Time lost. ...EPILOGUE UP!

Hermione closed up her house. Hermione knew the danger of carrying to much from the future, so she packed very little. She brought money and her journal detailing the timeline of the Marauders and important events based on her research with a limited selection of books.

Hermione after much debate, decided to get a new wand . It was better to start fresh. Wands were particular and she knew that she would not get a wand destined for another witch. Whilst her own may not have been created yet, so it could be faulty.

She donned the dated Hogwarts uniform that Kingsley had provided her. It fit her very well, although the skirt was a tad longer then the modern ones. She packed her muggle clothes in her bag. She charmed them to fit. Once she was ready, she walked to the mirror and stared at her refined adult features mournfully.

Hermione tentatively swallowed the potion to reduce her age. Unfortunately, her skin regressed to the occasionally, spotted mess of her teenage years. Her brows became thicker and unruly, post plucking obviously.

Her hair became the ugly, bushy and unmanageable mess, it was before she discovered magical straighteners and an artist named Horatio Thistleworth in Diagon Alley. The curly mop sat like a lump at the back of her neck, and she silently wondered why no one had told her that she was so clueless about her appearance as a teenager.

Hermione impatiently brushed these assessments aside, as she thought of the task ahead of her. She used a softening charm and brushed out the hair to fall straight at least. She adjusted her eyebrows so she did not look like a Yeti, but the skin she could do little about until she got some tonic.

She grabbed a pair of black jeans and a dark green sweater to wear on the train. The color brought out her pale coloring and dark hair. Hermione dropped the time turner around her neck as she inspected herself in the mirror.

Hermione was startled by the improvement those few adjustments made. She realized that she almost looked like her adult self. Yeah, right... The adult self with spots. She bared her teeth at the mirror and took the time turner into her hand. The spindle of gold hung loose and she spun it twenty times, as Kingsley had instructed.

“Here goes nothing,” whispered Hermione, as she closed her fists.

Hermione felt her body begin to spin and to prevent herself from being sick, she closed her eyes. Her head started to ache and thud. She could feel her pulse in her throat, and she screamed suddenly. She was almost certain that she was going to either hurl or die. She fell to the ground from the nauseating agony, and as the time turner spun onwards, she mercifully blacked out.



*


It was bitterly cold when she came awake. Hermione could smell burning leaves, combined with rich earthy mud. Her head ached abominably. She was sure that an egg-sized bump on her forehead had formed when she fell face first into the melted snow.

Hermione turned over, and stared up at the night sky that was alight with far too many bright stars. She slid her eyes shut and groaned, as she gingerly touched her bleeding forehead.

“Merlin, that hurt!” whispered Hermione, her hands darting out blindly to find her bag.

She opened her eyes and screamed.

A dark figure towered over her, and for a moment Hermione thought for sure, she was going to die. She scrambled up and pushed away from the figure. Her jean clad butt slid across the sludge on the ground, soaking her through.

“Stay away from me, whoever you are,” declared Hermione menacingly. She already regretted leaving her wand behind. She trembled as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and she made out the outline of a face in the shadows.

“You enjoy sitting in the mud do you?” hissed a beautiful baritone. The whisper was sarcastic, youthful and male.

Long dark hair emphasized the boy's intense pale features. The boy sneered at her with distain for her obvious fear of him. His dark hair slid back suddenly, to reveal an almost handsome visage, pale with an interestingly long nose. The boy had sensuously full lips that were currently flattened in disgust, at her trembling at his feet. He was dressed as a Muggle, dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt, with a trench coat.

She narrowed her eyes and her breath went out in a little hitch. “Se…since you know so much, why don’t you just bugger off then?” muttered Hermione.

She recovered quickly, but the young man was not fooled by her bravado. He narrowed his eyes. Black, bottomless eyes that made her bones want to melt under the examination.

Severus Snape was quite alive, and standing across from her in all his scornful teenage glory.

She remembered his funeral well. Harry, Ron and herself were the primary attendee’s at the time. His sacrifice was not noted until long after his death. The unlikely hero. The antagonistic, Slytherin professor that made their life hell had faded into a romantic version of the truth.

That ”Truth” was now staring at her as mud soaked into her pants.

Severus Snape had been born in the wrong era.

He was a living, breathing, personification of every good girls fantasy of a dark lover. He should have been born in the Victorian era, or perhaps the Muggle Goth era. Hermione inwardly chuckled at the thought of Snape around angst ridden goth kids.

She grasped the necklace from around her neck, and looked in dismay at the spindle. It was damaged, but perhaps not irrevocably. The damage probably happened when she fell.
Hermione swallowed hard and looked across at the surly youth that glared darkly at her.

If memory served her correct, Snape had already taken the Dark Mark at this point in time. That meant he probably hated Muggleborns. Which of course meant her. The primary exception to that rule would be one, Lily Evans.

Snape shifted slightly, and he looked at the bedraggled Muggle. Mud and snow dripped from her seat of her jeans, and her face was pale from shock, but she still had told him to bugger off. Obviously, a no account Muggle with a death wish.

Severus glared at her for a moment longer, before turning his back on her. Stupid Muggle was going to get herself killed. But, what did he care? The girl looked so pathetic. Muddy and wet, her sweater stuck to her rather, large breasts. The girl’s nipples were peeking out through the soft cotton, stiff from the cold. Severus swallowed and turned on the girl.

“What are you doing on my property? Trespassing can be very ...unhealthy.” His voice still held that slow, purposeful, sexy drawl. Even if she could not see his face, she would have known it was Snape by that trademark alone.

Her brain seemed to wake up at those words, and she looked around wildly, before she spotted her bag contents scattered in the snow. She cursed under her breath, and bent to stuff her school clothes back in the bag.

Severus stared at the bag, seeing something familiar. He started as he realized he was looking at a Hogwarts uniform.

“You go to Hogwarts?” His tone was incredulous; as though it was unbelievable this drowned rat could belong to his prestigious school.

Hermione frowned up at him while shoving her scattered possessions into the bag.

“Yes. It is where we are, is it not?” replied Hermione scathingly. The girl watched him like a particularly ugly brand of insect.

“No, it is not. You are at my home, in Spinner’s End,” Severus replied flatly. Severus grabbed her arm, pulling her up towards him, nose to nose. She jerked in dismay at his rough handling.

A branch cracked behind him and he tensed suddenly. He growls and encircles her with his jacket and pulled her close. He looked fearfully behind him, his expression paling.

“Shhhhhhh…” Severus pressed a slender, pale fingertip across her lips. She fell silent and he pushed her against the tree roughly and froze.

She could hear his heartbeat faster in his chest. The sound of glass breaking was heard off in the distance. An older mans bellowed suddenly and tree branches were flung aside, as he came straight for them.

“Snivellius… where are you boy! Come back now, your whore mother needs you. She is begging you, you pathetic freak. A freak just like her… Disgusting, weird boy… COME Out, before you feel the back of my hand...”slurred the drunk as he crashed past them.

Severus held her tighter against him in the space of his coat. The big, brawling red-faced man brushed past them heading further out into the forest. The drunk tripped and cursed as he fell and continued his search for the boy off in the distance, out of earshot.

Severus could feel sweat beading up on his pale forehead, as he held the girl close to him. If his father found him, she would be in for it. She was clever, intuitive even. Severus stared down at the curly headed girl.

She had not moved once. She stayed comfortably close to him with her face pressed into his neck. Trusting. She quivered like a bird once the noises moved far enough away. Somehow, Severus knew that he did not want her to move. He could smell something female on her, despite the mud. Something that was delicate and foreign. His nostrils twitched, and he sighed softly into her hair.

Hermione’s heart leapt at the touch of his breath. His abusive father was gone for now. Her heart broke for Snape suddenly. She knew that he had suffered his whole life, but to be this close to it was gut wrenching.

Suddenly the silence and lack of movement grew. She could feel the heat of his beautiful hands through her arms, and the warmth branded her. She stared up at him in sudden annoyance.

Severus noticed that her eyes shone like liquid brandy in her pale dirty face. Severus felt a strange pull to her and he dipped his head and brushed his mouth across her own.

She let out a startled gasp, and he took advantage of it. His tongue darted in to lick the inside of her mouth. He could feel the erotic contrast to her icy lips, inside that hot, sweet mouth. Her hands curled against his chest and she responded to him, giving up for a moment.

His tongue danced with her own, and he coaxed her to moan into his mouth. He reluctantly pulled away from her, after a long moment. His heart pounded as he stared at her. The girl was far too trusting for her own good. She had trusted him to protect her from his father, but who would protect her from him?

“What’s your name, poppet?” He tilted her chin up to stare into her eyes. She felt weak in the knees at his caress, but she managed to straighten up somehow.

“Hermione. Hermione Granger.” Her voice came out sharp, as she tried to take control back over herself.

He blinked at her tone, and smirked. “Severus, Severus Snape. I don’t know you. Why don’t I know you?” He frowned for a moment.

“I just transferred. Beauxbatons,” Hermione stammered and then cursed under her breath. She shifted nervously and Severus saw the lie before she finished speaking.

His body stiffened and he pushed her away from him. He felt weak for believing that someone actually would be truthful for once. He could always see people lying. His mom and dad, Dumbledore... even Lily lied to him.

Voldemort never lied.

His gaze turned black and he turned to face Hermione, with a flat pervasive smile. “Well, thank you for the entertainment, Hermione. Although entertainment, might be stretching it.” He drawled out with a mocking tone.

Hermione was not a dumb witch. She knew that Severus was angry at something she said. She shivered and grabbed her bag over her shoulder. She knew when she was being dismissed. Besides, this was not her objective. Saving Severus Snape was not her job. Saving Potter was.

Still. It hurt being dismissed like common trash. Hermione frowned. “Thanks for nothing, Snape,” muttered Hermione bitterly.

She took off running outside of Spinner’s End.

The moment she said his last name like that. The familiarity of her tone startled him. She spoke with such disappointment.

Severus jerked back to look for her, but she had already fled.