Unexpected Choices

Disclaimer: Everything and everyone you already recognize belongs to JKR. Everything and everyone that you don’t know is mine.


What Choices Do I Have, Sir?


Hermione stood at the base of the doorway leading to Dumbledore’s study as the large stone gargoyle that loomed menacingly above the doorway continued to glare at her.

“I already told you that I don’t have the password. But, the Headmaster did ask to see me after dinner,” she sighed as the gargoyle slowly shook his head again denying her entry to the staircase. “Why don’t you at least call him down here to let me in?”

The gargoyle not only shook his head again at her plea, but also set his massive stone jaws in preparation for attack. He had enough of her attempts to gain entrance to the room he was bound to protect.

“Oh, this is getting absolutely ridiculous!” Hermione stamped her foot hard on the ground, wincing as she felt a sharp pain shoot up from her toes. Glaring up at the gargoyle, she bent over to rub the bottom of her foot when she saw the subtle upturn of its beak into a smile. Unable to contain herself, she growled, “Don’t you dare smile at that you great bloody stone doorknob.”

Walking backwards, she stood with her back against the cold stone wall as she tried to think of another way to enter the Headmaster’s private study that didn’t pass through the gargoyle. Wearily letting her head fall back against the stone wall behind her, Hermione felt a moment of ease wash over her. Closing her eyes, she relished the absolute silence of the hallway; finally, there were no voices bickering across the table and no charged gazes glaring around her. Dinner had been nothing but an extended pitched battle of wills as Severus sat in stony silence beside her while Ron constantly prodded him about who he was and where he came from. But that hadn’t been the worst, that trophy went to Ron who suddenly felt the need to re-establish how much he cared for Hermione and show off that he felt she was “his”.

Hermione could not remember a time when Ron had been so hyper-observant or hyper-possessive. Normally it would take a full trumpet fanfare to make him notice anything, including herself. But tonight he had picked up immediately on her fascination with Snape’s relation and, in typical Ron style, he had immediately over-reacted to Severus.

Hermione felt her pulse begin to race as she thought of Severus. Like Ron, she had never had such an immediate reaction to a person before. As always when she thought of the dark young man her mind was filled with an eddy of questions that she couldn’t even begin to figure out the answers to. What was it that was so different about Severus? What was it that set the two of them on edge around him? How could she have been so attracted so quickly to someone who she had never even met before, especially someone whose identity she wasn’t even sure of?

Hermione immediately called up an image of Severus in her mind. She smiled slightly at the way the dark shock of raven hair fell over his eyes covering a strange look. But the more she thought about him, the more the image of him began to change. Her brow furrowed and her smile changed to a frown as she concentrated on the way the grim shadow that hovered above his eyes began to settle into their dark depths as he thought of something. There was pain there that could not be mistaken for anything other than … other than what? Hermione paused in her thinking as she searched for the right word. His eyes carried the look of someone who was haunted, hunted, and fearful of being discovered. Her racing mind finally settled on the single word that summed up her impression: “Regret,” she whispered softly.

Yes, that was it. It was the same haunted look that filled Harry’s green eyes when he thought of his parents or the final battle. A look that said, “If I could do it all over again I would do things differently. I would make my choices by myself; make them my own choices, create my own errors. I would cause a different outcome. I would change the course of others’ lives. But, I failed. I let everyone down. If only I had only been stronger I might have made the past different.” But underneath it all, they both knew they couldn’t have changed a thing. Events had been set into motion far earlier than they could have ever affected them. And that was what haunted them more than anything else, their inability to create a different past for themselves.

“Hermione.” Her eyes snapped wide-open as she heard McGonagall’s voice break into her reverie.

“Oh, Professor, excuse me. I was wondering at the password so I could see the Headmaster,” she rushed out.

“I believe it’s Licorice Lice this week,” the older woman said.

“LICORICE LICE?” Hermione’s face screwed up as she thought of the horrid confection that was currently the rage in the first years’ dormitories. The candy lice were the latest irritating product for sale at the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. Licorice Lice were quite harmless when kept safely secured in their box, but when opened and exposed to light the little confections came to life, and like their namesake, they would scurry and jump about until they were caught and eaten. Filch was in an uproar about them and fought hard to confiscate as many boxes as he could on Hogsmeade Weekends, but even Hermione had to admit the twins finally had their last laugh on the irritating Caretaker. Every time Filch opened a box to check for the “nasty little buggers,” they would spring to life and scurry around the entry to the Great Hall causing him and Mrs. Norris to chase them around while students slipped into the castle, laughing, with their boxes safely tucked into their robes.

“Isn’t there a better tasting sweet the Headmaster could use? Or at least one that’s made by Honeydukes rather than by the Weasley Twins,” Hermione’s lip twisted as she thought of the single Licorice Lice that had taken up residence in her room.

The older woman laughed loudly before discreetly covering her mouth with her hand. “I fear the Headmaster has worked his way through Honeydukes’ entire stock over the years. Much to his surprise, the gargoyle will not allow him to reuse his most favorite passwords, so he’s off to finding new territory.”

“Just, please, don’t tell me that the Headmaster had a hand in the creation of those annoying creatures just to keep his passwords based on sweets.”

“All right, Hermione, ‘I’ll tell you that the Headmaster didn’t have a hand in the creation of those annoying creatures just to keep his passwords based on sweets’,” she laughed as Hermione’s eyes grew wide at her mentor’s unexpected mirth.

As her shock wore off, the two women were soon laughing as McGonagall gave the password and climbed the steep circular steps that led to up to the Headmaster’s study. Following in McGonagall’s wake, Hermione smiled widely at the gargoyle as she passed through the entryway. Hermione could have sworn that the gargoyle scowled at her as she walked through the doorway.

Reaching the top, she looked back at Hermione and spoke seriously, “Miss Granger, if you would please wait here until I call you. I need to speak privately with the Headmaster for a moment.”

Hermione stood outside the door for what felt like an hour as she replayed dinner again in her mind looking for any clues to Severus’ identity. There was an odd familiarity to Sebastian Severus’ personality that wasn’t quite right; something didn’t ring quite true about him. She knew that there was more to him than just possibly being Professor Snape’s son, that there was a strange connection between them that she had only felt once before, during the war when she was working with Professor Snape on the mountain of potions that Madam Pomfrey needed to help the wounded.

Unbidden, Hermione’s mind drifted back to her time working with Professor Snape during the final stages of the war.

It was dark and overcast outside, mirroring the way Hermione felt as she slowly stirred the large silver cauldron with the long glass rod. They were making another large batch of Epi-Last to help those burned by the Pyre curse heal quicker. Voldemort’s latest little Death Eater trick made the victim’s skin blister horribly as the caster’s wand let out a glittering blood red stream. The curse left its victims on the ground near death, writhing and moaning as even the weight of the air irritated the white-hot blisters that had formed over their whole bodies. Even patients who could not be touched still needed to be moved from the battlefield to the hospital wing and the only way that could happen was to levitate them from the battlefield to their beds. Once they were inside the safety of Hogwarts, there were still problems to be overcome, chiefly how do you treat someone so badly burnt and blistered that even parting their lips caused pain? Slowly and with infinite care, small doses of a blend of Epi-last and pain potions were gently spooned between swollen lips before they were placed back into a levitation spell awaiting the beginning of their recovery. Even once the healing began the patients needed to stay in a stasis ward while their flesh recovered. But, no matter how the patients were treated, nothing could erase the blisters’ scars that disfigured the victims’ faces and bodies.

For three months Hermione and Severus worked side by side methodically, but almost frantically mixing anything they thought would alleviate the spell. But nothing worked. The Calendula reacted with the Epi-Last’s stabilizing agent. Poppy juice reacted with the dragon scales in the pain relieving draught. Anything slightly acidic stung the lips of their patients. Camilla leaves calmed the fever that accompanied the curse but caused an itching rash on top of the blisters, while the Camilla’s flowers made the draught so sweet it made the patients sick from the taste. On and on the list of unusable ingredients grew as aborted potion after abandoned potion filled the room. Soon tempers that had been working in companionable silence flared as high as the piles of dirty cauldrons rose.

On the third week cloistered in the dark dank dungeon, Hermione looked over at Professor Snape and watched as he took two more books from his shelves waiting to see what new idea he had to go with the latest potion he had begun that morning. Sitting in the worn leather chair by his fireplace, Hermione waited to see what books he chose when he froze on the tall rolling ladder and dropped the books to the floor as he clutched his arm. Jumping up from the chair, Hermione saw him teeter on the top step before sliding down to the floor.

“Professor!” she cried as she took his arm to help him stand.

Shirking off her touch, he rose on his own to stand before her. She watched as he clutched his left forearm tight to his body. “H-E… I-S… C-A-L-L-I-N-G… A-G-A-I-N,” he stammered in breathless tones as the pain of his Dark Mark shot through his arm.

Without thinking, she wrapped her hands around his arm, pulling the heat from him to her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his Dark Mark. Gritting her teeth, she felt like she had wrapped her hands around a red-hot poker. “I need something cold,” she muttered, looking desperately around the room for something to alleviate his pain, “I need a poultice to draw out the heat.”

“Miss Granger,” his voice was strangled with pain, “tell the Headmaster that I needed to go. I… I can’t delay Him any longer. ” But, as he turned to leave he found Hermione still standing before him clutching his arm.

“Miss Granger, let go of my arm,” he spoke through clenched jaws as another wave of intense pain shot through his body.

She slowly unwrapped her hands from his forearm, as she gently drew the sleeve of his robe down to cover his Dark Mark. Backing up a step, she watched him leave the room mesmerized at the easy way he prepared to accept another abusive visit from his “Master.”

Hermione stood there looking at the pulsing red mark that had been branded into the palms of her hands from the short contact she had with Snape’s arm. She stood there mesmerized at the way the red mark slowly receded leaving only the darker lines of his Dark-Mark, but the pulsing tightness in her skin remained as the red welt faded to a bright pink reminder of her contact with Snape.

“What I need is a poultice… light pressure that will not further harm the skin, but that would draw out the blister’s heat and the Dark magic that caused the pain,” she whispered to herself. A poultice, the word kept running through her mind as she felt the warmth of Professor Snape’s skin remained under her palms.

As she was running through a preliminary list of items that could be used in a burn poultice, she heard the distinct rustle of long robes that announced Severus’ transformation from her professor to Death Eater. He had been called many times during their partnership, but Hermione had never been able to master her initial shock at his emergence as a Death Eater. Even though steeled against his appearance, she felt herself take a sharp deep breath as she looked at his tall body encased in complete black and his face hidden from her under his mask.

“I’ll… I’ll tell Headmaster you’ve gone,” she whispered.

“My notes for the potions in stasis are in the third drawer of my desk,” he said, lifting the silver mask to look deeply into her eyes, “if I’m not back in four hours finish the experiments, Hermione.”

“You’ll be back in time,” her voice was stronger and lighter than she thought it would be as she spoke around the lump in her throat. In all the time they had worked together, this was the first time she had ever heard her name roll from his lips. Hermione looked deeply into eyes that spoke volumes without a single word, eyes that were so rarely expressive but which now made her weak with sorrow. She had never felt so helpless as she did as she watched his eyes darken and become veiled as he slowly drew the silver mask over his face again.

Even though his face was now hidden from her, she could still see his eyes glowing darkly from behind the shadow of his robes and mask. But, as she looked up, her eyes locked with his and she could see something that she couldn’t quite name hiding just behind his eyes. Hermione still didn’t know what he had meant that look to say to her, but the tenderness she suddenly felt welling up within her must have registered on her face, for his eyes lit up briefly and he nodded gently before softly saying, “Thank you.”

And then he was gone.

After seeing Dumbledore, she returned back to the Potion’s Lab and wandered though Professor Snape’s storeroom looking for any ingredients they had not tried before. But nothing made sense. Nothing sounded right. Everything reacted with something that she knew had to be in the potion. Everything was on a list that they had tried and rejected. Pulling out book after book from Snape’s voluminous library, Hermione scoured over the pages for all kinds of healing and pain relieving potions. Finally, she did the unthinkable: Hermione Jane Granger threw a book across the room as she ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation.

“The potion we need has to ease the patient’s pain, it must strengthen the victim’s body, it cannot put any pressure on the victim’s blisters or skin, it must pass over the victim’s lips without annoying lips or tongue, and, if once it fulfils all those conditions, it must not poison or kill them. Why can’t I find the single ingredient that meets all these requirements?” she laughed darkly as she rose from the chair and began to pace around the confines of Snape’s dungeon office.

On her third pass around the room, Hermione reached down and picked up the book she had thrown before. Gently dusting off the book and smoothing the now wrinkled pages, she looked around the room and screamed in frustration.

“I need to get out of here,” she groaned as threw open the door and stalked out in search of sunlight. Leaving the room behind, Hermione quickly made her way to the lake. As she sat in the quiet solitude of the fall morning, she looked up at the sky as if willing the setting sun to give her some inspiration. “Something has to fulfil all the characteristics I’m looking for. I just have to figure it out,” she thought out loud.

Needing to take a break from the pressures of finding the elusive potion, Hermione breathed in the cool crisp air that brought the scent of the Highlands down to the gates of Hogwarts. In moments like this, she could almost forget that close by was a power-hungry wizard with plans to take over the Wizarding world. If she closed her eyes and just thought of the clean cool air that surrounded her and the soft sounds of the birds in the trees, she could almost forget that out there Severus was fighting to come back to Hogwarts to help her figure out the cure that she was wracking her brains to find. If she could just turn off her brain for moment, she could almost see herself as a simple student worrying about NEWTs and OWLs and boyfriends and what would happen next year when she graduated. Her vision grew blurry as tears gathered in her eyes. “Why isn’t anything in my life normal,” she screamed aloud to the sky as the sun peaked through the gathering clouds.

Needing to do something normal and childish, Hermione reached down and gathered a handful of small stones that were lying at her feel. Emotionlessly, she threw the first of the stones into the placid lake and watched the ripples on the water float over the surface. Relishing the feel of motion, she reached down and gathered another handful of stones and started skipping them across the lake. After a short time, she ran out of pebbles to toss and moved closer to the shore for more.

Suddenly, she dropped the handful of stones she had just gathered and grabbed out at the tall weeds that were growing on the edge of the shore before bolting back toward the castle.

“Bog grass,” she said as she ran up the stone path, “bog grass stays cool all summer. It holds moisture around it even in the direct sun. And, we haven’t even tried this yet!” Wrapping the long cool grey-green strands of grass around her palm, she clenched her fingers into a fist and felt the cold grass draw the remainder of the heat from Snape’s Dark-Mark. “This has to work. It makes sense and should fit. Grass has a null effect on many potions. Please, oh, please let this work,” she prayed as she reached the castle and navigated her way through the maze of hallways that led down to the dungeons.

She put together the standard pain-killing draught, but this time she blended the Bog Grass with the Chamomilla and Eucalyptus. If the draught worked properly, maybe the soft coolness of the bog grass could absorb the Dark magic. Writing her notes out pristinely, she left a copy for the Professor to read when he returned. “I’ll just close my eyes for a moment,” Hermione said with a yawn as she struggled to keep herself awake for Snape’s return.

How long she was asleep she couldn’t tell, but she woke to find Snape standing over a steaming cauldron that emitted one of the foulest odors she could ever remember.

“How long was I asleep?” her voice cracked as she blinked the sleep from her eyes.

“I can’t say for certain, but I have been working for five hours while you have kept your mouth delightfully shut. Yet, that is an understatement. You do have the delightful habit of snoring at the most inopportune moments.”

“Working on what? It smells like someone died in here.”

He turned back to the cauldron and slowly turned the spigot of the glass bulb letting a thin stream of amethyst liquid flow into the phial he held out, missing Hermione’s clenched up face.

“Your cure for the Pyre Curse.” He paused for a moment, lifting the phial up to the small stream of sunlight that found its way into his laboratory. “I think we are ready to try this now.” He turned to her as she sat on the long workbench and waited for her reaction.

“Ready to try what?”

“A variation of your Bog Grass poultice, at least I think that was your idea for the cure of the Pyre Curse.”

“My what?”

“Miss Granger, please try to keep your voice down. And if you are so insistent on trying to solve everything by yourself, at least have the courtesy to pay attention to those with whom you are working. ” He rubbed his temples slowly as he spoke, quickly pulling the arms of his robe down as it rode up around his elbows.

All thoughts of his snarky reaction to her confusion were forgotten as Hermione saw the purple stain on his arms. Jumping out of her chair, she flew to his side and examined his arms. “Professor, what did He do to your arms?”

“Not now, Miss Granger.” Snape turned wrenching his arm from her soft hands. “We must get this up to Madam Pomfrey and begin to test the potion.”

“But… I don’t understand… we must have some preliminary results before we can try this on a real live person.”

“We don’t have time for that now. There are too many ‘real live persons’ suffering in the hospital wing. HE is planning something very soon. We must know if this will work and if it can be trusted before then.”

“But only after two days? Don’t we need more time?”

“Would be to the gods that we had that time,” he muttered as he turned and walked from the room leaving her behind. He heard her shoes clack on the stone floor as she struggled to keep up with his longer gait.

Setting a swift pace into the hallway, Snape’s voice took on the authoritative tone that he used in the classroom as he began to explain the new potion to her as they moved to the hospital. “I took your notes, which were missing several key points of ingredient processing. You really must do more research on processing before you can assume the effect that any ingredient will have on a finalized potion. But you were surprisingly detailed and thorough in your explanation of concept and means of application. Your idea, though having merit, didn’t take into account the fact that a poultice can be a quite painful type of application for a burn victim since it must be directly applied to the skin to draw out the poison. But the key issue you didn’t consider is that pressure, of any sort, will destroy more skin than your potion would heal. Yet, the idea of using bog grass for its ability to maintain the cold of its environment did have intriguing possibilities.”

“It was just a thought. A starting point,” she murmured to herself.

“Rather than a poultice I have tried a distillation of the final mixture so the oils of each plant, once blended, simmered, and properly purified can be steamed into the room.” He turned and smiled briefly at her before finishing with an unusually warm tone to his voice, “I just made the poultice a little lighter on the skin.”

Hermione stumbled as she heard his voice and found herself holding her breath as she saw his brief smile.

“Come along, Miss Granger. We don’t have time for dilly-dallying right now. I want you to read this before we begin our first test case.” He tossed her a scroll of parchment that detailed, in his meticulous spidery hand, the work he had perfected from Hermione’s observations.

Without a word of permission, Snape entered Poppy’s Infirmary and took down a brazier and bowl from her stores. He didn’t waste a single step as he began to fill the glass bowl with the amethyst liquid, as he quickly made his way to the hospital wing’s isolation room.

“Severus, what are you doing?” Poppy’s indignant voice filled the space as the older woman ran after him. She stopped as he wordlessly tossed a copy of the notes he had given earlier to Hermione at Poppy. Without speaking, he flicked his wand and levitated a patient into an isolation room

“Severus, speak to me.” Getting no response to her demand, Poppy whirled around to face Hermione. In her most professional and authoritative voice she demanded, “Miss Granger, what is going on?”

Hermione’s nose was buried in the scroll as she looked up at Severus. “This just may work, Professor,” her voice was filled with awe.

“What – is - going - on - here!” Poppy demanded.

“Blast it, woman, read the scroll and don’t bother me.” Poppy looked down at the scroll in her hand and quickly read it over.

“Have you even tried this out yet? What were the results?” Poppy’s voice grew shrill as she watched her patient groan as he was slowly lowered into the isolation room’s bed.

She put a hand on Severus’ sleeve as he moved to set up the brazier. In a soft, uncharacteristically insecure voice she looked deeply into his eyes before speaking, “Severus, are you sure that this will work?

“As sure as we can be.” He smiled a brief ghost of a smile at Hermione as he spoke.

Licking her lips, Hermione watched as Snape adjusted the brazier and ordered Madam Pomfrey to administer the standard pain relieving potion before they began to wait for the purple smoke to fill the room.

“We must watch him closely. If he shows any signs of negative reaction we open the windows at once and expel the potion from the room.” Snape’s voice was tight as the unknown qualities of the potion created the most horrifying worst case scenario images he had ever thought.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Hermione could only nod as she watched Snape’s long fingers tightly clutch his wand. With an elegant wave of his wand, he sparked the wick of the brazier’s candle and it flared to life beneath the shallow brass bowl. They watched tensely as the amethyst liquid darkened as it began to simmer, turning darker as the potion began to boil furiously as it started to emit a lavender smoke that wafted up to fill the room. Slowly, the young boy began to move in his bed. Soft moans and whimpers turned to sighs as the pain-killing potion took effect, thankfully making the boy immune to the disgusting smell of the purple potion. The purple vapor grew thicker as the brazier continued to boil away. Soon the young man was surrounded with so much smoke that it was hard to distinguish where he lay. Motioning the candle out with a swish of his wand, Severus and Poppy walked closer to the young boy.

Hermione could see nothing as the two figures moved into the smoke filled room. It was Poppy’s shriek that made Hermione run into the purple hazed room and throw open the window. There on the bed lay a young man with only small red blotches on his skin.

“SHUT THE WINDOW, YOU INFERNAL GIRL.”

Hermione slammed the window shut as they left the room and Snape immediately ignited the flame again. Without thinking, Hermione reached over and clutched Snape’s hand. She only realized her act when Poppy’s shocked face blanched before her. Following the direction of the older woman’s gaze, Hermione saw that Snape had interlaced his own fingers with hers and was rhythmically squeezing her hand back. She didn’t know if her heart was racing from the tension of their potion or from the feel of his long calloused fingers brushing against the back of her hand.

For five minutes she stood clutching Snape’s hand as the purple smoke again filled the small room. Having set a small hourglass on the wall, they counted the passing of each second as they waited for the chance to enter the room and see the results.

“Hermione, the window.” Snape’s voice was hushed he watched the purple smoke dissipated. The clawing feel of the room from the brazier’s damp heat soon took on the feel and scent of the refreshingly cool crisp morning air.

“Professor…” Hermione’s voice was filled with tears as she looked down at the bed.

There, snuggling a purple tinged pillow to his peach colored cheek was the perfect picture of a young Hogwarts student. All traces of the Pyre curse were gone. There wasn’t a single mark on his face, his hands, or his legs; nothing at all remained of the curse. He looked as if he was ready to get up and go the Great Hall for breakfast before attending classes.

“He’s purple, Professor,” Hermione’s voice softly commented.

“Of course he is. That’s the distillation oil,” he said shortly. But when he looked over at Hermione and saw that she didn’t comprehend the association between the oil and her initial concept his voice took on a softer more instructive tone, “The distillation oil applied by aerial suspension is the variation of your poultice theory, Miss Granger.”

Hermione’s smile melted as she looked up from the bed. Her joyous heartbeat took on a different rhythm as she watched Snape take a few staggering steps backward and lean against the wall. Dashing to his side, she heard Poppy dismiss them as she set about examining her patient.

“Professor, you didn’t test this on yourself, did you?” her voice was soft with disbelief as she thought of the purple stain she had seen earlier on her arms.

He merely closed his eyes against the bone-weary exhaustion that flooded his body. He didn’t negate her allegation.

“You couldn’t. You didn’t cast an Unforgivable on yourself, did you?”

Clutching his larger body to her, she gently passed her hands up the soft purple skin of his underarm. Oh, Severus, she thought to herself. Then looking up at his half closed eyes she spoke aloud, “Let me get you back to your rooms. You need to sleep, Professor.”

“Don’t be absurd, Miss Granger. You need to follow our patient’s progress and watch for any ill aftereffects from the potion.” He turned and with a feeble swish of his robes began to walk down the hall.

“But, Professor…”

“Miss Granger, one lucky guess at an ingredient does not make a perfect potion. Nor does it make you a Potion’s mistress. There is more to research than just not immediately killing a patient. Before we progress any further, I want to be sure that we didn’t poison or seriously debilitate Mr.…,” he turned and looked from Hermione to Poppy as he was reminded of her presence.

Poppy looked at the arguing pair and smiled widely. “Mr. Josiah Kirk of Hufflepuff House appears to be quite fine, thank you both for asking. Normal reflexes. Normal skin tone. A healthy pulse. Clear eyes.” She continued to tick off every element of examination in as she looked over her patient with an ever growing smile on her face.

“I don’t know what you put in this, Severus, but gods bless you,” she effused as she looked down again at the peacefully sleeping young man. Reaching over she picked up a soft cloth and gently passed it over the boy’s purple arm removing all traces of the potion.

Severus said something under his breath that Hermione could not quite make out as he walked down the hallway.

Turning, he looked at her as she followed him out of the room. Bracing himself against the foot of a nearby bed he looked deeply into her eyes. “Do not follow, Miss Granger. I need time,” he paused and took a deep breath, “time to finalize the last batch of our potion. And I do not think I could deal with the infernal and continually occurring questions that I know are rattling through that fuzzy-haired head of yours”

She swallowed hard around the harsh words, but as he turned and left walking away from her, she knew there was more to his statement than the snarky rejection that appeared on the surface. It was odd, but there was something in the way that he said the words that still haunted her today almost two years later.

Suddenly Hermione found herself back in the present and standing in the narrow corridor that led to the Headmaster’s private office. As she stood there reflecting on her memories, Hermione’s eyes grew wide. It couldn’t be … it couldn’t have led to the way she felt around Sebastian Severus… could it? Snape was her professor after all, regardless of how old he was. Wouldn’t that always be the deciding factor? These uneasy thoughts ran through her mind more than once as the waited to be called into the Headmaster’s office.

“His touch,” she said voicelessly, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat. Blinking eyes that were open too wide from the shock of her realization, Hermione spoke softly, “Severus Sebastian IS Professor Snape.” Clamping her hands over her mouth as she spoke the words, she felt her mind reel from this new knowledge.

“Miss Granger… Miss Granger?” Minerva’s soft burr of a voice floated through Hermione’s silent reverie.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Would you please come inside; the Headmaster is ready to see you now.”

“Headmaster,” Hermione spoke softly as she walked through the large wooden door. Looking over at the two imposing figures seated directly before her, she felt the weight of their stares and grew increasingly uncomfortable.

Suddenly, in a flurry of bright red feathers Fawkes landed on Hermione’s shoulder and nudged back the lock of hair that normally fell over her eye. Laughing, she ruffled his warm feathers and whispered, “It will not move, Fawkes.”

The phoenix turned his head to the side as the large yellow comb fell over his eyes and he stared deeply into her brown eyes.

“Would you like to know the spell he used so you could keep this from falling in your eyes?” She lifted the bright yellow crest and straightening it as the bird nuzzled her hand. “Well, so would I. I will ask the next time I see him and then share it with you.”

Albus cleared his throat loudly as Minerva spoke up, “Hermione, we called you here to discuss Mr. Snape not hairstyling spells.”

“I did assume as much, sir.” Hermione watched as Albus’ eyebrows perked up as she spoke.

“And what else, pray tell, did you ‘assume’ of this meeting?”

Hermione looked over at Professor McGonagall as she tried to determine what the Headmaster’s tone implied.

“Well, I do know that it is rather strange to admit a new student in the middle of our seventh year. Yet, Mr. Snape does seem to be very knowledgeable, based on the short discussion that we had during dinner.” She blushed lightly as she played with her hands as she stood before the Headmaster’s desk. “But of course . . . ,” she let her voice fall as her brain caught up with her voice and the strangeness of the situation.

“Hermione, please tell us what you feel you know about Mr. Snape.” With a flick of her wand McGonagall quickly transformed the hard wooden bench at the back of the room into a comfortable armchair. Summoning it closer to her with a flourish of her wand and a softly whispered word, the chair levitated and then flew across the room to hover behind Hermione. She gratefully sat, cradled in its soft warmth, as the chair gently settled itself on the floor.

Smiling gratefully, Hermione continued, “It was rather strange that Professor Snape was absent tonight from dinner. I mean, you would think that with his. . .”

Think Hermione, think, her mind screamed as she looked over at the two powerful wizards before her. Her brain went into overdrive as it raced through the list of familial attachments that could explain Sebastian’s connection to Professor Snape, without giving away her own impulsive observation. He could be Snape’s own son. Or his nephew. Possibly a distant cousin, but that wouldn’t explain the face. There’s only one choice and you know it Hermione. He’s got to be Snape’s son. Unless you are ready to admit to the world that you think he really is Professor Snape.

Swallowing hard, she drew in a deep breath and continued on with the thought that had occupied her mind earlier. “But then, if something had happened that prevented him from attending it would be quite understandable if he was not present.”

Professor McGonagall laughed at the frustration that was written across Albus’ face. “Hermione,” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled deeply in the soft measured tones that always screamed he was irritated or growing impatient, “you have become quite the delightful young woman during your time here. But, at the moment, could you please not lapse into that annoyingly bureaucratic chatter of a Ravenclaw. Although I feel a Ministry position could definitely be in your future, I would much prefer a little of your own Gryffindor directness right now.”

The quiet that filled the room when he stopped speaking was deafening and left the two women stunned.

“Now, Miss Granger, what do you think of Sebastian Snape?”

“I. . . I don’t know, Sir.”

Dumbledore looked at Hermione through his half-moon lenses in a way that always forced complete honesty from everyone he directed that gaze at.

Licking her lips nervously she began, “I don’t know how, Professors, but I think that given Professor Snape’s absence from dinner and Mr. Snape’s placement on the dais in his seat that Severus – yes, that is what he has asked us to call him – is Professor Snape. I can’t imagine how or why, and I know that I must sound like I deserve my own room at St. Mungo’s, but that is what I think,” she finished in one long rushed sentence.

“What makes you so sure, Miss Granger,” McGonagall’s slow voice filled the room with the caution and apprehension she had felt all night.

“I can’t tell exactly.” She sank back into the chair, trying to think of a how to express her feelings. “There is an intensity about him that I just can’t explain, there is also darkness, a kind of wit and power that definitely marks him apart from others.”

“And do the others share this opinion as well?” Dumbledore’s curiosity filled the room.

“I haven’t expressed my thoughts on this to them, sir. I don’t think that it would be right for them to act on the way they feel about Professor Snape. But, Harry and Ron feel that he is Snape’s son.”

“From . . . ?”

Blushing furiously Hermione looked at the floor. “From an indiscretion, sir.”

Knowing the personality and feelings of her two young charges, McGonagall looked at Hermione hard as she raised her eyebrows. “Hermione, are those their words?”

“No, ma’am. They feel he’s Muggle-born from a Dark Revel,” she spoke softly as she played with the clawed arm of the chair as her mind raced with images of Professor Snape during the Second War with Voldemort.

“Hermione, the Headmaster asked you a question,” McGonagall’s voice broke into the younger woman’s silent reverie.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir. What was the question?”

“Why are you so sure that the boys are not correct in their assessment of Sebastian’s parentage?”

“Now that I really think of it, I know because of how much he looks like Professor Snape when he was a student here,” she said aloud. But when I think of how his hand in mine makes me feel, of how my heart raced in my chest until I thought it would burst through my ribs as he touched my hair, I know it can’t be anyone but him, she thought to herself.

“And how do you know what Severus looked like when he was younger?” McGonagall asked the question with a strange lilt to her voice.

“Well, when Professor Lupin first came to Hogwarts in our third year and Harry found out that he was friends with his parents, we spent a lot of time in the Library looking at the old school annuals. We thumbed through the pages looking for Professor Lupin, Harry’s parents, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. It was all very straightforward in the beginning, but my curiosity really grew after Harry found out about Severus’ interaction with the Marauders during our fifth year. I wanted to see why there was such animosity between them and why they chose Professor Snape above everyone else in the school, even above all the other Slytherins, to torment. Yes, Sir, that’s Harry’s depiction of the treatment that Professor Snape received from the Marauders, not mine.” Pausing for a breath, Hermione took the lemon sherbet that Dumbledore offered her, nodding her head in thanks and welcoming the moment to gather her thoughts. Too soon though, Dumbledore gestured for her to continue her analysis.

“After working with Professor Snape during the final attack and seeing him, really seeing him for the first time, I went back and looked for him in the annuals. I watched him change, Professors, I saw him as he was early on.” Hermione saw the shocked look that appeared on their faces as she spoke about her interest in her vilified professor. “I watched the pictures change during his Fifth and Sixth years. He began to grow more distant and pensive until finally I no longer saw the young man who came to Hogwarts in the Seventh Year photo. There was something that kept him from being open. There was something that he was working very hard to hide from the camera. That was the real change I saw, the way he hid himself deep inside of himself,” she paused to be sure they understood her. “His picture grew darker – not just more pensive but, I don’t know quite how to say it. He just… he just looked so hollow and empty. Like everything that was Severus had been erased and only Snape was left in his place. Does that make any sense?”

“He took the Dark Mark toward the end of his seventh year. That was the year that I failed him,” Dumbledore said softly in a voice filled with great sadness.

“Oh.”

“Regardless of how I feel about Professor Snape, Hermione, he is still the same man inside that he has always been whether he is 17 or 35.”

“But he’s not, Sir.” She blushed as he realized her own hurried response.

Looking down, she avoided McGonagall’s knowing gaze. “I’m sorry, Professors, but he’s not the same man who grew up to become Professor Snape, at least not yet. If he hasn’t taken the Dark Mark, then he’s not committed to become a Death Eater yet.”

Hermione looked up and locked eyes with Dumbledore. There was such compassion within them both for the young Severus, which spoke volumes for their Gryffindor-ness, but there was something different and deeper in the way that Hermione thought of the young man. Dumbledore saw it at that moment and knew that what Hermione felt for Severus was not just limited to his younger self.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked up at McGonagall. “He hasn’t lost the life in his eyes.”

Slowly shaking his head, Dumbledore looked up at her through his half-moon glasses. “No, Miss Granger. There may still be qualities of a younger more innocent Severus within him at this moment, but he still was the one that made the final decision to become a Death Eater. Who your Professor Snape would become is based on the choices he made during this time.”

“But, Sir, with all due respect, we defeated Voldemort last year. He can no longer serve someone who no longer has any power.”

“That’s just my point. The honorable man you worked with during the war might not have become that man at all if he had not had to face the horrors of serving under Voldemort. If he had not had to come and confess, of his free will, the things he had done, who would he have become? Severus needed to have those moments of introspection to find out who he was and what he was capable of becoming.”

Hermione looked down as Dumbledore’s words ran through her mind. Finally the pregnant silence within the room was shattered as she spoke the one sentence that had been rattling through her mind. Her voice was tense with the control it took to keep it neutral. “But, just think of all the pain we could save him if he was able to find his more honorable side directly.”

Dumbledore’s eyes grew darker as he heard the repressed urgency and hope in the words she spoke. A deep sorrow clouded his eyes as he watched the young woman plead the case for the innocence of her much vilified Potions master. Raising a hand wearily, he looked over at Minerva for support in his discussion with Hermione and saw the older woman leaning forward toward Hermione in support.

“Sometimes great sacrifices precede great victories, Miss Granger.” His single sentence silenced the two women, although he regretted the pain it brought to both their eyes.

“Miss Granger, Hermione, I want you to work with Severus. See if you can help him figure out exactly what happened that changed him back to his younger self. We must return him here at his normal age and to his proper self.”

“Albus, what about prophecy? Isn’t there something, somewhere that we could find, which would account for Severus’ transformation?” Minerva’s soft brogue brought out the intensity of her voice.

“Minerva. This is not a point for discussion.”

As Dumbledore shook his head, she continued, “But, shouldn’t we at least consult Sybil first? Just to see if she could add something we overlooked?”

Hermione laughed aloud at her professor’s remark, causing both to turn to her with looks of shock.

“I’m sorry, Professors. I just can’t see how Divination could possibly have any bearing on this.”

“I know how little stock you put into the workings of Divination, Hermione, but you cannot ignore the way that Harry’s and indeed your role as well was pre-ordained to see the end of Voldemort.”

“If that is true, then my actions and my part in returning Severus are foretold. And I can’t…”

She was interrupted by the Headmaster’s mirth-filled voice. “You can’t see yourself as being controlled in that way.”

“But what if this is a pure accident?” Hermione’s mind raced as she watched Dumbledore shake his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, she continued, “What if this is an act of grace by fate. What if Severus, err... Professor Snape is here to learn something that he didn’t learn before, or find something that he missed in his Seventh year? Of all the moments in his life that he could have been returned to, what was it about this age that pulled him back here? And, why was it here that he returned to over every other place he had ever been?”

“Hermione does have a point, Albus. What if this transformation allows Severus to fill that gap? What if being here allows him to fulfil a need deep within himself that even he didn’t know existed,” McGonagall continued, looking to see if their words had made any impression on Dumbledore.

Actually, Minerva was quite surprised at Albus’ reaction to this. She always thought that he had a soft spot for Severus, especially in light of the way that he was normally the younger man’s champion. Even when Moody and the other members of the Order wanted to turn him over to the dementors and the bowels of Azkaban, Albus had vehemently argued that he be given a second chance. She wondered, silently, what had changed his mind at the point.

“Miss Granger, I’m setting you to work with Severus to find the resolution to this problem and set it to rights as soon as possible,” there was a steel-like tone to his voice that jarred her to the core and returned Minerva to the actions happening within the room. In all her interaction before with the man, after all the misdeeds and adventures, she had never seen or heard him brook no comments or suggestions, especially with Hermione; normally he had such faith in her actions and ideas.

Looking over at McGonagall as she opened her mouth to speak, he slowly shook head before speaking with a finality that brooked no response from either woman, “Severus will return to his rightful position at his rightful age.”

“Yes, Headmaster. When shall I begin?”

“When I gain access to Severus’ lab we will work at resolving this.”

She nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Minerva gently laid her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Albus also feels that, since Severus will be returning so soon, all involvement will be confined to your research.”

Hermione took several staggering steps backwards with a blush to her cheek that was not completely related to the newness of the idea. “Professor? H...he’s still my Potions master, Sir.”

“Miss Granger, there is something at work here that I have yet to figure out. I will not allow any tampering that may affect this outcome or change any part of Severus’ future.”

“I... I’ll be available whenever you need me. I have asked Harry to set Severus up in the boys’ dormitory.”

Hermione walked backwards to the door, jumping as she hit it. “I … I need to go make my rounds now. If you will both excuse me, I’ll see to that now.”

Turning, she opened the door and quickly slipped out, closing it gently behind her. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, Hermione, breathe. Hermione chanted to herself as she tried to figure out how she would proceed from here.

If you have read this far drop me a line and let me know what you thought of the story so far. I do read every response.

I'm working on the next chapter and am in need of a Beta. I'm great a revising for detail and content but I'm really bad a grammar and spelling. If anyone is interested, please drop me a line :)

Thanks a lot
Susan