eater version or the actual account?"

His eyes widened...this was the closest she had ever gotten to willingly giving him information. "The actual account? How does one die in more than one way?"

Awareness of her mistake was clear in the scowl she now graced him with. "Let's just say, Snape, that Regulus Black died a hero's death, and he wasn't butchered like you think he was."

"I'll have you elaborate on that later. But to answer your question, I dreamed of the night I watched him die, as I have many times. Only this time... this time, it was different."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Different? How so?"

"I... Well, I was the corpse this time."

The color drained from her face. "I've read accounts of that night. And I'm sorry you have to dream of it so often. I knew you did... But I didn't know the dream ever changed."

"This was the first time it ended this way."

He was shocked when she reached out her hand and rubbed his cheek. "No wonder you were so upset."

"'So upset,' she says, and yet, I woke up alone this morning..." He smirked, and she blushed prettily. "Between snuggling up with me and taking care of my sorry hungover arse, you're being awfully nice again, Granger."

She grinned. "Let's just say I've always been a sucker for lost causes."

"Lost causes? What, like house-elf liberation?" He could not resist figuring out what his older self had meant by that.

She flinched. "Excuse me?" She somehow managed to look guilty and confused simultaneously.

"Dunno, first ridiculous cause I could think of off the top of my head."

"You sound like Harry and Ron."

"Who?"

"Never mind, Snape."

"And now, I believe it's your turn to answer my question." He sat up, towering over her as she sat on the floor. Remembering the reaction he had gotten last time, he crossed his arms and glared down at her. He flexed his biceps for good measure.

She burst into laughter. He responded by raising an eyebrow.

"You're doing it again!" she said, gasping for breath.

His lame attempts at flirting were getting out of hand, but if he was going to die, he might as well enjoy his time with this witch.

"I know," he drawled. "And the answer to my question?"

She looked almost embarrassed. "One of my best friends had horrible nightmares when we were younger, more often than not caused by your Lord. Seeing you suffer reminded me too much of that... and I just couldn't watch it anymore."

He was shocked. The girl offered him comfort simply because he was suffering. He could not remember the last person who had offered something so simple with no ulterior motive.

His portrait-self was right, there was something remarkable about this witch.

"If it is possible for you, could you tell me how Regulus actually died? You said it was a hero's death..."

She seemed to consider how to tell this story very carefully. "Regulus Black joined the Death Eaters about as young as you did, as you know. And it did not take him long to realize that, while he might have agreed with some of the Dark Lord's ideology, he did not agree with his methods. He defected, not to the side of Light, but to his own side... a resistance fighter, I suppose."

"Why?" He already knew the answer but was interested to see how much she would reveal.

"Black discovered a secret bit of Dark magic that the Dark Lord was using. He, along with the help of his house-elf, attempted to destroy this magic and replace it with a close facsimile... The elf survived; Black did not."

"How did Regulus really die, then?"

"The Dark Lord's Inferi... which caused him to drown."

His Master was toying with Horcruxes and Inferi? How big of a mistake had he really made? And poor Regulus...death by Inferi wasn't something he'd wish on even his worst enemy.

"I still don't understand how that makes him a hero?"

"Of course you don't! He was a hero because he attempted to end what he perceived as injustice. He realized he had made a grievous error by aligning himself with the Dark Lord and attempted to change it. He saved the life of his house-elf and died himself for a cause he believed in. Before he died, he had the elf swear not to speak of this to anyone, and in doing so, Black protected his family from the wrath of the Lord he had left. He did the right thing, knowing he would not receive accolades or even live to even see if what he attempted made any difference."

She sounded so much like his portrait had. It could not be this easy for people to think there was such a thing as a reformed Death Eater. Yes, he was not always happy in his Lord's service, but to switch sides? To align himself with Dumbledore?

"So, now I'm sure that history remembers Regulus Black as a kid who just made a big mistake? A hero with a shady past? A good guy that got caught up in something bad but miraculously saw the error in his ways? A reformed murderer?"

"Absolutely not. History doesn't much care either way about Regulus Black. He is a footnote, an aside, a detail you throw in to the greater story. In fact, there is only one Death Eater who is remembered for being a true hero. Who, at his death, died the most reviled man of the war for those of us who opposed the Dark, save Voldemort himself, and yet, within a few short moments, was elevated to the greatest hero of our time, second only to the Boy Who Lived. A man who died alone, with no one willing to help him because of his perceived atrocities, and yet, through the entire war, cared for us more than we could ever give him credit for in life. A man who protected the people I love more often than I like to admit, and whose life I didn't even try to... save."

Tears were streaming down her face. She had no idea that he knew exactly whom she was talking about, but he was not about to admit that to her. Yet he could not just let her sit there crying, not after this morning.

He slowly moved from the couch to sit next to her.

"What in God's name are you doing, Snape?" She looked terrified and began to scoot away from him.

"I keep telling you I'm not going to hurt you, woman. Now shut up and come here." He held his hands up in supplication, hoping she took it as a sign he really did not mean her harm. And he didn't, come to think it. He was just as confused and upset as she was at this point and was finding it hard to remember why he had ever joined the Dark Lord in the first place. Not after what he had just heard about Regulus.

She hesitated only a moment before she launched herself into his arms, throwing them both back against the sofa, before letting out tears he supposed she had been holding in since his arrival. As she cried, he stroked her back and whispered into her hair. Again, his nose was filled with the scent of berries, and his traitorous brain mused that he could get used to this.

Her arms came up around him, and she clung to him like a life preserver, burying her head into his chest. Her sobs turned to hiccups, and he smiled in spite of himself.

When it was clear she was calming down, he lifted her away from his body slightly and, catching his fingers under her chin, tipped her head back to look at him. Her eyes locked with his, and his breath caught in his throat. In spite of the bloodshot eyes and the puffy face, she was lovely. For a moment, he actually considered kissing her. She must have seen it in his face, as her pupils dilated and her hands spasmed against his back.

He leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek and could have sworn he felt her lean into his body. Barely brushing his lips against her cheek, he moved to whisper in her ear.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work, dear?"

She went rigid, but whether from realization of his statement or from frustration, he could not tell. "It's Sunday."

He rubbed his thumbs against either side of her spine. "Then aren't you supposed to be downstairs figuring out how to send this big, bad Death Eater home?"

She pushed away from him and stood up, looking down at him imperiously, her hands twitching at her sides.

"Indeed."

As she stalked away, he leaned back against the sofa and could not help but chuckle.

---

AN: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, but let me tell you, pronouns get really confusing when people are talking to themselves! I hope the finished product meets your expectations, dear readers. Thank you so much to clairvoyant, dragonhideboot, and linlawless for their amazing work on and support for this chapter.