Dystopia

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
Till Eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

The moment it happened he was aware of it. It wasn't that someone had informed him of her absence, more that he felt it.

In one quick, decisive movement, Lord Voldemort whirled about to pace the hard, stone floors, his black robes dramatically billowing out behind him as if they were starving flames hungrily reaching out to devour the world. Why he was so anxious was beyond him. He already knew precisely what was to happen, he'd been there, after all, and he couldn't change it. With a start, he came to a sudden halt. Did he want to change it?

This brought on another wave of conflicting emotions. He didn't like this; this concept of emotion. He was above feeling. Normally, he kept everything he felt hidden, under tight control, but not today. Today, this one simple day, was the catalyst that forever changed his life and molded him into the person that he was at that precise moment in time.

Time; it was a fickle thing. So unsure and unstable. And yet time could make all the difference in the world, as long as it was on a person's side. Time had never been on his side; or maybe it had, depending how one should look at it. But to him, it seemed that his old enemy time had favored her.

He had conveniently overlooked the fact that she was around. Indeed, he had prided himself on not thinking about her; but yet, she was always there, in one form or another. And now she had left the world, that time was more accurate, really. It would change her; it changed him. Time had a tendency to change many things, as he had learned all those years ago.

With a disgusted sigh, Voldemort resumed his pacing. He didn't care what would happen when she came back. He had been successful in remaining indifferent to her up until that very moment, but now everything was out of his hands. He had nothing to do, nothing but to wait.

He stopped his maddening pacing to plop down into a high-backed, velvet green chair, with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. With an eternally weary sigh, Voldemort ran a hand through his thick, black hair, stopping for a moment to sneer at him.

The age-defying potion had been a gift from Severus. It had been the closest thing his Death Eater could come to finding a potion that would prolong his life. In a way, it was exactly what he had needed. What a better way to extend his years than by shaving some off? 'Some' was putting it quite modestly, he admitted. He looked as he once had in his thirties.

His skin was ivory white, a healthy pallor color. His once sickly, thin hair was now a rich, thick black mass piled on the top of his head. He was lean and slim with a broad shoulder frame. His eyes had lost that iridescent red glow and had, much to his annoyance, reverted back to the bright, innocent blue color of his youth.

Probably the most useful part of his transformation was his ability to walk amongst the masses without a soul recognizing him as the Dark Lord. But no matter the difference in his appearance, one thing remained forever constant. He was still surrounded by that aura of power that everyone, Wizard and Muggle alike, unconsciously picked up on. Wherever it was he went, everyone treated him with respect.

His thoughts abruptly turned from himself to her. The wheels had been set into motion and it was only a matter of time now, quite literally. In the end, it was always a matter of time. He would see her when she got back, but he had yet to decide what he'd do with her.

He could kill her, of course, but that idea seemed too terribly clichéd for him. A smirk touched his lips; he could do anything he wanted with her.

Leaning back into his chair, his mind bean to conjure up all sorts of ideas for their reunion. As his eyes bored intently into the flickering flames, he was all too aware that he was playing the role of the brooding, evil villain.

She had to take bigger steps to keep up with them these days. Her legs weren't as long as theirs now. Harry and Ron, both respectively, were dangerously closing in on six feet, and in Ron's case, had surpassed that goal.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione balanced her tower of books to the side and lengthened her stride in order to keep up with her two best friends. She really hated the need for the rush, but they were running terribly late, something she hated being. It was Ron's fault, she silently cursed him. He had overslept, thus making them all miss breakfast. They had opted for a quick visit to the kitchens, since breakfast was the most important meal of the day; but when they asked for a light snack, the House Elves had brought a feast of a breakfast fit for a king.

They had only two minutes to make it to Transfigurations now, or face the wrath of Professor McGonagall.

Harry and Ron were walking briskly up the staircase, practically taking the stairs two at a time. Hermione's side was starting to cramp as she mounted the stairs almost at a run.

"Harry, Ron, wait up! My legs aren't as long as yours!" she pleaded, halfway up the massive staircase while Ron and Harry were taking the last two steps.

Once at the top, Harry and Ron grinned at each other. "Hermione, you know we don't have all day," Ron, perhaps unwisely, joked to her.

Their growing height and her lack of anything that could, in good conscience, be called height had become a running joke between the three of them.

Muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'I swear, bloody half giants, the both of you,' Hermione picked up the pace. As she raised her foot to take the last step, however, the staircase gave a sudden, violent lurch.

A shriek escaped her lips as Hermione balanced precariously on the edge of the swinging staircase, furiously clutching her precious books.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, taking a step forward as if to help her, but inwardly knowing he was helpless to do anything but pray that she wouldn't lose her stability.

His prayer went unanswered, however, and Hermione dropped the mountain of books over the edge of the moving staircase, following right after them. She toppled endlessly forward at an alarmingly fast rate.

Pure terror filled her as she remembered something; the time turner. With frantic hands, Hermione tugged the gold chain around her neck, attempting to steady it so it would not turn; this only made matters far worse. The golden links broke and Hermione watched in fascinated horror as it crashed into the stone floor, the pure white sand spilling out.

Closing her eyes, Hermione waited for that same solid impact for her, but it never came.

When Hermione braved to crack open her eyes, she found that she was no longer falling, but was in fact standing up straight.

With a frown, Hermione studied her surroundings. She was at Hogwarts, she could discern that much. She was in an empty classroom littered with desks and stools. It looked vaguely like her Transfigurations room, but it couldn't have been since there were no students sitting behind those desks. Dread filled her as her eyes dashed across the room, trying to figure out how she had come to be there and why, if there was supposed to be a lesson in progress, was she was the only student there.

"Excuse me, but how did you get here?" A kind, concerned voice came from behind her.

It was him, she was sure of it, but he looked younger. His beard stopped towards the center of his chest and was streaked with dignified wisps of silver. He had auburn hair that was only beginning to grey, but his eyes. His eyes were a dead give away because only Albus Dumbledore could have those eyes that looked entirely gullible, and yet extremely wise both at once.

"Yes, and you are?" he replied, apparently unfazed by a strange student appearing out of thin air before him.

"Hermione Granger," she replied distractedly, still taking in the younger form of her Headmaster.

"Well, Miss Granger, could you please tell me how you managed to materialize from the air itself? Apparating is not possible on Hogwarts grounds, you know?" he asked with a kind smile.

Hermione had the most distinct feeling that he already knew how, but she obliged.

"I, well, I was running late for Transfigurations and as I was mounting a staircase, it changed. I couldn't keep my balance because of the weight of my books and I fell over. My ti- oh," Suddenly it all made sense.

Albus Dumbledore nodded approvingly at her appropriate question. "The year is 1944."

Hermione gulped. She didn't think she could've fallen that far back into the past.

Dumbledore came up to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I take it that's quite a stretch from your time," he offered.

Hermione nodded absently. Taking deep, calming breaths she tried to will her head to stop spinning.

"I'm from 1997. Oh my, that's 53 years difference." Hermione really did have a talent for pointing out the obvious.

Worry creased Dumbledore's brow. "Perhaps you should come with me, Miss Granger," he bid.

Without waiting for her response, the younger Dumbledore exited the room and took off down the halls. Falling into step behind him, Hermione remained quiet, asking no questions.

Walking down the halls of a 53 year-younger Hogwarts, Hermione was only all too aware that she did not fit in. People stared at the pair out of the corners of their eyes and whispered to each other from behind their hands. Hermione took in their attire and then hers. And then she came to the resolute decision to visit the Gladrags in Hogsmeade for more appropriate attire. That was considering, of course, that Gladrags was there.

That thought forced a few tears to prick at her eyes, but she resolutely pushed them away. There'd be enough time for that later.

As they made their way down the Charms corridor, a classroom door swung open with what had to be seventh year students filing out. They looked at her with open curiosity and Hermione only stared back blankly.

A pair of bright, blue eyes caught hers amongst the older students. She almost froze to the spot with the intensity of which he held her gaze. Frowning to herself, Hermione thought that those eyes looked entirely too innocent. Dropping her gaze to the house sign on his robes, Hermione snorted to herself. Figured only a Slytherin could look that innocent and harmless.

Snapping back into the present- well, the past present, Hermione dismissed the mass of seventh years from her mind, focusing instead on the back of Dumbledore's head. She was so engrossed with her new task that she failed to notice those shockingly blue eyes following her with unmasked interest and curiosity until she disappeared.

Up two flights of stairs, down three different corridors, through five trick walls and at an indeterminate time later, Hermione found herself standing before a stone gargoyle. Finally, something she could recognize.

"Licorice whip," Professor Dumbledore announced, causing the gargoyle to come to life and spring aside to admit the two.

Frowning to herself and mouthing 'Licorice whip' in confusion (did they even have those then? she wondered vaguely), Hermione climbed up the moving stairs.

After a brief, polite knock, Hermione found herself admitted into the Headmaster's office. It was very much the way she remembered it to be, only without a few 'Dumbledore' homey touches.

Pictures of Headmasters and Headmistresses past gazed at her. A portrait of a woman wearing shockingly green robes that clashed terribly with her vivid red hair raised a brow at her attire. Personally, Hermione felt that she was in no position to criticize.

"Hello Albus, may I help you?" asked a politely inquisitive aging man from behind the massive oak desk, drawing her attention away from the moving pictures.

"Not me, Headmaster Dippet, but Miss Granger here is in need of some assistance."

The Headmaster turned his gaze over to acknowledge Hermione and to take in her current dress.

"I see," he began, and Hermione really did believe that he 'saw' the dilemma. "How may I be of service child," he asked nicely enough with a wave of his hand to the seats in front of him.

Stiffly taking the chair, Hermione wrapped her arms about her instinctively. "I'm from the future," she blurted out.

Oh that was smooth, Granger. Now the man will think you're crazy, that's exactly what you need right now, Hermione berated her bluntness.

Professor Dippet, however, only nodded as if this made complete sense. "What year are you from?" he asked, completely unfazed.

Again, that knowing nod. "I take it you are currently enrolled at Hogwarts." It wasn't really a question.

"You see, sir," Hermione began awkwardly. "I really couldn't decide which classes to take and which ones not to, so I opted for most of them, except for two or three. In order to attend all of these classes my Headmaster," here she shot a quick, uneasy look to the man at her right, "Professor Dumbledore allowed me the use of a time turner. Because of the time I acquired, I gained an extra year." Sighing, Hermione sat back into her seat.

Professor Dippet nodded. "I see, and I assume that it is also because of this time turner that you now find yourself here. Correct, Miss Granger?"

Hermione offered a small apologetic smile. "Correct. I was climbing up one of the staircases when it suddenly lurched to change. I lost my balance and fell over. The last thing I recall was my time turner crashing to the floor, the white sand spilling out."

With a deep sigh, Professor Dippet responded, "Well, I can say with all honesty that I have not once ever heard of a 'time turner'."

Hermione's eyes widened as she recalled something from her background reading before her time turner had arrived. It hadn't been invented until 1961.

"Please, Miss Granger, do not fret. I am sure we can find another means with which to send you home. But, until we come across this means, you must masquerade here as a student from our time. What house are you, dear?"

Hermione didn't quite share his optimism, but her respect for authority figures prompted her to comply, "Gryffindor, sir."

"Well, Professor Dumbledore here is the head of Gryffindor house, so he can take you up to their Common Room and explain that you are a transfer student. Please, child, if you need any assistance whatsoever, feel free to come to my office. I assume you know the password?"

"Alright then, no one will know that you are from the future and, listen up, child, because this is extremely important," he leaned forward in his desk, gathering up an air of significance. Suddenly, Hermione couldn't focus her attention on anything but him. "Try your best not to upset the environment around you and tell no one of when you come from. A simple sentence, perhaps even a word about the future can disrupt it, possibly for the worst. Do you understand?"

Hermione, wide-eyed with the shock that she had the power to upset the future with a simple word, nodded her understanding.

Quite suddenly, the aging man sat back in his chair, making it groan comfortably. His eyes were kind once again as he stated, "Do not worry, Miss Granger, you will be back home soon enough."

Dumbledore rose from his chair and beckoned Hermione to follow him, the conversation apparently at an end. Hermione sighed dejectedly and pushed herself to her feet, following closely behind her Professor as they made their exit.

Once again out in the halls, Hermione found herself observing her school as it once had been. Beside the fact that the walls, paintings and everything else were 53 years younger, everything still looked blissfully the same. Suits of armor were less rusted, but still gave unsuspecting first years a solid thump on the behind as they turned corners. The paintings had less filth on them, but were as lively as ever and still eager to gossip.

Hermione found that the staircases, while still giving the occasional groan of old age, moved slower and less suddenly, much to her delight.

Soon enough, Hermione found herself face to face with the familiar Fat Lady, so to speak.

"Lemon tear drops," Dumbledore proclaimed, the portrait swinging open to admit the two.

'Lemon tear drops,' Hermione mouthed in amusement with an arched brow. That seemed a tad melodramatic, in her opinion. Following the Professor into the Gryffindor Common Room, all thoughts of melodramatic passwords promptly vacated her mind.

Hermione found herself standing in awe in the very same Common Room as in her time. It was the spitting image of what it was when she would attend. The chairs were in their precise spots by the fireplace, the tables were positioned against the wall by the windows. Nothing had changed. Not a chair had been added nor taken away. It was as if she were walking back into the year 1997. It was quite unsettling, to say the very least.

The only notable difference was the people. She didn't see Harry or Ron playing chess, but instead saw two boys that were no older than the age 15 sitting by the board. It wasn't Neville she saw struggling to complete a Potions paper by the fire, but a girl around her own age. Everyone was different, and everyone was staring at her.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat to gain the attention he already had. "Excuse me students, but may I please have your attention?" The room, which had already been dissonantly quiet, seemed to freeze.

Whether Professor Dumbledore noticed this or not was unknown for he only continued mildly as if he were chatting over a spot of tea, "Yes, thank you. We have a new student that has transferred here from Moraga Hills, a small, private wizarding school. This here," he gestured to a still Hermione, "is Hermione Granger. She has been sorted into Gryffindor and I hope you will all treat her nicely."

A few people smiled at her, mostly guys, and even more people stared at her in open curiosity. She felt pinned to the very spot under their scrutinizing assessments and did not like it one bit. Hermione refused to let herself be intimidated by her current situation.

Mustering up the courage, Hermione stood straighter and raised her chin in defiance. She met the gazes of the students openly and without fear. This, she would later realize, was what had helped them to accept her. Her courage had impressed them as it would later impress others in that time.

"Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore now spoke, breaking the unwavering stare between her and others.

A tall, confident girl rose from one of the chairs by the fire and approached them. "Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, this is Minerva McGonagall. She is a seventh year like yourself, and is Head Girl here at Hogwarts."

Then he turned to Minerva. "Miss McGonagall, I am leaving Hermione in your capable hands and I expect you to answer any questions she might have."

Hermione offered a timid smile to the girl that would later become her head of house, Transfigurations teacher, and then role model. Surprisingly enough, she smiled back.

"That is all. Miss Granger, if you encounter any problems, please feel free to visit me. You'll find that your things have already been brought up."

He left before Hermione could think of asking him about 'her things.' Silence followed his exit. It was a thick, awkward silence that was mercifully broken by Minerva.

"Hermione, why don't I show you up to the seventh year girls' dorm and help you get settled in?" she asked in a calm, casual voice as if she were commenting about the weather.

Before Hermione could stop herself, she went right up the stairs and straight to the correct dorm out of habit, leaving Minerva still standing in the Common Room with an arched brow in shock.

Hermione realized the mistake too late and blushed furiously when Minerva caught up with her. "Err, lucky guess?" she offered.

Minerva eyed her suspiciously, but held back any comments she would normally have said. After all, it couldn't be easy being new at a school such as Hogwarts. She instead proceeded to follow this strange new character into the dorm.

"This is your bed," Minerva motioned to the four-poster bed closest to the window. "I have my own rooms since I'm Head Girl, but there are two other girls in our year." Hermione could have sworn she saw a frown of disapproval at the mention of these other girls, but wisely said nothing.

"You'll receive your time table tomorrow at breakfast, I imagine. In the meantime, if you need anything, just let me know."

Hermione smiled at the young, pleasant black haired witch before her. "Thank you, Minerva."

Again, she gave Hermione that very unusual smile. "Please, call me Min. All my friends do." And then she left.

Hermione sighed deeply and made her way to her bed. Oddly enough, it was the same bed she had occupied in her time until she had become Head Girl. Sitting down, Hermione was only vaguely interested in the trunk at the foot of the bed, courtesy of Professor Dumbledore, no doubt.

Sighing dolefully, Hermione fell back onto her bed, the full implication of what had happened to her finally setting in. She was lost in time and had no idea if she would ever make it back. She was on a first name basis with her Transfigurations professor and she would now be learning the art of Transfiguration from Albus Dumbledore himself.

Fiddling around with her bed coverings, Hermione faintly wondered if Harry and Ron knew what had happened. Would her parents be informed? What about Crooshanks? Who would feed him for her while she was gone, for who knew how long? Would she ever make it back to her time?

Hermione's worries were only faintly dissuaded with the knowledge that at least Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall knew what had happened to her. With any luck, they'd figure out a way to bring her back.

Crawling under the covers without bothering to change, Hermione suddenly frowned. What if they didn't, though? What if there was no way to make it back? How could she make a new life for herself in the past?

And as these depressing thoughts flew across her mind, Hermione began to cry silently in a new fear. She felt so alone in this time; she would never fit in. She was, in all aspects, wholly homesick. She quite literally felt like retching when she thought of all that had happened to her that day.

Unbidden thoughts of worry began to plague her mind. Her whole body was racked with sobs that would not stop. Her mind, too, refused to settle. While she was physically and emotionally drained, Hermione was mentally wide awake. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

And throughout the night Hermione continued to cry, for she could do nothing else for herself or her situation. It was spineless, and weak, she knew; but even a Gryffindor's courage had its limits.

When her tears had finally been exhausted, Hermione fell into a very deep sleep curled up in a childlike ball, her last thoughts having been ones of absolute certainty that both the future and the past would never be the same again.

If I could make days last forever

If words could make wishes come true

I'd save every day like a treasure and then

Again I would spend them with you

One month turned into two months, which then, in turn, became three. Before anyone knew it, Christmas was due to visit in a little more than a week, and even Severus Snape, greasy-haired, evil git extraordinaire, was worried over the disappearance of Hermione Granger.

He'd gladly cut off his tongue before saying so, however.

As he sat at the Head Table with the rest of his colleagues (he refused to think of them as friends) he unwillingly felt his eyes drift to the Gryffindor table where there was a notable lack of enthusiasm.

His gaze immediately sought out Potter and that side-kick of his, Weasley. And where he'd usually see the bushy hair of the brains behind the two, he now saw an empty seat, as there had been for the better part of three months now.

Three and a half months and not a trace of where Hogwarts' Head Girl had disappeared to.

Turning his eyes away from their table, Severus happened to glance upon the Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore, a man that Severus Snape both respected and loathed. He had been unusually quiet about the Granger girl's disappearance, which only led Severus to believe that he was withholding something about it. Even Minerva McGonagall, the self-appointed guardian of Hermione Granger, did not seem too worried about the girl's disappearance. Very interesting, that...

But, if there was one thing that Severus Snape hated even more than that nitwit Potter (both senior and junior), it was having information vital to the well-being of his students being withheld from him, which he was certain both Headmaster and Head of Gryffindor house were doing.

Now, one may wonder what may posses Severus to be so concerned over the well-being of the students he treats like vermin. The concern over his students' welfare dates back to a night that Severus Snape found the light, so to speak.

When he had come back to Hogwarts that fateful night seventeen years ago; that night where he placed his life in the hands of Albus Dumbledore when he had confessed to being a Death Eater; that fateful night when Albus had agreed with Severus, saying, "Yes, perhaps you deserve death, Severus, but I may have a more favorable proposition, depending on how you look upon it." The night that Severus Marcus Snape had renounced the Dark Lord and turned spy, had also been the night that he had made a promise, a vow, or an oath of sorts.

An oath saying that he'd watch and guard each and every one of his students so that the darkness that had once consumed him would never rework its evil.

And there was almost no doubt about it in his mind that there was something decidedly dark about Hermione Granger's disappearance.

Mentally shaking off his thoughts, Severus spared a quick glance down at his own house table.

Despite what most people at the school believed, not all of his Slytherins were junior Death Eaters. In fact, quite a few of them had confided in him of their dislike and unwillingness to turn to the Dark Lord.

Draco Malfoy, for one, viewed as the same smarmy, smug, arrogant, little wanker that his father had been at that age, had been placed in a position very similar to his own. Draco, due to circumstances beyond his spheres of control, had been forced to take the Mark on his sixteenth birthday, regardless of his lack of desire to do so.

The night that Draco Malfoy had been forced to take the Dark Mark, been forced to kill a harmless Muggle family sleeping in their beds, had not only been the night that his innocence had died, but also the night he had turned spy.

Severus was certainly not naïve enough to believe that Draco was spying because he believed in the cause of the Order. It was only the boy's Slytherin way of sticking it to his father by doing the one thing that would royally piss him off as nothing else would.

Catching the said student's eyes, they shared a brief moment of cold understanding and recognition.

Even Draco Malfoy had begun to worry over Granger's growing absence. And he, too, was convinced that Lord Voldemort was behind it somehow.

Severus wasn't exactly sure what had first brought out the idea that Voldemort was behind Hermione's disappearance. Maybe it was the fact that she was Potter's Mudblood, or too smart for her own good, but the idea had somehow lodged itself in his brain and it simply refused to be dismissed.

Perhaps it was Voldemort's odd behavior at the meetings as of late that had brought about his suspicion. In fact, now that he truly analyzed the situation, he could recall that the behavior change had occurred approximately around the same time the girl had gone missing, a little after Albus bid him to give Voldemort the age-defying potion, against Severus's better judgment. His introduction rants, as Severus preferred to view his pep speeches at the Dark Revels, were more, emotional- which certainly was never a word used to describe the Dark Lord before. It was almost as if when he would spout off the crimes of the Mudbloods, he was specifically referring to something that was done to his own person.

As a matter of fact, Severus could have sworn that Voldemort had even said something such as, "She thinks she can waltz into our schools and to take over everything and everyone in it!" When, of course, he really meant 'they', as in the Mudbloods. It was as if he was speaking about one person in specific, and not Mudbloods in general.

Quite bizarre, really.

Deciding to dismiss such thoughts out of his mind for the time being, Severus turned back to his untouched dinner, coming to the decision that he would speak with Albus that night about Hermione Granger and his suspicion about Voldemort's involvement in her absence.

So it was, of course, at that precise moment that the object of Severus's grudging worry suddenly landed with a sickening thud in the middle of the Great Hall, breathless, bleeding, and unconscious.

Not many can say that they have truly ever caught Severus Snape off guard, but at that very moment, Hermione Granger was added to that very short, esteemed list.

The whole Hall seemed to be virtually set on pause for at least one full minute before everything then proceeded to play on fast-forward.

Several students ran to the prone figure huddled on the floor, in the lead, of course, were a very relieved looking Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Minerva McGonagall actually hiked up her robes and broke out into a dead run, which was quite the spectacle, indeed, in order to get to the girl.

And then Albus Dumbledore rose gracefully out of his seat and literally demanded the attention of the entire school body, "Silence!" his confident voice boomed that commanded nothing but he be obeyed.

And he received just that.

"Thank you," he said mildly, into the deadened Hall, "now, I would like all of you to return to your seats while Professors McGonagall, Snape, and I take Miss Granger to the Infirmary. I ask that anyone wishing to visit Miss Granger," here, his eyes settled meaningfully on Harry, Ron and Ginny, "refrain from knocking down the Infirmary door in order to visit her. I understand that it has been quite some time without her and that you are all anxious to visit, but there are more important matters to see to first. Now, everyone, back to your suppers."

With that said and done Dumbledore proceeded to levitate the prone girl on a magicked stretcher and led the way to the Hospital Wing as if he were the leader of a High School marching band, followed eagerly by Minerva McGonagall, and very reluctantly by a confused Potions Master.

And, if there was one thing that Severus Snape truly hated being, it was confused.

"Albus, this whole disappearance reeks of conspiracy, and if you insist on holding your tongue then I will shake it out," he gruffly ground out alongside of Albus and Minerva.

"Indeed there is, old man," Albus readily agreed, "but you will have no need to shake it out for you will soon be in on it," he continued as they charged into the Infirmary.

"Voldemort is involved in this, is he not?" he decided to announce his suspicions with this one question.

A brief glance between Minerva and Albus that spoke more than any words ever could was all of the confirmation that he really needed.

"Yes, but not in the way that you are thinking," Albus allowed, gently placing Hermione's form on the bed furthest away from the others.

Before Severus had a chance to inquire about that, Madame Pomfrey came bustling towards them importantly.

"I see she has returned to us," was her meaningful response at seeing Hermione's unconscious form.

Minerva faintly looked as if she was valiantly suppressing an uncharacteristic fainting spell. "Yes, she has, Poppy. Will you be able to take care of her?"

Poppy Pomfrey huffed indignantly, "Of course I will, Minerva. I've had many years to prepare for this very moment, after all."

The implication of those last words was most certainly not lost on Severus. "Years?" he asked suspiciously, his confusion growing along with his curiosity, much to his annoyance.

Albus spared him a quick glance, stating, "Yes, Severus, years. Miss Granger has recently returned to us from a visit to 1944."

There had always been a list of many colorful adjectives used to describe Severus (slimy, awful, bastard, and git being amongst the top few), but 'clueless' had most assuredly never been amongst them.

"I'm assuming this has something to do with that insufferable time turner of hers that seems to be missing?"

Instead of confirming this, for no confirmation was truly needed, Albus turned importantly to Minerva, saying, "Minerva, please inform Arthur, Molly, Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Tonks, Mad Eye Moody, Kingsley, and Mundungus Fletcher of our current situation. Also contact the remaining members of the Order and have them all come to Hogwarts as soon as humanly possible. We must work quickly if we plan to prepare Hogwarts for his arrival."

Minerva lost what little color her strained face had contained. "Albus, you don't think he'd really-"

"Yes, Minerva," he cut her off gravely, turning his sad, blue eyes to Hermione's form. "Unfortunately, I believe it to be inevitable. He'll come for her sooner or later, and I'm betting on the former."

"Who will come?" Severus breathed, slightly disturbed at Albus's prophetic demeanor.

"Voldemort will come, Severus, and he'll be coming for Hermione," he announced.

Severus only lifted one arch, black brow in clear question, prompting Albus to elaborate, "You obviously are slipping in your old age, Severus,"-which was truly rich, coming from him- "Hermione was transported back to 1944, Minerva's and, more specifically, Tom Riddle's seventh year."

Severus snapped his head to look down at the girl with a startled frown, the next words that Albus Dumbledore would calmly say ricocheting throughout his mind with a reverberating echo that would cause his head to ache for quite some time afterwards.

"You are looking at the girl who turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort."

As if in response to that, Hermione let out a moan. Her eyelids began to flutter and before anyone could react, she sat up in the bed, fully awake, shouting one word in a mixture of affection, sorrow, and a bit of fear.

"Thomas!"

The shout bounced off the walls and sliced into Severus with startling accuracy.

Silence reigned once again as Hermione blinked once, then twice, and then cocked her head to the side in clear question as her eyes bored into a much older Albus Dumbledore than she remembered last seeing.

Frowning slightly, she turned her gaze to Minerva, smiling only slightly.

And then her eyes settled on his own person and Severus found it very hard, indeed, to not flinch in surprise. If pictures told a thousand words, then eyes must tell over a million, for Hermione's eyes were rifled with so much age, wisdom, and sorrow that seemed so unnatural on the usually light-hearted Gryffindor.

And it was all there for him to see.

If she noticed his shock, she did not show it. Instead, she sat there, drinking in the sight of him as if she was inanely pleased to see him; almost as if she wasn't sure if he was even really there at all.

"How long have I been gone?" she asked, her soft voice sounding awfully loud in the deadened Hospital Wing.

"Three months," whispered Minerva, watery eyed.

A funny sort of cynical half smile graced her features, "Three months here, but almost eight months then. Time is funny that way."

"I believe," Albus interjected, eyeing Hermione carefully, "that this night has been somewhat of a drain on us all. Minerva and myself have urgent matters to attend to, but will both be back with a few questions that need answering, Hermione," that being said, he turned his gaze over to Severus saying, "However, I think it best for Miss Granger to have someone watch over her for the next few nights. Severus, if you would be so kind as to stay and keep watch over Miss Granger?"

Under normal circumstances, Severus would have been loathed to do so, but these obviously were not normal circumstances, and Severus himself was beginning to see the severity of the situation with aching clarity.

Besides, Severus had a few questions of his own, and he had the sneaking feeling that only Hermione Granger would be able to answer them.

"As you wish, Headmaster," he accepted with a complete lack of sarcasm.

Albus offered a gentle smile for the room before briskly exiting the Wing. Minerva followed in his wake after a brief, but meaningful hug shared with Hermione.

Silence descended then, hard and unyielding. Severus found himself staring intently at Hermione who appeared to have forgotten he was even in the room at all.

"It's you, isn't it."

It wasn't an accusation, or even a question, really. It was a fact, a statement that did not need confirming.

Turning her gaze to him, Hermione was surprised to see that Snape was still in the room, even though she had heard Dumbledore bid him to watch over her.

"Y-yes," she answered although she knew she need not.

Snape nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "It makes since then, what he has been saying at the meetings as of late."

Discretion was not necessary, they both knew, for it was obvious to Hermione he knew of her little trip to 1944, and Severus had known that Potter, Weasley, and Granger had known of his role as a double agent since their fourth year.

"He talks about me, then?" it wasn't the eager, hopeful question of a teenage girl who fancied a certain boy. It was more of a question borne out of a morbid curiosity.

"Never by name, of course, but yes, I believe it is you he refers to. I think it has been you all along," he muttered the last more to himself.

It was Hermione's turn to nod slowly, finally breaking their stare as she stared out the window.

Silence fell on them once again; contemplative on Hermione's part, and Severus just plain didn't know what to say for once.

"He'll come for me, you know," she spoke, eerily repeating Albus's own worries, "and he won't stop until he has me."

Maybe it was the fear in her voice that moved him. Perhaps it had been the stark certainty that her voice held, that if she knew only one thing for certain, it was that Voldemort would be coming to Hogwarts, and he'd be coming for her. Or, more likely, it was the shadow that had crossed her face, one so very similar to the one that haunted him.

Moving more confidently than he felt, he sat awkwardly in the chair beside Hermione's bed, letting the silence stretch a bit before whispering, "I will protect you."

Hermione blinked, startled. When she turned to met Snape's eyes, she saw no sympathy, pity, or compassion. Instead, she was met with a violent, determined fire that burned in the hidden depths of his onyx eyes. A fire that she had never before seen in him and yet it warmed her to her very bones.

And she believed him, without a doubt. From that night until forever, Severus Snape would be her ally and protector, through his own doing. And, if he could save her by his life or death, then he would do so with no thought of himself.

Understanding and gratitude shown through her eyes as she whispered in slight awe, "I know you will."

There were no false words of optimism shared or any empty promises and reassurances muttered. There was only that understanding that Hermione had needed above all else upon her return. The understanding that, perhaps, only Severus Snape could give her.

Neither knew what the future would bring for either of them. But, they knew with certainty that they would be able to face whatever it was as long as they had that understanding between them.

"Get some sleep, Miss Granger, I will watch over things," he ordered, neither scathingly, nor unkindly.

And before, Hermione could have sworn that she would never be able to fall asleep again without the aid of a Dreamless Sleep potion, but, with Severus Snape watching over her, she felt that not even nightmares could touch her.

Smiling softly, she complied, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Severus watched her sleeping form, in complete awe over the trust she had just bestowed upon him.

It was not everyday that a person put their complete, unwavering trust in him, and he always took it very seriously when they did.

As he sat, taking his new role as protector very seriously while he sat vigilantly over her, he suddenly felt very tired himself.

But, he would stay true to his word. He would stay up and watch over her, even though she didn't necessarily need that protection; not yet, at least.

CHAPTER 3

~*~

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want once you find them...

~*~

"I don't like you."

Hermione found herself smirking in a very Slytherin-like way, replying, "I don't recall asking or even caring if you did."

"If you only knew who I am..."

Hermione gave a stubborn snort. "I know far more than you think I do."

"Is that so?" he challenged with an arrogant lift of his left eyebrow.

Tilting her head up, she looked down her nose at him. "Yes, yes it is."

"And do you care to elaborate on that?"

She gave a very unladylike sniff, "I don't have to explain myself to the likes of you."

Barely suppressed rage began to seep its way through his calm façade. "When my time comes, you'll regret this."

"And when my time comes, you'll be defeated by a one-year-old baby," Hermione muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"Just what are you insinuating?" he shouted, taking a threatening step towards her.

Hermione, never one to take intimidation kindly, mimicked him and also took a step forward, her face an inch away from his. "I don't have time to explain it to you, Thomas."

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at her with a blank expression. When he did speak, it was in a tight voice and through gritted teeth, "Okay, that's it," he announced, "you will be the first to die."

"I'm not afraid of you," Hermione proclaimed, her voice not quivering in the slightest.

He looked at her through narrow, assessing eyes. "You should be."

Here, Hermione cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. He was right, of course. This was, after all, the future Lord Voldemort. He would kill, torture, and pillage in her time; he'd become evil incarnate, and had already, in fact, killed before now.

"You're right," she conceded after a moment, "I should be afraid of you," but before he could gloat in his small moment of victory, she continued, "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm not."

There was another pensive pause of silence before he said, "You're not what you seem, I think."

Hermione regarded him carefully as she said evasively, "Very few of us are."

"I'll be watching you, Hermione Granger. And the moment you make the slightest slip up or mistake, I want you to know that I'll be there. I'll be the one to expel your secrets; after all, this is Hogwarts. When something is meant to be secret, it's only a matter of time before everyone knows," his words were ominous and laced with an underlying threat.

"Well, then, Riddle; I'll just have to be careful around you. I'm far smarter than what you seem to give me credit for," she retaliated without missing a beat.

Tom Riddle gave her a serious look when he said, "I never said that you weren't smart. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that you may be too smart for your own good," and then he left the deserted Transfiguration room, leaving Hermione mulling over his words with a troubled frown...

~*~

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, squinting as the rays of sunlight invaded her senses. Slowly, so as to not pain her already cramping muscles, she sat up on the rickety hospital wing bed, a very peculiar expression on her face.

"Unpleasant dream?" asked a voice from a chair to her left.

Twisting her aching neck sharply, Hermione mentally sighed in relief at seeing Snape. She cocked her head to the side, much in a similar way she had when regarding Tom Riddle, and belatedly responded to his inquiry, saying, "No, more like an unpleasant memory."

A brief flicker of realization crossed his tired face, and then no more words of explanation were needed.

"I can easily brew some Dreamless Sleep potion, if you should be in need of it," he offered, somewhat awkwardly for he was not so used to willingly offering his services to anybody, least of all a Gryffindor student.

Hermione gave a somewhat deflated sigh. "I don't think Dreamless Sleep can help me, Professor."

"I see," he murmured.

And Hermione knew that he wouldn't push her, but he'd also be there if she changed her mind. Interesting how one simple night spent in a brief moment of joint understanding had given her so much insight to the Potions Master that no one had been quite able to read.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Severus was having the same thoughts as she.

"I have a few classes to teach today, but I shall return after the afternoon lessons," he informed, again knowing without asking that she did not want him to leave her for long.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, knowing that he had to leave her to teach his classes, but also for some mindless reason desperately wishing that he'd be able to stay with her.

Anxiously, she nodded her head in response to his statement.

As Snape prepared himself to leave, he informed her, "The Headmaster has called a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix tonight. He's going to have to ask you to relate your rather...unique circumstances for us all."

Again, she gave another anxious nod.

He hesitated as he placed a hand on the door, preparing to leave. Turning back to face her as if he had forgotten something, he muttered, "I'll stop by during lunch, as well; if that suits you."

That quite readily suited Hermione. "Yes, um, yeah that'd be fine," she managed awkwardly.

Giving a curt nod, Snape swept out of the Infirmary and made his way down to the dungeons where his seventh year Gryffindor and Slytherin class awaited him.

The day flew past Severus in a blur of classes that he could not distinguish the difference between. True to his word, he spent a surprisingly pleasant lunch with Hermione, most of which had passed in a companionable silence.

Before Severus knew it, it was 8 o'clock, the scheduled time for the meeting.

Looking up from his magazine, Modern Potions, he glanced at Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed reading Hogwarts: A History for the umpteenth time.

"Err, Miss Granger, it's time for the meeting," he drew out, his voice sounding louder than what he had intended because of the quietness in the Infirmary.

Startled, Hermione's head quickly shot up. She seemed to think about what he had said before she nodded and got up to follow him through a maze of twists and turns in corridors she had never known existed, and she knew she'd be horribly lost on the way back if Snape didn't accompany her.

As she blindly followed the Potions Master, Hermione allowed her mind to wander to the task that lay before her. She was going to have quite the time explaining herself to a room full of strangers and friends. Of course, she knew the necessity of such a meeting, for Thomas was going to come for her and everyone must be prepared, but it was still going to be bloody awkward.

After all, it's not everyday some girl such as herself was in a room full of powerful witches and wizards who were dedicated solely to destroying the evil that she, more than anyone else, had created.

Sighing, Hermione pushed that thought out of her head, barely managing to stop herself from slamming into Snape who had come to a sudden stop in front of Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus, Miss Granger," he greeted solemnly with a slight nod.

"Headmaster," Snape nodded coolly, followed by Hermione's nervously uttered greetings.

Seeing her uneasiness, Albus tried to put on a reassuring smile as he explained, "Miss Granger, I have already informed the Order of your special circumstances, so it will only be necessary for you to fill in the blanks, so to speak."

Hermione gave a slightly grateful smile before asking, "Um, exactly how much did you tell them, so I don't repeat you?"

Albus managed a genuine, small smile, "Just that you had accidentally fallen into the year 1944 and had been forced to stay there for eight months where you and Tom Riddle seemed to develop a rivalry of sorts. I also told them that this rivalry between you two had taken a turn somewhere in the middle of your stay and the two of you became quite inseparable, if I do recall."

Severus, who had already known that she had been somehow connected to a younger Voldemort, tried not to seem surprised.

Hermione gave a discreet cough, "Yes, well, I suppose I do have a lot to discuss, then. For that is a very brief, censored summary, sir."

Albus only smiled tiredly and opened a door that Hermione did not seem to notice before, silently ushering Severus and her in.

Once they had taken their seats, Hermione allowed herself to familiarize herself with the people around her. There were a few faces she recognized, the entire Weasley clan, minus Ginny and Ron, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley, and even Draco Malfoy, who Hermione had always suspected of following in Snape's footsteps by turning spy and now had her confirmation. There were also many others that she recognized, but did not know personally.

Dumbledore quickly drew the meeting to order, "We are here today to listen to the accountings of Miss Hermione Granger. You have all been slightly briefed on the situation, but I fear only Miss Granger can shed some light on the incidents of the past, such as how she was returned to us, and what precautions we should take to prepare for Voldemort's arrival; she does, after all, know him the best."

Hermione gave a slight wince as he added in the last part, but quickly composed her features into a mask of emptiness as many curious eyes fell on her.

"If you will begin, please, Miss Granger," Albus prompted.

Hermione nodded, stealing a glance to make sure Snape was still at her side before she jumped right in.

"As you are all aware of, I have recently returned from an eight month sojourn in 1944, where I made the acquaintance of many people, such as, Professor Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and, of course, Tom Riddle.

"To say that Thomas and I did not get along at first would be like saying cats and dogs bicker. We were constantly at odds, got detention for dueling in the halls, and I even slapped him a couple times," she smirked at the shocked faces of those around her, but then frowned as she admitted, "but that all eventually changed.

"After four months of my stay, I thought I'd simply never return home. I began to withdraw more into myself, pushing my new friends away. And then, one day, I guess you can say I cracked. I decided that if I couldn't get back to the future, then God damn it, I would change it. And I probably would have succeeded, too, if it weren't for that one night, the night I was sent back here.

"Thomas and I had grown to become grudging colleagues, so to speak. We were far and beyond everyone else in all of our classes, and the teachers liked to pair us together because we both had like minds. After a while, I became his friend, sort of. I would find myself in his company more and more, because Thomas didn't ask questions that I couldn't give answers to. I felt safer with him, and I used our newfound friendship, you could call it, to my advantage.

"I thought that I could change Thomas, and for a short while, I did. It got to the point that he'd go into a rage whenever I was insulted by any other Slytherins, and anyone who dared call me a Mudblood would be found in the Infirmary with severe hex marks all over them. He said he hated that word, and that witches and wizards were all equal," here, Hermione was surprised that nobody's eyes popped out of their sockets, "But one night, my last night there, it all changed..."

"Hermione, remember when I told you that I didn't and could never love you?" he asked her as they strolled hand-in-hand by the lake.

Hermione gave a snort, "Sure, it was right before I slapped you."

"Well, I lied."

Eyes going comically wide, Hermione froze, not knowing what to say.

Tom didn't wait for her to say anything, though, and he continued, "The year is almost over, Hermione, and I want you to be with me. I want to marry you, Mya."

The air rushed out of her lungs as tears pricked her eyes. Surprisingly, she found that she would have liked for nothing more than to launch herself into his arms and to kiss him, tell him that she'd marry him, and then go off to live happily ever after. But she knew that she couldn't.

Frowning, she recalled those words that Dumbledore and McGonagall had said when they had given her the time turner; she remembered the words of Headmaster Dippet, and she knew even before she said anything what her answer would be.

Turning to Tom, she found him staring adoringly at her, and it completely amazed her that she, Hermione Granger, had that kind of power over the future Lord Voldemort. As she recalled the future, though, she frowned. Funny how she seemed to forget that her Thomas was the same creature who hated and destroyed everything she stood for in her own time. That her Thomas had killed her best friend's parents, robbing him of the two most important people in his life.

And in that moment, Hermione Granger knew that she couldn't marry Tom Marvolo Riddle, and that she couldn't love him, either.

"I'm sorry, Thomas, but I-I, don't think I could truly love you, and I can't be with you..."

Just the memory brought tears to her eyes. Belatedly, she realized that everyone in the room was staring intently at her, waiting for her to continue her narrative.

With a few blinks and a muffled sniff she continued, "Thomas told me- he told me that he loved me and wanted me to marry him that night when I was sent back here."

What ensued was a predictable chaos.

Tonks, whose hair had turned a livid red upon her declaration, was outraged on her behalf, and Remus was trying to calm her shouts down. Mrs. Weasley had fainted and was now being revived by her son, Bill, whereas Arthur just kept gapping like a fish out of water. Draco Malfoy was looking at her, as if seeing for the first time.

Albus, too, was terribly shocked, but he had enough sense to call for order and to allow Hermione to continue.

Hermione bit her lip, now even more nervous than before, and found that she couldn't find the will to speak.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a calm hand landed on her right shoulder. Turning, she found Severus Snape, staring at her, that same understanding from the night before burning in his dark eyes.

And that was all that mattered, she realized. She didn't give a fig for what the other members of the Order thought. All that mattered was that Snape would be there to hex them if she asked him to.

And then her mouth seemed to unglue, and the words tumbled out, "I was quite shocked, too. But, I- I told him no. I said that I didn't think I could be with him or love him truly, and it was the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. But I knew I had to. Thomas, though, he tried to remain calm, and he merely asked me why. And, I couldn't think of a thing I could tell him that he would believe, so I- I told him the truth.

"I told him that I was from the future, and he still didn't believe me...

"I don't believe you."

Hermione sighed, "Believe what you will, but that doesn't change the fact that it's true."

Thomas narrowed his eyes, snapping, "What year are you from?"

"1997."

"Do you have any friends?" he practically cut her off.

He was quizzing her, she knew, trying to catch her in a lie; but Hermione remained calm as she said simply, "Yes, the two greatest friends anyone could ever hope for."

"Who are they?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing more, if that was possible.

"Ron and Harry Potter."

"And what about me?" he asked in a sneer that had long been absent from his voice when speaking to her, "Do I exist in your future?"

Hermione felt her throat close up and all she managed was a weak nod in the affirmative.

And before she could even blink, he had his wand out and trained on the center of her chest.

"Thomas?"

There was a slight note of fear in her voice underneath her confusion.

Blinking hard so as to block out the memory, Hermione drew in a shaky breath as she continued, finding comfort from Snape's hand still perched on her shoulder, "He told me he had stumbled upon a book written by Salazar Slytherin in his Chamber of Secrets, pertaining to the laws, rules, and the back doors to the concept of time travel."

Albus gave a slight intake of breath as understanding seemed to dawn on him. "Very few people know of Salazar's fixation on time travel."

Hermione nodded, saying, "He said if I was telling the truth, which he didn't believe I was, then the spell would send me home. After he muttered it and it hit me, nothing happened. Thomas thought that meant I had been lying, so he walked over to me with a slight smile of victory and relief. I felt a bit lightheaded, but I only chalked it up to nerves and not to the spell. And Thomas," she paused slightly before continuing, "He wrapped my fingers around a ring, holding my balled fist in his hand. And he said to me," She broke off, closing her eyes as Thomas's voice echoed throughout her mind, "'You are mine, Hermione, for now until forever.'

"And before I could even respond, I felt a tugging at the back of my navel, much like the effect of a portkey. Thomas seemed to fall away from me, and all I can remember is him shouting out my name, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the Infirmary with a 54 year older Albus Dumbledore and Min..."

Silence. Absolute silence reigned as each member of the Order seemed to sit and soak in the fact that Hermione 'Mudblood' Granger had nearly been engaged to Lord Voldemort.

Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy was the first to speak, "So, uh, what was Voldie like as a teenager?"

Hermione could only stare at him for a long moment, before slowly breaking out into a smile, "A little like you, actually," Draco raised a brow, prompting her to continue, "He was an arrogant little snot, no offense," she grinned and his lips quirked, "who thought he owned Hogwarts and everyone in it."

"Yes, thank you, Hermione, for that sparkling description of Tom Riddle in his more youthful days," Dumbledore began, a small twinkle returning to his eyes, "But, I'm afraid, we still have very important business to attend to, such as Tom's inevitable visit...Do you have any thoughts?"

Hermione frowned, picking her next words carefully. "He'll come sooner rather than later. He wouldn't want to give me time to adjust, but rather catch me while I'm still living in the past, so to speak."

Albus gave an approving nod, "Yes that is much of what I had thought."

"And, he'll come when he'll have an audience. Thomas always told me that the first part of revenge is making it public so you can have witnesses to your genius...maybe a Quidditch match. Is there a scheduled match before the end of this month?"

Minerva answered her. "No, the matches have been canceled for the upcoming Yule Ball..." realization hit her and her eyes slightly widened, "Mya, do you think he'll come during the Yule Ball?"

Hermione wasted no time in answering, and ignored the curious looks she got at the name 'Mya', "I can almost guarantee it."

Remus looked at Hermione inquisitively, asking, "Is there any way we can stop him?"

Biting her lower lip, Hermione shook her head. "No. Once he decides to storm the castle there won't be anything we can do to stop him."

"How do you know for sure?" a strange, unfamiliar older lady with cat fur all over her robes asked.

Hermione sighed. "Think about it. Each year that Harry's been in attendance at Hogwarts, Thomas has always managed to reach him somehow; a portkey, a diary, strange dreams. And this, for Thomas, is far bigger than his payback against Harry; perhaps even bigger than the prophecy to Tom. It goes much deeper than mere revenge; he's going to see this as retribution, justice, even. He will come and gain entrance, and all we can do is be prepared beforehand."

Albus looked expectantly at her over the rims of his spectacles. "And how do you think we should prepare?"

"Well, he'll bring a small army of Death Eaters with him, so maybe you can think of an excuse to have Order members there; maybe say that they're chaperones. We'll also have to find a way to make sure the students have their wands on them; perhaps say that they'll need them for a special surprise activity or something," Mad Eye Moody gave an improving grunt before Hermione continued, "But those aren't my main concerns. The one thing we should be worried about is Harry."

At the sound of Harry's name, Remus and the others snapped to attention. "You don't think he'll be in danger, do you?" Remus asked quickly.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "It's more as if I'm afraid he'll put himself in danger. If Harry feels as though anyone at Hogwarts is being threatened, he'll step right into Voldemort's path to try and prevent it. Even if he's told and forewarned not to do anything, if he thinks there's any chance that he can help, he'll do it despite the warnings."

"But wouldn't he be in danger, anyway? I mean, won't Voldemort try to kill him just because he's Harry Potter?" asked Arthur Weasley, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder so as to calm her.

"No, I don't think he will. He's been waiting over 54 years for the chance to exact his vengeance on me; he won't waste anytime on Harry that night."

"Albus, you don't presume to base all of your actions on the opinions of a seventh year student of yours, do you?" asked a middle aged man with a sour face.

Albus sighed. "Yes, Mr. Ynez, I do."

"I find it interesting," the man spat, "that this slip of a girl thinks she's an expert on Lord Voldemort."

Voices were raised, some voicing their agreement, others their protest at Ynez's comments.

But the only voice that cut through the noise, demanding complete, unwavering silence, was a silk whisper laid over steel, "And I find it interesting, Ynez, that one such as yourself, a man who has never before even been in the company of the Dark Lord, seems to think he could do any better than one of Lord Voldemort's most... intimate.... acquaintances."

Every head turned to see Severus Snape, glaring daggers at Ynez.

In the silence of the room, Albus spoke, "I am well aware of the risks we are taking by entrusting our preparations to a student; however, we all must keep in mind that Miss Granger knows Tom better than he would no doubt like to admit, therefore we also must assume that he knows that we are here having this meeting right know. Voldemort will come to Hogwarts and the center of his wicked designs will be Hermione."

"Well, gee, that's comforting," Hermione replied dryly, her tone rivaling Snape's.

"Isn't it though," Snape smirked, still glaring at Ynez, for all appearances seeming as though he had not listened to a word Albus had just said.

"I'm afraid," Albus began with a pointed look at the two, "That in order for Mr. Potter to be safe, he must be informed of our precarious situation."

"I will, of course, tell him; I owe him an explanation, Ron, too, for that matter," Hermione offered, giving a small smile to the Weasleys who each returned it.

"Very well, then. I ask that Hermione have someone accompany her at all times; I fear it is really for the best Miss Granger. You will have to be given intensive defensive training lessons so that you may be better prepared; I shall arrange this with any teachers who have the time immediately. Until our next meeting, I move that we adjourn and for the Order to remain on school grounds and to serve as chaperones at the ball."

"I will second that movement," Remus readily responded.

"Then this meeting is dismissed. Miss Granger, you will return to the Hospital Wing and will be able to resume your classes the day after next; I'm aware that technically you have already graduated, but you still must attend for appearances sake. Remus, if you will escort her..."

Remus was only half way out of his chair before a sharp voice cut in, "I will escort her."

Severus Snape's voice brooked no refusal.

Hermione smiled in relief. It wasn't that she didn't trust Remus or anything, but she would just feel safer if Snape never left her side again.

Dumbledore gave Severus a peculiar look, followed by one to Hermione. But she couldn't quite bring herself to feel anything more than relief when Severus Snape lead her out of the room by placing an efficient hand on the small of her back, both seemingly clueless to the Headmaster's small, knowing smile.

CHAPTER 4

~*~

I've looked around enough to know that

You're the one I want to go through time with

~*~

The dawning of the next day found Hermione nervously twisting the sheets between her fingers as she sat and waited for the final classes of the day to be dismissed.

It wouldn't be much longer, she knew, for Min to briskly snap "Class dismissed," to her seventh year Gryffindors and, coincidentally, for Harry and Ron to come bursting through the door, questions positively leaking from their jabbering mouths.

As if on cue, the Hospital Wing doors flew open to admit her eager and thoroughly baffled best friends.

"Hermione!" Harry beamed once he saw her, coming forward quickly to envelop her into a great hug, shortly followed by a similar hug from Ron.

Smiling despite the long, trying talk she knew was to come, Hermione lifted her arms around the boys. "Gods, have I missed you two," she laughed, tears coming to her eyes at the thought of explaining to Harry that her almost-fiancée murdered his parents.

Harry and Ron broke out into simultaneous grins at her words, not yet noticing her despair.

"No more than we missed you, no doubt," Ron proclaimed while his cheeky grin increased.

Harry's smile, however, faltered at the sight of her unshed tears. "Hey there, Hermione, don't be sad," he said soothingly, perching himself on the foot of her bed and grabbing her hand.

Ron's grin also disappeared as he frowned at her concernedly while also placing himself at the foot of her bed and took her other hand. "Oh, please don't be sad, Hermione. Everything's going to be just fine now; you're safe..."

This only caused Hermione more unshed tears of guilt as she squeezed both of their hands tightly, as if she feared she'd never see them again if she let go. "Oh, boys, you have no idea...no idea about what happened, do you?"

The two briefly shared a look before Harry answered, "Dumbledore hasn't told us much. All he has been willing to say is that you were lost in time and now you're back."

Ron nodded, adding on, "And the only thing he'll tell us now that you're back is that you are going to need us at your side, now more than ever."

"Hermione, Remus told us that there was a meeting of the Order to discuss your circumstances; please, tell us what happened," he practically begged, seeming unsure of whether or not he would regret asking.

Hermione averted her eyes, resolving herself to what was going to be a very long, complicated tale. "I need you both to promise not to interrupt me. It's a very involved story, and the more interruptions, the longer it'll take to tell."

Ron readily nodded, followed by Harry.

Heaving a deep sigh, Hermione began, "First, what you need to realize is that for you guys, I've merely been gone a sparse three months, but to me it has been almost nine."

They both seemed shocked at that revelation, causing Hermione to wonder about their reactions when she told them about Tom.

"You see," she decided not to dwell on her thoughts, "while I was falling from the staircase that day, my time turner was twirling around with me, and when I tried to steady it, I only ended of breaking the chain. The time turner ended up crashing into the stones, and I was sure that I shared that same fate, but, as I closed my eyes waiting for the impact, I found that it never came. In fact, when I opened my eyes, I found myself standing upright in the Transfigurations room in front of a 54 year younger Dumbledore."

They obviously weren't expecting that her jaunt in the past had been that far back, but instead of commenting, they only prompted her to continue.

"I won't go into the details, but instead get straight to the point. It was decided that I would stay at Past-Hogwarts until they could find the means to send me home; time turners did not exist then, after all. While masquerading as an exchange student, I met and made many interesting friends, perhaps two of which you might find, err, rather interesting. Minerva McGonagall had been Head Girl at the time, and we had both taken a strong liking to each other, seeing as how we were so much alike."

"You were friends with Professor McGonagall?" Ron sputtered.

Hermione smiled indulgently as Harry smacked Ron and told him to hush up. "Yes, Ron, Min and I were good friends."

"And the other?" Harry asked, looking at her with piercing eyes.

"The other," Hermione gulped, immediately breaking the intimate eye contact, "the other was the Slytherin Head Boy, Tom Riddle."

She waited for the yelling and accusations to begin, but when she looked over at them, Hermione only saw Harry and Ron exchanging meaningful looks. "We thought as much," Harry confessed. "After all, they wouldn't have called a meeting of the Order unless Voldemort was somehow involved."

"We weren't friends, at first," she hastily assured them, still unable to meet their eyes. "In fact we hated each other and didn't even bother to hide it. We were constantly serving detentions for dueling in the halls and for arguing during class...I slapped him good a few times, as well."

"Hermione! You got into duels with the future Dark Lord! Are you insane?" Ron gasped out, staring at her with something akin to respect.

She let out a nervous laugh, "No, Ron, not that I know of. You see, Thomas was a little like our modern day Draco Malfoy, except with Snape's wit. And you guys of all people should know that I wouldn't take any lip from a wannabe Severus Snape."

Harry frowned. "What changed then? How did you become friends?"

Hermione sighed sadly, "I had been there for about four months, and it appeared to all that I had no way home. There were no time turners, no spells or incantations, or even a potion, that seemed to be able to help me. I felt trapped, desperate, and at my wits' end when one day I just snapped. I became so mad and resentful that I decided that if I couldn't get back to the future, then I'd bloody well change it." She gave a decisive, sharp nod before moving on in her tale.

"It wasn't long after that night that Thomas and I began to grow closer. We were constantly being paired up in our classes, and before I knew it, we unconsciously paired up after classes. We started out slowly, merely trying to remain civil to avoid detentions. But then that allowed us to see other sides of each other. Like, for instance, I began to find myself privy to things about Tom that weren't really important or common knowledge, like how he couldn't sleep unless his feet were covered, but also couldn't sleep with socks on..."

"You two were involved, weren't you?" Harry asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, suddenly finding her bed sheets to become quite interesting. "Yes, yes we were. You have to understand, Harry, I thought I could change him. I thought that since I was stuck there I should at least try to change the future, change Tom. And it worked, for a while. I found myself being able to forget that this was the same, feared wizard of our time. For a short while, I could fool myself with thoughts of a future with Thomas, but when the day came to take that final leap, to reach out and make that future with him a reality, I couldn't.

"We were walking by the lake, as we often did, when Thomas decided to propose. At first, I thought that was what I had wanted. For me and Thomas to be together and to destroy the possibility of there even being a Voldemort...But, Gods, when I looked at him, all I could see was you Harry..." She sniffed while Harry couldn't hide his confusion and surprise.

"The thought of my Thomas, who was so kind and loving with me, growing up into the creature that stole your parents away from you, it shattered my hopes of a future with him. I knew- I knew that I could never truly love him in the way that would forever vanquish the Lord Voldemort within him, because I could never forget what he had the potential to become."

Unbeknownst to her, the tears she had fighting so hard against shedding were rolling down her cheeks as she thought of the fateful night with her Thomas by the lake.

"And so I told him no," she began quickly before either of them could comment. "I said I couldn't and Thomas got all kinds of upset, asking my why and whatnot. And he deserved an answer; I had been lying to him ever since I met him and Thomas deserved a straight, truthful answer. And so I told him why. I told him I was from the future," she sniffed while rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes, "but he didn't believe me. He shot out all of these questions, trying to catch me in a lie, but I answered them all flawlessly, and Thomas began to doubt. That's when he cast a long-hidden spell on me. If I was telling the truth, it was supposed to send me back to my rightful time...At first nothing happened, and Thomas came to me smiling, thinking I had been kidding, taking out the ring he had intended to give me and wrapped my fingers around it saying that I would be forever his..."

And here, Hermione faltered as she reached to her neck and tugged on a dainty, gold chain. And on that chain was a ring; it was beautiful, elegant, and obviously very old. It was spectacular and gorgeous in its simplicity.

It was obvious even to charmingly clueless Ron that it was the ring Tom Riddle had given her.

"But before I could say anything," she continued, not even looking up from the ring she held in her hand, "the spell began to take effect. The last thing I remember was him screaming my name, and then waking up suddenly in the Infirmary, back in the present."

Silence reigned as the two boys studied the ring along with Hermione, slowly soaking in her tale.

"So- So you basically ensured that the future would turn out as you knew it... by trying to change it?" Ron asked, slightly confused.

Hermione snorted humorlessly as she nodded. "Ironic, isn't it?" she paused, finally dropping the ring and meeting their eyes, saying abruptly, "I'll understand if you'll want to hate me."

"Bite your tongue, 'Mione," Ron snapped, managing to look angry and indignant at the same time. "You should know us better than that. Nothing could make us hate you; it wasn't even your fault."

Harry nodded, although his demeanor was more serious, but just as genuine. "If it hadn't been you who went back, then it just would have been someone else, wouldn't it? Time's a paradox that way. You can't help it that Father Time just chose you, can you?" he asked rationally, and calmly.

And without further ado, Hermione threw her arms around her two friends who were practically her brothers. "Oh, guys, I love you both so much; never doubt it, okay?"

Looking somewhat unsettled by an emotional female, Harry and Ron awkwardly tried to console her by patting her back, saying, "Erm, sure, and uh, yeah- right back at you," Ron muttered clumsily.

She pulled away from them, smiling brightly and feeling lighter than she had since she had returned.

Her smile faded though, when Harry asked, "But, something else is wrong, isn't there? Something that called for a meeting of the Order."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, simply saying, "It is of Dumbledore's belief, and of mine, that Tom will be coming here to confront me."

"What? But he can't come here! This is Hogwarts!" Ron yelped, turning pale.

Harry, however, held her eyes and nodded in agreement, saying to Ron, "He'll manage to find a way; he always has in the past. Do you have any idea when, 'Mione?" he asked as gently as he could.

"The Yule Ball," she responded, hesitating before she went on to say, "he'll want to flaunt off our past together, try to shock everyone and sully my image. And he's going to do, or want something from me."

Harry looked grim as he promised, "I won't let him hurt you, Hermione."

She could hear the underlying, I won't let what happen to Sirius happen to you; I won't let you die, behind his words.

Hermione's eyes widened as she quickly squeezed Harry's hand tighter and said, "Listen to me, Harry, and you, too, Ron. When Thomas comes, you both are to do nothing. He's not coming for you, Harry. This is going to be nothing like the confrontations you've ever had with him. This is personal, Harry; Thomas and I have a past, and from that past I know that when he gets here he'll make a beeline straight for me, and you can't stop him."

Harry's eyes crackled with anger. "Hermione, you expect me to sit there pleasantly while he kills you!"

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh. "He won't kill me, Harry. No, he'll think death would be too easy for me; besides, he has more imagination than that. And you have to see, honey, that there is nothing you can do. If anyone can influence what he does when he gets here, it will be me, not you. For all intents and purposes, he'll forget about you, Harry, and devote all of his attention to me, and you listen up, and listen well; you aren't to go and remind him that you're still here, understand me?"

Before Harry could reply, the doors opened to reveal Snape levitating a trunk into the room.

Seeing the three on the bed, Severus frowned, but resolutely went to the reunited trio.

"Miss Granger, the Headmaster asked me to bring this down to you since I was on my way here," he said in neutral tones.

While Harry and Ron eyed him suspiciously, Hermione offered him a small smile, much to his secret delight.

Ha, take that Potter, he mentally gloated, but then snapped at himself for acting childish.

"Thank you, Professor. Would you mind ordering our dinners in here tonight? I'm still not up to face the questions of others yet," she asked, completely vulnerable to any scathing reply that he would chose to sling at her.

But, much to the surprise of Harry and Ron, Severus only coolly nodded, murmuring, "If you wish."

And then he left to use Madam Pomfrey's Floo to inform the house-elves that both he and Miss Granger would be taking their meals in the Infirmary once again.

As Hermione watched Snape go, she turned back to Harry with a fierce look, completely ignoring his questioning, confused expression at her slightly friendly terms with the evil, greasy git. "Look, Harry. I can take care of myself when it comes to Thomas, okay? Please, just promise me not to do anything stupid," she pleaded desperately.

Harry, much to his reluctance, promised, saying, "I don't like it, 'Mione, not one bit, but if you know what you're doing...okay, I promise."

Now, Hermione looked sharply to Ron, snapping, "And you, too, Ron. You promise, as well."

Ron slowly nodded, seeing how important it was to her. "Sure, Herms, I promise."

Hermione instantly sagged in relief, smiling to her friends and saying, "I'll be back in the Common Room tonight, but for now, off to dinner with you two!"

Simultaneously grinning, although it was much more subdued than usual, the two boys hugged her and left.

Turning her attention to the trunk, Hermione hopped out of her bed and sat by it. With a jolt, she realized that it was her belongings from the past.

"Dumbledore must've saved them for me," she whispered as she reverently released the clasp and opened the trunk.

The first thing she saw was a picture album laid open on top of the rest of her belongings. It was flipped open to a picture she vaguely recalled Min taking in the library. She was sitting at a table, calmly reading a book that demanded her full attention. And there, sitting to her left, was Thomas, completely ignoring his book and staring at her.

His blue eyes were riddled with emotion, and a small secret smile stretched across his face as he stared at her in something akin to awe.

And all the while, the Hermione in the picture was completely unaware to the loving stare she was receiving. She just kept turning the pages in her book, blissfully ignorant.

"What are you looking at?" asked Snape, his voice which he always carefully kept impartial when addressing her slightly tinged with curiosity.

Hermione looked up at his neutral expression, sadly handing the flipped open album over to him quietly.

What Severus saw made his eyes briefly widen. Of course, he knew that the younger Dark Lord had quite fancied himself in love with the Granger chit, but he had always had a small whisper of doubt about whether or not the young Tom Riddle had been sincere in his profession of love.

And now that little whisper had been snubbed, and Severus knew he would never again hear the echoes of doubt when it came to Riddle's affections for Hermione Granger.

"I see," he murmured, carefully closing the photo album and gingerly handing it back to her.

Her facial expression was one completely devoid of any emotion, her tone only slightly quivering as she said, "Yes, well, enough reminiscing, I say."

And Severus Snape left it at that.

Not even two seconds later, Dobby the House Elf appeared with their dinners, presenting a lovely distraction from the past and an excuse for them both to dwell on their own thoughts without appearing to ignore the other.

As soon as dinner was completed, Hermione engaged Snape in a conversation about whether or not weight, time and preparation played a significant role in potions making.

Severus was quite surprised to find that Hermione was able to support her opinions with specific examples and evidence that he found hard to argue with. He was so impressed, in fact, that he asked her how she had become so well versed on the subject, since he rarely ever grazed upon the depths of potions she waded into.

"Well, Thomas and I were always paired up in potions, and he was quite the expert. I guess a little bit of him rubbed off on me," she admitted.

Hermione briefly caught Snape's gaze, breaking it once she realize that he, too, was wondering exactly how much of him had rubbed off onto her.

Shaking the unsettling thought, Hermione decided that it was past time to return to the Common Room.

After a brief check-up from Madam Pomfrey, Hermione finally left the Hospital Wing with Snape as her escort.

Coming to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, Hermione realized she had no clue as to what the password was. She stole a glance to Snape who, while smirking slightly down at her, pronounced, "Welcome home, Hermione."

Obediently, the portrait swung open, and as Hermione smiled softly at the password (most likely Harry and Ron's doing) she turned back to Snape.

"So, err, I suppose I'll see you in class tomorrow," she muttered nervously, suddenly feeling like a nervous school girl in the company of the very cute boy she fancied.

"If it would suit your purposes, I will accompany the training lessons tomorrow after dinner," he offered, not quite meeting her eyes.

Why is this so awkward? I'm acting as nothing more than a temporary guardian of sorts...it shouldn't feel like this, his mind berated his lack of control on his confusing emotions.

But Severus found himself rewarded with a blinding smile from Hermione and he suddenly decided that it was worth it.

"Yes, I would quite like that," she admitted, slightly shy.

Severus gave a brisk nod, trying to dampen down the pleasure he felt by her statement.

"Until then," he said, swiftly turning on his heel and striding down to the dungeons, taking off thirty points from an unsuspecting Hufflepuff along the way so as to bring himself back to familiar grounds.

Still slightly smiling for no reason in particular, Hermione turned to enter the empty Common Room.

Except, it wasn't quite so empty.

"Harry, what are you doing up so late?" Hermione gently chided, carefully avoiding his eyes.

Harry looked at her thoughtfully, replying, "Waiting for you."

Hermione felt a slight flutter of nerves, but determinedly pushed it down. "You should be in bed," she calmly said.

Harry tilted his head to the side, studying her. "You've changed, Hermione."

Hermione visibly flinched as she said, "Yes, well, we all change at one time or another."

"Come, sit here with me," Harry softly ordered.

Obediently, she made her way and sat by her best friend on the overstuffed couch that she and Minerva had frequented when studying for Transfigurations.

Casually draping a solely brotherly arm around her shoulders, Harry whispered, "You blame yourself, don't you?"

Hermione sighed; she should have known that Harry, of all people, would be able to see straight through her deceptively calm manner and right into the guilt she was feeling.

"How could I not, Harry? If I had just left him alone and let things be, things would have turned out differently," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

"That's not true, you know. If you were in your usual state of mind, you'd realize it. You remember how we found out it was Riddle who first opened the Chamber years ago?"

Hermione nodded although she knew it was a rhetorical question.

"He had already killed then, Hermione. He had become Lord Voldemort before you even knew him. In fact, it was a miracle at all that you two even became close, and that you managed to change him for a time," he assured her, slightly rubbing her upper arms for comfort.

"But Harry, the only reason he went back to Lord Voldemort was because of me. I could've stopped him, Harry, but I didn't; I couldn't," she confessed, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Sh-h, you can't take full responsibility for something you didn't even ask for; you had no control over the situation," he reproached.

Hermione gave a sniff. "I could say the same thing to you, Mr. I-Carry-the-Weight-of-the-World-on-my-Shoulders."

Harry chuckled, "I guess we're pretty much in the same boat now, aren't we?"

Hermione sighed, relaxing further into Harry's comforting embrace. "Yes, although you're not the one who made the Dark Lord a jilted lover."

Harry snorted. "Well, you certainly have a taste for the darker men, 'Mione. First Krum, then Riddle, and I don't think I even want to mention that friendly smile at Snape earlier today..."

Hermione instantly sat up, her spine rigidly straight. "Harry James Potter, don't you go about assuming..." she began threateningly.

Harry instantly threw up his hands in surrender, stifling his chuckles as he said, "Calm down, Hermione, you know I was only teasing...although, now that I think of it, you two were slightly chummy. How was your dinner with him?"

Hermione smacked him playfully on the arm when he started wiggling his brows suggestively. "He's just helping, is all, Harry. It's not like we're best friends or even friends, really. I just- I think," she struggled for the right words to explain the sudden bond she shared with the Potions Master, "I think he understands how I feel, Harry. I think he's the only one."

Harry lifted a curious brow, silently urging her to continue.

"I mean, Snape turned spy and is forever repenting for his past. In a way, I think he believes that he also helped create Lord Voldemort, simply by once supporting him. I just think he realizes what I feel; the guilt, the emotions- I think they're similar to what feels himself, you know?"

Harry looked at her with an odd expression for a few moments before belatedly responding, "No, I don't really know, but, of course, I've never really thought of it that way."

Hermione gave a slight yawn behind her hand.

"Off to bed with you, Herms," Harry nudged her towards the stairs, smiling innocently at the glare she shot him at the, while affectionate, but also very annoying, nickname.

A little too tired to argue about it, though, Hermione stood along with Harry and walked towards the stairs.

"Harry." She stopped when they reached the division of the steps, looking at him awkwardly. "Thanks," she finally said, giving him a sisterly peck on the check and turning up the stairs.

"Anything for you, Herms!" Harry softly called out to her retreating back, not quite muffling his chuckles when she groaned at the repeated nickname.

CHAPTER 5

~*~

If I had a box just for wishes

And dreams that had never come true

The box would be empty except for the memories

Of how they were answered by you

~*~

"This is pointless, I'll never get it!"

Hermione shared an amused glance with Harry over Ron's shoulder.

"That's nonsense, Ron; you are quite capable of doing this. You just have to try harder," Hermione soothed while trying to hide her smile.

Ron gave a flick of his wand while muttering the incantation.

Again, nothing happened.

Groaning, Ron threw his hands up in the air. "That's it! I quit!"

"Now, Ron, just try to focus your energy into the spell," Remus Lupin offered up, even though he, too, was suppressing an amused smile.

"No, it's pointless; I'm a dunderhead and I'm completely useless!" Ron bemoaned.

"As much as I would like to agree with you, Mr. Weasley," the smooth voice of Severus Snape expertly captured the attention of everyone in the room, "might I suggest you simply try the same incantation again, but this time keep your elbow from jabbing out as you wave your wand."

Ron eyed Snape distrustfully, narrowing his eyes slightly when Snape merely arched a brow in return. Grumbling to himself, Ron turned and did as instructed.

That time, the spell worked perfectly.

After a long day of classes and well wishes from several students, Hermione found herself in a room along with Harry and Ron, all three being given defensive training by Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, and the Head of Gryffindor house, Minerva McGonagall.

The rest of the group had been quite surprised when Hermione had arrived in the company of a fairly civil Potions Master, who merely explained his presence by stating, 'I have nothing better to do presently than to make sure you foolish Gryffindors don't get yourselves killed'.

With curious looks from the two teachers, a suspicious one from Ron, and a slightly knowing one from Harry, the Head of Slytherin house simply went to the closest chair and sat himself down in an air of indifference.

And with that, the lessons had begun.

"Err, uh, thanks," Ron stuttered uncomfortably.

Severus merely gave a stiff nod of his head from the chair he still occupied.

"Well, then, now that that spell has been mastered, I'd say it's safe to have you guys practice dueling," Remus timidly offered. "We'll start with you, Hermione."

Hermione's smile was immediately replaced by a nervous expression, "Oh, Professor Lupin, I don't think that's such a good idea, you see-"

"Nonsense, Hermione, you have nothing to fear," he cut off with a small, reassuring smile.

"Well, err, that's not the problem," Hermione muttered, suddenly finding the floor to be quite interesting.

"What seems to be the problem, then?" Remus asked, slightly concerned.

Hermione blushed, but couldn't bring herself to answer.

Luckily, Minerva McGonagall was there to reply, "Remus, Mya has already been quite thoroughly trained in dueling arts."

"I'm not following," he asked, confusion written on his face.

"You see, sir," Hermione began, looking anywhere but at the other five occupants in the room, "Thomas and I constantly got into fights, and it wasn't really considered normal if we did not get into at least one duel a week. So, I paid attention and studied the hexes and curses Thomas used. And, well, let's just say Thomas lost his fair share of duels to me."

"I see, perhaps then, it would be best if one of us partnered you, Miss Granger. Severus, you are the resident duelist here; would you care to partner Hermione?" Remus asked expectantly.

Snape looked at Remus, and then looked at Hermione, who seemed to convey no objections.

Lifting one shoulder in a lazy, indifferent shrug, Severus gracefully rose to his feet, saying, each word positively dripping in sarcasm, "I would be honored, Lupin."

Hermione hid the smirk that was itching to cross her face, knowing that her friends would find it very odd indeed if she suddenly went smirking around with Snape as if they shared some kind of secret, inside joke.

Severus strolled to the center of the room, whereas everyone else moved back a safe distance. He towered over Hermione, smoothly reaching up into his left sleeve with his right hand, pulling out his smooth, dark wand. Holding the wand out in front of him, Snape gave another smirk and lifted it up in salute.

With a matching smirk that only Snape could see, Hermione lifted her wand, both of them turning in unison and marching eight paces away.

"Now, on the count of three," Remus said into the pregnant air. "One."

Snape took his stance, a pose Hermione vaguely recalled him using in her second year during the dueling club.

"Two," Remus went on.

Hermione positioned herself in a stance she had adopted from Thomas, noticing that Snape's eyes seemed to widen a bit as if he recognized it right before Remus said, "Three!"

And off they went.

Snape had shouted a disarming spell, going for the quick and easy win, but what he had not counted on was for Hermione to physically get into the duel.

She had quite easily ducked out of the way, at the same time waving her wand and shouting the distracting charm.

Luckily, it was one that Severus easily deflected and immediately countered with a mild stunning curse.

Hermione, he noticed throughout the duel, saved time by effortlessly dodging his curses instead of trying to counter them. This allowed her to easily retaliate almost right after the curse left his mouth.

Twirling and barely missing another stunning charm, Hermione aimed a particularly nasty hex at Snape.

Barely able to counter it in time, Severus decided that he was not doing her a favor by trying to go easy, and that she was quite capable of keeping her own against him.

So, Severus stepped it up a bit and countered with a slightly nastier hex.

But Hermione had youth and agility on her side. She jumped the curse aimed at her knees, and retaliated with a mildly dark hex before her feet had even returned to the ground.

This convinced Snape that it would be safe to step it up a bit more.

Soon enough, the two were completely absorbed in their duel and did not even hear the furious shouts of the other occupants in the room.

"Expelliarmus!" two voices simultaneously rang out.

Quite suddenly they found their wands out of there hands. Huffing and puffing, Hermione turned to see Minerva McGonagall clutching her wand, and Remus Lupin holding Snape's.

"Hermione Jessica Granger," Minerva began, fury underlying those three simple words.

That brought back memories.

"Hermione Jessica Granger!"

Hermione gulped guiltily, "Hey there, Min. How were your classes today?"

Minerva McGonagall, Head Girl and Hermione's good friend, narrowed her eyes, "Don't try to change the subject!"

"I was unaware of there even being a subject," Hermione muttered to herself.

But Minerva, who had the hearing of a cat, heard her anyway. "You got into a fight during class!" she accused.

Seeing as how Minerva had been seating a row away from her, Hermione thought it best not to deny it. "Just a little one," she offered.

"You dueled!" she screeched, startling a few nearby first years, "And with the Head Boy, no less!"

"Really, he started it, Min," Hermione assured her, suddenly feeling very childish. "And I don't even see what the big deal is; I mean, it was during Defense Against the Dark Arts, so Flutey just thought we were demonstrating how to block certain unfriendly curses."

"That is beside the point!" she huffed.

"Minerva, if you really want to fuss over this, might I suggest you focus on how he nearly beat me! I should have known that Tom Riddle would have had an abundance of nasty hexes and curses catalogued in that perverted little mind of his," Hermione furiously said, the last part mostly to herself.

"You know, there is a way we can rectify that problem..."

Hermione looked over at her friend, smiling when she saw Minerva smirking.

Hermione gave a feeble laugh, still trying to catch her breath, "Now, Min, let's not get overly upset."

"Overly upset! You were using severely dark curses and completely ignored my order to stop, Mya." Suddenly, she rounded on a slightly befuddled Snape. "And you!" If possible, her tone was even more furious, "You likewise were using several dark curses, and against a student, no less!"

Snape still had the presence of mind to snap, "You'll notice how each and every one failed to hit her."

"Well, yes, but that-"

"-Then," he cut her off, "I fail to see what the problem is, and I also fail to see why she," he turned and gestured to Hermione, "needs to take lessons to protect herself. She's obviously quite capable of it."

Feeling somehow pleased at the backhanded compliment, Hermione put on her most convincing smile. "Come on, Min; it was nothing, and you know it. In fact, you were the one who helped me learn all of those 'severely dark curses', remember?"

Were his eyes deceiving him, or was Minerva McGonagall blushing?

"See? There was no harm done," Hermione continued in a placating voice.

"You could have been seriously injured," she miffed.

"Could have, but she wasn't," Severus interjected.

"Hermione, where did you learn to duel like that?" Remus decided to steer the conversation away from dangerous grounds.

"Tom Riddle," Severus answered for her, pinning her with a piercing stare. "I'd recognize the technique anywhere. It's exactly how he used to fight in his old days, and now, for that matter, since he has taken the age-defying potion. The same stance and maneuvers," he completed.

Hermione only focused on one part of his speech, though.

"Age-defying potion?" she questioned.

Snape looked immediately regretful of his words, but bravely plunged on, "Albus had come up with the idea of me making the age-defying potion so as to redeem my worthiness in the Dark Lord's eyes. I fear that he is now, for all intents and purposes, about thirty-one years old."

Hermione bit her lip, not exactly happy to hear that little tidbit, but also knowing that it was good that she knew.

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room.

"The Ball is tomorrow night," Harry tentatively offered up to the silence.

"Has your scar been hurting you lately?" Remus asked in concern.

Harry looked a bit sheepish as he admitted, "It twinges here and there, but it seared the night Hermione came back."

Snape narrowed his eyes, hissing, "You insolent boy, why did you not say anything?"

Harry lifted his chin, defiantly saying, "I was just happy that Hermione was back, and I didn't want to spoil it for everyone."

"What's done is done," Remus mediated, "all we can do is focus on what is about to come."

"What do you think he'll want, Hermione," Ron asked in a horrified curiosity.

Hermione sighed, looking away from the group. "It's difficult to say, really. He'll embarrass me, taunt me. We'll have a nice verbal spar, and then I'll negotiate with him."

"Negotiate?" Remus asked doubtfully.

"Perhaps that's not the best term. I'll strike a deal with him of some sort. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of those at Hogwarts; if he decides to take Hogwarts, I'll be able to talk him out of it at any cost," she vowed.

"And what if the cost is your life, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, finding that he truly needed to know the answer.

Hermione caught his gaze, and he instantly knew what her response was going to be.

"That's a price I am prepared, and even willing, to pay, Professor Snape."

Never breaking eye-contact with her, Snape's voice growled, "That is pure, Gryffindor stupidity, if you ask me."

"Well, I say, it's a good thing that I didn't ask you then, isn't it?" she retorted, that smirk Snape was getting quite used to, crossing her lips.

"If he gets it in him to take Hogwarts, you won't be able to talk him out of it," Snape sneered at her earlier words.

"You will find, sir, that I can be very persuasive when the occasion warrants it."

Her voice, so calm, so self-assured, reminded him of the Dark Lord.

"You sound like him," Severus said, somewhere between wonder and horror.

Hermione looked as if she had been slapped. Quite suddenly, she was all too aware of the changes she was forced to go through, and how different she now was because of them.

She looked over at Remus, who was staring at her with an expression of hurt as if she had betrayed them all somehow.

Remus Lupin, the last and only true Marauder, she thought to herself in growing sadness. Remus Lupin, who had been given a lifeline to save himself, given a friend that knew and understood exactly how he felt because that friend was feeling the same pains of betrayal. Remus Lupin, who had that lifeline brutally ripped away from him, and was now sputtering in a sea of loneliness and despair.

She couldn't bear the sadness and slight regret in his eyes. She tore her gaze away from him and happened to catch Harry's gaze.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Boy Destined to Defeat Darkness. He was looking at her solemnly, the disappointment he was trying so hard to hide from her radiating off him in waves.

Gods, did it hurt to disappoint those that meant the most to her.

"Merlin, I-I'm so sorry; I didn't ask for this- I didn't ask for any of it," she whispered, tears filling her eyes while she gasped for the air that had come so easily to her only moments before, but now seemed to have trouble making its way past the lump forming in her throat.

Minerva took a small step towards her, stopping abruptly when Hermione flinched away.

She felt tainted. She didn't deserve their compassion. She no longer belonged in their world of black and white; she was gray, a mocking shadow of her former self.

And suddenly, she had a sneaking suspicion that she now knew how it truly felt to be Severus Snape.

"I-I have to go," she faintly said, purposefully avoiding Snape's gaze even though she knew he was trying to catch hers.

And Hermione Granger ran away from the only person that could ever understand her in her first act of cowardice.

CHAPTER 6

~*~

But there never seems to be enough time to do the

Things you want once you find them

~*~

"Hermione, do you want to dance?" Ron asked, tentatively holding out his hand to her.

Hermione sighed, smiling sadly, "No thanks, Ron."

It was forty minutes into the Ball, and Hermione was fighting the urge to begin pacing restlessly.

Biting her lip and tapping her toe, Hermione gazed at the sparkling, beautiful robes swirling on the dance floor. Her own robe was nothing special. She had forgone her usual periwinkle blue set and opted for ones that suited her mood more appropriately.

She wore black, satin material robes that complimented her quite nicely. Very little make-up was used on her face; giving up on her hair she had ended up piling the unruly curls on top of her head. She wore only one piece of jewelry, and that was the necklace with Thomas's ring on it.

For some reason, she thought that it would come in handy when she met him that night.

Sighing nervously, Hermione turned away from the dance floor and her friends, resigned to sitting out every dance.

Taking a seat at the table furthest in the shadows, Hermione tapped her fingers against her goblet.

"Nervous, Granger?" a voice drawled from behind her.

Turning around and arching a sarcastic brow, Hermione smirked at Draco Malfoy. "Wouldn't you like to know," she retorted.

Draco snorted. "Ouch, she has claws," he muttered over his shoulder.

"I warned you, Mr. Malfoy," Snape drew out, taking the seat to Hermione's right without waiting for an invitation.

"Please, have a seat," Hermione said sarcastically.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Snape smirked.

Removing her wand, which had been strategically hidden in her hair, Hermione twirled it around with her fingers, every once in a while eyeing the area around her suspiciously as if she suspected Thomas would be lurking behind her.

"You know, I'm quite surprised he hasn't burst in yet; the Thomas I remember was slightly impatient," Hermione admitted thoughtfully.

"He still is," Snape muttered darkly.

"Yes, well, perhaps he's waiting for the most opportune moment," Draco suggested, taking the seat across from her and trying to inject some levity into the situation.

Hermione lifted a brow. "And just when would that be?"

"When you decide to grace the dance floor, of course," he countered as if it had been obvious.

"Fat chance, I won't risk getting anyone I dance with killed, thank you very much," Hermione huffed.

"Very Gryffindor of you," Draco drawled, "and very boring."

"Besides," Snape's silken voice cut off whatever scathing retort Hermione was going to throw back, "it all depends on who you dance with."

"How so?" Hermione asked despite herself.

"Well, he won't go off killing one of his own Death Eaters, would he?" Snape pointed out.

"Why, dear Professor, are you offering up your services?" Hermione asked.

Snape smirked as he announced, "Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Miss Granger."

Hermione duly ignored him and pondered aloud, "Do you think that if I don't go out onto the floor then he won't come at all?"

"Wishful thinking," Snape proclaimed, successfully dousing the small spark of hope that had lit up in her eyes. "But," he faltered, suddenly wanting to see that foolish hope light up her eyes once more. "Perhaps he forgot the ball was tonight," he finished lamely

Draco Malfoy studied his professor curiously, proclaiming, "Doubtful, very doubtful."

"Perhaps I should just get it over with, then," Hermione announced rising to her feet and shooting both Draco and Severus an expecting gaze when they both remained seated, "Well, which one of you will dance with me?"

"Come again?" Draco asked dumbly.

"Well, you two are the only Death Eaters I know, even though you're technically not," Hermione pointed out.

"Don't look at me, Granger; I still have a role to play and a reputation to upkeep," Draco said, getting up and walking off in defeat.

"Well, then, Professor; no pressure but it seems to be all up to you," she smirked.

Severus looked at her proffered hand and sighed. Gods, she was going to be the death of him.

Resignedly, Severus rose and accepted her hand, gracefully leading them out onto the dance floor where the students parted for them like the Red Sea.

Hermione was quite surprised to find that Severus Snape was a very good dancer. He led her in a classic waltz, guiding her steps with a firm, gentle hand on the small of her back.

Both ignored the completely shocked students around them, conveniently forgetting that their dance was highly out of character.

Hermione looked up at her Potions Master, a man she had thought she once knew, but was now beginning to find she knew nothing about. And what really shocked her was that she wanted to find out. She wanted to know all of his secrets.

Gods, I'm going crazy, she convinced herself as Snape tucked in his arm and twirled her out.

And when Severus Snape pulled her back to him, there was a sudden crash of the doors being smashed to bits and then the fearful screams of several students.

The music stopped, and Hermione violently shoved Snape away from her, afraid of what was to come, and made her way to the shadows to observe as about ten or fifteen black hooded figures made their way into the hall and strategically placed themselves in certain areas.

Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat with anger clearly etched on his usually pleasant features, and withdrew his wand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Hermione's eyes widened in slight fear. That voice; so achingly familiar and yet different at the same time.

"You see, Albus, if you took out your wand and started waving it about, I'd feel obliged to take out mine, and then we'd have a nice pile of dead Hogwarts students, and we don't want that, do we?" the voice rang out mockingly.

From where Hermione was hidden, she could see Albus Dumbledore slowly set his wand on the floor.

"And let's not forget about your Phoenixes, Albus; tell them not to do anything rash or I'll have my Death Eaters tear your school apart."

"Do as he says," Albus's voice rang out, and Hermione could see the "chaperones" push their wands back up their sleeves and glare at the Death Eaters.

"Good, now, let's get down to business," Hermione could hear the echo of footsteps ringing throughout the silent hall, "You have something that belongs to me, you see, and I'll be wanting her back."

Her heart leapt into her throat. Forcing herself to remain calm, Hermione quickly went into automatic defensive mode and scanned her surroundings.

Her gaze swept past the huddling students she did not know, and clashed with a pair of burning onyx eyes.

Snape's eyes.

He was looking at her with that same burning intensity from that night in the Hospital Wing, silently telling her with a simple look that he'll protect her no matter what; telling her that he'd keep his promise to her to the bitter end.

How could she have ever thought his gaze to be blank, hard, and emotionless?

"Hermione," the voice hissed and she stiffened in response, "I know you're here, love. Don't be shy."

Several students gasped in surprise at hearing the Dark Lord beckon the newly returned Hermione Granger to him, and not Harry Potter. The students shuffled about, craning their necks to find her even as Hermione pushed herself further in the shadows.

"Mya, it's rude to keep a guest waiting," his voice drawled. "Come out here."

Hermione flinched when he used his nickname for her that others had ended up adopting.

"Thomas, why do you always call me Mya?" Hermione asked, not looking up from shredding the sweet root for their potion.

"Because you are my Hermione, Mya; and I don't want you forgetting it."

Hermione sequestered herself further into the shadows.

Thomas sighed in annoyance, "Fine then, have it your way."

Hermione heard him break off into a purposeful stride towards one group of students and a scuffle occurring.

"Come out here now, Mya, or this whelp will die."

Hermione's heart stopped as she maneuvered herself to get a better look. Her breath caught as she saw him. Her Thomas, only he looked about ten years older than the last time she had seen him. The same, rich, silky black hair that she had loved to run her fingers through was piled up on top of his head, and the eyes. He had the same, twinkling blue eyes she would regularly get lost in on a daily basis. Only now they were hard, cold and unfeeling.

And the same strong, elegant hands were now pointing his wand directly over Neville Longbottom's heart.

Well, she thought sarcastically, that answers that question.

Ever so slowly, Hermione crept forward, careful to remain as silent and unnoticed as possible.

"Thomas," she said as she made her way to where he was standing.

Tom Riddle turned and smirked at her condescendingly, "Hermione Jessica Granger. My, it has been a while."

Hermione gently took hold of a very scared Neville's arm, smiling reassuringly at the shaking boy as she extracted him from Thomas's grasp and smoothly shoved him back to the huddling students.

"Actually, no; three days, really," Hermione countered, bravely positioning herself in front of his wand.

He sneered at her, dropping his wand as she knew he would and said, "For you maybe. But I've been waiting over fifty-four years for this."

It was Hermione's turn to smirk at him. "Pining, were we, Thomas? Always the hopeless romantic... Well, as flattered as I'm not, let's get down to brass tacks, so to speak. What is it that you want?"

Thomas started to slowly circle around her as if he were a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. "I think you know exactly what it is I want, Hermione."

Forcing herself to remain still and calm, Hermione retorted, "What? Revenge? Please, Thomas, cut the theatrics and righteous indignation. We both know that it was your fault I was sent back."

Abruptly, he stopped right in front of her, his face inches away and his expression bordering murderess. "It's the principle of the matter, my dear," he hissed. "You made me weak, and now, it's time I return the favor."

"That's it? You're upset because I made you feel? Please, Thomas, I did not force you to propose, and I didn't force you to fall in love," she spat out, the memories still too fresh for her even though they were years to him.

"Yes, you did," he threw back.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look, Thomas, you can do whatever it is you want with me, but just hurry up and do it already. You're making a spectacle of yourself."

"Give me your hand, Mya," he ordered, "and come with me."

Hermione blinked. Whatever it was she had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"What?" she asked in confusion.

Thomas moved closer to her, bending down to whisper in her ear so that only she would hear him, "Come with me, Mya. It is time you realize that you are mine, and no one else's."

Gods, it was tempting. It truly was tempting. She could take his hand, run away with him and fool herself into believing that he was the same old Thomas from 1944. The same Thomas she had unwillingly fallen quite hard for.

But he wasn't. That was what it all really boiled down to.

"I-I can't," she whispered back, tears filling her eyes despite her resolve to not giving him the satisfaction of her tears.

It was the second hardest thing she had ever had to do, second to only having to reject his first proposal.

Thomas drew back from her, eyeing her face and reading her emotions. "Yes, you can't; but you want to, don't you?"

Hermione glared at him, wishing that he'd just go away, but also knowing that such a childish wish would not be granted.

"Here, I'll make it easy for you, love," he whispered for her before pulling back and raising his voice so that others could hear him. "Either you come with me, or I'll order my faithful followers to kill your classmates."

Hermione's mind raced. She couldn't knowingly cause the death of her fellow students, and yet she knew she couldn't go with Thomas. She had to think of a way to change his mind.

"Tell me, Thomas, why are you so intent on whisking me away? Why are you now suddenly playing the romantic?" she asked in false confidence so as to buy herself time.

Thomas smirked at her as if he knew exactly what she was doing. "Because, even all those years ago, Mya, you were never truly mine. And now, I intend to see that you know that you are, and that you never forget it."

He was in front of her again, lifting his hand to brush a stray curl behind her ear. His hand was firm, and surprisingly soft upon her cheek. He let his hand lightly trace her eyes, then her lips, and then it dipped down to her neck, turning rough as he tugged on and broke the chain resting there.

Sneering down at her, he then ran his other hand down her left arm and lifted up her hand. He leered at her as he shoved his ring onto the correct finger, bringing up her hand to his lips for a mock loving kiss.

"No one denies Lord Voldemort, dearest; not even his fiancé."

Hermione gritted her teeth and yanked her handout of his grasp. "I won't do it," she hissed.

Thomas actually laughed at her. "Yes, yes you will, Mya. And do you know why?"

"Please, do enlighten me," she sneered, but inside, she was fighting to hide her panic.

Again, he stepped closer to her, his face an inch from hers. Dropping his voice to a low octave, he murmured silkily, "Because deep down, you want it. And because deep down, you know what I will do if you refuse."

And in that moment, Hermione suddenly realized that what was happening was quite real. For a large portion of the night she had roamed around the hall as if she was in a dream. She had spoken to Thomas as she would have only a week before, easily forgetting that the circumstances she found herself in were now different, and not to mention dangerous.

Her whole conversation with him had been surreal up until that moment, that moment when she realized that time had changed the Thomas she had known. That moment when she was forced to realize that the Thomas she knew had withered away and was now lost in time, the only proof she had to his actual existence being her own memories.

She was now talking to a complete stranger. A stranger she had once known ages ago, in another life.

"Who are you?" she asked, disbelief riddled in her voice.

Thomas blinked, clearly taken aback by the emotion she suddenly chose to show. "I am Lord Voldemort," he proclaimed proudly, instant recovering from the quick jolt of uncertainty.

And there was the answer to the question she had been asking herself. Who was this stranger in front of her? This stranger with a slightly familiar face?

"I don't know you," she said in awe as the epiphany hit, looking up at him in dawning realization, "and you don't know me."

Voldemort leaned in further, claiming, "I know you better than you know yourself."

But Hermione was no longer affected by him, and the only thing she felt at his words was a soul deep sadness. "No, you don't. What's done is done, Voldemort. Let it rest."

And she gave him her back, slowly walking away.

The younger Voldemort flinched, anger clearly written on his features. "Don't you walk away from me, Hermione! You will not deny me my vengeance!"

Hermione paused in her walking, suddenly feeling older than her twenty years. She had always counted the time she had gained with her extensive use of the time turner in her third and sixth years, as well as her year stay in 1944.

She looked at the menacing man, seeing the face of the boy she knew once upon a time, her words holding an untouchable sadness as she said, "I have denied you nothing. You've already had it. You've killed the boy I once knew and cared for. You've murdered the man I once loved. Take that and be satisfied."

She saw a brief flicker of emotion in his blue eyes, but was disappointed when she saw him push it away. "I will only be satisfied, my dear, once you beg for my mercy."

Hermione arched a brow. "So is it to be a duel, then?" she asked in curiosity.

He glared, her seeming indifference angering him far beyond her words. "A duel it is, love."

Hermione took her stance, trying not to flinch in pain when he took the same one.

"On the count of three, then?" he asked her, staring intently into her eyes.

A shadow of a smirk lighted her face. "Why not two, since that is when you'd go anyway?"

He smirked in response, seemingly pleased that she remembered or spoke to him as if she knew him. "It'll be three, Hermione," he announced, "and it'll be fair."

And Hermione knew that he meant it. This wasn't going to be like their petty duels in the halls. This went far deeper than their trivial feud.

"One," he counted.

Hermione tensed her muscles in anticipation. "Two," she picked up.

And right when Voldemort opened his mouth to speak the last number, a brief scuffle and running footsteps was heard.

Both of them dropped their stances in surprise at the interruption and looked over to see a Gryffindor with unruly black hair running towards them, placing himself protectively in front of Hermione.

And all Hermione could do was only watch in horror as Voldemort's eyes lighted up in recognition as he hissed the boy's surname in pure, unadulterated hatred, "Potter..."

CHAPTER 7

~*~

"Potter..."

Severus Snape winced and screwed his eyes shut, not trusting what he saw. There was no way, he feverishly assured himself, that the boy had run out in the middle of Hermione and the Dark Lord. He couldn't possibly by that daft.

"Voldemort," he heard a voice spit out in response.

Opening up his eyes, he mentally groaned.

Apparently, the boy was that daft.

Severus shot Albus a discreet look and instantly knew by the older wizard's appearance that he, too, was at a complete loss for what to do.

On one hand, there was foolish Potter who, in Severus's mind, seemed to have some sort of hero complex. Potter had been the one wild card in their plan. No one had known what the Dark Lord's reaction would be if he saw the Potter boy, and in Severus's opinion, they could all do without finding out; but now, due to Potter's complex, they would all be forced to deal with a potentially fatal disaster.

And on the other, there was Hermione. He had promised to protect her, and yet he was doing a dismal job at it. All he could do was watch while she had verbally spared with Voldemort, carefully wiping the pride he had felt off of his features. She had quite effectively matched his cutting remarks with her own equally acerbic ones, and Severus had swelled with pride at her being able to hold her own.

But at the same time, he had felt restless. There wasn't much he could do to help her without breaking his cover. He had been forced into a position of spectator.

And so, he resigned himself to continue watching in fascinated horror.

"Harry, what do you think you are doing?" Hermione accused, her voice full of fear for her best friend.

Harry briefly glanced at her before returning his gaze back to the Dark Lord. "I'm protecting you, Hermione; just like I told you I would."

"How sweet," Voldemort hissed, his voice saying that it was anything but, "You seem to have moved on, Mya."

Hermione expertly side stepped Harry, lifting a mocking brow as she casually placed herself between the two glaring foes, lightly taunting, "Jealous?"

Voldemort snorted, sneering, "Jealous of the famous Harry Potter? Of course not, my dear. There is nothing to be jealous of; he's just a stupid boy trying to play hero."

Hermione's sarcastic voice rang out through the hall, "Of course, silly me. What I really meant to insinuate was that you are afraid of him."

Voldemort hissed, "Be careful, dearest. You are treading on dangerous grounds."

She gave a mirthless laugh. "Haven't I all evening, dearest," she drawled flashing him a smirk.

Severus Snape fought valiantly against the identical smirk that was itching to cross his apathetic features.

"What do we do now, Hermione? Shall we proceed with our duel since we were so rudely interrupted before?" Voldemort suggested in a seeming air of indifference.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Do you really wish to fight me, then?"

Harry responded before Hermione could stop him. "If he fights with anyone it will be me. Leave her alone, Voldemort. You've done enough to her already."

"Oh no, I don't think I've done nearly enough to her yet, Potter."

And for the first time that night, Hermione truly feared the man before her and what he was planning to do to her. And he was planning something, she knew; something decidedly evil if the mad glint in his eyes was anything to go by.

"Harry," Voldemort smirked, "you and I, we share something in common."

Harry glared at Voldemort as the latter took slow, calculated strides towards Hermione. "We share nothing in common," Harry growled.

Voldemort tsk-ed at Harry, even though his eyes were locked on Hermione's wide, fearful ones. Seeing her doe caught in the headlights expression, Voldemort gave a wicked smirk. "We've both been betrayed by the one person we never once doubted. Tell me, Harry; did Hermione tell you what I did when she told me the truth about where she was from?"

Harry's wand hand wavered a bit, but he confidently threw back, "She said you asked her questions, one right after the other as if you were trying to catch her in a lie."

"That I did, Harry, that I did," he allowed with a tilt of his head as he still continued to study Hermione's reaction, "But did she tell you what I asked her? There was one particular answer she gave me, Harry, which stood out..."

"N-no," Harry faltered, throwing Hermione a questioning look.

"I asked her, Harry, if she had any friends in her little future. And she responded in the affirmative, saying she had the two greatest friends anyone could ever hope for," he sneered as he quoted her exact words, "And do you know what I asked next, Harry?" he didn't even wait for Harry's response before he continued, eyes boring into Hermione's, "I asked her who these friends of hers were...not because I didn't believe her, quite the contrary, really..." he trailed off slightly before he finally snapped his eyes to glare at Harry, "And she answered me, Harry, saying 'Ron and Harry Potter'. Funny how she gave me your surname and not the Weasley's..."

Hermione's lip trembled as she looked over at Harry.

"Her-Hermione, is that true?" Harry asked, swallowing cautiously.

Hermione opened her mouth, breaking eye contact with him and staring incredulously at the floor as breathing became steadily harder for her as she repressed her tears. "I-I always used to tell my Muggle friends about you and Ron. And I-I," she swallowed to clear the lump in her throat, "I would always tell them about how funny and nice Ron was, but mostly about how brave you were, Harry, and how proud of you I was. I told them that I knew you wished you were never famous, but you bore it all with a grim smile. And they'd always ask, 'so you're friends with Ron and...Harry-who?' and I'd always say, 'I am friends with Ron...and Harry Potter'. You were always Harry Potter whenever anyone asked, Harry...I didn't know...I couldn't have known..." she trailed off, completely oblivious to the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Voldemort's face turned to stone at the sight of her tears, and his eyes flickered briefly when he looked into hers once again, even though he was still addressing Harry. "So imagine my surprise, Harry, when I got wind of a prophecy about myself and a person with the power to destroy me...and again, imagine my further surprise when I learned that the person could be one of two children, both born at the end of July. Either little Neville Longbottom...or baby Harry Potter."

"S-so you chose me over Neville because of Hermione; because you knew that I would be her friend and you wanted to hurt her," Harry realized in dawning wisdom.

"Two birds with one stone, so to speak," he confirmed viciously.

And no one could have known what was to come next.

Rage; unadulterated rage in its truest form clouded Hermione's vision, literally making her see red. With as much force as her small frame could muster, Hermione pulled her left hand back and slapped Thomas across the face, the stone from his engagement ring she had twisted around leaving an angry gash on his features.

"I don't give a bloody damn about some God forsaken prophecy; I'm going to kill you myself," she hissed as she watched him stumble back and blink in shock.

But she did not give him enough time to react before she then lunged herself at him, scratching, punching and hitting him with as much strength she could gather while he tumbled to the floor with her on top of him.

He tried to block her blows, but she was so furious, so angry that they were coming too quick. Without any other option, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back, toppling her off of him with a well landed blow to her face.

Hermione fell back from Thomas and rolled a few paces away from the force of his strike. She lay on the cold stone floor, tears of hurt, betrayal and guilt streaming down her face as she remained motionless on the floor, heaving for air.

She had a rather nice view of the feet of the nearby students, and, much to her surprise and confusion, two of those feet stepped forward and Hermione felt herself being hauled up by firm, but caring hands.

"Ah, Severus, it's about time you decide to show your true colors...Give her to me," he ordered, gesturing with the hand that was not holding his cut.

Severus looked down at Hermione, absentmindedly sweeping her tears away into the palm of his hand. He gently soothed the bruising knot on her jaw from where Voldemort had hit her, and Hermione knew that he was most likely going to be killed for what he was about to do.

"No," his voice rang out, clear and completely steady.

Voldemort blinked, taken aback. "What did you say?" he said in a dangerous hiss.

Severus finally looked away from Hermione, keeping his arms locked reassuringly around her, while eyeing the Dark Lord in distaste. "Are you suddenly impaired by a hearing disability? I suggest you listening quite carefully, for I will not say this again: I told you no. Hermione is under my protection, and I will do whatever I must to ensure her safety."

"As will I," Harry announced, coming around to stand to Hermione's right.

"Me, too," called another voice, and the three were soon joined by Ronald Weasley.

"And I," came a fourth person, and quite a few people were shocked to see Draco Malfoy stand beside his Head of House.

"Draco? What do you think you are doing?" a sharp voice from behind a sneering white mask sounded.

Draco smirked at the Death Eater. "Well, father, I should think it to be quite obvious. I am renouncing your lord and beliefs and am pledging to protect Hermione."

"So this is where your loyalties lay," Voldemort sneered at Draco and Severus, "to a Mudblood Gryffindor?"

Severus looked down at Hermione and smiled; the first real smile Hermione had ever seen the man give. "Yes," he simply said, not even deigning to look at the Dark Lord.

"You," Voldemort hissed sinisterly as he fixed Hermione with a murderous glare. "You've caused this. Everything- it is all your fault. I will kill you for this, Hermione."

Severus pulled her slightly behind him, positioning himself between her and Voldemort's upraised wand. "How terribly clichéd," he remarked dryly.

"Go away, Voldemort, and never come back," Harry ordered, stepping forward to face the Dark Lord.

"Get out of this, Potter; for once, this does not need to concern you," Voldemort sneered, trying to get aim at Hermione.

Harry raised his wand. "I'm warning you, Riddle. You leave Hogwarts, and you never come back," he threatened ominously.

"Or what?" he jeered. "The great Harry Potter will vanquish me? You're not even out of school, yet; what can you possibly do to me?"

"I've beaten you before," Harry pointed out.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, swinging his wand to Harry and vowing, "And you will never beat me again! Avada Kedavra!"

Only, Voldemort wasn't the only one that had shouted the killing curse.

Harry's wand emanated a brilliant green light that connected with the identical one radiating from Voldemort's. And, as Harry had known they would do, their curses connected, once again forming the golden link between them.

Only this time, Harry knew exactly what had to be done.

Pouring every last ounce of emotion and effort into holding the connection, Harry slowly willed his curse to inch forward, pushing both curses combined closer to Voldemort.

Harry's hand shook violently so he brought his other hand to steady his wand. He thought of every terrible thing this man had done to him, using the anger as a fuel. He murdered his parents. He stole Neville's parents. He killed Cedric. He hurt Hermione. He tried to turn him against his best friend. He stole Remus's only childhood friend.

He killed his Godfather, the only father Harry had ever known.

With a surge of emotion, the connection broke and Harry's curse pushed Voldemort's back onto him, combining with Harry's. Voldemort glowed eerily in the beautiful green light before falling to his knees.

Hermione took a step forward as if to help him, but was held back by a grim Severus Snape. She looked at the pained figure, shock, relief, and horror making her head spin.

And Thomas looked back at her. Not Voldemort, not the Dark Lord, but Thomas. For one brief, shining moment, she had her Thomas back.

"Mya," he whispered, right before he collapsed, his body limp and lifeless.

That was the last thing Hermione remembered before the darkness took over.

"You may ask me any question and I swear on pain of death that I will answer it freely and honestly," his silky drawl echoed in her ear as he twirled her around on the dance floor during the Yule Ball.

Hermione bit her lower lip thoughtfully, "Is Tom short for Thomas?" she asked lamely.

He chuckled in her ear. "Yes, it is. Come now, Hermione, you've been calling me Thomas since your first week here; I know that's not what you really wish to ask."

Hermione's eyes flickered up to meet his before she looked back down in shyness. "Why did you ask me to the ball?"

"Ah, well, that's quite simple, my dear Hermione. You are quite possibly the only witch residing in Hogwarts with the intelligence and wit to keep me entertained for more than five minutes," he confided while smirking at a nearby Hufflepuff couple.

Was that a pang of sadness she felt? "Is that the only reason?" She decided to question, trying to sound indifferent and merely curious.

Had she had found the courage to look up at Thomas she would have seen him give a rare, genuine smile, however small and brief it was. Placing two fingers under her chin, Thomas gently tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"No, Hermione, it isn't," he said softly.

Hermione's eyes widened only slightly before dipping close when his lips met with hers in a surprisingly soft, gentle first kiss.

Slowly opening her eyes, almost as if she was expecting to see Thomas still standing before her with that same small smile and light, chaste kisses, Hermione awoke to find herself, once again, confined to the Hospital Wing.

Another memory from a different time that seemed much further away from her than four days, she realized.

Sighing, Hermione sat herself up and swung her legs around to perch on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

Hermione looked up, not surprised in the least when she saw the now comforting visage of Severus Snape.

"Confused," she answered honestly as he slowly walked over towards her. "How did I get here?"

"I carried you," he stated.

"Oh," she managed, completely dumbfounded. "Uh, what exactly happened, then?"

Snape cocked a brow, tilting his head to study her in concern. "What exactly do you remember, Hermione?" He gently prodded.

Blinking curiously at the use of her given name, Hermione furrowed her brow as she thought back to the other night's events. "Harry's killing curse connected with Voldemort's, and then..." she cut herself off as the memory came flooding back, "Harry, is he-?"

"He's quite alright," he hastily assured her. "Tired and a bit weak, but he's fine."

She sighed in relief before quickly tensing up again. "Voldemort-?"

Snape looked at her quietly before saying, "Is dead, Hermione."

She felt as though a bludger had just smashed painfully into her chest. There was a heavy pressure pushing down on her and she was suddenly having trouble remembering how to breathe.

She sputtered, trying to suck in the air she needed, but the weight only pressed further down when she tried to breathe in.

Snape was by her side in an instant. "Give in to it, Hermione. Don't deny yourself your tears. It's alright to cry."

And then the dam burst, and Severus was there to catch her when she collapsed from the force of her sobs. She wept until every heart wrenching cry was torn from her throat, giving voice to a nameless, inarticulate grief.

And all the while, Severus calmly held her and soothed her with his mere presence.

When her sobs diminished into small hiccups, Hermione mumbled, her voice slightly muffled by Severus's shoulder, "Gods, you must think I'm utterly insane for mourning the death of the most notorious dark wizard."

Severus broke their embrace so he could catch her gaze, saying, "You are mourning the man Tom Riddle had the potential to be, not the man he actually became. There is no shame in that."

Hermione stared at him in wonder, something telling her that the man Tom Riddle had had the potential to become was a man an awful lot like Severus Snape. Neither black nor white, but a blended gray. Just like her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The barest hint of a smile softened his features as he looked down at her and unconsciously returned his arms around her waist. "I'm not so sure I did much to deserve your thanks."

Hermione stared at him, feeling a strange rush of satisfaction when she felt his arms return to her. "You have done more for me than you'll ever know, Professor," she said softly, feeling shy around him suddenly.

"Severus," he corrected with his voice thick with emotion.

"Severus," Hermione said experimentally, smiling up at him.

Severus tightened his arms around her, silently vowing to do everything in his power to ensure that she'd always smile up at him in that mixture of warmth, affection, and tenderness.

And she did, for Severus Snape always fulfilled his vows.

End.