Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

TITLE: Stop the World From Crying

AUTHOR: Susan / apckrfan

DISTRIBUTION: My site , AO3 , FFnet , LiveJournal .

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters. They are owned by JK Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, etc. No profit is made from this fic.

RATING: FRM

SPOILERS: Through Order of the Phoenix, but canon divergent after the DA gets caught April 1, 1996 by Umbridge

SUMMARY: Albus Dumbledore, more than unhappy with the way things are going not just at Hogwarts with Dolores Umbridge’s arrival and taking over his position but also the Ministry, decides to take matters into his own hands once the DA gets discovered. He and Minera secretly meet with Hermione Granger, and Severus Snape and asks the pair to give up quite literally everything for a chance at saving the world. This is a time turner fic and doing the math, Hermione starts off sixteen and will be forced into making a very adult decision as part of Albus’ plan.

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Hermione Granger & Severus Snape (x2 actually), Tom Riddle, various OCs

DATE STARTED: September 2021

STATUS: Complete

WORD COUNT: 283,700 +/-

FEEDBACK: Please, I can't write better without it.

WARNING: As stated above, Hermione is sixteen when this story starts, and is faced with making a very adult decision. Obviously, she says yes, or this story wouldn’t exist! Their physical relationship doesn’t come into play for a while after the beginning of the fic time frame wise, but she is seventeen at the time it happens. If this bothers you, move along.

NOTE: This is complete in 54 chapters. I will post Sun & Wed until it’s completed.

***Chapter One***

April 4, 1996

“Is everything all right, Harry?” Hermione asked when Harry finally joined them at the dinner table.

Joined, and said nothing as to why he was late. It was clear everyone near them was curious. What an odd year this was turning into and, considering their first four years, that was saying a lot.

It wasn’t like him to be late, especially these days. It was very apparent that his movements were being closely monitored by a few of their professors. Umbridge, in particular, seemed to watch him like a hawk. (Of course, she hadn’t been wrong that they were up to something.) The vile witch needed to find something better to do than focus on her best friend. Too bad she hadn’t been the one to violate their DA contract!

Hermione refused to acknowledge her, in her head at least, as the headmistress. That pink toad (no offense to Trevor) did not deserve the title. She was horrid. Absolutely horrid! How was she even allowed to work here? She understood the Ministry wanting to infiltrate Hogwarts, but she would think Minister Fudge would want someone … competent here. She might have some less than enthusiastic opinions on Headmaster Dumbledore, but ultimately he had the students’ best interest at heart.

At least when it came to education.  He wanted them to learn. She firmly believed he did. She had her doubts when it came to other things.

Didn’t they want students to actually learn things? She questioned whether some of her classmates actually came here to learn, but there weren’t many she wondered that about. It was an adjustment, too, coming here after being at a regular school, or homeschooled.

Didn’t they want students safe? Did they think Colin, Justin, Penelope, and Hermione had been petrified as some sort of a prank?

Then she was logical and, well, sane.

Maybe that was the problem.

“Yes, fine. Just lost track of time,” he said as he looked at the dinner options available to him on the house table before him.

She watched as he filled his plate. He took a heaping serving of brussel sprouts. Okay, a bit odd, but maybe he wanted brussel sprouts tonight even though he didn’t seem to like them that much. He looked … anxious if she didn’t know better. One thing Harry knew right now was to be punctual, even if it was the night before the start of Easter holidays. She was sure that him being missed from somewhere like the Great Hall for dinner wouldn’t go unnoticed by those watching him.

Of course she supposed if he were up to something, knowing that everyone was in here would be helpful. Had he done something? Had he done something bad? They couldn’t afford to have him suspended or something! She was fairly sure the headmaster wouldn’t be able to get him out of it this time. Wouldn’t he tell her or Ron in advance, though? Unless he didn’t want to risk them getting in trouble for knowing.

He leaned in then.

So close she thought for a second he was going to kiss her, which made her look at him curiously. And made her forget being upset with him for doing something without telling them about it. Ron apparently noticed, too, and looked like he might just want to throttle his best friend.

What was he thinking?

Was he under some sort of spell?

Late for dinner? Taking more than the usual amount of brussel sprouts? Kissing her?

“I was just catching up with the headmaster,” he whispered. She breathed easier.

He wasn’t trying to kiss her, which meant she didn’t have to look too closely at the idea that he was under someone else’s control. Honestly, the night before Easter holidays wasn’t when she wanted to have to research that!

Ron, though, was positively glowering at them. He didn’t hear what Harry said to her. Evidently Harry didn’t want him to. She rolled her eyes a bit at Ron’s reaction. She wished he’d make up his mind. One minute he seemed interested, the next he was practically salivating over witches like Lavender. She was never going to be like them, so if that was what he wanted. Well, she just wished he’d figure it out.

Harry, though, there’d never been any of … that between them. So when she thought he’d wanted to kiss her, it threw her. She was relieved that he didn’t want to complicate their friendship at all. Thank goodness. It was bad enough she was trying to figure out how she felt about Ron these days.

And, really, should she have to go through so much to get someone to even like her? Viktor hadn’t needed that much! She knew that meant something, too, but she wasn’t ready to admit that she was wasting her time. Or that maybe her feelings were misguided.

Harry was like a brother. She liked to think theirs was a friendship that many envied, even if they couldn’t understand it. If she had a knut for every time she heard that guys couldn’t just be friends with a girl. Or that Harry was just being nice to her until she “gave in”. Well, she’d be on her way to being pretty rich. He’d just never been in the realm of possibility for her romantically. She wasn’t sure why. He was nice and nice looking. He wasn’t an imbecile and, when he actually applied himself, impressed her at times. He just wasn’t a boyfriend person, and the thought of kissing him just held zero appeal.

The best part?

Despite the fact they never spoke about it, she was certain that Harry felt the same. It worked for them.

“So, um, yeah, he said he wants to see you at nine o’clock tonight,” he whispered into Hermione’s ear so that no one else would hear.

Neville by now had noticed, and was staring at Harry as if he’d grown a second head or something. She grimaced, realizing what it must look like to others who might be looking at them. Maybe that was the point.

Make them focus on what Harry was doing, or what they thought he was trying to do, versus what he might be saying.

“Go to McGonagall’s office. She’ll help you get there.”

She glanced from Harry to the head table, noticing Professor McGonagall was missing, as was Professor Snape. That wasn’t necessarily anything new, but their head of house seemed to ensure that she was present at meals whenever possible, especially these days. It was her house members who seemed to be the focus of Umbridge’s wrath.

“Me?” Hermione asked.

She looked at Harry again, certain he was wrong.

What could the headmaster possibly have to say to her? Did he think she was responsible for him being ousted by Umbridge? Was he upset she’d put the jinx on the DA contract?

It was war!

Harry deserved to know who might betray him. And as it turned out, Marietta had. It could have been someone betraying them to Voldemort! And then where would they be if he knew what they were doing and their capabilities?

“Yeah,” he whispered, brushing his shoulder against hers.

She picked up her glass of pumpkin juice, bringing it to her lips.

“With you, though, right?”

This was asked right before she took a sip of the juice.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head and a slight frown. “Just you.”

Hermione blanched, going over in her mind anything the headmaster could possibly want with her the night before Easter holidays started. True, she wasn’t overly happy with Professor Umbridge, and hadn’t hidden that fact, but no one was that Hermione knew of.

Not even the Slytherins.

So that couldn’t be it. He would have just talked to Harry about her if it was Umbridge. Harry was perfectly capable of filling the headmaster in on things. They talked enough, surely the headmaster would trust Harry’s judgment and reporting skills.

“I’m sure he just wants you to research something,” Harry whispered with a shrug.

Plausible, but she wasn’t so sure about that.

If he wanted her to research something he’d just tell Harry, or send her a note through him or Professor McGonagall or something. He wouldn’t summon her to her head of house’s office at nine o’clock the night before they were to go home for Easter holidays.

She’d been looking forward to a quiet night before going to the Burrow, too. It was never quiet there as much as she loved spending time there. Especially right now as she was wondering if she should even be interested in Ron. That didn’t mean she couldn’t go to his house. She loved the Weasleys and her parents didn’t seem to mind. Or if they did, they pretended they didn’t.

“You’ll go, right?”

“Yes,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip before taking another sip of the pumpkin juice.

She was worried. Was he going to send her home as punishment? Was she going to get in trouble after all for the DA contract jinx? He would have to surmise it was her who had done it.

Or was it something else entirely?

Did he think she was no longer safe? She wasn’t the only muggleborn witch or wizard here, but she was the only one who was as close to Harry as she was. She read the papers, muggle and magical alike. She knew things were getting very violent everywhere. Was he going to tell her to go home? She absolutely did not want to go home! She’d purposely skated over current events with her parents when they asked. She suspected if they knew she was in danger, they’d send for her. She’d come too far in this to be sent home!

He patted her shoulder gently, leaning in again.

“Don’t think about it too much, all right? Just go about your evening and show up at nine. I’m sure it’s not a big deal. I thought about waiting until later to tell you, but knew it would bother you more that I’d known for hours and didn’t say anything.”

She opened her mouth to argue on that, closing it followed by a nod when she realized he had a very valid point. If he waited until the last minute she’d be mad. At least now she had time to prepare. Prepare for what, she wasn’t sure.

She finished dinner, barely because she was so nervous. Mulling over every possible infraction in her mind. Afterward, she and the others went back to their dorm to pack for the break. She had already packed, but went up to her room to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything she wanted to bring with her. That done, she brought an interesting looking book on centaur history she’d found to read to the common room to wait until nine o’clock.

It was nine o’clock and Hermione was standing in front of the door outside her head of house’s office. She was nervous and anxious. She’d hardly been able to focus on anything she’d read. And that wasn’t like her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in trouble for something. And for something far worse than the jinx on the DA contract. Surely, though Harry would be in just as much trouble as she was if that was it. She’d tried to get him to tell her anything, but he insisted he didn’t know. And that made her stomach churn.

So what could the headmaster (and Hermione still considered him the headmaster, no matter what Umbridge said or did) possibly want with her? She still couldn’t figure it out. More than halfway through her fifth year of education at Hogwarts, and he’d really hardly spoken to her. Other than about the time turner her third year she couldn’t even think of a time he had. Even that had been primarily handled by Professor McGonagall.

Finally she knocked, realizing she was going to be late if she kept putting it off. He invited her, so there had to be a reason.

“Come in,” came her head of house’s cheerful voice.

It didn’t sound forcefully cheerful either. She had the opportunity over the years to notice the various inflections her voice took on. She smiled a little at that familiar voice. She was here. She knew what was going on. Maybe Hermione could ask her for a hint or something before they went to see the headmaster.

She pushed the door open slowly and took a deep breath.

“Good evening, Professor. You asked to see me.”

She stepped inside, saw Professor McGonagall grab for Hermione’s arm as the door shut behind her. This was followed almost immediately by “Don’t let go, Hermione”. If it hadn’t been her head of house saying that she probably would have. She trusted the woman, though. She barely had the chance to realize she’d called her by her given name.

Barely had the chance because almost immediately she felt the unsettling pull of portkey travel. She recognized it only because she still found it discombobulating to travel in such a manner. More discombobulating than traveling by airplane, knowing you were thousands of miles above ground, in her opinion.

Suddenly, they stopped. The only thing she knew for certain was that she wasn’t in her head of house’s office anymore. She had no idea how they’d accomplished it, but she wanted to know. Did Professor McGonagall have the portkey in her hand? Shouldn’t she have to hold onto the portkey item, too? How were they able to portkey out of Hogwarts?

Looking around once she felt settled, she realized they were in an office. It wasn’t Professor McGonagall’s nor one she’d ever seen at Hogwarts. And they had to be outside of Hogwarts, otherwise a portkey wouldn’t have been necessary.

“Ah, there she is. Prompt as expected. Thank you for coming, Miss Granger. It’s lovely to see you,” the headmaster said with no explanation of the fact that she was standing in a different room than she started just a moment ago. “I’m glad Harry relayed my message to you,” he said.

“He did, and it’s nice to see you, too, Sir,” she said, as her eyes darted around the room. He didn’t sound upset with her. So that made her wonder again why she was here.

She noticed Professor Snape was in the room as was her head of house. So, she hadn’t imagined seeing Professor McGonagall. Why were the two of them here? What could he need with her that would involve Professor Snape?

What had happened?

If the headmaster was here, with whom she got the impression were his two most trusted members of the staff, that could not be good. And then she remembered that the headmaster had asked to see just her. He’d already seen Harry.

Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach.

Oh God!

She was going to be sick. The room started spinning, she heard the sound of blood rushing in her ears, and her heart was pounding at the very thought of something having happened to her mum and dad. Happened to them as a result of something she did, in a world they didn’t even truly understand.

“My parents…”

“Are fine, my dear,” Minerva said, scowling at Albus. She rushed to Hermione’s side, settling her hands against her shoulders. She imagined the gesture was supposed to be comforting, but Hermione didn’t find it to be so at the moment. “I told you just springing this on her was not a good idea, Albus. Her mind does not work like most peoples. Not everyone enjoys being whisked away.”

“Forgive me, Miss Granger. I truly didn’t mean to startle or concern you. I know it’s the night before Easter holidays, and you likely have packing and things to do before you head to the Weasleys, but this may take a while. I tried to choose an evening that would not interfere too severely with your studies. Doing so around others who may report any sightings of me has proven difficult. So, bringing you to me seemed the best way to handle it. I also wanted you to not be missed. Miss Pince might have noticed your absence any other evening, but I’m told likely not tonight.”

“I’m already packed, so I was just going to read a book on centaur history I found,” she said politely. She was trying not to sound confused. If not her parents. Then what?

Professor Snape snorted none too quietly or politely, to which she glared at him as a result. It wasn’t her fault she actually liked studying and succeeding in her schoolwork! What was he even doing here? What could he possibly have to do with anything to do with her? Minerva gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze she assumed was meant to be reassuring. She had to admit, this time, it was.

Somewhat.

She doubted she’d truly feel reassured until she knew why she’d been called here. That her parents really were okay. And that she wasn’t being expelled.

“Good, good,” the headmaster said. “Minerva, please take Hermione into the other room. Severus and I will join you both momentarily, as it looks as though he has a few last minute things to say before we get on with our meeting.”

“Of course,” Minerva said. With a sharp glance at both men and a shake of her head, she crossed in front of the headmaster.

Hermione missed the comfort of her hands almost immediately. She led Hermione into a sitting room off the office they were in. It was quaint. Certainly not big enough for a slew of people, but for just the four of them as it appeared to be, it was spacious enough.

She looked to Professor McGonagall who seemed to be avoiding doing the same, which was very odd behaviour. Hermione had always gotten the impression that Professor McGonagall liked her company. What was going on? If nothing had happened to her parents, why was she here? Maybe she was just being slow for a change? She really couldn’t figure it out.

She heard Professor Snape and the headmaster talking in hushed tones from the other room, but couldn’t decipher what they were saying. So, that wasn’t getting her any information. Eventually, their voices grew a little louder, enough Hermione potentially could hear what they were saying. She just didn’t understand it. Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned as she shook her head with a frustrated sounding exhale.

“Quit trying to convince yourself that there is a chance in hell that this will work. I have already given you my answer, damn it all. I have agreed as I always do, Headmaster.” Professor Snape’s tone was not kind, complimentary, or respectful with that last word. “Let’s just get on with this. I hope that you have a contingency plan for catastrophic circumstances up your sleeves, Albus, because I am telling you that this will not work. She will never agree to your hair brained scheme,” she heard Professor Snape say from the other room.

“You have such little faith, Severus. She is a bright witch. I have faith that intellect will make her see reason. So, I believe that she will.”

“You are delusional, old man. She hates me,” Snape said, and she could hear the venom in his voice with those three little words. “There is no way that she will even consider it. I say again, I do very sincerely hope that you have a backup plan. You seem to think I say that in jest, because, mark my words, you will need it.”

“Then why did you agree if you think it won’t happen?”

“Because I will not let it be said that it was my fault! That the world went even more to shite because I said no to this ridiculous scheme of yours. You’d only hold that over my head, too, for the rest of my days. I won’t give you even more ammunition toward being your whipping boy.”

“Severus,” Albus said. The other room grew quiet then. Hermione wondered what wasn’t being said between them right now. So the headmaster had an idea it seemed. To what end? “Let’s find out then, shall we? No stone unturned as they say.”

Professor Snape entered the room first, scowling, robes all billowy, and, it seemed, refusing to look at her. Or Minerva, so she tried not to take it personally. She huffed softly with a roll of her eyes in response. Being rude wasn’t going to sway her to agreeing to whatever the headmaster’s idea was.

Did he know that she could hear them?

Did he care?

What was more.

He was wrong.

She didn’t hate him.

He was moody. He could be quite cruel, yes. She’d borne the sharpness of his tongue personally more than once. He was also more than just a bit of a git at times, though she’d never say that to anyone. Even Harry and Ron.

She’d never be that disrespectful.

It was difficult to be as nice to him as she was to her other professors, though. She always showed him respect. At least she thought she did. She tried to at any rate. He was her professor and, in her opinion, the smartest one she had.

So, no she didn’t hate him. She just wished, like her other teachers, he was willing to teach her everything she wanted to know, which was everything that he knew. She could learn so much from him! So he frustrated her.

The headmaster followed and closed the door behind him. This was followed by a soft pop that Hermione recognized as being a silencing charm. A very powerful one. Not surprising, given the three other magical people were in the room.

“Thank you for your patience. Severus and I had some last minute … details to iron out. As you are aware, things are not good, Miss Granger.”

“Of course I’m aware. The school year started with Harry almost getting expelled, and has gone pretty much downhill from there.”

Had he called her here to state the obvious? Did he think she was stupid, and hadn’t noticed what was happening?

“I was able to get Harry cleared of the charges as you are of course aware, but I’m afraid the Ministry,” he shook his head. It was the first time she’d ever really seen his eyes reflect seriousness. He always seemed to be good natured and happy. That wasn’t there now.

“Has its head up their collective arses,” Professor Snape said from his spot in a corner.

The wizard did not look happy. Then when did he ever look happy? She tilted her head a bit, thinking over that question.

He looked happy when taking points, sometimes, but not all of the time. There certainly had to be more to him than that? Didn’t there? What a horrible existence if there wasn’t!

“As Professor Snape has so impolitely, and not very poignantly, stated in the presence of ladies, yes. It is an accurate assessment. As you know, Professor Umbridge was assigned to Hogwarts by Minister Fudge.”

“I’m aware,” Hermione said, unable to keep her dislike for the woman from coming through. 

Forget everything else she’d done that was horrid. She hurt and scarred her best friend!

And as for the Minister for Magic.

Well, Hermione hated to think ill of people in charge, but he was nothing more than a buffoon whose inability to believe Voldemort was truly back was just allowing the maniac to gain numbers and power freely. If he’d acted quickly, immediately after the Triwizard Tournament, he likely wouldn’t have been able to assemble more into his ranks. Or at least not easily.

Really, what good was it for Harry or the headmaster to lie about Voldemort’s return? What did that gain them? Panic and fear? Harry wouldn’t want that. She couldn’t speak for the headmaster, but didn’t get the impression he wanted that either.

“I assure you that you are not the only one with a less than favourable opinion of her. I could not get rid of her, as much as I may have wanted to. And now, well, my hands are truly tied. I have to bide my time until I can return. And I will return, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, I’m afraid this year is only the beginning, a precursor of things to come if you will, if I don’t do something to stop it now. I love Hogwarts, its staff, its students, and the magical world as a whole too much to let it get further than her. No matter the outcome of the war and no matter who takes over from Minister Fudge, the Ministry will micromanage Hogwarts’ headmaster for a long time to come. Some may believe it’s deserved, however, the students deserve privacy and a sense of freedom as well.”

“Okay,” Hermione said with a frown.

He wasn’t wrong. She was just still confused. What did any of this, the Ministry being a bunch of imbeciles and Umbridge being here, have to do with her? Her curiosity was giving way to irritation. She just wanted to know why she was here!

“As you may be aware I’d suspected for some time that Tom’s return was inevitable.”

“Yes,” she said simply, glancing from the headmaster to her two professors.

Neither were giving anything away. Professor McGonagall was still looking concerned, though. Snape, on the other hand, looked bored. She doubted he was. She sensed he was more aware and attentive than she gave him credit for.

She was there when it was revealed Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort. She’d been there for all of it. Had he forgotten? She was so confused, and she hated feeling that way because it was extremely abnormal for her.

Thus her irritation.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Sir, I’m sorry if this comes across as rude, but I’m at a loss. What does any of this have to do with me?”

Professor Snape scoffed again.

“And is there a reason he’s here scoffing and scowling at me? I am not in his classroom, and was invited here. Rather, I was whisked away here without my permission. I shouldn’t be subjected to it when I was called here, on my free time, the night before holidays start.”

“You’re right, of course, and there is a point, Miss Granger. I apologize for Severus. He’s obviously left his manners at home today. Severus, stop trying to scare the witch.”

He scowled, but turned his back to the three of them, taking a few steps to look out a window with a shake of his head. There were no more scoffs to be heard.

“As I was saying, and going toward answering your question as to what it has to do with you. I had come up with various plans of attack, some were more far fetched than others. I’ve had time to think of many. Several I dismissed as impractical or just involving too much risk. Some were more … dangerous than others. And some were ideas that just weren’t plausible even for a wizard such as myself to carry out. We have reached a point where I believe that one of the more far-fetched, and possibly dangerous, ideas might be called for.”

“Okay,” she said, knowing she sounded both intrigued and cautious.

“You are aware of Tom’s past? How we got to this point nearly seventy years later?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said with a nod.

She’d researched everything that she could find in books and previous Daily Prophet articles as well as Hogwarts’ yearbooks. She wouldn’t say she was an expert on Tom Riddle exactly, but she’d certainly armed herself with as much knowledge as she could about the man Harry seemed destined to face a second time.

“Good,” the headmaster nodded as if he’d expected this answer from her. “So you are aware that he was an orphan, born at an orphanage with his mother dying shortly after his birth so he never knew a home. He had no parents or a stable life. Times were tough then, as I’m sure you’ve read in history books. I imagine he went to bed more often than not starving, and with no hope for that changing the next morning. Or the next. Orphanages were not pleasant places. Honestly, if Tom hadn’t come to Hogwarts, I’ve often wondered if he would have been sold . Irrelevant, as he did come to Hogwarts, but it wasn’t unheard of for that to happen to children, especially those who would not be missed. Most importantly, Miss Granger, at least I believe it to be. He never knew or had love. Things someone like yourself takes for granted. For Tom, even his conception was a deceitful event.”

“I suppose,” she said, nipping at her lower lip.

She’d never quite thought about it from that perspective. He was just a mass murderer she was researching to help her best friend. She never stopped to really give him an excuse for being the way he was. She never stopped to think of what his childhood must have been like. She knew he was born during the Depression.

She wouldn’t say that she took anything for granted, certainly not after meeting Harry and Ron. She was aware of the things she had access to that they didn’t. Maybe she was slow on the uptake because it was the end of the week, and she was in vacation mode. She still wasn’t seeing where she had anything to do with this.

Harry had been raised without those things, and he wasn’t a raging psychopath.

“You’re thinking about Harry, I can see it in your eyes. It would be where my mind would go, too, if I was you. Harry did know love, though, even if he cannot remember it. He was created from it. He’s alive to this day because of it. And coming here, to Hogwarts, he gained it, as well as belonging, in you and Mr. Weasley. Among others. Tom never got that here, through his own fault in some ways. He was difficult. He never had it to begin with, though. He literally had no one. His father was deceived into being with his mother, so even his conception was surrounded by dark magic rather than true love.”

“I’m aware,” Hermione said, not wanting to have those facts rehashed. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for the man. She really didn’t. Lacking those things didn’t excuse his behaviour or him wanting her dead merely because her parents weren’t magical.

She knew how Tom Riddle came to exist. She wasn’t sure how much she believed in true love or anything, honestly, but the idea of a spell making her love someone was abhorrent. She liked to think if she ever decided to marry it would be with all of her faculties in place. (Not that Tom Riddle, Sr. was aware his faculties had been toyed with.)

“Of course you are,” the older wizard said with a smile. “Back to it then. I had an idea, you see, of sending two people back to give him those things: home, family, stability, a good example to look to and want to emulate, proper guidance and tutoring in all aspects of life but certainly magic. They would be able to comfortably expose him to things muggle as well as magical. Most importantly. Love. Some say one conceived in the way he was cannot be redeemed. I want these two to attempt to prove that theory wrong.”

Her eyes widened. Not at the last part of what he said. She understood his point completely. If they could change his upbringing, all that was happening might be avoided.

No, that wasn’t what she was surprised at. He was suggesting this was a possibility, a sincere plan.

Was time travel to 1926 even possible? That was almost seventy years ago if he was talking about going back to the day Tom Riddle was born.

“I see the question in your eyes, Miss Granger. Is that even possible, you’re asking. I applaud you for going to that question first. And the answer is, yes. I have access to a time turner that would make that possible. That was not my problem with going forward with this particular plan. My problem was that Tom is, and was, a very intelligent person. Crafty. Cunning. Keen. You name it, he has it in spades. I cannot send a couple back to him who are unable not only to support that intelligence, but who are not intelligent enough themselves so as not to be taken in by him or walked all over by him. Trust me when I tell you that he is one of the most clever people I have met. That was true even when I first met him at the age of eleven. I’m hoping if we start from the beginning, the very beginning not from when I first met him, that will … change and prevent this future that we have currently from ever happening. I’m not as young as I was seventy years ago. I have limitations, physical and otherwise, that I did not have during that time.”

That time was dealing with Gellert Grindelwald, of course. She’d never stopped to think about how very tired the headmaster must be. He’d been involved in war for almost fifty years of his life. Granted, it was somewhat peaceful between 1981 and 1995, but there was still a lot going on she knew. There was still a lot of hate. Voldemort hadn’t disappeared the first time leading to those who’d followed him to realize they’d made a mistake. No, there were still many who believed in his plan, liked his rhetoric, and wanted blood purity. And he’d suspected the dark wizard hadn’t truly been defeated for good so was constantly watching for the signs that had occurred in 1991 of his attempted return finally happening.

“Okay,” she said.

A sinking feeling was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. She’d hear him out, but she had an idea where this was going.

And as a result, finally, a clue as to why she was here.

“Severus, of course, came to mind. As Miss Umbridge seems to be focusing on him currently, I thought it would be a good time to bring Professor Slughorn back. For various reasons, I cannot have anyone’s attention on Severus, certainly not Miss Umbridge’s. Pulling him from his position is out of the question while he’s still physically here, for reasons I cannot say. Horace is more than capable of doing the bare minimum the job requires, which seems to be what Miss Umbridge wants in Hogwarts’ staff.”

“Right, of course, I’m not sure I’ve met anyone as intelligent and capable as Professor Snape, Sir. He is a more than logical choice.”

She wasn’t being a brown nose either. She truly believed what she just said to be true. It was the reason she got so frustrated with him at times. She remembered solving his riddle in her first year, wanting to meet the person who’d created it. He’d never once acknowledged it to her.

Now as to love, and being a good role model. Well, she didn’t know about that, but had to believe the headmaster wouldn’t think of her potions professor for this task if he didn’t think he would work. He was the head of Slytherin, so he must have some grasp on things like that. The headmaster trusted him, obviously, to guide Slytherin students.

The headmaster smiled at her, the visible twinkle in his eye suggested he was both amused and impressed. Professor Snape was not only looking at them again, but staring at her. She no longer saw anger and dismay in his eyes, but something akin to incredulity.

She’d surprised him. She sat up a little straighter at that realization. She didn’t think many people surprised him.

Well, take that Professor Snape.

You may be a prat to the upteenth degree and a git sometimes for no reason at all, but you are smart.

She wasn’t going to deny that she’d recognized that in him their very first potions class almost five years ago now.

“The problem then became someone who could, shall we say, compliment Severus while offsetting, or making up for, his shortcomings. And it was the reason this idea has been shelved since I thought of it. As you may have noticed, Professor Snape is not the … warmest staff member at Hogwarts.”

Hermione laughed then. She couldn’t help it. That was one of the biggest understatements she’d ever heard. The laughter probably came from nerves more than actual amusement, though.

This conversation was just too bizarre.

Professor Snape was back to glaring at her. Her head of house was oddly silent through all of this, which made the sinking feeling in Hermione’s stomach increase. Her head of house knew, too. She likely knew before Hermione had ever been asked to come here. And had been told she couldn’t warn her. Professor McGonagall would not like that.

“So, intelligence, softness, and warmth, but not a pushover, mind you. Someone who knows when it’s appropriate to speak her mind. Someone who will make a good mother. The witch would be required as well to at least have the knowledge so that she can appear to be of good breeding in the eyes of the wizarding world. A witch people could look at as being part of this couple and, while they may not understand how it came to be exactly, could see that the match made sense. No matter how odd they may find it. That is key. It must be convincing. If Tom’s future is to change, it must start from the beginning, which would of course start with the parents not just appearing to care for one another but being accepted and belonging by society.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, her eyes drifting to Professor Snape. She didn’t want to admit it because he had never been pleasant, but she could see that it would make sense if the headmaster’s choice was her. Obviously, though, she was wrong on why she was here as she wasn’t of age yet. So, that had to take her out of the running.

Didn’t it?

So, yes, it would make sense.

If she were older.

If he weren’t a git.

If she weren’t a muggleborn witch.

If …

Well, if a lot of things, but she could acknowledge that she had noticed his intelligence more than just a handful of times. And his dry wit, when not aimed at her or her friends, was very clever. He was also handsome. Not in the movie star way many girls her age swooned over, but it was his whole … being. Confidence. Intelligence. Power. There was a reason the headmaster trusted him, trusted he was on their side. That was attractive in its own right.

So that brought her back to.

Why was she here? She obviously didn’t fit the requirements and would not be suitable, being a muggleborn.

And why was she somewhat … disappointed by the realization that it could not be her?

Was Dumbledore looking for witches she knew of who might fit his requirements? She knew none. Her knowledge of witches consisted of the same ones they knew, and they likely knew them better than Hermione did. Other than Ginny and Luna maybe, but both were a year behind her. So, they would not be acceptable candidates.

As if he knew she was trying to puzzle it out and straying down the path toward the conclusion that she wasn’t his choice, the headmaster spoke.

“That witch is you, Miss Granger.”

She blinked rapidly.

Had she just heard him say that?

Silence.

The headmaster was obviously expecting her to say something, so she evidently had heard him actually say that.

Professor Snape looked as if he expected her to get up and storm out of the office immediately.

Okay, so she hadn’t been wrong with her first instinct. She felt a little giddy at the realization that she was the headmaster’s choice.

She still wasn’t seventeen.

Her eyes darted from Professor Snape back to Headmaster Dumbledore. He was smirking, though he tried to hide it. His eyes, though, gave way to his amusement. Maybe amusement was the wrong choice in words. His pleasure that she hadn’t stormed out, as Professor Snape obviously expected her to, at the mere suggestion of this plan including her.

This plan including her meant she would be his wife.

Of all the witches available to them, they - the headmaster - had chosen her.

And her potions professor was evidently willing to go along with the plan, if she was.

That was what the argument she’d heard from the other office was about. It had to be, didn’t it? He’d accepted, but assumed she would say no. Not a totally crazy assumption on his part. Except she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. Did he want her to say no? Did he assume her saying no would be the reason this plan was thwarted? That would mean they had no one else in mind but Professor Snape and her.

Professor Snape was a bit older than she was.

He wasn’t ancient, but old enough to where she would think that they’d stand out. How did the headmaster think they could pull it off? Then seventy years ago, the age difference probably wouldn’t have been so big of a deal. Age gaps were fairly normal back then she knew.

Her mind kept going back to one question.

Why her? What about her would make anyone think she’d offset any of Professor Snape’s harshness and cynicism?

She was not a miracle worker!

Okay, two questions.

He didn’t like her.

Why would he agree to the plan knowing the headmaster’s choice was her? Did he think she could do what the headmaster wanted from her? He must, or he wouldn’t have agreed to it. Even if he believed she would say no, there was always a chance she would say yes.

She opened her mouth to say something. The headmaster held up his hand, stopping her. She bit her lower lip, nodding to tell him she would refrain from talking. She had a slew of questions, so many that she paused in asking, only because she was trying to decide which one should be asked first.

“Now you know what she’s like in class,” Professor Snape said from the corner to which the headmaster chuckled.

“Indeed, Severus. I can see how that might be troublesome for you, when every other student pays little attention to your chosen field.”

He returned his attention to her then.

“I see your mind working, and that you’ve finally caught up to the fact that what I’m saying is legitimate. You’ve moved on now to the wanting answers phase. Let me finish, and then I will give you time to think about it, and discuss with Professor McGonagall, or Snape if you prefer. The decision will have to be made tonight, though, before you leave here. If you decline I will have to obliviate this conversation.”

“Right, of course,” she said, giving an instinctive shiver at the idea.

She didn’t like the thought of someone toying with her mind at all. She didn’t care if the spell was done every day all over the world in wizarding society. She didn’t care how capable Headmaster Dumbledore was at doing any number of spells.

She wanted her mind intact, thank you very much.

Would the headmaster know that? Would he think that would increase the odds she’d say yes?

She couldn’t say he was wrong.

“I want to lay it out for you, Miss Granger. Even the night before holidays, our time is limited. I will try to address everything, but if I leave anything out by all means let me know. Okay?” His eyes twinkled with the question. As if he found it amusing to be asking her permission. She found it a bit amusing, too. As if she would say no?

“Yes, of course, Sir.”

“Good. Thank you.”

He nodded as he shifted on the chair he’d chosen, seeming to get comfortable. She smiled a bit at that gesture, it was something she’d seen her grandfather do probably a hundred times in her life. Her grandfather’s chair of choice was a recliner with the remote control on his lap and a bowl of shelled peanuts (with the skins left on) on the table next to him.

“Now, as I indicated you would be going back seventy years. You would not return. Ever,” he held up his hand here. “Correction. Obviously you could get to 1996 again, but you would be on the verge of turning eighty-seven if and when you do get to this date again, life allowing. I should have said that you would not be able to return to this time ahead of life’s normal progression. You would be responsible for saving a child’s soul.”

His eyes drifted briefly to Professor Snape, and she wondered if that was a silent clue suggesting that they (she?) might be trying to save two souls.

There was an interesting thought. Was Professor Snape his choice because this trip would be good for him as a person? If he was on the side of the Order, as the headmaster seemed to imply to people. Not that he’d ever told Hermione that. She wasn’t old enough to be in the Order yet, but she knew for a fact that her potions professor had been at Order meetings. She’d heard things Remus and Sirius said about him. So, if the headmaster trusted him. Well, he’d turned spy, which meant he had been a death eater and on Voldemort’s side at one time. When had he turned spy? Before Harry was born? Certainly before his parents were killed.

Was the headmaster hoping she would give those same things to Severus Snape? That she was to make him believe he deserved them, too? That was a momentous task, if so. A baby would be born with a clean slate. She would not get that with Professor Snape.

The headmaster gave her a smile, suggesting he was aware her mind was taking her down a path that it didn’t need to be doing right now. She was supposed to be listening to him, and this was rather important. The smile was followed by a slight, barely perceptible nod. As if it was meant only for her. Was he reading her mind? Was he telling her that she was right?

“And trying to prevent not one but two wars in the process as well as saving countless lives, muggle and wizarding alike. And some souls along the way, too, which may be more important. You would go back knowing that you would be the mother to Tom Riddle, and wife to Severus Snape. Those will not be the names you know them by if you agree to this. You will be equipped with a letter to my past self, but given the timing of when Tom was born, I will be busy. I will not be able to help much, other than the initial assistance the letter will ask of my past self.”

“Of course,” she murmured, knowing when Tom Riddle was born and the fact that that coincided with various confrontations with Gellert Grindelwald. She also imagined this version of Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t tell his past self much. Too many cooks spoiling the broth and all that. She couldn’t see where anyone but she and Severus would need specific information.

“Per my letter to myself, you will be married and set up in a nice wizarding home that will be unplottable,” the headmaster got a somewhat melancholy look in his eyes while saying that and she imagined that there was a story there. “It is near muggles and, as such, there is a small but respectable dwelling near the road that passersby can see, but nothing more of the property. The rest of the property, including the dwelling muggles would not see, will cement your role in the wizarding world. One that will indicate you’re of a good station in life, with proper monetary means, and allow no one to suspect you are a muggleborn witch. And they should not find out, Miss Granger. You could endanger this task, and Severus for that matter, if anyone discovers your blood status.”

She stared, processing what he’d said so far, committing it to memory. She knew he wasn’t done. She was trying not to fidget but this was a lot to put on even her. She didn’t know everything about the pureblood way of life. It wasn’t as if she was friends with any except the Weasleys, and they weren’t the norm since they were considered blood traitors themselves.

“Severus has agreed, actually it was his suggestion so that your being accepted as a couple wouldn’t be difficult or anything about you as a couple would appear unseemly, to take a deaging potion.”

“Why?” she asked, eyes snapping to her professor. She wasn’t sure she could picture him younger. Obviously, he had been. He hadn’t been born thirty-six years old.

“We do not want there to even be the hint of impropriety as to your relationship, Miss Granger. Age differences weren’t unheard of, but you are young enough that his reputation could be called into question if he looks his current age. I can hedge your age a little, but not by much I fear. It would not look good for someone applying for a position as a professor to show up at the age of thirty-six with a wife who would have been a student herself only a year ago.”

“How far are you aging him back? Will he remember all of this? His life to this point?”

“I have created the potion, Miss Granger, and I will remember. Everything. I will just appear twelve years younger.”

He created it. That meant he knew of this plan before tonight.

“So, twenty-four to my …?”

“We think you could get away with eighteen. Really, if your documents say you are that, who's going to question it?” the headmaster said. “Much older than eighteen, though, I think would be pushing believability. And people would have questions as to what you have done since school.”

“Oh, right, I suppose,” she said. That was a valid concern. And a rather depressing thought. She wouldn’t finish her school. She wouldn’t take her OWLs, or sit her NEWTs.

“If Severus wishes that I ask my past self to push Armando Dippet to replace the current potions professor with himself I will do so. He will be equipped with an impressive CV that shouldn’t make that difficult. As well as my personal opinion, of course. They hired Horace a few years later, so it would seem whoever they had, and I’m sorry I don’t recall who it was, was replaceable. Again, as I have mentioned I was rather preoccupied during the time we’re discussing. Headmaster Dippet should be easy to convince to replace them since it doesn’t seem to be anyone memorable or overly reputable. If he chooses another route, an apothecary or something that would be his choice.”

“And me?”

“You are a little more difficult as I’m afraid you don’t look much older than the soon to be seventeen years that you are. As I mentioned I think we could get away with eighteen, meaning appearances would suggest you’d be turning nineteen in September. I truly believe nineteen to twenty would be pushing it and Severus agreed with that assessment. Of course with a different wardrobe befitting that time period,” he shrugged. “My younger self could have your birth documents altered if, once settled and outfitted accordingly, you both believe you could pass for older than eighteen.”

She nodded, understanding. Honestly, as much as she might like to, she didn’t think she looked much older than her age. Of course she also didn’t really try. She wasn’t one of those girls who wanted to appear to be twenty-one for whatever reason in an attempt to get an older guy to like her.

“So, with that being said. I thought that being a librarian would be an acceptable position for you. There was no one steadily employed in that position at Hogwarts at that time, so we wouldn’t be displacing someone with years in on the job as Irma is. You love books and learning, and know the Hogwarts library better I wager than all except perhaps Irma and Severus. Severus could, of course, choose to tutor you so that you can do something else. I know that is not what you aspire to do. Unfortunately, I’m limited in what I can provide for you without NEWT scores or even OWLs. While I could probably arrange for you to sit the OWLs that would undo our aging you because someone would have to give them to you. I’m not sure that even you would be ready to sit your NEWTs a full two school years early. However, you and Severus could come up with an excuse if necessary as to why you didn’t take your NEWTs in your seventh year. If you would rather try something in the Ministry, let me know and I will request my past self come up with a suitable CV for you as well to ensure you have the ability to qualify. Unfortunately, the muggle world would be out of the question.”

“Even muggle university?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Granger, but yes. Bear in mind, too, this will be seventy years ago. The expectations of women…”

“Would be basically librarians, teachers, nurses, or homemakers,” she huffed.

She knew that was the case. It didn’t mean she had to like it or would not attempt to push the envelope even a little bit. She could work on that later.

“What of a muggle primary school teacher? Wanting to be near my son until he goes to Hogwarts?”

Albus seemed to think of this, eyeing Severus with a rather triumphant looking smile. She supposed her questions were an indication she was leaning toward accepting versus declining.

“You are intelligent enough that you should be able to homeschool Tom more than sufficiently, Miss Granger. You will have five years to adjust to the time period before he would start that education. Bear in mind, too, you will be primarily responsible for this exceptional child so working may not be something you even wish to do.”

“And yet, he is wicked smart you’re saying, and everything I’ve researched says that’s true, so surely we would want to start sooner than the age of five.”

The headmaster chuckled. “I think you and Severus would be able to make that decision when that time came.”

“Would we raise him as adoptive parents?”

“I would leave that also up to you. I would not endeavour to tell you what to do day to day, Miss Granger. I will not be in your household, and quite honestly, I will truly have no way of knowing if you adhere to anything you might agree to do here today. My letter to my younger self is very broad. I cannot reveal facts to him, nor should you. So, as to whether you should tell Thomas the truth,” he shrugged. “It is his past that led to so much of this, however, you may find you feel it is more appropriate. I trust you both, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if I didn’t trust and have faith that you can carry this out.”

“Wouldn’t Professor Snape encounter his mother eventually?”

“He would, of course, as well as several others he knows and knows of. As I said, you would not be there as Hermione and Severus Snape. I have come up with identities for you both. You will have a Gringotts vault with a more than acceptable amount of money in it. The home I am setting you up in is furnished nicely. Even the domicile people can see from the road, while meager in appearance compared to the likes of Malfoy Manor, is respectable. My thought was to send you back to March 7, 1926. More than nine months before Tom is born. I know that I am here the weekend I’ll be sending you back to, as I was most weekends. The date I’ve chosen will give you the ability to claim Tom as yours if you so choose. Any later and you’d have the stigma of being with child prior to marriage and, while we all know it happened, that would not do well for what we want. Acceptance. Fitting in. No scandals or the appearance of anything wrong or illicit having occurred.”

“Right,” Hermione said.

She understood that.

Even today, illegitimate children could be viewed as lesser than, especially in the wizarding world. Even if they married a month after Tom’s estimated time of conception there’d still be the stigma following them, and him, that they had sex outside of marriage.

Assuming people would look that closely, but the headmaster must be thinking someone (or someones) just might do that. She supposed they would be newcomers, so anything they did would be looked at. And certainly seventy years ago, the wizarding world would look upon that even worse than they did now.

Of course people had sex outside of marriage, more than likely back then they did, too!

“That would allow Severus to get in at Hogwarts if he chooses that route, or established elsewhere if he chooses a different one. It would give you the opportunity to set up your home, which I’m sorry to say will likely primarily fall on your shoulders, Miss Granger. I’ve seen Severus’ version of an abode away from Hogwarts, and I’m not sure any woman’s touch could improve upon his tastes.”

Her lips twitched, fighting the urge to laugh in response to the twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes at this. He was teasing, but she sensed there was some truth in what he said. Professor Snape didn’t seem the type to stray far from the personality he presented to his classes. And that was very formal, utilitarian, and not very homey or welcoming.

Her professor said nothing, but there was an audible scoff heard from him. Professor McGonagall had been silent through all of this. No audible reactions whatsoever, reaffirming Hermione’s belief that she already knew all of this.

“You would both have over nine months to establish your personalities there as you become more familiar with the time and the … climate. As well as one another, of course. And that is important, so no matter what Severus might say I’m telling you that you must present yourself when you do finally go out in public as in-love newlyweds who are overjoyed about your baby. Yours is not to be a marriage of convenience or arrangement. You would have time to get familiar with the orphanage so you can prepare for New Year’s Eve, because no one can remember that Tom Riddle, or his mother, was ever there. Regardless of what you tell him, we cannot have anyone recalling his mother’s arrival or his birth. That will not do. And, in case you are wondering. No, you can’t approach her sooner,” he paused here, assessing her.

She had wondered that, doing something other than getting him from the orphanage. It would be a logical thing to do. To avoid that end entirely. Surely they could think of something.

“I’d thought of that, Miss Granger. You could pose as a midwife or something, but that would not do. She may survive if she gets proper medical care, and we do not want that. I apologize if that sounds heartless or callous, but I am speaking in facts. I don’t know what his mother’s survival would do. I do not believe anything good could come from such a change. And if she survives. That negates the purpose of you going back there. He would not have a good life with her. I assure you of that. I know those facts are distasteful, but think about Tom’s father. The man she lied to. Some would say what she did to him was as unforgivable as any curse.”

She swallowed, nodding a smidge. She understood. It went against everything she knew to not try to help the witch, but she understood. Their purpose was saving Tom Riddle’s life and soul. They couldn’t be assured of doing that if he was raised by anyone else. Or if someone else could come back and claim him one day in the future.

“You, Miss Granger, would have to remain out of view for the most part if you choose to act as Tom’s actual parents. You could not be seen in October, say, not pregnant and expect people to believe two months later that you have borne a son. Again, that is for you two to decide.”

That made sense. She understood. It was definitely something to think about as far as which path they might choose. Assuming she actually said yes. Glancing at Professor Snape, she still wasn’t sure how she’d been thought of for this.

“How do you know this home will be available to us?”

“Because I’m familiar with where and when I’m sending you back, Miss Granger. So I’m aware of which homes were,” he seemed to pause her as if choosing his words carefully. “Unoccupied at that particular moment.”

“Yes, Sir, I don’t mean to question you.”

Professor Snape scoffed. She glanced at him, trying to avoid scowling in his direction. She didn’t want to provoke him. The crisp black robes, covering every inch of him except his hands and head, made anyone question their sanity for doing so. She’d never seen him in anything that suggested approachability. They had to be his choice for a reason. To keep people away. To remain aloof.

From what she’d gleaned, he wasn’t married or rumoured to have a partner in any capacity. He was thirty-six, the same age as Harry’s parents, Remus, and Sirius. Presumably, he’d lived alone for the past eighteen years since leaving Hogwarts as a student.

This couldn’t be easy for him. He’d agreed to this, but it was a huge deal. Nevermind upending his life and going seventy years into the past. Well, she was still currently his student. People said a lot of things about Severus Snape, but she had never once heard anything to indicate he behaved improperly with a student.

And now he was going to be married to one.

It didn’t matter what they told the world. They’d both know for two more years she was supposed to be here at Hogwarts, learning.

“And Professor Snape has agreed to this?” she asked, sounding dubious even to herself. “He hasn’t been bribed? He’s not under the Imperius?”

The headmaster said he had, but she really found it hard to believe that he would. Especially with her as his … partner? This wasn’t a short term assignment. This was the rest of their lives. Together. Not a marriage of convenience.

That could be more than one hundred years! It could be more than two hundred years!

That was a long time to pretend to get along with and love someone.

“Severus will do whatever it takes to prevent more death and destruction. He has been committed to that end for years now. Your extracurricular activities getting discovered was distressing. I decided it was time to act,” the headmaster said, breaking into Hermione’s thoughts about the possible longevity of this plan if she agreed to it.

Him mentioning their extracurricular activities did make her think of something, though.

The present. Her friends. Who would really believe she’d just disappear this far into this?

“And my friends? What will Ron and Harry be told? The other members of the DA?”

“They will be told that you were pulled from Hogwarts, as your parents received what we determined to be a viable threat. We offered to provide you, and them, with alternate identities and sent you off where you would be safe. We will not disclose anything more. For your safety, of course.”

“And Professor Snape?”

“Well,” Headmaster Dumbledore said.

She noticed the headmaster’s eyes, normally rather jovial despite the events of late, looked rather sorrowful just now. This was followed by a tsk, as if this piece of the plan may actually be difficult for him. She’d never really had reason to see the two interact until now. It was clear that the headmaster was fond of Professor Snape, and thought that he knew him quite well.

“I suggested he just be rumoured to disappear. He thinks that would be too cowardly and far from in character for him, to either side. He wants to be reported as deceased.”

“Sir?” Hermione said with a gasp.

Dead? He wanted to be considered dead? She didn’t like that idea. She wasn’t sure why exactly, but the idea of him being reported dead just didn’t seem right. That seemed as if it was … tempting fate in a way one should not want to do. Not that it would matter. If they did this and succeeded. Well, no one would know but the two of them.

“That was my response as well. Bear in mind, however, Miss Granger. Hermione,” he said, the twinkle back in his eyes again. “If you succeed, well, the events you are familiar with will not have occurred when you get to this date. None of them. You will be, in essence, rewriting history. And experiencing the differences first hand as they occur. Imagine being able to see that you’ve made a rather drastic difference in so very many things. Severus of that 1996, seventy years from your new starting point, will be alive and well. And hopefully better off for your efforts.”

She nodded, her thoughts already having taken her there.

“May I have a moment to speak with Miss Granger alone, please, Albus? Minerva?”

“Miss Granger?” the headmaster asked.

“It’s fine, thank you for asking,” she said, not sure who she should be thanking exactly but she appreciated that neither wizard just assumed she wanted to be alone with him. Come to think of it, she’d never been alone with Severus Snape.

Professor McGonagall, who was quiet through all of this, got up to leave with the headmaster. Was she here just to witness the conversation and her accepting or declining the offer, to ensure that she wasn’t coerced, Imperiused, or threatened into agreeing? The door closed behind them, and the pop of the silencing charm happened again.

He stared at her for a few moments. There was no scorn or hatred in his eyes. Curiosity maybe, but nothing bad. Normally that would be enough to make her giddy. Today it missed the mark.

Though…

She sat up straighter, prouder maybe, in her chair as a thought occurred to her. She thought of it briefly earlier, but the meaning behind it hadn’t sunk in until just now. She’d been busy listening to the headmaster.

He’d agreed to this, knowing who he’d be going back with. He knew who the headmaster had in mind to be his wife. He evidently hadn’t told Albus he was daft and that he had to find another witch or he wouldn’t do this.

He’d agreed.

Did he like what he saw when he looked at her?

Did he find her attractive?

Under ordinary circumstances, that would probably bother her to think about, but these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Were they?

She knew that without this … plan in play he wouldn’t look at her like that, so it didn’t bother her if he did take the time to consider whether he would find her an agreeable match when he was presented with the idea. That would have to be thought of. If he absolutely thought he didn’t or couldn’t, the plan wouldn’t work.

Certainly, under ordinary circumstances she would not be put in a position to need to contemplate whether Severus Snape found her, or anyone for that matter, attractive. She’d never thought of him in that way, personally, wondering what he did outside of class or away from Hogwarts. The information she’d gathered about him had been to assist Harry, not for personal interest. Others did, she knew, and she usually shushed them, as it was none of their business. Did he have a witch hidden away somewhere? He must not if he was agreeing to this. She’d never seen him pictured with anyone in the Prophet or heard of stories being told about him in Witch Weekly .

Under ordinary circumstances she’d be going about her day as usual, getting ready to go home  - well, to the Weasleys’ - for Easter holidays.

And yet, she could admit that there was a bit of an internal … pride that he’d agreed to this plan with her as a part of it. Finding her attractive was certainly an added bonus, but his agreeing meant he thought they could do this. That she could succeed. That she could make being his wife work. That she could be a mother to Tom Riddle. That she could keep a home, so that Tom could hopefully grow up to be a functioning wizard who contributed to society and not a sociopath.

That was immensely empowering. (Choosing to ignore the sociopath part of the thought.)

For all of his sarcasm and insults aimed at or about her. Of all the witches they could have chosen, she’d been chosen.

And he agreed.

That gave her confidence that she wasn’t aware existed within her until this moment.

He may not like her now, but he wouldn’t want this plan to fail anymore than she would. He wouldn’t travel back seventy years and then go out of his way to ensure she loathed him.

That meant that he would at least try.

Didn’t it?

He couldn’t expect her to go through with this plan and accept him being a crabby arsehole to her for the rest of her life. Love was a two way street, and if he expected her to be good to him, he would have to be to her in reverse.

Would she fall in love with this man?

“You are actually considering this, Miss Granger?” he asked.

This stopped her current thought process from going further, which was probably for the best. Those thoughts would just drive her crazy, because she didn’t have the answers. Then he was moving to sit near her. Not right next to her, but certainly closer than she’d ever been to him when he wasn’t stalking about his classroom.

“Well,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip. She’d never in nearly five years been this … close to him in what could be construed as a social setting (the circumstances for this meeting aside). It was disconcerting. Was that deliberate on his part? Did he think that she would realize exactly what she’d just concluded about him and his agreement to this plan, and want to dampen her internal pride just a smidge?

Where was that confidence boost she’d just felt a minute ago now that she actually had to talk to the man she was thinking about spending the rest of her life with?

“I mean, he has a point. If you are to be the father …”

“It might also have something to do with the fact that there aren’t enough galleons in the world to offer most witches to contemplate being married to me.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want money. I mean, obviously we need to survive, so I hope he’ll provide us some so that we can start out. It sounds as if he’s doing that.”

“He is. I can show you the paperwork of what his intentions are for us financially if you wish.”

“You believe he’s providing sufficiently for us, and a child, to live comfortably?”

“I do,” he said with a nod.

“Then I will take your word for it. I have never had to keep a home, so while I can think of things like water and electricity, food and furnishings, I’m sure there are things I’d never think of.”

“I could just tell you that he is…”

“You could, but I trust that you don’t want to go back seventy years and be destitute any more than I do. That seems a surefire way not to enact the change he’s desiring. A poor child being raised in the same financial situation doesn’t seem as if it would do much. I do believe in the power of love, but we still need to eat and keep warm.”

He nodded then, stretching his feet out in front of him a bit as he regarded her. She did not look away, but kept her eyes at the level of his nose so that he couldn’t use legilimency on her. She didn’t think he’d do that without asking, but he would likely be wondering what was going through her head right now that she was actually contemplating agreeing to do this.

She knew she was wondering what was going through his mind.

He didn’t need to see her train of thought as to why she was, in fact, likely going to agree. That was none of his business. At least at this moment.

“You do understand what marriage means, Miss Granger?”

Oh, he was going to play this card. She rolled her eyes, internally, though it was incredibly hard to stop herself from doing it where he could see it.

“Of course I do. I’m not daft!”

“And you want to be married to me?”

“Well, put like that, no,” she said.

She held up her hand quickly. She knew how that sounded, and she knew how very … biting and insulting he could be. She didn’t want this plan to start with him acting like an arse before it even officially began and her hating him for it.

“Before you get insulted and snap back with something nasty and unkind about being married to me being no picnic either that you cannot take back, let me finish answering your question. I don’t particularly want to be married to anyone currently. I’m sixteen, and unlike many other witches, my goal was not to come here and find my future husband. However, that is not exactly up for discussion at the moment, is it? What I want, I mean. This is about saving the world. Saving lives. Saving a strong and capable wizard’s soul, so that he’ll be on the side of good not evil.”

Possibly two capable wizard souls, she thought again as she regarded this man. This could potentially change things for him. It would certainly change his taking the Dark Mark. The him that would start Hogwarts as a student in 1971. Again.

He rolled his eyes.

“Selling yourself to the devil is more like it.”

“Are you the devil then, Severus Snape?”

He scoffed. No reproach for using his first name. “I am not a pleasant man, Miss Granger.”

“Hermione,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I think if we’re contemplating being husband and wife…”

“I will not call you that.”

She scowled with a roll of her eyes. He was just being obstinate, she was sure of it. They were alone, no one else would know he addressed her as Hermione but her.

She sighed.

Pick your battles, Hermione. This is not the hill to die on at this moment in time. At this moment in time, you are still his student.

“Fine. I mean, I hope that you will one day, as it is my name. As to your statement, I know that you’re not pleasant. I have been paying attention the past five years, you know.”

She went over the various rumours she’d heard about their potions professor over the years. Most seemed incredibly farfetched.

She did not believe that he was a vampire or into bondage (willing participants or otherwise) or anything like that. That just seemed like people wanting to make him into something he wasn’t. He was difficult and off putting so people liked to come up with reasons why he was that way. There was one thing she knew about his … temperament that made her question the wiseness in doing this.

“Are you going to beat me?”

“Of course not,” his voice thundered in response. Oh, he didn’t like that question at all. Interesting. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his eyes display emotion before. Until now. “Physically or otherwise for that matter.”

He’d found the question, the idea behind it, abhorrent.

“Good,” she said. She didn’t think he would, but he did seem to have a temper. So she had to ask.

That one word echoed her mental response to his answer. Onto the only other thing she would truly not be able to live with. She thought she could put up with a lot, but physical abuse and infidelity were not among them.

“Are you going to humiliate me by being disloyal? Unfaithful?”

He tilted his head, regarding her. She’d surprised him it seemed. The abuse question hadn’t surprised him. He hadn’t liked her asking it, but he hadn’t viewed it as coming out of nowhere. It was a logical question to ask. Of course, she supposed he could say he wasn’t going to and she’d never know he was lying.

Cheating, the expectation from her that he not engage in that behaviour did surprise him, though.

Interesting

“You would,” he cleared his throat. And she actually thought she saw some colour on his cheeks. Was Severus Snape blushing? Bestill her heart and stop the presses. “Expect loyalty? Fidelity?”

“Of course I would. I’m not hauling my arse seventy years ago for you to make me feel lesser than, disrespect me, and make a fool out of me, thank you very much.”

“That would mean…”

“That I’d have to be a wife to you in every way. I am aware. Again, I’m not daft. I will not go back seventy years basically alone and have an in-name-only marriage, Severus Snape! Nor will I go back seven decades to have you embarrass or humiliate me in such a fashion. I’m not saying that we have to love one another or consummate tomorrow, but if I am going to do this, well, then you are going to do it, too. We are going to do it. Together. I will be patient with you while you learn to be a husband, and I hope a kinder version of yourself, if you can be patient with me while I gain my footing in those types of matters. I assume you wouldn’t want to immediately to begin with, given my age.”

“Correct.”

“However, if you think between now and the time we do, you can live like Casanova. I will not tolerate that, Sir.”

His eyes were cold as he assessed her. The blush was mostly gone, but there was still a very subtle hint of colour where, prior to these topics they were discussing, there had been none. She liked it there she realized. He cleared his throat softly.

“Are you going to pester me constantly with questions for the rest of my life?”

Her knee jerk reaction to the question was to scratch back. She refrained though, instead watching him for a moment before answering. She tried to determine the … meaning or implication behind his question. She’d never paid his eyes much attention before. Why would she? She’d never been close enough to do so.

They were dark, the closest to black she’d ever seen. Still, they weren’t emotionless.

He looked … amused.

Was he making a joke?

Interesting.

Would he like knowing that she figured out that was his intent behind the question instead of a possible slight or insult.

“I’m sure that I will, Sir.”

She chuckled softly. He knew very well that she would. It was in her nature to be inquisitive. She suspected it was in his, too. That thought was what made her think that he had been joking. It was also the reason she believed they could do this.

“Are you going to answer them?”

He stood then.

She watched him in a manner she hadn’t before now.

Twenty minutes ago, he had just been Professor Snape. Now he was going to be her husband. Unless Headmaster Dumbledore returned to the room and said he decided she wasn’t a viable choice or that he’d changed his mind about doing this at all.

She knew why she was doing this.

She really, when it got down to it, had nothing to lose. She wasn’t even seventeen yet. She had no career or anything. She’d never even lived on her own. Hogwarts was the closest she’d come to being independent. She’d been so focused on the current events to even think about what she might want to do when she finished Hogwarts. So, if she lived her life now or seventy years ago, it really didn’t matter. Did it?

He, though, was closer to forty than thirty. He had a career. He was, maybe not well liked, but he certainly was respected in his field from what her research revealed. As she thought earlier, it seemed he’d been living alone since 1978.

Why would he be willing to do this? To go from living alone to having a wife overnight, and then a baby nine months later was quite the difference in lifestyles.

“I can abide by the loyalty and fidelity. Just as you wish not to be made a fool of, I do not either. One thing I’ve discovered over my years of observing pureblood society. They always know. It may go unspoken. You may believe it’s swept under the rug, but others always know who’s doing what. They talk. They judge. Opinions are shared. Children suffer from those judgments, through no fault of their own. I would endeavour for once in my life to be treated and seen with respect. So, I would expect the same in return, of course.”

“You think that I would cheat?”

“You are a young, attractive, intelligent witch…”

She stood then, crossing to him and took a huge chance. She settled her hand over his forearm.

His right one. She didn’t want to think about the left one, even if she was just touching him through his robes.

“I would not do that. I’m not built that way.”

She wasn’t. He probably knew that, too. She would not commit to something with the intention of betraying that commitment. Those vows. She didn’t think he’d agree to doing this with someone he believed couldn’t keep that commitment.

“Why are you even thinking about agreeing to this? You have your entire life to live,” he asked. His eyes drifted to her hand on his arm but he didn’t shake it off or berate her for touching him.

That was good. She almost expected him to remove it.

She wore no robes. It was the night before holidays. No one wore them. She thought it’d seem suspicious if she put them on. The sweatshirt she wore was a bit large so the cuff covered most of the back of her hand so only her fingers were really visible. They looked so pale against the black of his robes she noticed.

“So do you, Sir. You’re thirty-six not eighty.” She shrugged. “It seems like a viable plan. If I thought otherwise I wouldn’t even contemplate agreeing to it. I suspect you wouldn’t have either, certainly not to the point of approaching me about doing it. I mean, if we’re going to change things, and the headmaster has the means to go so far back. Well, it seems logical to go back to the beginning and try to prevent him from ever becoming evil. To get him to use that genius mind of his to be a useful and productive member of wizarding society.”

He drew away, turning from her. She imagined it was due to what he was about to say more than wanting more space between them. His posture grew more rigid, tense. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She braced herself for what was to come.

“And if we don’t? Prevent it from happening, I mean?”

He didn’t like having to pose the question. She could tell. Something in the way he stood, his posture, told her that what he was asking her to agree to, bothered him. And that made her like him. He wasn’t going into this expecting to have to end the life of a child.

She shrugged. She’d thought of that while the headmaster was talking, too. There was a huge ‘what if’ left unspoken. Generations of inbreeding could lead to him being crazy and psychotic no matter what the two of them did for him. Add into the mix being conceived under a love potion. There may be no stopping him from being evil. Was he truly born that way? Would love, stability, a proper education, and family change anything at all?

“Well, we’d have an incredibly difficult decision to make then, wouldn’t we?” she asked.

His eyes widened just a bit. Her answer surprised him. He’d expected her not to approach this from a realistic standpoint, to have a romantic and probably moral approach to this.

“You could do that?” he asked.

He was looking deeply into her eyes. What was he looking for, she wondered? Something to know if she was lying?

“Would I want to? Of course not, but we’re talking hundreds of lives being saved, and a magical world still essentially healing from Grindelwald being torn apart once again by fear, hate, and two wars. I mean it was less than thirty years from Grindelwald’s defeat and He Who Must Not Be Named’s beginnings. For that matter, he was clearly plotting things as early as his time as a student at Hogwarts. We will have our memories. So, we will know what is to come if we get any hint of him being evil.”

“If we raise him as our son, tell him that he is our son, the expectation would be another one…”

She chuckled softly. Oh you silly man . She knew what he was trying to do here. “Not everyone has more than one, but yes I realize that might be a possibility if I agree to this.”

He nodded simply. She got the impression he was testing her more than anything, seeing if these … suggestions would scare her off. She hadn’t been scared off by the subject of murder. So, he went with a more personal issue … sex. She was scared, she’d be stupid not to be. It was an incredibly scary idea. Just not of him necessarily. It was mostly the unknowns and there were a lot those.

Entering into a scheme where they might have to end a life.

They were also going to a time where she’d really have little as far as rights, and he could really do whatever he wanted to her.

She had to agree with the headmaster, though.

This could work.

They could save the world, several lives, and a person’s soul. Possibly two? Was that not a worthy endeavour? A worthy thing to commit her life to?

Granted, it wasn’t something either of them would be able to have engraved on their tombstones or anything, but if this worked. They could take to their graves that they helped save the world. Maybe people would view her as just a librarian, if she took that route, and him as just a potions professor, but they’d know.

Was that enough for him?

Until this moment, she wouldn’t have thought it would be for her.

Long before she came here and was called the cleverest witch of her age, her parents told her she could do anything. This certainly would be anything, just in a very private way. There would be no fanfare or recognition. She was, oddly (or maybe not) okay with that.

“I presume you’re leaning toward teaching at Hogwarts. It doesn’t sound as if the headmaster is going to tell his younger self much, so he likely wouldn’t warn him about Tom, or what to look for while he’s a student here.”

“I would assume that’s correct. He wouldn’t want to mess with things, more than he is. Too many people knowing facts would be dangerous, and he knows his younger self well enough to know it may not be information he should have. I do think teaching here would be the best course of action, yes.”

She knew as well as he obviously did that they weren’t actually in Hogwarts currently. She wasn’t sure where she was, and she did get here from Hogwarts via magical means. So here worked, and he apparently knew she’d understand what he meant.

She agreed with his thinking. It was what he knew, teaching. He was good at it, when he wasn’t being a git. And it would be the best way to keep an eye on Tom during the time he committed his first murder. As well as the years leading up to it. Otherwise, he’d be away from them for months out of the year. How could they possibly know if they were making a difference if no one knew what to look for to keep them informed of any misbehaviour on his part? Or generally concerning occurrences around Hogwarts?

If he didn't pursue the position now - well, as soon as they got to 1926 - he’d risk having to oust Horace Slughorn from the position. She didn’t get the impression that would be a hardship exactly. She didn’t know Professor Slughorn, but from the gossip she’d heard, he was more interested in collecting influential people than really teaching.

“Though if you went the apothecary route, I could do something more with my life than be a librarian,” she said. She knew she sounded petulant, but she aspired to do great things. Her parents had raised her to do great things.

“There’s nothing saying I couldn’t do both,” he said.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, surprised he would say that. That he would think about accommodating her. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? A sign he wasn’t going to be a git, and leave her to twiddle her thumbs out of boredom for seventy years?

“Why are you agreeing to this?”

He shrugged. It was a casual gesture, but there was nothing about this plan that was casual. How could he be so dismissive about completely changing the path of his life?

“I committed to Albus years ago to do what I could to defeat him, to work as a spy. This goes a little above what I expected to be part of my duties but, as you say, if it works it would save many.”

More than a little. She’d say it went a lot above.

“And you’d be all right with me being the librarian? Being at Hogwarts with you?”

That might be more closeness than he was signing up for agreeing to this. That would mean that they’d be together essentially day and night. Of course, there was nothing saying that he’d have to come to the library, or that she had to go to his classroom during the day. There was plenty of space between their respective areas. There would be meals, though, and as husband and wife the expectation would be to sit near one another.

He scoffed. She wondered why. Did he find that amusing?

“Yes, I’d have no problem with that, but as Albus said you will not be able to do that for a while, until the school year following Tom’s birth.”

“Yes, I understand.”

She did. That meant she’d have months to … Do what? She had no idea! Best not to think too deeply on her options, or she might be inclined to say no. Especially since if he was at Hogwarts during that time, she’d be home alone in a world she really didn’t know. “Are we really going to lie to him?” she asked.

He shrugged. If Thomas was as smart as Albus said, she hoped he wouldn’t figure it out.

“We would have to discuss it when it’s just the two of us, and we are not processing all of this. We do not need to make an immediate decision on that. We will have over nine months to discuss these intricacies. As he gets older, we may come to a different conclusion than the one we come to before he’s with us.”

“True,” she said. “You knew it was me, I was his choice.”

“I did.”

“And you agreed?”

He huffed and she couldn’t help but give an internal giggle at that. She knew better than to do it aloud. He clearly didn’t like her realizing that nor asking about it. She couldn’t resist letting him know she’d noticed, though.

“As he said, it makes … sense.”

She looked away then, staring at the wall as she thought that over.

He was admitting that he thought it made sense, too. She wondered just how difficult that was for him to do. It had to be given that, as of this moment, she was still his student. That must mean, though, that he truly thought it could work. They could do this, change the future, and hopefully make it a better one.

Together.

Not just for Tom Riddle either.

Did he think that they could pull off being happy together? Present a loving family to Tom Riddle? To wizarding society?

To the world?

He must, or he wouldn’t have agreed to her being the witch in the equation. If he thought they could, then she had to believe they could. He had far more worldly experience than she did. He was clearly more adept at subterfuge than she could probably ever dream to be. What Harry and Ron would do if they found out without a doubt that Severus Snape was part of the Order, serving as a spy. They’d flip, because both looked for any reason that they could to disparage the man.

They weren’t the only ones either.

From what she could tell, most of his life had been spent with and among people who used him or weren’t as kind to him as they could have been because he was, like her, different. She didn’t engage in gossip with Remus or Sirius, but she heard what they said.

She could make a difference for this man.

Was that enough?

Was possibly changing the course of Thomas Riddle and making this wizard’s life at all more pleasant than it had been until now enough for her? Because, if she did this, that was essentially what she was committing to doing.

She walked to the door then and opened it.

“You may come in, Headmaster. Professor.”

She returned to where she’d been sitting, taking a seat once more. She clutched her hands in front of her, resting them in her lap. She watched Professor Snape, who was looking at her very curiously. And not nearly quite as harshly as he usually did.

No one said anything once the two had returned to the room. No one seemed willing to break the silence. Were they afraid Professor Snape had scared her to the point she’d reject the idea?

No sense prolonging the inevitable. She took a deep breath, remembered her thoughts of the possibility of this man finding her attractive when she’d been sitting here just a few minutes ago. Not that that was why she was agreeing to do this. It did help, though. If she thought he was a horrid man, and he felt the same about her, the plan would be doomed before they even embarked on it.

It was a good idea. It would not be a good idea with someone she couldn’t stand who felt the same way about her. She didn’t know whether she could stand him, but he seemed to agree to give her time as far as her wifely duties if she gave him time to figure out how to be a husband.

“I agree,” she said finally when it was clear no one else was going to say anything.

And it dawned on her.

They were waiting for her.

This plan going forward from merely an idea to an actual plan was contingent upon her answer. Did they have a second choice? And why did that thought … bother her? Someone else taking her place in this scheme.

And it was a scheme.

True, there was probably more than a good chance it could work, however, there was also a decent possibility that it would fail. If it did, that meant that they would have to kill a child, and she’d be stuck fifty or sixty years in the past with Severus Snape and no one else, dealing with having to take a life on both of their souls.

“I do have one condition.”

“I am willing to listen,” Albus said.

He seemed amused.

He probably was at the idea that a sixteen year old witch had terms and conditions. For the moment, she was the one in charge. She doubted very highly they had a second choice. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, but if there was another option they would have approached that witch first. For the simple fact that Hermione was still sixteen, and publicly friends with Harry Potter.

“I would like through Sunday.” She held up her hand. “I would like the next few nights to do some things. I’m agreeing, but am asking for this.”

“What things?” Professor McGonagall asked.

Really? Did they think she was just going to leave tonight without doing anything to prepare for such a trip? A very permanent, one-way trip.

To the past!

Essentially alone with really no reason to believe the man she was going with would be kind to her. She had his word that he would cheat or harm her. That was something, but not everything.

Hermione laughed.

“Does it matter? I am not going to run away after saying I agree to this. I’m asking for a little less than three days to tend to some things that I wish to. It’s nothing illegal. I think I’m entitled to that. Professor Snape can come with me. In fact, I could use him, and I will be ready to go Sunday night. I assume you’d be telling Harry and Ron that I left tonight, so I can’t go back to my dorm anyway.”

“Yes, that would be the plan, heading off a threat before the Express departs tomorrow, expecting you and your parents to be there. An elf would be sent to collect your belongings.”

Logical and understandable. One thing, though, she wasn’t sure these three thought of.

“You do realize that Harry is familiar enough with the muggle world that he may go to my parents’ home at some point? Probably not over the Easter holidays, but still he’s not just going to take my leaving and let it go. My parents would still be there. I will not. He’s met them. He knows them.”

True, he’d never been to her house, but they had written to one another. He knew her address and how to read a map well enough to find it.

“We will take care of it,” the headmaster said.

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but she had to trust him. She wouldn’t know anyway whatever they decided on. And, as he’d said earlier about Severus’ disappearance being reported as a death, if they changed things, the parents that Hermione had in the new 1996 wouldn’t know anything. They would never need to be told their daughter was gone.

“And we will be given money to start? If we’re going back seventy years, we will both need completely new wardrobes, especially if you want us to try to fit in with pureblood society. A newborn baby will require things. No offense, but I can’t imagine going back and being poor while we raise him will have the desired effect you are aiming for.”

“Yes,” the headmaster said, eyes twinkling. “That can be arranged, of course. Severus has documentation of what I plan to provide.”

She smiled wryly.

“He mentioned that, yes, but I’m not sure any of you understand what goes into a baby. I’m not altogether sure myself, but I’ve babysat. And I know that an entire wardrobe for me will not be cheap.”

“As I said, a Gringotts account will be established for you and monies put into it for you. I will send you back with more than enough money to procure wardrobes and whatever supplies you may both need so that you can get started. I want this plan to succeed, Miss Granger, so I will not send you there less than prepared for a long, productive, and good life.” His eyes twinkled again. “I presume also, though he hasn’t said and I haven’t asked, that Severus will not be embarking on this trip empty handed either.”

Oh, well, sure, at thirty-six, he would certainly have some sort of savings. Presumably anyway, unless he lived frivolously.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply he would be, but you are asking us to give up literally everything. So, some compensation should be in order for that.”

“I will be sending more than enough compensation.”

“Have I not thought of anything?” This was directed to Professor Snape.

“Not that I can think of. Except one thing,” the professor said.

“Yes, Severus?”

“If things go pear shaped and we have to … take matters into our own hands, will we be able to return?”

The headmaster sighed. He didn’t like the question. He’d said a bit ago they would not be able to return. He seemed pretty adamant about that.

“If that happens, come talk to me.”

“So, no in other words.”

“I cannot answer that absolutely, but I would be inclined to say no. You will still have changed things enough between when you arrive in 1926 and when that step would have to be taken. I don’t see how you could return, as the world you’d return to would already be different than the one you are leaving. Your lives would be different to this point, hopefully. Of course, I wouldn’t know if you do, but I did warn you that you would not be able to.”

“I was just asking the question.”

“I can appreciate that,” the headmaster said. “I will ask my younger self to prepare a second set of identities for all three of you, in the event you need to leave Britain suddenly. So an escape plan, as it were, will be in place. You would also have access to the time turner I’m sending you back with, but I’d advise you not to use it to go forward as your identities - either set - won’t go that deep as to be used in today’s society say as compared to 1926, or earlier if you have to flee and chose another time instead of just another country.”

“Understood, and thank you for offering us that contingency plan of identities. We truly have no way of knowing what we will come up against with him.”

Silence as both men assessed one another. The headmaster then brought his attention back to her.

“So, you want until Sunday night, Miss Granger?”

“Yes,” she had to stop herself from saying please. She was not asking for permission. She thought it was very little to ask for. “If you wish to send Professor Snape with me, I understand but I will not run. If I didn’t want to agree I would just tell you no.”

“Unless you just don’t want to be obliviated.”

She nodded. He obviously knew she did not like the idea. At all.

“You’re right. The idea of that is abhorrent to me, I will not deny that, Headmaster. I would not lie to you to get out of it. I sense you’d know, or someone in this room would at any rate. So what would be the point in trying?”

“Severus?” the headmaster asked.

“I can accompany her. You don’t wish to go home?”

“No,” she said. “As much as I’d love to say goodbye to my parents, that would hurt too much. I believe I’m entitled to a little bit of privacy as to what I might wish to do. I will be ready to go Sunday night at this time.”

“That could work, actually,” the headmaster said. “If you wish to be declared deceased, Severus, then I will say that you met your end during a skirmish while the Grangers were fleeing. That way it can be open-ended as to which side you might have been on during the fighting. It’s better than Tom just thinking you abandoned your post.”

Professor Snape grimaced but nodded. She’d never thought about the fact that the two would have to come up with stories, or ways for Severus’ actions, to be interpreted as for or against the Order. God, why had she never thought about that? Were the rumours about him even designed to cast doubt? To make him seem … evil when he was not?

“Severus can escort you to tend to what you need to. We will see you both in seventy-two hours then.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

She and Professor Snape stood then, he walked beside her out the door and into the first office she’d come into earlier. They left it and she found herself in a hallway. She could see several doors but nothing else. She knew that there were other things there. She could see, for instance, the outline of a picture frame but the perception made it appear … fuzzy. She guessed somehow that it was magically modified so she couldn’t see anything. Did he see it that way, she wondered? The headmaster evidently trusted him so whatever this place was - a safehouse of some sort? - maybe it wasn’t distorted for him.

“Ready then?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” she said.

He regarded the notebook she held and she shrugged. She’d forgotten she even brought it with her, but she wasn’t sure if she’d need to take notes during this meeting. In her fifth year of magical school or not, for extracurricular things, she still preferred a muggle notebook and pen or pencil for some things.

“How good are you at breaking and entering, Sir?”

“I’m sorry? What?”

She couldn’t tell if he was insulted or amused by her question. Perhaps both.

“I want to break into the library.”

“The library? Are you kidding me? That’s what you want to do with your last seventy-two hours in the present time?”

“No, I’m not kidding, and yes it is.”

He scoffed with a snort. “Sure, I can manage that.”

“You don’t have anything you wish to do?” she asked, regarding him.

She had not thought of that until this moment. He had seventy-two hours left in this time, too, and she’d basically commandeered him to help her. Did he have no one to even say goodbye to or see before he traveled seventy years into the past?

“No, I had this week to tie up anything I cared to.”

She nodded. She wondered when exactly he and the headmaster had talked about this if he had the week. Had he known for a week she was the wife in the equation? Longer?

“I’d prefer the library I’m familiar with, but think the one in London would be better because it has a magical area. I’d like both, magical and muggle I mean. I don’t know where everything is there, though. My local one is smaller so they have little in the way of security measures in place. Which would you suggest?”

“I should be able to get you into the London library easily enough. I can disillusion you. Does that work? You have seventy-two hours. How much are you looking for?”

“No, you’re right. I just want to be prepared. If you think you can get me in there without incident, as I’d rather neither of us get arrested to start our Easter holidays off.”

He huffed, but gave what almost sounded like a chortle. She’d take a chortle from Severus Snape.

“Very well,” he said, offering her his arm.

“You will have to teach me how to apparate,” she said, sliding her arm over his offered one so she could sidealong with him.

He nodded his head slightly. “I just realized that to be true. We will have time to do that.”

There was no scorn, amusement, or ridicule in his voice. She wasn’t seventeen yet, so when would she have learned? She couldn’t practice at home. She’d get caught. Mrs. Weasley certainly wouldn’t let her do it at the Burrow. So, where would she have had to go to learn? And honestly, she wasn’t sure she was looking forward to learning this form of wizarding transportation. She’d be expected to do it then, and she still found it unsettling.

“Thank you, Sir.”

And just like that they were in front of a park near the library in London she had been talking about. She took heart in the fact he knew exactly which library she meant. He disillusioned them both immediately without her even having to ask him to, and she led him in the direction of the library. He was able to get them inside, and she sighed softly at the familiarity of this building. Not this particular one, but a library. The hours she’d spent in the one near her house as a child, and even on summer breaks from Hogwarts.

“You sit there,” she said, gesturing to an area with tables and chairs. She couldn’t see him so had to hope he would, in fact, grant her her privacy.

“Very well,” he said.

“There are muggle magazines over there if you get bored.”

She spent hours accumulating the information she wanted. It was wrong, she knew that, but she would not leave anything to chance, and she’d only use this information if it became necessary. She trusted the headmaster, to a point. He couldn’t possibly know or remember everything from 1926 to know how they’d truly survive. He had his mind on a war, not every day, common things. Nor did she really think he knew just how much a woman of standing and means would require as far as clothing and such. Hermione wasn’t sure herself, but she knew it was a lot. She would certainly leave here having a better idea than she did arriving here.

Still disillusioned, she approached him a few hours later, hoping he was still seated in the same spot. She set her hand on the table where his should be and felt him flinch slightly. She was grateful he knew she was who was touching him. She felt with that little flinch how powerful and strong just his hand was. If she’d been someone threatening him…

Of course, if she’d been someone else, she wouldn’t know he was there.

“There is a small conference room we can rest in for a few hours. It’s rarely ever used in the mornings that I recall from my times here, so we could rest there for a bit.”

She felt his hand clutch hers then, and she led him in the direction of the room she knew of.

“You are doing nothing but whatever it is you’re choosing to do here with your time until Sunday night?”

“Correct,” she said.

“How about if I return Sunday around noon. I will come back to this room, and you can let me know when you’re ready. If this is all you needed me for, breaking and entering and disillusioning you. Well, your disillusionment is already in place, so they’re not going to come looking for it.”

“Okay. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t blame you for running away. I would if I was you.”

She didn’t think that was true, honestly. If he’d been acting as a spy for fifteen years, he would not run away.

“Good thing I’m not you then, isn’t it?”

“Touche,” he said.

“And I don’t think you’d run away, Sir.”

She truly didn’t. He would have by now if that was the kind of man he was. It was one of the reasons she agreed to this. For all his faults, which really consisted mostly of being an unpleasant person. Maybe without a war and acting as a spy he wouldn’t be that any longer. (She had to hope!) Well, he was an honourable man. It was how she’d known he wouldn’t push to consummate their marriage immediately. He wouldn’t do that. Some would.

“Be safe then, Miss Granger,” he whispered and, just like that, he was gone with a soft pop that indicated apparition.

After about ninety minutes of rest she was ready for more research. She repeated this process more than a couple of times until she was as prepared as she thought she was going to be Sunday afternoon.

He returned promptly at noon as he said he would, dressed in muggle clothing. He’d transfigured hers the other night when they walked here from the park, giving her a coat “in case you are seen,” he’d said. She was used to seeing herself in muggle clothes. She was not used to seeing Severus Snape in muggle clothes. She squinted, certain she was seeing things when she first noticed his T-shirt, advertising The Kinks. She’d never pictured him doing muggle things like listening to The Kinks records.

He did, she noticed, page through some muggle magazines while he waited for her. At least he hadn’t been completely bored for the few more hours it took her before she felt ready. She wondered what he’d done with two and a half days of unexpected free time before knowing he was leaving for the past a few hours from now.

It was about two o’clock when they left and she led him down the street to a local inn she knew about.

“We are here why?” He didn’t sound upset, confused and maybe a little frightened as to why she’d lead him here. That amused her for some reason.

“To sleep? I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. Sleeping a couple of hours at a time on a floor was not my ideal form of rest. I don’t imagine going back seventy years is going to be a cake walk on our bodies. Maybe you went home and slept for almost seventy hours, but we have until nine o’clock tonight. I’m going to use it.”

“I would agree, but we cannot. It would not be proper.”

“Get a room with two beds. Good grief. We are going to spend the next hundred or so years together. Married. Are you going to accost me while I sleep?”

“No, Miss Granger, I think I can refrain from doing so today.”

“Then you’ll just have to trust that I can, too,” she said cheekily.

She knew that he would not accost her.

Some doubted his loyalty to the Order, but Hermione did not. She wasn’t sure why exactly, other than the fact that the headmaster trusted him. To this point he did things she found odd or questioned, but not to the point she doubted him trusting Severus Snape. She knew she was safe with him. He wouldn’t have chosen him in this if he at all doubted his loyalty.

If he was still a death eater, there’d be nothing stopping him from going back to the past and making Tom Riddle worse than he was now. Or, for that matter, take his place. He’d have the know-how, and he’d know the names of people who would be connections to do that.

He did as directed, getting them a room for the upcoming night with two beds. They’d be gone before sunset, but she was exhausted and wanted some decent rest in a room with a bed, and a bathroom she could maybe shower, or at least freshen up, in when she woke up.

“May I ask why you spent most of three days and nights in a library?” he asked when they were in the room, settling on their respective beds. “I assure you they did exist where we’re going.”

“No, you may not, and I’m aware that they exist. Obviously, since the headmaster said a librarian was a potential position for me to hold. I will tell you when we get where we’re going.”

“Fair enough.”

“Severus,” she said after a while of quiet between them.

“I thought you wanted to sleep, Granger.”

She took heart in the fact he hadn’t corrected her use of his given name. That had to mean something good, didn’t it? “Why did you suggest the deaging potion?”

“Because I have enough things against you choosing me even when I’m twenty-four years old let alone thirty-six.”

She turned onto her side, sliding a hand under her pillow as she yawned and regarded him. “I’d beg to differ.”

“This is about perception, Miss Granger. People will need to believe we are young and in love. I am not attractive or kind nor am I personable or funny, I am not uncommonly wealthy. That is not to say that I cannot support a wife. I have been most frugal over the years so she, you since there is now a specific witch in the equation, will be comfortable. All I truly have is my intelligence, but people have to be convinced that you gave me the time of day in the first place to get to where we courted let alone married.”

“Mm,” she said, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m not exactly the catch of the century either, Sir,” she whispered.

“In whose eyes? Mr. Weasley’s? He wouldn’t recognize a catch if it hit him in the head. Did you not see the way Mr. Krum looked at you last year? If you’d been a little older I wager having you as my wife would not have been an option in this scheme Albus has concocted because you’d already be taken, which would mean there would be no scheme.”

“Which I don’t understand, Sir. You hate me.”

He scoffed. He turned onto his side then, facing her. The sound of movement made her open her eyes. If she thought she knew him at all, she’d think he looked pensive, thoughtful.

“I don’t hate you, Miss Granger. Do you truly think that I would commit to spending the rest of my life with someone I hated? I’m not a masochist, contrary to the rumours about me. I hope that you give me more credit than thinking I would do that. And it will be the rest of our lives, don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. I asked Albus about our returning for your sake. To drive home the point we will be stuck in the past. Together. I suppose that we could agree to live separately and concoct a believable story as to why, but divorces especially then were not done.”

“I know,” she said.

Especially in the wizarding world. She was fully aware of what she was agreeing to, and who she was agreeing to do it with. There really would be no way out, no going back, no waking up a week from now deciding she was having second thoughts.

“Can you be insufferable? Yes. Have you consistently turned in assignments longer than they should have been? Yes. Do I have time to read an extra six inches with every assignment turned in? No. Just think if every student did that! Have you learned yet that life exists outside of a book? I’m still not sure, but do believe that you are beginning to. I can acknowledge that fact. Are you intelligent? One of the most intelligent people I’ve had the experience of meeting in my lifetime? Yes and yes. I’m not the only one who thinks so, in the event you’re going to argue that I’m only thirty-six. Are you loyal? One only has to look at your friendship with Potter and Weasley to know the answer to that question is yes. Is that both a strength and a weakness? Yes. Have I been acting as a spy for the past sixteen or so years so that treating a Gryffindor muggleborn witch who is best friend’s of my supposed master’s enemy with an ounce of preference or kindness would be suspect? Unequivocally yes. Under normal circumstances, would it have been enjoyable to have someone so curious as a student? I’d like to say yes, but I’ve never taught under normal circumstances to say for certain. Have I been torn in virtually three directions the entire time that you have been a student at Hogwarts as a result of the Dark Lord’s attempts, and his ultimate return, so perhaps have been even more intolerant of things like six extra inches of an essay every time than usual? Yes. Am I inherently a miserable son of a bitch, regardless of the current climate cutting into my personal downtime? Yes.”

She snorted.

“I will do my best not to cut into your personal downtime, Sir, and I apologize that I have little to contribute to this plan that’s tangible.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged. Was he really asking that?

“Well, I mean that I have no money or anything of value to contribute. I have no things to even bring with me for that matter. The only thing I have that is my own really is my familiar, my cat, Crookshanks. I’d love to bring him with us, but I don’t think he’d time travel seventy years very well. He hates apprating! My parents are alive and well here, but not where we’re going. So I have no hope of gaining an inheritance or anything else that I might count on. Add to that you’re putting a lot of faith in the fact that I’m going to raise Tom Riddle, the person I know only as the maniac trying to kill my best friend, to be any different. It seems all I’m really bringing to the table is my intelligence.”

“We are both taking a huge chance, Granger. Essentially, we will be the only one each other has. I knew going into it that you would bring nothing into this but your person and your mind. You do not need an inheritance. I am aware of the time period we are going back to, and have no problems supporting you. I don’t gamble, I don’t womanize, I’m not a man who needs a months’ worth of clothes in my closet to feel good about myself, and I don’t drink or eat to excess so my money will not be spent frivolously on things. Books, I suppose, and potions items.”

“Oh, but I’d use those, too!”

He chuckled softly then, turning onto his back once again. She’d never heard him laugh and wondered if his turning away was a defense mechanism. He didn’t want her to hear him? Either way, she sensed it was time to go to sleep, and wondered when he decided sleeping as they were here to do was, in fact, a wise idea.

“I’m not sure I love your enthusiasm or not, but I am grateful that my wife will be so easily pleased with books and potions ingredients.”

“Oh, well, that’s not all that would please me.”

“Sleep, Granger. This was your idea, I agreed to it because it was a valid one. You are right, we have no idea what such a trip will do to us, physically or mentally. You were just presented with this idea the other night. I was not, so I am not unprepared. I imagine whatever you were doing at the library these few days was your effort to ensure you are not completely unprepared either. I assure you that we will not be destitute nor bored. I will see to it.”

“Thank you,” she said finally.

She turned to lay on her back as well.

That made her feel better. He’d known about this idea before Thursday night, probably before this week he’d mentioned earlier, so he had time to prepare. He might not be the nicest person, but she could not deny that he was an exact and precise one. Clearly, if he’d been a spy for most of her life, and survived, he knew how to get things done.

“Turn your mind off, Granger,” he hissed.

She gave a soft chuckle and then proceeded to do just that, though it wasn’t easy. She had so many questions and so much to think about.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Two***

“What do you mean Hermione’s gone?” Ron asked when they gathered in their common room the morning after Harry told Hermione the headmaster asked to see her.

“She’s not there and obviously hadn’t slept there,” Lavender said, not sounding at all disappointed in this turn of events. “Professor McGonagall collected her things and said that she wouldn’t be back.”

“I’m going to find out what’s going on,” Harry said. That wasn’t like Hermione. At all. Was that what the headmaster wanted with her? To send her away? Why wouldn’t he let Harry say goodbye? When would she be back?

He made his way to Professor McGonagall’s office, knocking on the door lightly. He wished he could go right to the headmaster, but that wasn’t possible. If this was his fault. If something had happened because of him. Well… he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. His thoughts had always gone to the Weasleys, something happening to them because of Ron’s involvement with Harry. They at least knew what they were up against with Voldemort and had a chance of protecting themselves.

“Mr. Potter,” their head of house said when she opened the door. “Why aren’t you getting ready to leave?”

“Where’s Hermione?”

Her eyes widened a bit, her lips tightened as she peered at him over the tops of her glasses. “The headmaster hasn’t gotten word to you?”

Harry swallowed hard at that. So something had happened. “No,” Harry said.

She sighed heavily and ushered him further into her office, closing the door behind him.

“I’m afraid there was what the headmaster, Professor Snape, and I considered to be a credible threat from a reliable source against the Grangers.”

“What kind of threat?”

“Not one I’m privy to discuss with you, Mr. Potter. Hermione was escorted home last night. They will have a day or two to get their affairs in order and then we will get them to safety.”

“But if they’re in danger…”

“Mr. Potter. I assure you that we know what we’re doing.”

“Assuming Snape isn’t giving you misinformation to get Hermione exactly where the death eaters and He Who Must Not Be Named want her. Away from the castle she’s most protected in!”

“Mr. Potter. Are you questioning not just the headmaster but my decision making as well?”

He bowed his head. It did sound as if he was doing just that, didn’t it? His shoulders slumped a bit. He trusted the headmaster and his head of house. So did Hermione for that matter.

“No,” he said.

“I assure you they are not unguarded while they prepare to leave. Albus was supposed to get word to you, but he might still be occupied with the situation. I will let you know as soon as I am aware they have been taken away to safety.”

“Thank you. She didn’t like, say goodbye or anything?”

“I’m sure she’ll have something for you. It was all very sudden and we had to act quickly. Give her a moment to ensure her parents are truly safe.”

“Thanks,” he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He had no idea what to say. Her parents were in danger. Because of him. Because she was his friend.

“Now, go get ready, Mr. Potter.”

“Can I tell Ron?”

“You may tell Mr. Weasley as she was going with you to his home. He will of course notice she’s missing. No one else. Do you understand me? We can’t take the chance that anyone will leak information to someone they shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

Neville could be trusted, but there was no sense telling him anything that he didn’t know the details of anyway.

“The headmaster will speak to Arthur and Molly, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. That was his next thought. Were they going to be told anything? They’d be expecting her. Ginny would be, too.

“Try to have a good holiday, Mr. Potter. She is protected and in good hands. I assure you.”

He huffed softly, but nodded before scratching the scar on his forehead. It wasn’t bothering him, but it was instinctive when something didn’t seem right these days to seek it out.

“I will.” He turned then and returned to their common room.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know much,” he said. He checked to ensure they were alone with no one listening. “She went home early.”

“Home?” Ron asked.

“Yes, home.”

Ron glanced around the common room and nodded a bit, as if he understood Harry couldn’t tell him more than he had. At least not here.

“Right. Well, we’ll see her Sunday I’m sure for dinner.”

It didn’t sound like that was true, but Harry simply shrugged. He’d get Ron alone when they got to his house and fill him in on what McGonagall had told him. Not that it was much.

What kind of threat? Sometimes he hated being The Boy Who Lived. Whatever the threat was, it was his fault. She was his friend and in danger because of that. He put her, and her parents, in danger. He’d have to live with that if something happened to her.

And he was supposed to just sit here and keep quiet!

He hated this!

Could he get away from the Weasleys and call her house? He wasn’t sure Mrs. Weasley would let him out of her sight long enough to do that. He couldn’t really ask Ron to run interference for him, because he’d want to come with. Ginny. Well, she’d probably get mad. She didn’t seem jealous of Hermione, but there were times he felt the younger witch thought there was more to his relationship with Hermione than friendship. Not true. Beyond, he supposed, family like he never had with the Dursleys.

He huffed realizing, unless an opportunity appeared out of nowhere, he wasn’t going to get away to make a phone call. And, well, as much as he loved Hermione and wanted to be sure she was, in fact, okay. He couldn’t put himself at risk for a phone call. The Burrow was safe. He knew that was why he was going there.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Three***

April 7, 1996

It was a few hours later when they woke up. Well, when she woke up. She wondered if he truly slept. She doubted it. It was nice of him to indulge her, and there was no doubt that was exactly what he’d done. He was stronger and more powerful than she was. He could have carried her away if he really wanted to. Perhaps he enjoyed a few hours of being able to turn his mind off even if he didn’t sleep. She knew she appreciated those moments when they happened. She did know that she felt safe here with him, and she took that as a good sign.

“I, too, have a stop to make,” he said once they’d ensured they had everything they brought with them. That sort of surprised her. She assumed he’d come to the library ready to go back to the headmaster. “I’ve sent a patronus to Albus letting him know we have been slightly delayed but will be there within an hour. I didn’t want him thinking you, or I, had fled.”

She’d taken longer than he had, wanting to freshen herself up after essentially three days in the same clothes. He hadn’t complained and new clothes, complete with bra and knickers were on the edge of the sink when she was done with the shower. She had blushed a bit at that, because she hadn’t noticed him open the door to the bathroom to put them there. She knew he hadn’t come in and looked at her or anything. He would have only had to open it far enough to summon her clothes and then put the new ones down. There was even a note.

Your other clothes will be in the room’s rubbish bin if you truly wish to take them with you.

He hadn’t signed it, but that was unnecessary under the circumstances. She would recognize his handwriting anywhere anyway. The gesture was appreciated. Very much. Putting on clothes she’d worn for days after showering wasn’t appealing even with the benefit of a cleansing charm, but she hadn’t had a choice.

He’d thought of her!

“Sure,” she said.

She slid her hand into the crook of his arm, grasping tightly when he told her he was ready to apparate them.

“Oh,” she said once they’d arrived at their destination.

The utterance came out before she could censure it, but she kept quiet after that. This must be his home. Leaving or not in a few hours, he was letting her see it. She sensed he didn’t do that lightly. She kept her mouth shut despite having so many questions! Now was not the time, she knew that.

That didn’t mean she didn’t look her fill, though.

It was … not at all what she expected. Not that she’d ever taken much time to think of what Severus Snape’s house would be like. This, though, looked like a muggle house. Was he muggleborn? She certainly hadn’t gotten that impression. She assumed because of him being in Slytherin and a death eater…

Well, she obviously had assumed wrong, or he’d managed to hide his true roots very well. Or there was another option, she supposed, being that he was a spy. He wasn’t muggleborn, and just happened to have a house in muggle society. She could imagine that would be tempting, especially considering she doubted very highly that many death eaters would know much about muggle society to look for a house in his name here.

“I can see you taking this in. My father was a muggle,” he said with a shake of his head. The shake was as he looked at the living room, not aimed at her. Or didn’t seem to be, thankfully. Surely he’d expect her to be curious about his home.

He obviously had no love for this house. She thought that was quite sad. She loved her house growing up. She had so many memories in it between holidays and birthdays and just little things like learning to make tea for the first time.

“I’ve left you speechless, I see. I never thought I’d see that happen. This is where I grew up. As I’ve been a spy for over fifteen years, I assumed my life came with an expiration date that would arrive sooner rather than later. So I never found another home. Why bother when I was just going to die? I have asked Albus to destroy all of this once I have been declared dead,” he said.

That was … both incredibly sad and brave. Sad, because that meant he assumed he’d likely be killed. Brave. Well, for the same reason. He did it, did the job, expecting to die. And no one knew but the headmaster.

And now she did.

“Why?”

“I do not want anyone, followers of the Dark Lord or the Order, combing through my belongings for a hint as to which side I was truly loyal to. I have been very careful not to leave evidence of either being true, but people are curious. And morbid. So I don’t doubt someone would come here. A few know of this domicile. I really don’t want anyone to know the truth, except those who do, which consists of Albus and now you. Anything that I truly want is coming with me.”

“But these books!”

He shook his head, giving a low chuckle. “I have told Albus he can take those, but to ensure there are no papers or anything else identifiable inside them before he adds them to the Hogwarts library.”

“Oh, but Sir,” she said. Her heart hurt at the idea of so many books being just left behind.

“Relax, Granger, I will amass a new collection, I promise you. Any I truly feel are necessary are already coming with us. Some only you and I will have access to because of their publication dates. I also can’t take everything with me. If I’m to be pronounced dead, I can’t have it obvious I went through my things. All of my books being missing would be suspicious, to both sides. I will be a few minutes. Have a seat, or look around as I’m sure you’re dying to do. However, do not touch anything. Some of these books are dark and could hurt you.”

“I understand,” she said.

She presumed the headmaster would know which of them would harm someone and either put them somewhere safe, or remove the charm.

She got so caught up in just reading the various titles that she paid little attention to how long he was gone, or the fact that he’d returned. It was longer than a few minutes she knew. That knowledge was based on how many titles she was able to peruse.

“You’re lucky your beast is acquainted with me,” he said.

“What?” she asked, realizing now he was holding Crookshanks! Oh, and again, bestill her heart. He’d gone to get her familiar so she could say goodbye to him! “Crooks,” she said.

“He is calm, so I suggest leaving him be with me for the time being. Albus and I can incapacitate him for the trip, but you will be responsible for holding onto him. I have a … carrier device I think will be suitable. If for some reason Albus disagrees, you will have to decide where you wish him to go.”

“Oh! Yes, Sir, I understand,” she said. The fact that he even took to heart that she might want to take him with if she could meant a lot. “How did you get him?”

“With my … side duties I have permission to apparate into my office at Hogwarts. I know where he frequents.”

“Oh,” she said.

“No one saw me.”

“I don’t doubt you. I,” she paused. She fought the instinct to hug him, sensing he wouldn’t appreciate that. She settled for verbal acknowledgement of her gratitude. “Thank you, Sir. Really, thank you.” She was fairly certain it was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had done for her.

She would have Crooks! He went to get him for her.

He set him down gently, and she wondered what he’d done to him. She trusted he hadn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t have brought him here if he’d harmed him or anything.

“Now, I wish I had more time to teach you how to do this, but I will when we arrive so that you can have one available to you. I imagine that we will have months for me to teach you everything you will need to know that you aren’t supposed to know yet due to your age.”

He showed her what looked like a basic school bag she’d seen many wizards use. She herself had a standard muggle backpack.

“I have an undetectable extension charm,” he explained. “I cannot take much with us as I said for obvious reasons, but I thought it might come in handy even after we’ve arrived. I have converted all of my muggle funds to wizarding funds with Albus’ assistance, so no one would notice me stockpiling money. The galleon hasn’t changed, so cashing them in seventy years ago won’t be a problem. I will show you the charm, though, so you can do one yourself when we arrive as we will have time for me to do so.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why am I going to teach you something? Did you fall and hit your head while I was gone, Granger? Perhaps I should be worried that someone else raided my stores and made polyjuice potion to impersonate you.”

She ducked her head, unable to stop from smiling.

He made a joke!

The first time she thought he might have, it had been subtle. This though, he was very obviously attempting to be funny.

“If things do go pear shaped and we are not allowed to return here, we should have the bare minimum to make an escape and start anew on us. The other papers Albus will have prepared for us, extra clothes, a bit of money, and so forth. I don’t want to say at all times, as I’d hope things wouldn’t go bad until he gets to school. However, you should have your own bag, with your own things in it, ready to go where only you and I know where it is.”

“Oh, yes, Sir, I understand.”

“And you are sure that you do not wish to say goodbye to your parents?”

“And say what exactly?” She shrugged. She absolutely wanted to see them, but she knew she couldn’t. “I thought about that Thursday night when we left the headmaster’s office, or wherever we were. It would be too difficult. I didn’t even ask what Headmaster Dumbledore is telling or doing with them. I, quite frankly, don’t want to know. I won’t ever need to know if we accomplish what we set out to do.”

“That is quite brave, Miss Granger.”

She shrugged as she didn’t think so. She was making a decision that if they were even remotely aware of what had been asked of her. Well, they would have forbidden it. If she went to see them, they’d know something was going on. They weren’t stupid.

“I’m not being brave, Professor. I’m being selfish. If I showed up at their house in the middle of the school year out of the blue after telling them I was going to spend the Easter holidays with the Weasleys, they’d know something was wrong. I have managed to keep them from knowing the severity of the situation to this point. They read the Daily Prophet on occasion, but I’ve pointed to the stories that are obvious lies, so I think they believe the paper is the equivalent of The Sun . I haven’t bothered correcting that misconception. I just don’t want to alarm them. I figure if we do this right, they’ll have ten months or so of wondering, of living with whatever story Dumbledore concocts. And then I guess if we succeed,” she shrugged. “I mean, surely, just raising him in a home will make some sort of difference so the future should change however slightly that difference makes. Well, they won’t wonder anymore. Will they? Or I won’t know they are. I guess I don’t know, and that’s what I came back to. What would I possibly say to them?”

“It’s brave, Granger. Sometimes bravery is doing what we can to hurt those we care for less.”

“Are there people that you care for, Sir?”

“Just you, an unborn child, and, it seems, your familiar at this point.”

“Mm,” she said, eyeing him.

She wasn’t sure if she should take comfort in that or not. She wasn’t going to pity him. He wouldn’t want that, and would likely know. It was somewhat sad, though.

Was there truly no one who would miss this man? He was thirty-six years old. Certainly there was someone? And yet at the school functions she’d seen him at, he was always alone. Members of the Order never spoke of a witch, a mum, or anyone.

Was that why he was agreeing to do this? That made her incredibly sad once more. If he had been acting as a spy for fifteen to sixteen years, obviously it had been a very lonely job. One causing the very people that he was trying to help to hate and be suspicious of him.

How did he manage? Who did he trust? Who did he talk to?

He wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone. The headmaster. It seemed the two had a relationship, but she imagined that it was rather one-sided.

“I assume when we return you’ll have things to do as far as completing preparations as well as taking the potion and such?”

“Yes,” he said.

“May I speak with Professor McGonagall while you do that?”

“You do not need to ask permission from me, Granger. I am not your keeper, nor would I aspire to prevent you from saying goodbye to someone you care about who seems to hold the same regard for you. Now, if you wanted to spend ten thousand pounds on an automobile when we arrive in the past, that is something that I would suggest we should discuss together beforehand. However, pricey automobiles, an entire household’s worth of new draperies, or something similar aside, I trust your decision making skills. I am not going to make you account for every second and hour or galleon and penny spent.”

“Well, I don’t know if the plan was to take it and leave, but I’d assume there’d be some time involved for the potion to take effect, ensure that there are no ill effects, and then we’d leave.”

“There will be no ill effects, but you assume correctly, and I should imagine Minerva would enjoy being the last person you speak to before we embark on this journey.”

“Funny to think you’ll teach her,” she said.

“And you could be her librarian.”

“Will that be odd for you? She was your professor, but I get the impression you are friendly now.”

“We are. As friendly as I can be with someone who allowed people to bully me when I was a student. And, no, I will not answer questions on that, at least not here. At this time.”

“Sure, I understand,” she said.

Though she wanted to know, and she saw in his eyes that he knew she did. Was this a test to see if she could, in fact, leave something alone without picking at it?

“I have everything I came for, plus a half kneazle it seems,” he said.

He handed the satchel to her while he picked up Crookshanks. She rather enjoyed watching how … gentle he was with her familiar.

“Are you ready then to return to your head of house and the headmaster?”

“Yes,” she said, moving beside him again so she could hold his arm while he apparated them. “I do have one question.”

“Of course you do.”

“Where did the headmaster meet with me?”

“Oh, an Order property. I suppose you could call it a safehouse, but it’s much more than that.”

“I would imagine so if he’s staying there and was able to connect it to Professor McGonagall’s office.”

“That portkey was the doorknob and keyed to you. No one else would have been transported. Minerva knows how to get there herself, so could have apparated. She wanted to be with you so you weren’t taken by surprise. Well, anymore than you were.”

“I see.”

That explained it then. She wondered. Though she supposed if someone was touching a portkey and someone was touching them they could be taken with. Otherwise how would families with small children travel? A baby wouldn’t be able to grasp a portkey. Things like that she’d honestly never thought to look into. It wasn’t as if she was going to travel via portkey with her parents.

“Are you ready now?”

“Yes.”

He nodded then and apparated them back to where they’d been a little more than seventy-two hours ago.

“Ah, there they are. I will inform Minerva you’ve returned.”

“That will do well, as Miss Granger asked to speak with her before we leave.”

“We expected as much, did we not, Severus?”

“We did,” Severus said.

“No second thoughts then, Miss Granger?”

“Oh, plenty, Sir, but I said I’d do this. Unless you can tell me a specific reason why I should go back on my word, I will go through with it. You let me do what I wanted to do. I appreciate that. I am ready.”

Well, ready may not be exactly accurate, but she was here and said she’d do it. And if the headmaster and Professor Snape were suggesting she was the most viable candidate for this endeavour. Well, who was she to argue with them? And what was she supposed to do? Say, no? Find someone else, and let Harry die? Let the world go even more to hell in a handbasket?

If they did this. If they succeeded … no one would die. Harry would have his parents! She knew, too, that Ronald’s uncles were killed as well as classmates like Susan Bones who lost their entire family. Neville’s parents would be functional for him. Would he be much different being raised by them instead of his grandmother? She had to think so.

“I can’t think of any. If I didn’t think you and Severus combined could do this I wouldn’t be sending you on this project.”

She hoped not. It was still immensely risky, but she supposed his thought was that it couldn’t be worse than where they were right now. She and Professor Snape had already discussed the idea of what would happen if they discovered they couldn’t change Tom Riddle. Obviously, they had more to talk about with regard to that, but they both realized that this, in fact, may not work.

“I will show you where you can wait. Minerva will join you when she gets here. There are books there, so you should be content until she arrives.”

“I thought…”

“What?” Professor Snape said.

“Are you not marrying us?”

“My past-self will be instructed to do so when you arrive. We cannot have anything here documenting a marriage between you two. The date of the bonding must match what’s on the papers. We can’t have someone casting a spell and seeing you were married in 1996.”

“Oh,” she said. She hadn’t even thought of that. Of course they couldn’t. Silly of her not to realize.

The headmaster smiled at her. “Does that have an effect on your decision?”

“Well, what’s to stop Professor Snape, or me for that matter, from getting to where we’re going and saying to hell with everyone else, we’re alive and well, and just leaving?”

“Well, first of all, you will be leaving from here and arriving here. I didn’t have an Order of the Phoenix seventy years ago, but you can be assured at that time I was not alone in trying to find solutions to that existing problem. Many meetings and sharing of information have taken place in this home over the years. As it so happens, I was at this house perusing texts and such the date I’ve chosen according to my diary. So, the timing works well. Second of all, there was a reason I chose the both of you. Neither of you would think that way, let alone act so selfishly. So, Miss Granger, your question is valid. In the event I have underestimated your commitment to this project, and the stability of our world and your best friend’s life. Well, if either of you, individually or together, think that you can outrun me and my wards. Well, that would be for you to decide to attempt. I would think you wouldn’t risk being unable to complete your task before it even began.”

“Of course, Sir,” she said.

“And Miss Granger, whether it is in 1926 or 1996, I expect great things out of you. I will not be able to say that to you again, but know that it is true. I speak for every professor here at Hogwarts who’s had the privilege of teaching you. Even Severus. I would think that alone would stop you. Not my - or our - expectation of it necessarily, but the knowledge that you could achieve it and maybe you, your younger self could read about it. Your peers could be taught about it.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

That thought made her somewhat giddy with excitement at the potential, as well as incredibly nervous. Imagine reading about yourself and not knowing it was you.

Professor Snape showed her to a small room, different from the one she’d sat in Thursday. There were indeed books here. She wasn’t really interested in reading anything, though, as she waited for Professor McGonagall to arrive. She perused titles and some of the art on the wall, but her mind was on other things.

What would the next seventy years be like? She knew her history, certainly muggle history better than magical since that was what she was raised with. The muggles’ World War II would take place during this time. There would be a Depression before that, she knew. Would Severus have planned for that? Would the headmaster have accounted for that when deciding what (how much) to send them back with?

The door opened and Hermione turned, smiling at her head of house.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Professor.”

“I think Minerva will do for today, don’t you?”

“Of course, and Hermione, obviously. Please.”

“Albus will not tell me what names he’s sending you back with.”

“I would imagine that despite trusting you that would be counterproductive to do. We’re going to be there for months before Tom’s born.”

“Agreed. Severus and Albus mentioned you wanted to speak with me?”

“Well, I don’t know what to do,” she said.

“You agreed already…”

“No, I know I agreed. I’m not even seventeen. How do I be a mum? How do I be a wife? How do I make them happy? How do I make him happy,” she said, gesturing to the door. “He let me call him Severus earlier. Well, I should rephrase that, he didn’t yell at me for doing it. We were having a conversation, it seemed appropriate. I’m assuming he agreed based on him doing nothing, but prior to that when I told him to call me Hermione he said he wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, Hermione. That is an excellent question, and one I’m not sure I can answer capably. I don’t think many know Severus,” she said. “I have not been married for many years as you may know, and have never been a parent. I have been a professor, of course, to students who reside with us ten months out of the year for many years. Be fair, be stern when you need to be, but let him know why the rules are what they are. That goes for magical and things not magical just as well.”

“As far as Severus, I think the same could be true for him on a more adult level,” she said with a slight frown. “Are you aware of his history?”

“Um, very little. I mean, I know he was a student here when Harry’s mum and dad, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were. He was Slytherin. His father was muggle. He told me that, I hadn’t known that. That’s about all I know.”

“You must not repeat what I’m about to tell you. He would probably be angry with me for telling you, but as you’re traveling quite a distance and won’t have anyone to ask or confide in, I feel it’s my place to tell you.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, suddenly feeling a little frightened. What was she going to tell her? Something worse than his having been a death eater?

“He was friends with Lily Evans, Harry’s mum, prior to attending Hogwarts. She was, from my understanding, his only friend. Period. He had some friends at Hogwarts, fellow Slytherins, but they were primarily those he could do things for or get things from. Tit for tat if you will. I’m afraid I may have …” she sighed here. “Well, let’s just say James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter may have gone too far in some of their antics toward him. They suspected he was heading in the direction that wizards like Avery, Mulciber, and Malfoy were trying to lead him. I’m ashamed, now, to admit that I really did nothing. They were from better families. They were personable and social where Severus was, well, none of those things. It was entirely too easy to put the reputation of good boys whose parents had money to spend and who most everyone liked over one who wasn’t so good and had no money. Looking back we all should have been firmer. I should have been firmer with them, and maybe not as firm with him. I can’t help but think that I contributed to some of what happened.”

“Which is?”

“Well, he took the Mark, Dear, became a death eater. He wasn’t always a spy. He came to Albus sometime in 1980 from my understanding. I’m not privy to everything. He overheard a prophecy,” she said and Hermione gasped. She knew where this was heading. “He reported it to You Know Who, not realizing at the time that it involved his old friend. His old friend who was no longer speaking to him by that point, and hadn’t been since,” she paused. “I suppose the end of their fifth year. James.” She shook her head and stood and Hermione wondered what was coming. “I wasn’t there, mind you, I presume it was a dangling jinx. Lily was witness to at least part of it and, from my understanding, joined in the laughter after reversing the spell. I don’t think she meant to be mean. She was sixteen. We all laugh at inappropriate things. He called her a mudblood, and she never forgave him. He tried,” she shrugged. “There was more to it than that. I’m giving you broad strokes because you have the right to know, but I won’t embarrass him anymore than that. He would hate that I told you even that much, but I think it’s important for you to know. He was not a very nice boy. Those in with You Know Who did more to bring that darkness out then we did to counteract it, I’m afraid. He thought at the time that he was in love with her. I don’t think he meant it when he called her that. I will not lie to you and say he hadn’t called other muggleborn witches and wizards that slur. He was humiliated, embarrassed, and he lashed out as a sixteen year old is wont to do. I don’t think he thought of her that way, and likely may not have been fully aware of who was there and who he called that. A mudblood I mean.”

“He was in love with her?”

“Mm. So the story goes, according to Albus. From my perspective, having observed them more than Albus did. I don’t think he was. She certainly was not in love with him, which is the reason I’m telling you all of this. Albus does. Albus believes he still loves her. I do not. I think he mistook friendship, positive attention, and kindness for love. It was something he never had at home to compare what he felt for her to anything else. Albus has a fixation on love, something I think may be to his detriment. I admit in this case, with Tom Riddle, I do think he is onto something. That is why I agreed to let him present this idea to you to begin with. If there was ever a case where love could make a difference, I think this is one. And I don’t mean solely for Tom either. You are only five months from turning seventeen to him being thirty-seven a little over three months after that. Severus has, other than his few years of friendship with Lily, never really known kindness, caring, friendship, or love. He and Tom aren’t that different in that respect. His parents were both abusive, to one another and to him. How bad it was exactly, I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone knows. It was a different time, the seventies, so things like that weren’t … reported as they might be now. His mother was a pureblood who married a muggle, and was disowned as a result. I think initially it was okay, but they lived in a mill town, Cokeworth. Work started getting less and less, which led to shorter hours and less money and more drinking and hotter tempers. Severus could not afford new items or even quality used ones when he came to Hogwarts, so you can imagine from the beginning, in the climate of 1971, he was treated poorly by the likes of those who came from families who could afford the nicest things. He was smart, though, as you are aware, and soon proved his worth to others. He was never fully accepted, even by the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Tolerated. Liked for what he could do, and what he was likely to achieve if he took to their side of things. He got their attention, for certain. I think that was what crushed him most when he found out the prophecy was about Lily, and why he agreed to be a spy. He didn’t become a death eater to rob, beat, and murder people. I’m not saying he never engaged in such activities. I’m sure that he did. He was not a saint nor was he really even a very good person. He had blood on his hands before he became a spy. He joined because he wanted acceptance. Power. To belong. I recognize the signs now, which does him no good I’m afraid. I think Lily was the first one who seemed to accept him as he was, and he mistook that for romantic interest, both on her part and on his own. The main difference between Tom and Severus is that Severus did have parents. Just a set that didn’t care about him when it mattered.”

“I guess so.”

“So, my advice, Dear? Love him. I know you’re not going to love him tomorrow, Hermione. I’m not suggesting that you fake it or lie to him. He’d see right through that, but even he wants to be loved. Be kind, be gentle yet firm. Most of all, be patient. His tongue can be razor sharp at times. I know you’ve seen evidence of that, but you haven’t seen him at his worst. Sometimes I believe he uses it as a weapon so that people will retaliate against him negatively. That way he can tell himself he was right not to befriend them. If he says something unkind, count to ten - twenty if you have to - before you reply, and do so calmly. Take a moment to ascertain if he’s truly being spiteful, or trying to provoke you into reacting bitterly. Treat him well, let him know that he is indeed special and worthy of you. Of love. Of this task giving him a second chance at life, and regardless of how things turn out with Tom it is what he’s getting in a roundabout way. Do not let him believe you think you deserve less than those things in return. Did you ever take in a wounded bird or animal as a child?”

“Sure,” she said.

She’d never been allowed to keep any of them, but her mum had helped her more than once with a kitten or a bird. They even found a baby hawk in the park once that had obviously fallen out of its nest. Hermione and her mum had (carefully) moved it out of harm’s way from being stepped on and offered it water and such while her dad called the authorities.

“Do what you’d do for them, for that is essentially what he is. A thirty-six year old stray, injured, and hurting animal. He was forced to do this job, teaching potions I mean. He didn’t want it, but both his masters wanted it for him. I honestly don’t know what Severus originally aspired to be, but I know it wasn’t a professor, teaching students who years before were guilty of ridiculing him. He has had to live with the knowledge he ratted out his only friend. You and I both know, and he may realize by now as well, that the prophecy would have gotten to You Know Who one way or the other. It just got to him sooner than it might have ordinarily by Severus overhearing it. He had eyes and ears everywhere. Severus Snape did not kill Lily and James Potter, but Albus has certainly done a good job of impressing on the wizard he may as well have the past fifteen years.”

“I,” she said.

Minerva chuckled. “Again, you can never tell him I said all of this.”

“I won’t tell him.”

It was certainly a lot to digest and process. It also explained a lot as to his dislike of Harry. Something told her she’d have time to sort through all that Minerva just said. Would it help make her life easier? His? She hoped so.

“Thank you. I’m not suggesting, mind you, that you be a doormat and don’t ever stand up for yourself. He would not want that. Well, he may think that he does, but ultimately he would not. He is a strong man to match being a strong wizard. He may come across as not caring as a professor, but he would very much want to see you live up to your potential. You can be equally as strong as he is, and do not ever let yourself think otherwise, regardless of the time you’re living. Be yourself. Albus is right, you have given Harry something he never had growing up. His relationship with Ronald is different. It’s not rooted in affection the same way yours is, but I’ve never heard you kowtow to them, or let them get away with things they shouldn’t. Just remember the time you’ll be in. If you do stand up for yourself, the appropriate time to do so would not be in front of that child or company, even young Albus.”

“So Harry’s mum was from Cokeworth, too?”

“Yes, but they were in a much better way. Not to the Potters’ level but certainly better. I don’t know the details, but I get the impression it was somewhat a fluke they met at all.”

“Ah,” Hermione said.

“In a way I’m somewhat envious of the both of you.”

“Why?”

Minerva said. “You have a chance to escape. Not just the war, but your pasts. To start over. To make your lives what you want them to be with knowledge of the future. You, at your age, have little to regret, I’m not saying you have no regrets. I think Severus, having such a hands on task that won’t result in torture and physical pain, will find it does wonders for his personality.”

“He’s tortured?”

“Oh, my dear, yes. Rarely does he come back from a meeting with You Know Who unharmed. I’ve never seen the results firsthand, but Poppy has. Albus provides him information to pass on, but most of the time it’s deficient in You Know Who’s eyes.”

“I had no idea.”

“Few do.”

“I assume he’s not only summoned on weekends?”

“Of course not,” Minerva said. “Why?”

Of course not echoed in her head. She closed her eyes, shaking her head a bit as she went over what Professor Snape had said in the inn earlier. About having had little time. About her lengthy papers cutting into what time he did have. He wasn’t talking about a social life. He was talking about recovering physically from torture.

Oh, God, she was going to be sick at the thought of all of that extra time to read her papers, because she wanted to show what she knew, eating into his time to recover. Or just have time to himself not being tortured! Granted, it had only been the past year or so Voldemort was back, but still.

“Oh, I’m just thinking of all the classes he’s taught over the years. I can’t think of one he’s missed. And here I am giving him eighteen or twenty inches when he asks for twelve…”

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up, Hermione.”

“Harry and Ronald would go on and on about what a prat he was, and meanwhile he’s working behind the scenes, or getting tortured, to try to help Harry.”

She hugged Hermione and she accepted the gesture, hugging her back tightly and taking comfort in her professor’s arms. She imagined it was the last hug she’d get for some time.

“Oh, my dear, you mustn’t dwell on it. You didn’t know! How could you? Just think of it this way. If you succeed in this. If you go back and accomplish what you’re sent to do. The next Severus won’t have to do any of it. Harry will grow up with Lily and James Potter.”

“I had thought of that, yes,” Hermione said.

“Of course you had, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I thought of Ronald’s mum, too, having her brothers. And Neville’s parents, and Susan Bones’ family.”

“Of course you would. There is so much that this could change for the good, lives saved yes, but that isn’t all. That is why I allowed the idea to be presented to you. And I know Severus will not treat you poorly. He may be emotionally detached, but if you can get past that armour he has erected around his mind and his heart. I think that he will be a good mate for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish I could say I will help you, but find someone. You won’t be able to tell them the truth, but you are a young bride. Seeking out advice wouldn’t be unheard of with a busy, career-driven husband and new child.”

“I suppose.”

“And when our paths cross, Hermione, do pursue a friendship with me. I’m not going to go into it now, but I will tell you that Minerva McGonagall could very much use a friend at that time.”

“I will, assuming I’m in the position to do that.”

“Good. Have I helped ease your mind?”

“I guess. So there is no witch in his life?”

“No, never has been that I know of. I’ve never even heard him speak of anyone, truthfully, romantic or otherwise.” Minerva drew away and chuckled softly. “And I see that look in your eyes. Do not pity him, Hermione. He will know. He can read people very well. This isn’t a seventeen year old young man. He will look twenty-four but will have the experiences of his thirty-six years. He is incredibly astute. Do not underestimate what he sees and therefore knows.”

“I know. I just…”

“You want to do that, to be that, which is exactly why I told you what I did. It may take a while, but you have nothing but time. You will both get there in your own time.”

“So it would seem. Thank you.”

“Now, I do need to speak with Albus. I cannot continue to disappear from my post. Holidays or not, I’m being watched. They think I’ll lead them to him. We need to coordinate the details regarding your family and so on.”

“Of course. I’ll be fine.”

“All right. I will miss you, I looked forward to seeing what you were going to do.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll know, even if you don’t know.”

“I count on it.”

“While the three of you are working whatever you’re doing out. Is there parchment? Or paper and a pen?”

“For a letter to Harry?”

“Please.”

“Good. He asked me before they left on Friday if you said goodbye. You should find everything you need in the desk over there. Just ask for it.”

“Thank you.”

She watched as Minerva (how weird was that?) left the room. She took a seat at the desk she mentioned with a sigh. It hadn’t completely hit home until now that she would never see Harry or Ron again. Well, she would, but not like this. She’d be old enough to be their grandmother then next time she saw them.

“I’d like paper and pen, please,” she said.

And just like that, what she’d asked for was there in front of her. God, she loved magic!

Now just to determine what to say.

Dear Harry:

By the time you receive this I’ll be gone. The headmaster has told me he will ensure you get it. I trust that he will.

Please know that I’m okay. My parents are okay. The headmaster and others are just being cautious. I won’t be able to write after this, and have been told owls will not be able to find me. Please don’t try, we can’t risk it. I don’t know where we’ll be. I’m just told we’ll be going somewhere safe.

I don’t want to wish you luck, because that implies you need it. I know that you do not. I hope that I will be able to return before this all comes to a close, but I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Take care of Ron. My best friends. I love you both.

Be well.

This is not goodbye. I will see you again! I promise. Before you know it, I’ll be there to remind you to do your homework.

Love,

Hermione

PS Please, Harry, listen to the headmaster on this. I am safe. You trying to find me could endanger more than just me. You Know Who might up his tactics if he thinks someone betrayed him. I will be back and will pester you for details on the OWLs.

She read it over more than once. She was limited in what she could say. What she didn’t want was Harry going off half-cocked trying to find her. Or bombarding Hermione Granger with owls that would come back to him. That would concern him, which would lead to distraction. Or someone realizing that she was no longer here for owls to reach.

Harry could not get distracted. He needed to focus on how to defeat Voldemort. Hopefully, their trip to the past would alleviate him needing to. Just in case, though, she didn’t want him thinking about anything but the war. And there would still be at least months before they’d do anything that could even remotely effect change. Assuming just changing the circumstances of him not being raised in the orphanage would do something. She’d never know. It was too bad, because it would be interesting to see if they made a difference. 

She saw a tear fall on the desktop, just shy of hitting the paper. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

God she was going to miss him. Thinking back to that first train ride to Hogwarts, she never would have believed they’d be here today. That she’d have, not one but, two best friends.

She folded it neatly, sliding it into an envelope the desk provided. There was no wax or seal, but the envelope was muggle so lickable. Appropriate since she would presumably be writing him from home. She sealed it, writing Harry’s name on the outside, and took a deep breath.

Was she really doing this? She’d agreed, but there was still … time to back out.

And yet. She’d been chosen for a reason.

He’d agreed, knowing she was the choice in witches.

She thought over all that Minerva had said earlier. She knew what it was to be laughed at, and picked on. Wanting to fit in, but being unable to because you were just different enough that you weren’t accepted. Could she have been sucked into the promise of belonging and power that Voldemort likely offered his followers. He certainly wouldn’t have started off with “kill all the muggles” to recruits.

He’d broken into the library for her without additional questions.

He’d brought her clean clothes.

That didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it showed her that he could be … considerate and kind. Intuitive to know that she’d look at the clothes she’d been wearing for days when she got out of the shower and wonder what the point of getting clean was just to put them back on.

He’d left her alone in the library.

She could have left at any time during those three days. She could have gone anywhere.

He’d trusted that she’d given her word and would hold to it.

He had gotten Crookshanks for her.

A man who, from all accounts, had nothing and no one, thought to get her familiar for her.

She pushed the letter off to the side, crossed her arms on the desktop, and set her head on it. She wasn’t sure how long they’d be. She wasn’t really physically tired. Mentally, though. This had been a bizarre three days.

Hell, it had been a bizarre five years since she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter.

It wouldn’t hurt anything if she just shut her eyes for a minute. They’d wake her up. It wasn’t as if they were going to send Professor Snape back to 1926 without her.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Four***

The room got quiet when Severus entered the room a little while later and Severus had to fight the urge to fidget.

“Well, there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while,” Minerva said.

He’d taken the potion privately, wanting to ensure it worked as it should have. Wouldn’t that have been something if, after all this planning and readying, the potion hadn’t worked as it was supposed to? He’d tested it previously, taking a couple of small doses to effect the deaging for short periods of time. He hadn’t done it for any length of time, assuming the witch would not agree to Albus’ plan so he would never actually have need to use it for longer than a few hours, a few days. He’d been tempted to test it for the entirety of Christmas holidays, but that wasn’t feasible. He never knew when he was going to be summoned.

By either master. Not that Albus seeing him look this young would be problematic exactly. He was the one who told him about this plan being a possibility, after all. Still.

“I do not want to hear it, Minerva,” he spat followed by a scowl. As if it wasn’t bad enough he had to do something to warrant people believing he gained the witch as his wife. He did not want to put up with Minerva’s teasing.

“It wasn’t meant as a criticism, Severus. It truly has been years.”

He shook his head, daring her to even try to say anything else. He crossed the room to where Minerva and Albus had been talking. He just wanted this done with. How bloody odd the past seventy-two plus hours had been.

He’d been convinced, absolutely and thoroughly certain, that the witch would laugh Albus right out of the room. Why on earth would anyone in their right mind want to give up a bright future for this scheme of Albus’? He was fairly certain at her age, he would have laughed Albus out of the room.

Then again, he supposed he only had to look in a mirror to see what he’d done with his own life. A life, like hers, that academically showed so much promise when he was her age. And here he was, about ready to journey to the past ninety-nine percent certain he was going to continue on the same path he was walking here as a potions professor to generations of dunderheads. He really had nothing to lose, though. He wasn’t leaving anyone or a potentially bright future behind. And he had committed to doing whatever it took to defeat Tom. She was under no such pressure.

She hadn’t said no, though.

She surprised him, and very few managed to shock him these days. He did not know what she’d done in the library for essentially three days, but had an idea. He knew where his mind would go if he was about to embark on a one-way trip to the past. He wasn’t going to say he was familiar enough with her to know how she thought, but he had guesses. He would not interfere, or discourage, her from using whatever information she armed herself with. Honestly, he likely would have done the same thing if he was going anywhere with nothing to his name.

He knew full-well neither truly had any idea what they were going back to. They were going from one wizarding war to another. Add a potentially psychopathic child who happened to be brilliant into the mix, not to mention the muggle things happening. Well, they could be in for an eventful few years.

“Can we just get Miss Granger and get on with this then?”

“Well, at least your personality is intact,” she said.

“Very funny. You are hilarious, Minerva. I didn’t hear you volunteering to embark on this journey in my stead.”

Of course, she wouldn’t have been an option because she couldn’t have passed for Tom’s mum. The twelve years he was able to get the potion to was about the maximum he’d feel comfortable with. Fifteen maybe, but that would be pushing it.

“Any last minute questions, Severus?” Albus asked. Running interference was more like it. Minerva wouldn’t be asked to give up literally everything. She could have passed as a widowed grandmother or something. No, only Severus - and it seemed Miss Granger - would be asked to sacrifice everything. He supposed it was a … testament to the fact Albus believed they were the only ones who had a chance at making this scheme work.

“No. I just want to get on with this.”

“How long will you have to continue taking the potion?”

“I figure I should consistently for the next ten years or so before I start gradually tapering off. I may change my mind, in either direction, once we get there.”

Albus nodded. Did he believe Severus hadn’t already thought of that? He knew he couldn’t go from looking to be in his mid-twenties to forty over night. He wasn’t an imbecile!

“Do we know what Miss Granger’s errand was, Severus?”

“I have no idea. She needed me for apparition. She told me when and where to meet her. You did not instruct me to follow her, so I did not.”

He wasn’t being completely truthful, but he didn’t want Albus searching her or anything. She was entitled to her preparations, the same as he was. She did not have accounts to close or anything. She had her mind, and he assumed she put it to work for them, and their well being.

“Quite right. Is there a young man we were not informed of?”

“No,” Minerva and Severus both said.

Albus regarded the both of them curiously for a moment Severus noticed. Severus had no idea how he knew without a doubt there was no love interest being left behind by Granger. He assumed Minerva had actual knowledge to go with her protest. Yes, he’d heard the gossip about her and Weasley, but from everything he saw it was just that. Gossip.

“You will have to work with her on things like apparition that she would know being of legal age.”

“I am aware, Albus. I am not incompetent nor a dunderhead. We already discussed that Thursday night. We have time.”

“Good. All right, well, go fetch your intended then,” he said.

“Do not,” Severus said.

“That is what she is, Severus. Planned or not…”

“I’m aware of what she is, Albus. Just do not. We’re doing what you’re asking of us. Leave it be.”

He strode to the door then, opening it and sighed not in impatience, oddly enough, but something akin to sympathy. He’d obviously startled her. Her head jerked up from - he guessed - lying on her arms on the desk. She jumped up, knocking the chair over in the process, and spun toward the door. He saw her exhale heavily, and he wasn’t sure when - if ever - anyone had been relieved to see him. She tilted her head a bit as she looked at him. And looked. And looked.

Saying nothing. That was unusual.

“What?” he asked, defensively.

She closed the distance between them, standing entirely too close than would be permissible ordinarily. Of course, in a matter of hours they’d be married, so there would no longer be such a thing as ordinary nor not permissible.

She reached with her hand then, and slid her fingers over his cheek and jaw. The touch was not … welcome, but he found that it was not dissatisfactory.

“Miss Granger,” he said cautiously. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he did not … let … people touch him. He was unaccustomed to anyone wanting to for that matter. The Dark Lord, obviously, but he had no choice in the matter there. And his touches were not the gentle, inquisitive touches this witch was bestowing upon him currently.

“Give a witch a few minutes to adjust to such a change. Is this how you actually looked at that age?”

He scoffed.

“What kind of a question is that? You think I altered my appearance somehow? Not satisfactory? Having second thoughts about chaining yourself to this?”

“Please don’t do that. I questioned the need for the potion if you recall, so no that’s not it at all. I wasn’t sure if your current age, life experiences, scars that are there now that weren’t originally, or anything else external might have affected things.”

Oh.

It was, truthfully, not a crazy question. He admired her, actually, for thinking that external factors could play a role in the efficacy of the potion. They wouldn’t. His scars went with him, and he grimaced at her implying that she realized he had any. Why? Why would she presume? And, yet, he’d survived one war. He supposed it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that he had been on the receiving end of a hex or a blade at one point.

“No,” he said.

“I’m curious by nature, Severus. Please don’t assume my asking questions or taking things in means anything other than I want to know the answer.”

“We are not alone, Miss Granger.”

“The only others here are my head of house and the headmaster, both of whom are aware that we’re about to travel seventy years in the past and be married. I think they assume I’d use your name.”

He huffed. She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he was going to throw propriety to the wayside on a dime. At least while they were still in 1996. When they got to their new time, their new home, he’d adjust.

He’d have to, or he’d have an unhappy wife on his hands. (There was a thought he’d have to come to a decision on: how to keep a wife happy. He couldn’t keep his one friend happy.) But, Merlin, did her agreeing to this mean she was going to … touch him at will?

What was he supposed to do with that?!

He still couldn’t believe she said yes. How she could think he knew the first thing about love and a happy marriage was beyond him. Was there anything about him she’d seen to this point to suggest he had such knowledge or expertise? Yet, she trusted that they would go back in time and do that.

“Shall we then?” he asked. “I know Minerva needs to get back to Hogwarts, but wants to ensure we leave the premises safely before she does.”

“I know,” she said, dropping her hand. Her head was still tilted, though, as she regarded him. There was a glean in her eye that suggested she may not be deeply disappointed. That was an odd thought.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just looking.”

He scoffed, turning then, so that he could return to where Albus and Minerva were seated. She followed, as he expected she would.

“Are you ready then, Miss Granger?” Albus asked. He had a twinkle in his eye that suggested the man knew why it took him so long to fetch her from the other room.

“I guess so,” she said.

“I have given Severus the documents and money you will need. In the event something happens in your travels tonight I have copies for you as well. Time travel is risky business as you are aware from your use of a time turner. What you’re about to do is revolutionary. Your Crookshanks should be fine. A pouch of galleons is in his carrier, again, as a precaution in the event something happens. When you arrive, he will likely be moody so let him out of the carrier cautiously. I will secure his carrier to you, so that you will not inadvertently let go during the trip.”

The carrier in question was really more like a cloth sling-like thing, but the feline would be encased in it with no threat of escape.

“Yes, Sir.”

Severus watched as she took the paperwork Albus offered her. She still had her notebook, and she put the papers in there before sliding it into her backpack. It wasn’t much. A letter to Albus’ past self and a set of documents for an identity. The implication was if one of them weren’t to make it through the trip through time that they were to try to proceed singularly. Severus had no idea how Albus thought he’d manage to raise a child by himself, but he had to admit he had no doubt that Granger could if she had to.

Albus had assured Severus that accommodations would be made for Hermione as far as housing and money if she were to make it to 1926 and he didn’t. He didn’t tell Severus what those were, because the wizard said he didn’t need to know since it wouldn’t happen.

Albus stood then and led the two of them to a small room off of the office. It offered what was little more than a cot. There was a small table next to it and a wash basin, but nothing else. Severus imagined the old man had used it over the years to take catnaps while researching.

“I did not use this room the day you are coming according to my notes. I didn’t note every minute detail, but I can usually tell by my entries if this room was used or not. So you should be fine ending up here. When you get there, knock on the door like this.” He rapped on the door three times with a long pause between the first two knocks and barely any pause between the second and third. “Do that twice and I will know that it is friend not foe who comes out of this room unexpectedly.”

“All right.”

“You will have to disillusion this when you arrive. Not even I should see it, Severus, despite what I know will be my curiosity about such a device existing. It did not then. Well, obviously it will once you arrive.”

The this in question had to be the time turner, but looked more like a walking stick with a rather large, clever-looking bulb at the top where a hand would ordinarily go. He took a moment to show them how it worked. If they needed to use it again, if they were transported to the wrong date for example, they’d need to know how. The bulb had a catch that opened and inside of it was the sand and the device that made it work. With the assistance of one’s wand. The device could not be set without a push from the user’s magic. Severus did the honours today, but he had no doubt that the witch had paid close attention so that if she’d have to she would be able to.

“It is set for the proper date and time. I wish you luck, both of you. I also wish you a life full of happiness. There are instructions with your paperwork should the need arise for you to use it again just in case you forget what I’ve shown you today. I realize it could be years before that possibility presents itself, and if you’re thinking of using it, your emotions may be heightened to the point that what you saw here today will not be remembered clearly. I hope that you do not need to use it, but as you are putting your lives on the line, I want you to have an out if necessary. With that in mind, as I promised, there is a second set of identifying documents drawn up for the both of you in case you have to flee. I have included some for young Tom as well in the event that becomes necessary. If other children become involved, ask the present time’s me for assistance if identities become necessary for them, too.”

“Thank you.”

Severus gestured to his bag, that was where he’d put everything Albus had given him to this point that needed to be taken along, and Albus nodded.

“Once you’re out of here and safely at your home, ensure it’s safely hidden. You do not want this to fall into the wrong hands. We certainly do not want it falling into Tom’s hands. Ever.”

“We will,” Severus said, noting the man did not suggest he destroy it.

Interesting.

Surprising. Truly. He assumed all his platitudes and remarks of ensuring they weren’t stranded seventy years ago, having to potentially murder a child, were just that. Platitudes. Saying what needed to be said to get he and Granger to agree to this scheme. He, honestly, had expected the bare minimum and a “you know I can’t interfere more than this, Severus” out of Albus.

Some might question why he agreed, believing that was how Albus would operate. Well, because, as much as he hated to admit it, the scheme could work. Could make the world better for many people. He wasn’t counting on it making it better for him , but that wasn’t important and was rather irrelevant. He wasn’t doing this for himself.

The fact remained, Albus was staying true to his word in this. He really was going to give them an out in case anything catastrophic happened and they had to leave even that time. He was glad that was the case. He hoped it would be unnecessary, but he was relieved to know their bases were covered.

They had options. That made him feel better about this, and hopefully, Granger did as well.

He took a deep breath as he regarded the instrument. Granger did the same. There were handles they could both put their hands through, which would result in them clutching the stick part of the device. He supposed that was how they hung on. Interesting. It was like nothing he’d seen before when it came to a time turner.

“Pull up and turn anticlockwise, tapping the stick portion twice here like this.”

“All right. Ready then, Miss Granger?”

“I think I am,” she said.

He imagined she wondered how she could know if she was truly ready. He wondered the same thing, and he’d known for months this scheme was a possibility.

Granger’s eyes fell closed. She was biting her lower lip a little more deeply than he normally observed her doing as she slid her hand through one of the handles. She was scared. Rightfully so. He could admit that what they were about to embark on was frightening. He watched as Albus attached the carrier her Crookshanks was in magically to his soon to be wife. He couldn’t hear him moving around or making any sounds, so assumed he was out, as he was supposed to be. He had no idea when he’d come to, nor did he have any idea how long exactly this trip would take.

“Stop that, Miss Granger. You don’t want to maim yourself.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously not even aware she’d been doing it.

“Good luck and God speed,” Albus said just as Severus used one hand to pull up and turn the knob anticlockwise before tapping on the stick portion twice as instructed. The handles at his wrist tightened, not uncomfortably but it was definitely a good grip. He could only presume Granger’s had done the same.

He had never used a time turner before.

He’d never had reason to, and was admittedly still suspect of this course of action.

If it worked, great. Fantastic. Life as he and Granger knew it would be completely different. A distant memory overshadowed by seventy years worth of new ones.

If it didn’t.

Well, he was stuck in the past with this witch for the rest of his life, having to lie and be something - someone - he wasn’t to everyone but her.

He was good by now at lying to everyone. That wasn’t a problem exactly, but if he was getting a second chance at life, which was in essence how he was looking at this, and was, in the end, the reason he’d agreed when Albus first presented him with the idea.

No Snivellus.

No Dark Lord.

True, he’d still have the Dark Mark, but he would endeavour almost immediately to visit a reputable tattoo parlour to see about getting it altered. He also would have years to come up with a potion, something, to remove the magic that made it work. He wasn’t sure either effort at disguising or deactivating it would work, but he was going to try. He hadn’t tried previously. Albus had cautioned him against doing so.

Which was his … polite way of saying he didn’t want him to do it.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to worry about the Dark Mark working, because they would have done their jobs and there would be no Voldemort to activate it.

No Lily.

He was surprisingly all right with that. He wasn’t sure when that had happened.

She’d changed, too, over the course of their friendship. The Lily he’d met in the play yard would not have taken up friendship with James Potter and Sirius Black. At least he didn’t think so. Maybe he’d been blind to her true self all along, just grateful to finally have a friend. He didn’t think he had been that blind to how she was. He’d never seen her in school prior to Hogwarts to know what she was like or what kind of friends she had that weren’t him.

Granger from his understanding had used a time turner, but only to go back a few hours in a day. He had nothing to compare this trip to, but he found it unsettling to be stationary yet drift so obviously into the past. And catch glimpses of only one specific place during that trip to their destination.

Some moments they’d see Albus on the cot, sometimes he’d be laying on it and others sitting on it. Some moments Albus could be seen entering or exiting the room. Some moments they’d see him using the wash basin. More than once they witnessed the headmaster in a less than ideal position. The old man must have forgotten about those dalliances. Severus doubted he’d want anyone to see them, no matter how quickly they were witness to them.

Finally, their journey stopped. They were physically in the room and there were no more glimpses of Albus, or any others, in the room. Somehow they’d both come to be seated on the floor, still gripping the time turner via the handles they’d put their hands through. Good lord, if the straps hadn’t had a grip on their wrist and forearm and they’d let go! They could be anywhere!

Both were silent for quite some time. He felt … well, physically okay, but very much as if he’d extended himself.

“Well, that was…” she said.

“Yes,” he drawled. He reached for his bag and drew out a couple pieces of chocolate. He handed her one.

“Oh, thank you. I didn’t even think of that!”

He scoffed. Not at her necessarily, but just that she seemed so disappointed she hadn’t thought of it.

Of course she hadn’t brought much of anything with her. She had her school backpack, which he assumed had a few things in it beyond the papers Albus gave her.

She took a bite of the chocolate and groaned. “I’m not sure I’ve thought chocolate ever tasted so good before in my life.”

He shook his head, taking a bite as well. He couldn’t deny he almost wanted to agree with her. He wouldn’t say that, though.

“Were you surprised Albus, I suppose I should call him that and not headmaster, yeah? It feels disrespectful, but I suppose I should get used to it. This Albus doesn’t know he’ll be come that. Minerva, too. Everybody, really! Anyway, were you surprised? That he picked you, I mean?”

“I can admit I was to some extent when he first presented me with the idea. It was a while ago, about the time Potter was expelled. He shelved it for whatever reason at that time. He never told me why he did, he rarely gives me reasons for much of anything. I was already his spy, and had been for years, so he knew I was trustworthy. I’m not like Black who liked to accessorize each day of the week with a different witch,” he blushed then.

He actually felt himself blush. Was he thirty-six or not? Merlin. It wasn’t as if he was talking about himself womanizing. Or what Black did with the witches in question.

“Yes, I think I get the picture,” she said quickly.

Thank God for her mind. Some women would have been clueless as to what he was implying. Or, if they understood, would have fallen into a simpering fit at the indelicacy of talking about Black’s known womanizing.

“He also knew that I was the one with less to lose in a manner of speaking. I have no remaining family, my home as you saw is dismal. It would have been torn down years ago if I hadn’t continued paying what was required to keep it standing. There was nothing pressing holding me there. As he mentioned, I’m easily replaceable by Horace.”

“I don’t know about easily. You are a good professor. Tough and exacting? Absolutely, but you have to be. I know people like Neville were frightened of you, but I’m not sure many of them truly stop to consider how dangerous the subject you teach is.”

“Quite,” he said. He’d been trying to instill that idea for over a decade in his students. So few actually understood. She was one of those few.

“We kind of touched on it before leaving, but is that the route you are thinking you will take? Teaching at Hogwarts, I mean?”

“I’ve had months to think about it since he first presented me with the idea. At first I thought of exactly what he said, taking my knowledge and starting an apothecary, and getting as far away from Hogwarts and the educational system as I could. You say I’m a good professor, but I don’t see it that way.”

He thought he was capable, but he’d been thrust into a position that he really didn’t want. He didn’t think he was ready for it either. Albus nor Voldemort had cared, though. So, he imagined there was some … bitterness associated with the position.

“And now?”

He was quiet for a moment. It was odd to have someone to discuss this with. Albus never actually discussed anything with Severus. Not like this. He had his opinions. His plans. And his discussions were generally to do and say what he could to sway Severus to his way of thinking.

Would she think him a fool? She’d said she believed he was a capable professor, so he hoped not. And, well, if she laughed at him for the audacity to think he could succeed as a professor. Wouldn’t he need to think about that? She was familiar with his teaching abilities.

“As you said, it makes the most sense. We, at least one of us, will need to be able to keep an eye on him without making it obvious that’s what we’re doing. I think I would like to attempt teaching without being a spy. Without bitterness and orders being part of the deal. With a little more time on my hands and a little less stress. Be able to teach students the intricacies so that they might get excited about the subject, too. Without a war. I realize there will be a war going on, but it’s not one I will be as directly involved with as I was the one we just left.”

“I understand.”

“House politics has always been an issue, but not quite to the extreme as the past twenty-five years or so. Or at least so Albus has told me. So, I should not be expected to treat those of muggleborn backgrounds as lesser. Headmaster Dippet has been rumoured to be a fair and capable headmaster. It could be … enjoyable. Being able to actually teach potions, I mean. Horace while capable,” he shrugged.

“Is not you,” she whispered.

“No, he is not.”

It sounded as if he was incredibly full of himself. He knew that, but it was the truth. Contrary to what many believed, he was not conceited about things he didn’t have the room to be. (Which he realized also probably would sound incredibly conceited, but it was the truth. He knew his limitations and what he excelled in.)

“Would you feel bad putting him out of a job?”

“No, he always seemed to have plenty of hobnobbing to do. He wouldn’t be the professor yet anyway as Albus said. So I wouldn’t be putting him out of a job exactly. So long as I prove myself a capable instructor, which I believe I can. I will merely be preventing him from getting a job at Hogwarts.”

“I suppose. When did he start?”

“Mm, 1930 or 1931, I believe.” He peered at her with an arched brow. “You mean you don’t know?”

She sniggered. Good, she’d known he was … teasing her. It was well known among the professors that she knew things about Hogwarts some of them didn’t due to her so thoroughly reading the book about the school.

“Shockingly, his career at Hogwarts wasn’t my focus when studying Hogwarts: A History .”

“That is incredibly shocking indeed. And as I mentioned, we can discuss an apothecary as an option for employment for you. I could supply you with the more complex orders at first, you are competent enough to do the basics people would come for. Eventually, you would be able to do them all. It might take time given my schedule, assuming I get the position, but I could ensure you become a potions mistress if that is something you desire. I have confidence in your abilities and that role being possible for you based on the skills you have displayed. I would consider it a great point in my favour if I could get you to not count on the book and steps so concretely. Especially as we’ll be in a different time, when various ingredients you’re familiar with for certain potions may not be available for a few reasons. The plant doesn’t exist yet, or does but is cost prohibitive, and so on. And we have to spend the next nine months doing something!”

She laughed softly. “I suppose that we do.”

“You realize that while Albus says he’s setting us up with a home, we will likely have to reside at Hogwarts if that is the path I choose to take.”

“Yes.”

“If we decide to take on Riddle as our own, not as adoptive parents, we will have to come up with an excuse as to why you cannot join me those first few months. Or why you’re never seen at least.”

“Well, wouldn’t pregnancy complications be sufficient? Maybe Headmaster Dippet would allow you to come home evenings or weekends if he thought that was a factor.”

“Perhaps. Doubtful, especially in my first year. Dippet doesn’t know me. Weekends perhaps, evenings, likely no.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously not having thought about that.

“I will ensure you are not bored to death.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We will … think of something. I am not unprepared. Due at the end of December, you should have a few months of freedom and maybe we can go elsewhere a time or two.”

“Oh really?” Her eyes brightened at that and he shook his head. Of course she would like that idea.

“It’s a thought. Please don’t start bombarding me with ideas of where we can go immediately. I can see you already have them.”

“Oh, yes! I want to go everywhere!”

He chuckled. He could admit to being curious to see things at this time, too. Hell, he hadn’t used the time Tom was inactive to travel even though he could, and likely should, have. What a fool he’d been, wrapped up in his own feelings of guilt, sorrow, self-pity, and anger.

“Admittedly it would not be a hardship to cater to your desire on that. We will see.” He was glad she liked that idea, too.

“Thank you!”

“Are we both well then? You have all ten fingers and toes? And everything else you are to have? Your faculties, agreeing to this scheme to begin with, notwithstanding?”

“I do,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him to stress her agreement.

“Good. Your beast’s carrier stayed in place, too.” He waved his wand quickly over the feline, ascertaining that while he was still sedated he was alive. “It would appear all three of us are good.”

He went to the door then, knocking on it as Albus had shown him. The door flew open and a much younger Albus Dumbledore was looking at them. This Albus was only a little older than Severus was. Well, how Severus would have appeared before the deaging potion.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Severus offered. “My name is Severus Snape. This is Hermione Granger. You have sent us to you at this time and location.”

He regarded them. He was clearly already stressed, but his eyes were wise and calculating as he took them both in.

“Do you have proof?”

“I do,” he said. “May we,” he asked, gesturing to the doorway and the possibility of allowing them out of this room they’d been in for longer than this man standing before them realized.

“Yes,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he took them in. Their style of dress would appear odd and unfamiliar. “I suppose. You wouldn’t have access to this room without my granting it.”

The wizard sat at the desk and watched as he and Granger looked at the office. Severus imagined she was taking in the differences seventy years made the same as he was. She’d only been here twice. He, on the other hand, had more than a few occasions to visit Albus at this particular location. There weren’t many changes, at least not as far as the furnishings. The decor was different. Still eclectic, but different. The desk certainly was the same one it had been as when they left. It looked far newer now than it had when they left.

“Would either of you care for a candy,” he said, gesturing to a bowl on his desk and Granger laughed.

“That was amusing?” Albus asked.

It wasn’t often Severus saw Albus looked confused. He would thank the witch later for putting that look on his face. He had no idea why she was laughing, as he wouldn’t be headmaster for a while yet to have a candy dish she’d seen.

She hadn’t stopped laughing to this point either. He supposed he could see the humour in this man, seventy years in the past essentially offering candies the same as he did as headmaster. Now that he looked closer at the dish they even looked like lemon drops.

“Really, Granger? You assured me you had your faculties. I’m beginning to think you, in fact, do not.”

She looked properly chastised, however, it took a moment for her to be able to respond.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that was not what I was expecting him to say and, yet, it’s exactly what I’d expect him to say.”

Severus pulled a chair out for her to have a seat in whenever she’d calmed herself and was willing to do so before he himself took a seat. Albus arched a brow at him doing so. He supposed it was impolite to sit before her, but well. It was Granger after all, and he wanted to get on with this. He did not want to stand around waiting for her to be herself once more.

“As I said, Professor. You sent us here.”

He opened his bag, summoning the letter and paperwork Albus had entrusted him with. He handed the items to Albus and sat back in the chair.

The wizard read the letter first, drawing it away and staring at them for a moment or two periodically before returning his gaze to the papers. Granger had indeed calmed herself during Albus’ reviewing of the letter and the paperwork and seated herself in the chair he’d proffered for her.

The silence was a little unsettling. This was not the man he’d come to know over the years, so he really wasn’t sure how to read him at this point in time.

“And you both have agreed to this?” he asked finally.

He set the letter and other paperwork aside on the desk. One hand rested over it. His eyes nor his posture betrayed what he was thinking.

“Freely?”

The last query was directed more at Granger than himself. Of course it would be, because why would there be a question as to whether he entered into this scheme without coercion!

“Yes,” Severus said.

“I have.”

“You are only sixteen the letter says? To Mr. Snape’s thirty-six.”

“For five more months, but my head of house was with us when I was presented with the idea and agreed to it. So there was a witness. I am under no coercion or anything. I was told if I didn’t agree I’d be obliviated, nothing more.”

“I see,” he said, steepling his hands under his chin. “Well, first things first then,” he said, fingertips drumming over the papers before he reclined a bit in his chair.

“You can never under any circumstances tell me anything of the future. I may ask, I may say it’s in the best interest of something or another, but you must not tell me. You may read the letter I sent with you to myself, but I basically said it was a world-threatening event. As I’m in the middle of my own world-threatening event, which I seemingly survive since I’m alive to write this letter in the year 1996, and I’m sending you back to this time to stop something else. Well, that tells me it must be important and, indeed, world-threatening.”

“It is,” they both said.

“You can never under any circumstances tell anyone your true names, or where and when you are from. I will trust you to ensure the device used is sufficiently difficult to find by anyone other than yourselves. I do say you won’t be going back, but I’d hate to destroy the device, and I didn’t say to. It says he, I, did not inform you of the names chosen?”

“He did not,” Severus said.

“Well, then allow me to introduce you to yourselves.”

He chuckled. Yes, Albus would find that amusing, no matter which Albus they were dealing with.

“Erik Magnus Prins and Marie Rose Clary. I must think I owe you a great deal, Miss Granger, because you are the descendant of an illegitimate, yet magical, heir of Francois Clary. Are you familiar with him?”

“Not particularly,” she said, and Severus could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Albus, obviously not recognizing the look, continued on.

Severus searched his memory banks for the name himself. Was Francois Clary a name of some import he should know? He didn’t recognize it if it was.

“He had a dozen or so children over two marriages, with only two or three passing away before reaching adulthood. I say only because it is not unusual, even now, to lose children young. I hope where you come from things have improved so parents don’t suffer such losses. Here nor there,” he said, waving his hand. “One daughter went on to marry Napoleon’s brother and another was engaged to Napoleon for a while. She married and went on to become the queen of Norway and Sweden.”

“Oh,” she said. Severus suspected books about Francois Clary would make their way into Hermione’s reading material.

“So, half-blood as Erik here will be, but certainly of a solid background. The illegitimate part means relatively little these days especially for those royal types, and being that you’re female. I presume it would matter even less where you come from.”

“Prince, really?” Severus said, interjecting. It was rude he realized, but how could Albus be such a dunderhead about his name! “He went into such detail for Granger’s history but kept my mother’s maiden name for me? That will not work, Albus. I am of the Prince line! They would surely know whether an Erik Magnus ever existed. My mother will be at Hogwarts in about fifteen years, which is a time that I need to be there.”

“Ah, I think you misunderstand. You are of the P-R-I-N-C-E line my notes say, this is P-R-I-N-S. You are both of Scandinavian descent. You can come up with your own stories as to why you have British accents. I will set you up in the home I suggest in my letter, as it is indeed empty. You will have to remain homebound for the most part while we get you an interview, Severus. I sing your praises as a potions master and professor of the subject, so I think it’s a formality. The home will not be put into your name until after the job has been secured. It would look suspect if you purchased such a property without knowing you had solidified a job. You may take in your surroundings around the property, but use caution that you are not seen by many until after you’ve secured an interview and then, hopefully, a job.”

“Understood,” he said. He wasn’t sure the difference in spellings wasn’t some cruel joke on the older Albus’ part. Prins? Really? What was the man thinking!

“You may, of course, make yourselves comfortable there. While you’re officially here for the interview process, by all means take your young wife out to see the sights. Prior to that, stay as close to home as you can. There are no elves. If you need some…”

“No,” Hermione said quickly.

Severus chuckled while Albus arched an eyebrow in obvious curiosity at the emotion her one word response betrayed. His former boss, and bane of his existence for the past fifteen years second only to the Dark Lord, glanced from her to him. Evidently, he wanted to ensure this witch truly spoke for both of them. He would be unused to witches being so … outspoken about elves, or much of anything really.

“It would be best at this time if we do not have any until we have gotten settled in and established ourselves. I will let you know when, and if, our needs change with regard to household assistance, thank you.”

“Very well. I will ensure that the house is cleaned thoroughly and sufficiently stocked with all the necessities, including your kitchen. Should you need more before we get an interview set up, the elf I will be using is Mintzy. You can call for her, but she will not appear unless you do. I will instruct her, after today, only to come and go from the kitchen area. She is loyal, so I have no qualms about assigning her to help you if necessary.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Professor Snape said.

Albus did in fact call for the elf and instruct her where to go and what to do. She disappeared with a bow and a pop after eyeing the two of them curiously. Severus supposed the way they were dressed was most unusual for 1926.

“There will be a child involved in this from my understanding?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“Given Miss Granger’s age, and that she did not actually receive parental permission. I have to ask. You are both aware the age of majority is seventeen?”

Severus knew he was blushing. Again.

Damn the man.

Of course he knew. Did he think he was an imbecile? Did he think he would send someone back seventy years who didn’t know basic things about their world?

“Yes, of course, Sir,” Hermione interjected, and Severus was somewhat grateful that she did.

Her response was much more polite than his would have been. Pissing this wizard off would not be a good idea. They still needed him for now.

“I assume, as I said, that was why my head of house was present. She, of course, could not offer parental consent to this, but did ensure I wasn’t coerced or promised anything. Or made to agree to something I didn’t wish to. No expectations or demands have been placed upon me, Professor. Other than to be a wife to Severus, and mother to said child. If your future self did not go into more detail as to the origin of that child, I don’t think that we should either. I assure you that I am not expected to be pregnant within weeks. I presume, and have faith, that Severus will give me time to get acquainted with the differences in this time from our own and such before any such expectations are in place once I have reached the appropriate age.”

“Indeed. I am here to serve a purpose.”

“That you are, but you are still human, and a young man, so had to be sure it was said. I may have known you both in 1996, but I do not here. You will not serve your purpose if there’s a whiff of impropriety surrounding anything about either of you.”

“You have the ability to update - or adjust - records, I presume. I’d like to take the next few months and work with Granger on a number of things, but primarily ensure that she has the documentation showing she’s taken her OWLs and sat her NEWTs. We’ll have six months before I start teaching, presuming I get the job for the upcoming school year. I think I could sufficiently tutor her to accomplish her taking both.”

“Both?”

“Yes,” Severus said, and he didn’t doubt it was true. It might actually be somewhat … enjoyable to tutor someone as intelligent as she was one on one. “The NEWTs may need to sat later, but I am confident in my estimations.”

“I have indicated to do as you ask if it’s within my power. So, yes, that can be arranged. Just keep me apprised.”

“Thank you. She hasn’t said, and wouldn’t because that’s the way she is. She shows by doing not saying, but she was on track to doing very well on both OWLs and NEWTs. And while I realize that the scores might not be shared, I want her to have that completion and the possibility to do more if she wants.”

Albus removed his glasses then and regarded the both of them closely. Likely what Severus just said was … unusual. Wanting his wife to accomplish things. To succeed, independently of him. He did, though. If she wanted to be a librarian, fine. University, though, to study to be a nurse or something wasn’t a crazy notion.

“Very well. I trust you’ll let me know when the records need to be done. Anything else?”

Severus couldn’t really think of anything. He just wanted it said. Here. Now. That this witch would be able to sit those exams. The older Albus had made it sound as if there was little more than being a librarian or primary school teacher available to her. He could admit, with as trying as Tom was likely to be, she’d be the one with her hands full most of the time. Even in 1996 that role fell to mothers more than fathers. However, he wanted her to have documentation that she completed her education, so that she could do something more if she wanted. Selfish, maybe, but he did not want her resenting him fifty years from now. And he had to be the one to speak up and say something. She couldn’t. Well, she could, but she would be disregarded, generally speaking. This Albus Dumbledore didn’t know her.

“Nothing that I can think of, no.”

“Shall we get the most immediately pressing item seen to then? That being your marriage. Then we shall go over the other details in the paperwork, like your vault. And then I will take you to your new home. I imagine you’re ready to obtain some sustenance and rest. I’d be interested in what such a journey feels like. Once you’ve acclimated, of course.”

“Of course, and yes,” Severus said.

Hermione said nothing, but she gave a nod. So, it seemed neither of them was chomping at the bit to get the marriage part of the plan behind them. It had to be done, though. They couldn’t wait. He had to be able to introduce her as his wife from the beginning.

Within a matter of several minutes they were joined in matrimony as Erik Magnus and Marie Rose Prins. A wave of Albus’ wand, and some magical lights that swarmed around their hands like very small and busy glowworms that he’d only seen pictures of, and they were bonded and wed.

Just like that.

Severus imagined she’d never seen a couple bonded magically, so the lights were probably new to her. Probably best she was intrigued by those versus thinking on what exactly she had just committed herself to. Albus turned his back to them then without a word, and Hermione looked from Albus to Severus who he was sure was looking uncertain. She, for her part, looked as if she was expecting something

“I think you’re supposed to kiss me,” she whispered and he shook his head, unable to stop the low chuckle from escaping. Ordinarily, he would probably feel embarrassment at her having to tell him that. However, the peculiarity of this whole situation offset that it seemed. If this wasn’t the oddest wedding ever. Well, he’d love to hear the stories of any odder.

He leaned in then and did just as Granger - his wife - suggested. He was not expecting her to kiss him back. It was little better than a chaste kiss, but she did kiss him.In fact, she gave a soft sound as he drew away that he was quite certain he’d remember for quite some time. She nipped at her lower lip then, offering him a smile that he knew reflected her embarrassment before she cleared her throat.

He was certain he was as relieved as Granger clearly was that Albus had turned away. As odd as the circumstances were, and given this man didn’t know Severus from Adam, he was appreciative of the moment of privacy they’d been given to seal their binding and vows. Evidently, even this Albus realized Severus wouldn’t want an audience while kissing this witch who he had just bound himself to for the rest of his days.

They sat then and went over the other items in the paperwork. Granger was paying attention, but clearly rather bored. He supposed she hadn’t been privy to things like household expenses and property maps before now. Albus, too, directed the conversation at Severus as this Albus wouldn’t have a clue just how intelligent the witch in the room with them was. He had no doubt she’d remember everything said here today, and be able to repeat it to him if he found it necessary.

“So that’s all taken care of now. Since neither of you have questions or concerns let’s get you so you’re in a position to rest. Mintzy and whoever she recruited will be done by now. It’s time to visit where you will be calling home,” Albus said.

He apparated them to an obviously muggle domicile, explaining things that seemed to be focused on that portion of the property. It was a nice home, muggle or not. Severus thought he could live there rather easily. Mintzy had evidently been tasked with readying it as well.

Albus walked with them up the pathway that apparently led to the home they’d actually be living in. He remembered now Albus mentioned it was unplottable, the password passed to them in his office earlier. He stopped at the outskirts of the property, Hermione and Severus followed suit. It was a more than impressive property. Severus wasn’t sure what he’d envisioned Albus giving them, but something this … grand hadn’t been it.

Then he remembered: they needed to fit in with pureblood society. Albus’ intentions were not just pureblood society, but wealthy society. This home, and its surrounding property, would certainly aid them in doing so.

“This is where I will leave you and let you acclimate yourselves to your home and surroundings privately.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Severus said.

“I think Albus is appropriate given the circumstances, Severus. Or I should say Erik. For both of you. I will be in contact as soon as I’ve arranged for an interview. In the meantime, if you need anything, let me know. And good luck to you both.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

They watched as he apparated away. Severus wondered briefly, not for the first time, as they walked the muggle portion of the property, who these people were to Albus that he’d ended up the secret keeper. He hadn’t offered the information, and Severus knew the man well enough to know that meant it was none of Severus’ business.

“I guess he is taking care of us,” Hermione said once Albus had left them to explore. It was a rather impressive large home. The muggle home that was visible from the road was nice in its own right. Small, and in no way pretentious or attention-getting, which she imagined was the point. Quaint, she imagined some would call it. Big enough for a family of three to be comfortable in, certainly.

“Well, if he wants us to blend in…”

“I suppose. Do you know where we are?”

“Not yet. Give me a bit to get my bearings about me.”

“Of course. I wasn’t trying to be pushy. Do I call you Erik?”

“I should think so, Marie, even privately.”

“Well, you hadn’t exactly given me permission…”

“And yet you did it anyway, more than once, and I said nothing. While I admit it is … odd, as I’m unaccustomed to such informality. This is no longer a formal situation, is it? You are now legally and magically my wife. I will not go through life with you calling me Sir.”

Well, that relieved her to no end. She wasn’t sure what he expected. No matter what perceptions were with the deaging potion. Well, he was still up until three days ago, her professor and nearly twenty years older than her. There were some men who wouldn’t let a shift in their dynamic, that being marriage, change things. She was glad he was not one of them. She didn’t want to go through life calling him sir either.

“Thank you then. I just didn’t want to appear disrespectful. I wasn’t trying to be before either. I know this situation is unusual anyway.”

“You are fine. Shall we walk around some then?”

She slid her hand into the crook of his offered arm. She felt somewhat giddy that he was doing even that much. He certainly didn’t have to. Proof that he truly did think that they were in this together? That she wasn’t just a tag-along, an afterthought, in Albus’ plan.

What they saw of the grounds and exterior was very spacious with the potential of being very nice. It had obviously been unkempt beyond just the current winter season. They committed to explore the property more later, as it seemed rather vast, and both seemed more interested in seeing the inside of the house. And getting some food and rest.

It would not do for them to be seen by anyone quite yet, though it appeared the road was a ways away from the home they would actually be residing in. Albus said it was unplottable, but where those boundaries were he said he wasn’t entirely sure. Thankfully, the pathway they walked along from the muggle home they took to get back here was subtle so they shouldn’t have to worry about curious neighbours.

Luckily, there was only one road. (Obviously there had to be others in the area, but around their immediate vicinity.) They wagered as long as they were out of view from it, they were good since no one would be showing up here unexpectedly to look for them. They only knew Albus.

For now.

They also seemed to have quite a bit of land between them and any neighbors. Still, no use risking it. There looked to be plenty to explore without them venturing very far from the house until Severus had a job, or at the very least an interview. Looking at houses while he was interviewing wouldn’t be unheard of.

She saw evidence of what had once been gardens as well as a paddock and stables as they walked. There were also buildings visible that she assumed at one time housed other animals, too. She grew excited at the thought of all that she could do with this place. It had obviously seen better, grander days, but there was so much potential here. She hoped Severus could appreciate she was not afraid to get her hands dirty nor was she squeamish. It was currently 1926, he had to know his history as well as she did, if not better, to know what was coming.

“Do you ride horses,” she asked him, glancing up at him from his side. Standing next to him like this, she realized how much taller than her he was. She really hadn’t had much reason to notice before now. She liked that he adjusted his gait so that she was not struggling to keep up with him as they walked.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

She supposed it was an unusual question to ask without reason. She gestured in the direction of where she saw the paddock and stables. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” he said.

Had he not noticed the stables until now? Or had it just not occurred to him that horses would belong there?

“I have. I don’t know that I excel at it and haven’t done it often, but enjoyed it when I did well enough.”

“Will we have them?”

“Horses?” He asked, turning his gaze on her. She nodded. “If you would like to ride, then I see no reason why we couldn’t. On the other hand, if you merely want to say that you own horses, and have no desire to actually use them. Well, there are better things we could spend money on.”

“Well, it would be something to teach him, would it not? A potential skill and hobby. Something he can do at the house, if we choose to homeschool him that’s a physical activity.”

He nodded, regarding her with … was that interest she saw in his eyes now.

“Are you good enough to do that? I think that exceeds my capabilities. Teaching him, I mean.”

“I can hold my own.”

“Really?”

He sounded as if he doubted her. How dare he! She remembered Minerva’s words, and took a deep, calming breath. Starting an argument freshly into this would not be wise. She didn’t want this man angry with her from the get go. He wouldn’t know any more about her personal life away from Hogwarts than she did about his.

“I rode from the time I was three. Ponies, of course at first. Then about five, I suppose, I transitioned to a horse. My parents’ were at their wits end with what to do with me since they couldn’t put me into school yet. I failed miserably at dance. Piano lessons I was better at, and stuck with that for many years. Lessons were only thirty minutes, eventually sixty, one day a week. I didn’t start those until I was five. I was bored out of my mind, at least Mum tells me. They had a friend who suggested horseback riding. I took to it easily for some reason. I started competitively two or three years before Hogwarts and then had to quit, obviously. I rode during summers and holidays, but it wasn’t quite the same. In fact,” she said, glancing up at him again.

Oh, there was a thought. Would he enjoy it, she wondered? Would he agree to it? Or would he dismiss her idea as being frivolous?

“Yes.” He sounded amused.

“Well, I assume you know how to make an unauthorized portkey.”

“I do,” he said, sounding cautious.

“I was thinking maybe we could go to the American Kentucky Derby in May.”

“Why?”

He didn’t sound … opposed, merely curious as to why she’d want to do that. That encouraged her to finish saying what she’d thought of. Would she have if he’d been dismissive or sounded as if her questions irritated him? She wasn’t sure. It was just a silly idea that came to her, but it could be fun.

“Why not? We could get dressed up in fancy muggle clothes and see horses race. If we really want to have fun with it, we could smuggle in the ingredients to make our own mint juleps before we go to the race. I’ve always wanted to taste one, and to do so all dressed up in finery would be fun. We have a chance to see America during Prohibition, Erik. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

“I can admit it would be interesting to witness a bit of that piece of history in person.”

She gasped, a bit surprised that he agreed with her interest in seeing that. History was so fascinating, and they now had the chance to see some of it unfold. A lot of it unfold. Well, the next seventy years’ worth anyway. She clutched his arm just a bit tighter for a second. “Well, think on it. It would be kind of fun, and it’s not as if we have anything else to do until you start working. Presuming you get the professor’s job anyway.”

Obviously, if he didn’t get a position at Hogwarts then he’d likely go the apothecary route. That would result in them not having so much free time. Probably very little actually.

“True. And I suppose you are deserving of some sort of pomp to go with becoming a wife.”

She bit her lower lip a bit at that. That he thought she deserved something. That she was a wife. She was his wife. In reality she was Hermione Jean Snape, though no one but the two of them, and Albus, would ever know that.

How … peculiar the past few days were.

“Mm, that wasn’t why I suggested it, but yes. It could be like a honeymoon! No one would ever see us again! We could be tourists!”

He chuckled as he produced the key Albus had given him that would open the door. There was a second one he’d kept with the rest of the things for now. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for her to wait.

She hesitated at the threshold, glancing at him curiously. Had he heard or seen something?

“I trust that Albus - either of them - wouldn’t knowingly set us up in a cursed home, but let’s just make sure we’re not crossing the threshold into a trap of some sort.”

She gave him a few minutes to check out the reception hall, he tilted his head in a “you can come in now” gesture and she stepped inside. There were no elves as Albus had mentioned. Mintzy, and whoever helped her, had obviously been busy after she was asked to ensure the house was clean and stocked with supplies.

“Shall we explore then?”

It took them a while to take it all in. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when the headmaster said he’d be setting them up in a home. Something similar to the muggle residence visible from the street. Sufficient for their needs.

This was … well, grand. A home that would rival any of the wealthy purebloods they were likely to encounter in this time.

There were two wings, each four floors high. The one wing, clearly meant to be lived in, had ten bedrooms and six bathrooms in addition to the master suite that consisted of two bedrooms with a shared bathroom and huge walk-in closet. She’d blushed a bit at the sight of the tub. Whether it was the previous occupants’ intentions or not, she was fairly certain that she and Severus could fit in the tub more than comfortably together. Thankfully, he was perusing the closet while she was looking at the bathroom, so he did not see her reaction to the tub. Or what she’d thought upon viewing it.

She wasn’t even sure where the thought had come from. She’d certainly never thought about taking a bath with a man before. Best not to think about where the idea came from.

For now anyway.

There was a reception hall, kitchen, study, library, drawing room, dining room, formal dining room, music room, billiards and card room.

The two floors meant for living versus sleeping had two bathrooms each, which considering there was only two of them at the moment was more than sufficient.

They also had a two-story ballroom in one wing that had its own apparition area and foyer separate from the house’s regular entrances with an additional two bathrooms off of it. The ballroom took up three floors of its wing in its height with the fourth floor consisting of a couple of sitting rooms.

There was also a lovely conservatory, staff quarters off the kitchen via an entrance off the pantry, and a cellar with dungeons which made Hermione shiver at the thought of. There was also an attic, which contained nothing but dust from what they could tell when they looked in. The conservatory looked out over what she imagined would be one of the gardens.

The home was furnished, every room, complete with paintings on the walls, and nicely, too. Nothing she saw screamed that it needed to be replaced. Certainly, none of it was offensive or hideous.

“Did Albus give us money for furniture? I feel somewhat bad taking it if he did,” she asked.

“I think Albus wanted to be sure we - meaning you - were happy where we are. If what you see is suitable, then I shall put it away for a rainy day.”

She nodded, eyeing the room they were in currently with a more frivolous eye. Knowing that in a few years things would not be easy, and that anything extra they’d put away would likely come in handy.

“We both know those are coming,” she said softly.

He nodded simply.

“You will not be destitute, Hermione. I did not agree to this, bring you seventy years in the past to have you starve and go without. I swear to you, between my savings and what Albus provided us with, we will be fine.”

“I believe you,” she whispered.

She trusted him. She really did. She just knew that tough days were coming. They both knew that they were, without question or doubt. That many would starve, many would go without, many would die. No one else did.

“I made notes myself, knowing what we would be presented with. Would you like to see?”

“Your library excursion, I presume?”

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s get comfortable, yeah?”

They sat in what would likely be their room if - when - they got to the point of sharing. It was bigger than the other bedroom, so it would make sense to share this one.

At least she hoped he planned on sharing it with her, eventually. She certainly didn’t plan on sleeping separately from her husband the next hundred or so years.

His or her room for now.

As it was clearly the main master bedroom, she wondered if he would let her have it, or take it for himself. The second bedroom their bathroom and closet connected to wasn’t as large but not cramped either. This one had a sitting area with a table big enough for them to both sit at as well as accompanying chairs, which they’d both used their wands to clean off despite it appearing the elves did a suitable job. Neither doubted the elves were thorough, it was just a habit she supposed for both of them, especially knowing the house had been closed up for a while. The other bedroom was really just a bedroom with very little extra space for a table and chairs or anything beyond the things commonly found in one.

She slid the notebook to him and watched as he paged through it. She was a little nervous as to what he might say or think.

“This is…” he said, paging through it a second time.

“I know.” She was rather proud of what she’d accomplished.

“And you did this in a matter of seventy-two hours or so?”

The notebook was a breakdown of a variety of things.

First were various fashion trends, for both of them. And children. As well as household furnishings and decor. She didn’t go into great detail with that, but she had looked at things.

Then she’d researched sporting events: winners (and losers) of the Kentucky Derby, World Series, boxing matches, football matches, Olympics, and so on throughout the years. She’d also included the odds on the winning team actually being that at the beginning of each season as well as at the beginning of the actual series. This was not documented for every year, as she couldn’t find it listed for every single year. There were results for quidditch matches as well.

There were also dates of important events that might affect their livelihood like the Depression and World War II. Though, she was confident he would know those dates the same as she did.

“We cannot…”

“I’m not suggesting that we make millions gambling, but you and I are practical people, Erik. We are by ourselves, and are going to be responsible for a difficult child at best from the sounds of it. One who will be required to be kept busy and occupied. Entertained. Stimulated. We have to find things to challenge his mind. There are no televisions, video games, or computers here. I admit that I grew up with a level of comfort, and would like to provide that for him. I don’t know Albus as well as you do, so I didn’t know what he views as comfortable. I simply wanted to be sure that we have the means to survive if we have to go that route. I am not doubting your abilities to support us, truly. I believe in you, and that you did not bring me here to fail. I wouldn’t have come here if I thought otherwise. We do not know what is going to happen. Albus cannot predict with certainty that you will get and retain a job at Hogwarts. Horace must have kept it for several years for a reason. I’m not implying that he’s better than you. I can’t imagine that he would be, but Albus just cannot know for certain what’s going to happen for the next seventy years. So, yes, I took advantage of the fact that we will know these things. Just in case. I don’t consider it a crime to ensure that we eat and have a roof over our heads! Not to mention, we have no idea what we might face along the way, when we may have to make a decision about that boy. We may not be able to stop at our vault before we leave if we really have to go on the run. So, I wanted to be sure we had a way to survive.”

“It’s not a crime. I was just ensuring that you realized my goal is not to…”

“I do! Again, I am not daft, and would appreciate it if you not treat me as if I might be. Albus wouldn’t have chosen me for this if he thought I was, nor would you have agreed. Give me some credit. It’s a just in case.”

“Do you even like sports? I didn’t get the impression you did. At least listening to Weasley whining about your lack of interest in quidditch.”

She was admittedly surprised he noticed that, but then she supposed Ron was fairly vocal about it more than once or twice.

“I enjoyed watching games with my dad, but no it wasn’t something I’d go crazy for. However, he liked American baseball for some reason. I could see Babe Ruth play. He used to talk about him all of the time when I was little. That,” she said, getting teary eyed. It was the first time she’d really allowed herself to think about the fact she’d never see them again. She wiped the tears away. She knew he saw them, but he said nothing. “Well, that would be very cool. To answer your question, though, not particularly. I know of no other things people can bet on, so I went with what I know. Games. Events. Matches.”

He chuckled.

She also made a list of particular companies, and when their initial public offerings were throughout the years as well as some that were just good, solid investments even if they were already in circulation. There were a few that she knew would be overall successful. A few that she knew with things like World War II coming up would perform well eventually, even if they weren’t growing like gangbusters currently.

“I’m sorry, I just truly don’t think it’s wrong to ensure we have a secure future. And maybe a secure future for Tom as well as, well, our future selves. And Albus did not tell me that I cannot use what knowledge I have. I know Disney and McDonald’s are successful companies. I know that there are companies that do well because of the war. I know, for example, that my father said he wished his father had invested in Willy-Overland in 1940 after France’s collapse. I can’t help that I remember these things!”

“Of course not. I’m not upset with you, Marie. Quite the opposite. I just didn’t come back here to be excessively wealthy via less than reputable means. In fact,” he said and stood. He walked to the bag he had with the undetectable extension charm and brought it to the table with them.

“I brought some things along myself,” he said.

In addition to the most current version of Hogwarts: A History there was a book for each of the schools. He also pulled out some newspapers (muggle and magical).

“Albus gifted us with a copy of the registration and birth list from 1926 to the year we just left. He thought it might come in useful.”

“Oh,” she said, glancing from the various books to him. “That’s wonderful and clever. And thank you,” she said, relieved he wasn’t truly upset, or thought she’d done something wrong. “I don’t want to cheat either, I assure you, but as long as we do it sparingly and responsibly I don’t see the harm. I mean, the Kentucky Derby. We could go and claim we’re on our honeymoon, which wouldn’t be untrue, and got one hundred dollars as a gift. I liked the name Bubbling Over, so you being the smitten, newly wed husband do what your bride asks of you.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, to them!”

“That is two months from now. Let’s see how the time before then goes. Obviously, I have to get an interview and the position I seek before we decide anything. I would not be adverse to a bit of leisure time after the past fifteen years. Hell, twenty-five if I’m being honest.”

She shook her head. No doubt he spoke the truth. And understated it immensely. He made light of it, but she didn’t imagine the past fifteen years had been a picnic. While she was getting horseback riding lessons because she was bored, he was having to keep up the persona of spy and hating muggles.

“I can imagine.”

“In addition, as I mentioned to Albus when we were in his office in this time. I plan on working with you so that you can sit your OWLs and NEWTs. I have brought everything we should need to that end. We don’t have to start tomorrow, but we will have to start rather soon, as September will be upon us quicker than we likely realize.”

“I understand. I, really, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Marie. I meant what I said. I want you to do what you want to. If being a full-time mum to Tom is it, that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with that, in my opinion. I’m sure some would say it’s a waste of your intellect, but if Tom is at all like Albus thinks he will be even at a young age I’m inclined to think it wouldn't’ be. If being Hogwarts’ librarian is it, that’s fine, too. You are giving up two years of education. That is a huge sacrifice to people like us. We’ll take a few days, settle in, and then we can figure out how we want to work it.”

“You’re not going to be a tyrannical git, are you?”

He scoffed. “I will try to refrain from being that.”

“Then I think we will be fine. I look forward to learning from you, Severus. Really. I’m sure I would have figured out how to work sitting them in on my own, but your help is more than appreciated.”

“All of these items will have to be kept hidden, obviously, but I will charm my bag to accept you so that you may access it for now. I tried to keep an inventory of everything I put into it so that we know what we have. I may have, the past week or so, gotten a little careless updating it. The cellar being empty will come in handy, I believe. I have a tent that I’d like to put down there once I’ve had time to ensure it’s safe for us to be in it. I’m sure it is, but I’d like to be certain first. We could keep things in the tent that we would like to have easier access to than this bag. Once Tom gets older, we’ll have to evaluate whether the cellar is an appropriate place to keep such things. It, and the door to the cellar, would be heavily warded, of course, but still easier to sort through than this bag.”

“Oh,” she said, not having realized her being able to access his bag would be a possibility. She supposed it made sense, though, like the magical tents she’d seen (and he presumably brought with them). Same premise, just the tents were on a larger scale. And, yes, she could see what he meant. The bag wasn’t a room they could walk into and have books on a shelf. She nodded. “Yes, right. Thank you.”

She loved that he was going to give her access to these things. That he’d thought to bring items with him so that she could prepare to sit her OWLs and NEWTs. That he knew she’d want access to them. She couldn’t see a reason for them to be accessed often, but it would be good to read things as their journey progressed to see what had changed. She imagined there were some resources he brought along that wouldn’t be available yet he’d still want to be able to consult.

He stood then, sliding his coat off and draping it over his chair. This room was spacious, and she really liked this cozy area to sit in. In addition to the table they were currently sitting at there were two comfortable looking chairs in front of the fireplace. It was March so chilly, but not quite as cold as the middle of January. She could imagine it would be nice to enjoy a morning cup of tea and a good book here on a winter day before starting her day. A nice blanket draped over her to keep herself warm and cozy.

He’d be gone come September likely, which meant she’d be on her own in this house in November and December until Tom Riddle was born. Practically into January.

He gasped followed by an almost painful sounding hiss, drawing her attention back to him. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. Should she be insulted or glad that he thought it was okay to be so … casual in front of her? She wasn’t sure. She’d never seen him before this out of his robes, let alone with his shirtsleeves rolled up. (She wasn’t insulted, not even close. She’d seen friends of her dad and some of their neighbours in tank tops and shorts when doing yard work and such over the years.)

“What?” she asked.

He turned to her then, clutching his left forearm. She did not know him well enough to understand the look on his face. Him clutching that arm in that spot could not be good, though. Could it?

Dear God.

Was he being summoned?

She stood from the chair quickly, her hand flying to her mouth.

“No!”

She didn’t even think before the word came out. It was not possible that he was here in 1926 and being summoned! She assumed that Albus had researched whether that would be possible before even asking him to do this. Likely Severus did, too, once the idea had been presented to him. She hadn’t thought to ask, because she didn’t have such a mark, and it just never occurred to her.

And then he lifted his hand away, revealing … nothing.

It was just an arm with flesh and hair like hers or anyone else's, nothing more.

No Dark Mark.

It was her turn to gasp as she went to him, running the tips of her fingers over the skin there.

No snake. No skull. Nothing. The skin was smooth, other than the hair, and completely unblemished aside from a few scars. It wasn’t faded as she knew had happened during the time Voldemort was not in power.

It was completely gone.

She was guessing what the look on his face meant now: incredulity. Astonishment.

“How?” she asked.

“I can only assume because it has not yet been created, and as its creator hasn’t been conceived nor born yet …”

Did Albus know this would happen? Was this why he’d sent them back prior to Tom’s conception even? There was nothing saying they couldn’t have been sent back shortly before Tom was born, except she supposed Severus might have been more hard pressed to get a position at Hogwarts in December.

What Albus knew, or why this happened, didn’t really matter. That Albus wasn’t here for them to ask. She was so happy for him. She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Oh! That’s wonderful, Severus. A completely fresh start for you. No one will ask you what it is or what made you think of it…”

She stopped talking then, realizing what she’d just done and that she was still touching him. She drew away, backing up. He didn’t look angry, but was clearly surprised. She knew he was a very private man, and barely hours into this she’d completely invaded his space.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right. You caused me no bodily harm.”

He looked as if he was going to say something else, but closed his mouth and said nothing more.

“Would it come back if you went back, do you think?”

“I do not know, nor am I going through that again in an attempt to find out.”

She laughed softly. “I don’t blame you.”

He took another moment to stare at his arm while she returned to her seat. He hadn’t left the room, but she sensed this was a moment he wanted to be alone. He held it out in front of him, clenched and unclenched his fist. Moved it around in circles and cast a spell with his wand. Though he was right handed he was obviously capable of casting with his left as well. She wondered if he taught himself for fear his right hand would be incapacated intentionally by someone. As a general rule, they were not taught to cast ambidextrously.

It was rather fascinating. She truly would be hard-pressed, even just watching him casually go through his casting motions, telling which was his preferred hand. She knew only because she’d observed him writing and eating with his right hand.

“Yes, I will teach you to cast with both hands,” he murmured and she knew she was blushing again.

Damn him! Was he really that clever? Or was she just that obvious?

Finally, after a few minutes he returned to the chair he’d been sitting in moments ago. The one he’d draped his coat over. She couldn’t help but stare at his arms. Both of them. She realized again she had never seen him out of his robes before all of this.

It was … odd.

He set his wand on the table between them, and she eyed it curiously. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his wand just set down somewhere.

“So, I think tomorrow we should go room by room. Take an inventory, decide if each room is set up as we want and for what we want,” he said succinctly, as if he hadn’t just discovered something rather monumental.

So, he didn’t want to talk about the fact that he no longer bore the mark of the man who they were here to attempt to save. She supposed it wasn’t her place to be pushy. He was probably feeling a great many things about that discovery that he wouldn’t want to share with someone he barely knew when it got down to it, wife or not.

“That makes sense.”

It did. They needed to know what was here, and get a feel for what they wanted. Together.

“Will the cellar bother you?”

She scrunched her nose a bit at that. Where was that question coming from?

“Why?”

“I noticed you did not seem overly fond of going down there when we looked at it earlier. In addition to the tent, I was thinking I could have a potions lab built down there for the time being. Eventually, I’d like to have my own lab on the premises. One of the existing buildings would suffice, but honestly I’d prefer it be something no one would happen upon unless they were looking for it. I could use the study I suppose, the library could serve as a study. I’m not sure we need both just the three of us, but if we get to the point of having company, which we will have to whether we like it or not, they might wonder. My thought is, as Tom gets older, the cellar could be locked and more effectively and strongly warded than what I could do to one room on a floor we’re not trying to prevent access to any of the other rooms.”

“No, the cellar is fine. Are you planning on needing a lab here?”

“No, the lab would be for you, which is why I’m asking. If you wish to learn beyond what you’ve studied, I will not be able to bring you to Hogwarts for months. Tom won’t be born until December. Presuming I get hired for the upcoming school year, that would leave you alone for over three months. I know you’ll be studying, but you need to do something but just reading. I’d be able to come home for Christmas holidays obviously. We don’t know if I’ll be allowed to come home on weekends.”

“I suppose,” she said. “And no one will find it odd that your new wife isn’t living with you?”

“Well, I’d thought about that, despite what Albus said as far as you doing anything muggle. I happen to think the opposite. I think that if Tom is not to be raised to think muggle equates to badness, he needs to see it is not. I think we need to show him they are not. I am not saying that we should admit you're muggleborn.” She stiffened a bit at that. He must have seen her do it. “I don’t care, and I want to be clear about that here and now before we delve further into our story. I know what others say about me, but I want to assure you that I do not care what your blood status is. I will not deny fifteen to twenty years ago I said, and did, some things that I am not proud of.” He sighed here, and she watched his forearms as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “I was weak. I wanted to belong. I hadn’t as a child, and assumed I would at Hogwarts. I was incredibly wrong. I found this group of people.” He shrugged here. She was honestly surprised he said this much! “I really didn’t - don’t - hate muggles or muggleborns.”

His eyes met hers and she saw pain there.

“I can’t say that I understand, Severus. Obviously, I can’t, and I’m not going to lie to you, but I don’t think you hate muggles or muggleborns. Your opinion of me, my thought as to it anyway, had little to do with who my parents were.”

“You and I both know that others currently do - in 1926 - and there always will be those that do. Your being muggleborn may close doors to him that wouldn’t otherwise be. So. As far as you, a reasonable muggle position wouldn’t be altogether bad. You certainly could teach younger students more than sufficiently. Librarian in town would be an option. Do you have secretarial skills? I would invest in a manual typewriter, so that you could become proficient on one as it is quite different from an electric typewriter or computer keyboard. Shorthand would be something else you’d want to learn if such a position was of interest to you. You have time to think of those options while you prepare for your testing. Otherwise, by September you would be known to be pregnant and far enough along that I could say that you prefer to stay home and set up the nursery and finish the home before a baby comes. I also want to assure you that you do not have to work. It is not an expectation I have, but I realize you might get bored without that in play. You are a product of your generation, women worked commonly. You also have a mind that was made to be used, and not on how best to darn socks. So, I understand. Bear in mind, you do not want elves, which I’m fine with to a point. Elves would know you’re not pregnant, and they do gossip just like any living being.”

She nodded. These were all valid points. She was glad that he’d thought of the muggle job being not just possible but reasonable, the same as she had. They had time to worry about her employment if she chose to work. She couldn’t get a job until after they got Tom anyway.

“The only person besides us who knows you are not actually going to give birth is Albus, and he doesn’t know who the child is. I do think when we get Tom we should rethink the house elf issue. Getting elves does not mean we have to treat them poorly. However, in the meantime, this is a large home. I have no problem assisting in the upkeep between now and August. As there are only the two of us, I don’t see it being problematic to keep up on things. However,  once I am employed. Well, that will fall primarily on your shoulders. You may find you’re not as bored as you think.”

She was glad it seemed they were both on the same wavelength as far as whether they were going to be Tom’s parents or adoptive parents. She thought somehow being adopted would make him even more curious about his past, which would be bad. Potentially, very bad. They also both seemed to recognize that they could not keep him segregated from the muggle world if they wanted him to grow up any differently. And it wasn’t just Thomas Riddle they were here to try to change the minds of either when it got down to it. They were trying to bring tolerance and acceptance years before tyranny under Voldemort could happen.

They may succeed in what they were here to do with Tom. That didn’t mean another wouldn’t be there in the future to teach intolerance to those willing to listen and accept that way of thinking.

“Are you hungry? Or would you rather sleep? I imagine our routines and sleeping schedule may be off for a bit.”

“I would think so,” she said. She hadn’t really eaten anything but the chocolate when they arrived for a long time. She was, now that he mentioned it, hungry. “I could eat.”

“You should have said something, I didn’t even think you hadn’t eaten for possibly days. At least not a meal. Let’s go see what was brought for us then. Bring your notebook, we can make a list of items we’d like to buy tomorrow that weren’t thought of for us.”

“Sure,” she said.

“You will have to hide it.”

“I know.”

“And probably not tell me where it is.”

“Afraid you’re going to use what I took notes on?”

“Hardly. Albus is an exceptional legilimens. I’d say he was up there with Tom, but not quite to Tom’s level. I, of course, don’t know this Albus personally, so he might be devious enough to just slam into your mind. I would hope not. I will work with you on occlumency, by the way. He will be around me more than you, though, at least initially. So, it’s my brain he’s going to pick at for information and knowledge. He already knows he survives. Despite what he says, he won’t be able to resist. It may not be this month or even this year, but eventually he will. So the notebook, and the device, I will entrust you to hide sufficiently, and put it deep in the recesses of your mind where no one can find them.”

“No pressure or anything,” she said wryly.

“Yes, well, you are reputed to be the cleverest witch of your age, and I would not have agreed to this plan with you as my partner in it if I didn’t think that you could do it. We will take advantage of Albus being busy with other things, and get you to where I feel confident that you can survive his probing. We will start, of course, with you having hidden it somewhere not meant for permanent safekeeping.”

“Understood.”

She walked with him to the hall then and glanced at him as they headed toward the kitchens.

“What?” he asked.

She smiled a bit that he could tell she was thinking something.

“What will the sleeping arrangements be?”

“What are you implying, Granger?”

“Clary. Actually Prins now, if you don’t mind,” she teased. “I’m not implying anything. It was a legitimate question.”

“Well, I’d assumed the room we just left would be yours.”

“And yours?”

“So long as you don’t mind sharing a bathroom and that closet with me, the one adjoining it.”

“Oh good. Yes,” she said.

That was kind of a relief. She assumed he was going to take a room on a completely different floor or convert one of the sitting rooms in the other wing where the ballroom was into his bedroom. Some might find that good, at least until they grew comfortable with this situation. She didn’t want floors separating them, though.

“Good?”

“Well, I’d like to see you once in a while, and not live on other ends of the house.”

“I’m sure I can’t fathom why that’s true, but I will endeavour to ensure you’re not lonely.”

“I don’t expect conversations.”

“Contrary to you continuing to talk as we walk to the kitchens to see about dinner.”

“Just explaining. I’m fine with reading or what have you, but knowing I’m not alone, at least for right now, would be welcome.”

“Very well,” he said with a sigh.

“And, well, we should make an effort to not only get comfortable with one another, but get to know one another if we’re expected to pull off being in love and getting pregnant right away.”

“Of course,” he said with a slight nod as if he agreed but wasn’t willing to say so directly.

“Thank you.”

“Can you chop vegetables without talking my ear off, do you think?”

“I will try. You can always tell me to shut up.”

“That would be rude and I would not do that, however I will bear in mind that you are not against being told that I want quiet. It is appreciated. Despite living at Hogwarts, I am used to my solitude so there may be a period of … adjustment.”

“For both of us. I’ve certainly never been a wife or a home’s mistress before.”

His lips thinned a bit at that, but she could tell she’d scored a point with that comment. They both had things to adjust to. This wasn’t just Severus Snape anymore. It was the two of them. Together.

“So vegetables then?”

“Yes,” she said.

***

April 1996

Harry read Hermione’s letter at least a dozen times. Ron had, too. The headmaster. Well, they couldn’t get to him, and McGonagall was telling them next to nothing. She claimed she knew nothing more, but Harry wasn’t buying that.

Why was she being threatened to the point of leaving school and being sent into hiding? Why her? She was just a student like he was. It just didn’t seem … right to him.

He’d written her a handful of letters since getting hers the Monday after Easter. McGonagall hand delivered it to him at the Burrow. He’d sent none of them, because he wasn’t going to endanger his best friend, or her parents, even further.

Obviously, the headmaster had access to all sorts of information Harry didn’t, and the letter was definitely Hermione’s handwriting. Mr. Weasley had cast some sort of spell on it that revealed that it was. Harry hadn’t even had to ask Ron’s dad to do that.

“She’ll be back, Harry,” Ginny said, taking a seat beside him. “Come on, she ended the letter talking about taking the OWLs. She expects to be back.”

He glanced at that PS again. She was right.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I get it. She’s your best friend.”

“And well, she’s the smartest witch I know. I guess I don’t know how to do all of this without her.” This was followed by a touch to his forehead, making it very clear what the this was he was talking about.

Ginny set her hand over his, squeezing lightly. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, thankfully. He didn’t want to deal with that at all right now.

“You will, Harry. You will, because you’ll want to prove to her that you can do it without her.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t mean that you don’t want her here, of course you do. Harry, you’re still a wizard. The headmaster wouldn’t send her away if he didn’t have confidence in you .”

She had a point. He still wished he knew where this threat, or whatever it was, had come from that made them take Hermione away from him. And Mr. Weasley heard rumours about Snape. He hadn’t been able to find out anymore than the fact their potions professor’s name came up over the weekend.

“Thanks, Ginny,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome. Now the boys and I were going to go out for a round of quidditch. Want to come?”

He did. He absolutely did. He felt weird, though, as if he should be doing something to find her. To help her. She’d help him if the situation was reversed.

“If the headmaster hid them, they’re hidden well.”

He sighed with a huff.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He wasn’t going to find them with his limited resources. The headmaster probably had safe houses on top of safe houses all around the world.

She tugged on his sleeve a bit. “Come on, Harry. Some fresh air will do you good.”

He folded up the letter. Again. It had even been written in regular ink with a regular envelope. All pointing to the fact she’d written it at her parents’ house.

“Yeah,” he said, before sliding it into his pocket.

***

“Anton,” the Dark Lord bellowed. Lucius kept his head bowed, his attention on the hem of the Dark Lord’s robe. Their Lord was obviously not happy, that much was evident. Lucius didn’t dare look elsewhere.

“My Lord,” Anton said, bowing at Voldemort’s feet.

“Why am I hearing reports that Severus is dead?”

“I do not know, My Lord,” he said. It was clear by Anton’s tone that not only did he not know but he hadn’t known until Voldemort just said something. That would not end well for the wizard.

Lucius barely managed to hide the smirk at Anton lifting his head without permission ever so slightly before responding. The news the Dark Lord had delivered was what stopped the smirk from coming. Overjoyed he might be at Anton being the subject of the Dark Lord’s ire. What he’d said had been … upsetting.

Was it true? Was Severus dead? And no one had told him? They were friends. He was godfather to his only son.

“Why am I reading about it in the Daily Prophet instead of hearing it from those he trusted?  Those who should have had his back? Those who shouldn’t have allowed him to die?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” Anton said.

Lucius could hear the hint of panic sneak into the fellow death eater’s voice. His accent always got more pronounced in those instances. He didn’t err often. He was one of the Dark Lord’s seasoned followers.

“You don’t know?” The Dark Lord’s voice rose here to an almost shriek-like sound.

“I do not.”

“Who organized the raid on that mudblood’s house then?”

“I don’t know,” Anton said. “No one does that I’ve spoken to.”

“And yet the mudblood’s home was raided, Anton. She and her parents are evidently missing. Missing, Anton. Not captured. Not dead. And Severus is dead.”

“I am sorry, My Lord.”

“Sorry! You were the one planning their demise. Someone did it instead, and all you can say is that you are sorry? No worries, there’s no need for any more explanations for now. You failed me, Anton. My trusted Severus is gone!”

Lucius wanted to say something. He didn’t know what to say, but his friend of twenty-five years, his son’s godfather, being taken from him in this manner bothered him. It was so unnecessary. Severus was pretty clever. If he could be gotten to. Well, that was a disturbing thought.

How had the girl gotten away, though? Draco had reported she was going to the Weasleys’ for Easter holidays. Had she changed her mind? Had his son gotten his information wrong? Who  could have found that out and organized a raid on her home?

And with Severus gone, who was going to keep a watchful eye on Draco while he was at school? Lucius counted on Severus doing that, and telling Lucius things the Dark Lord might find interesting from time to time. He was a good friend that way, passing morsels that would keep Lucius in the Dark Lord’s good graces.

Lucius kept his head bowed while Anton was tortured by the Dark Lord.

He stifled the smile at the sound of Anton’s moans. Anton, while more than capable, was a bit full of himself, so to see him taken down a notch was … welcome. No doubt the wizard would be begging for the Cruciatus about now because their lord was not merciful this night. Lucius was confident that he could have plotted a better raid on the mudblood’s house.

“Who allowed his body to be taken?” the Dark Lord asked.

Mercy, Lucius thought with a gulp. His body hadn’t been recovered? Or had it? By Order members?

“I will find out, My Lord,” Anton finally said when he was able to speak again.

“I thought that you might, Anton.”

The other wizard stood then, slowly. Lucius knew full well what it was like to stand after rounds of the Dark Lord’s punishments. One couldn’t show weakness, though, or he’d punish them again.

Better him than me.

Oh, Severus.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Five***

An owl showed up at breakfast the next day, dropping a letter on the newspaper he was reading after Hermione opened the window to let it in. Well, dropping a letter, which hit the newspaper, and then fell onto the table at his place, narrowly missing his cup of coffee.

They’d already had breakfast, but they were still sitting at the kitchen table. Neither seemed in a hurry to get on with their day, as if they knew they had nothing but time. For the moment. Soon that would change, of course.

Both had commented while fixing breakfast that while they’d slept, it hadn’t been the most restful sleep they’d ever gotten. Hermione mentioned an adjustment and nerves about what was to come. He had to agree with her, and could only hope that as they got more comfortable here in 1926, and with one another, that rest would follow. He was used to little sleep. It went with his role. She, on the other hand, was likely not. And hadn’t gotten good sleep for the days prior to their trip back here.

They’d both need it, but she would especially. He knew this, likely she did as well. Childrearing was not an easy task on a good day. Add in the fact that their child could potentially murder someone in less than a score of years. Well, nine months of good rest would definitely do them both, but especially her, well. He wasn’t fool enough to believe the love Albus expected to be involved in this equation was going to start with him.

He paused in reading the morning paper, Albus no doubt was responsible for it - as well as the owl - being here. He doubted very likely the paper continued to get delivered to an empty house. Hermione said she’d wait to read it until he was finished. He was glad she wanted to read it, they’d both need to to get used to the current day’s events and topics. She was quietly studying something, it appeared. He didn’t ask what because, to this point, she’d been quiet and he appreciated that in the morning.

She’d told him last night that he could tell her to shut up. As he’d said then, he’d never say it like that, but he realized he would have to get used to company. So, he’d fought the urge to take the newspaper elsewhere and chosen to remain seated in here to see if he could do it.

“He’s given us an owl,” he said, gesturing to the more white than normal barn owl.

She looked up, seemingly only now noticing the owl was still at the table. He supposed she assumed he’d drop the letter, or whatever he was bringing, and leave. She offered it a residual piece of bacon that had been a bit overcooked from her plate.

“Well, that should prove helpful if we are to be separated, I expect.”

“Indeed. I also have an appointment at Hogwarts tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, good. Coming that soon must be indicative that Albus was convincing and that Headmaster Dippet is interested, yes?”

“I should imagine so. At least his sense of humour is not that drastically different from his future self.”

“Oh?” Her attention was still on the owl, which was fine. Likely she’d be the one using her most, so they should get acquainted and bond.

“Her name is Verdandi.”

Now her focus was on him. He recognized that look in her eye. She was thinking, likely scouring her mind for how she knew the name.

“Mm, keeping with our Scandinavian heritage, and the fact that this is now our present. He is clever, isn’t he?”

“At times,” Severus said. “So, that gives us today to do as we please. I know that I mentioned going room by room, but if I have an interview so soon, I think that we should ensure we have appropriate attire for anything that might come of that. So, might I suggest shopping? Clothing I guess is all we really need at this point. The kitchen and pantry were more than sufficiently stocked. You can go through the house tomorrow in my absence, make notes as I know that you are very capable of doing so thoroughly, and we can go from there. Is there anything else you have in mind for today?”

“No. I noticed that there are some clothes already in our closet. I’m sure there’s enough for me to get by if you’d rather take today to prepare for your interview.”

“I don’t need to prepare for it,” he said, realizing too late that it sounded entirely more conceited than he intended. It was the truth, though. “I get the impression this house may have belonged to someone no longer with us rather suddenly,” he said. “It would seem Albus was the secret keeper. So, I don’t know if he just couldn’t stomach going through the house or what.” He really had no idea when it came to Albus, certainly not 1926 Albus.

“Oh,” she said, and he could tell from the way her mouth tightened for just a moment that she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

His lips thinned a bit as he regarded her. Dinner the night before hadn’t been … unpleasant. They’d cooked together, enjoying the fruits of their labour with some wine she’d found. After dinner, and emptying the bottle of wine between them, they’d cleaned up together. Afterward they’d walked around the house for a bit longer before taking themselves to bed.

Separately.

Her half-kneazle came onto the scene after hours of doing his own acclimating to his new home to join his mistress for sleeping. The cat found his way into his room and bed at some point during the night, which Severus had to admit hadn’t been completely unwelcome, lying in a completely foreign bed located in a completely foreign time with a wife he truly didn’t know that well in the room next to his who he imagined would remain one in name only for quite some time. Well, the offered warmth and company was accepted.

When she’d asked him about the sleeping arrangements on their way to dinner he wasn’t sure what she’d wanted his answer to be. Had she been assuming, despite his assuring Albus that he would not initiate anything between them while she was sixteen, that he would have expectations anyway?

She hadn’t seemed to think that, though. She had genuinely seemed … he wasn’t sure if it was relieved or pleased … that he was taking the bedroom adjoining hers.

Fixing breakfast this morning had also not been unpleasant. She’d followed his directions or instructions both times, and seemed as if she wanted to learn how to do these things. A few weeks ago, hell a few days ago, he likely would have given some scathing insult about her mother teaching her these things. He realized, though, she’d come to Hogwarts at the age of twelve (essentially). When would she have learned?

She had let him read his newspaper, appearing as if she just wanted to be in the same room as him.

And now she was willing to put off clothes shopping, wear clothes left in their closet by someone Grindelwald was likely responsible for taking from this world.

He set the newspaper he’d been reading prior to the owl’s arrival down, regarding her. She seemed oblivious to his attention being on her now. Either that, or she didn’t care. He’d put money on his wife being so focused on their new owl as to not notice.

His wife.

He had a wife.

This witch was that wife.

She was talking softly to the owl.

Their owl.

He had an owl.

He had an owl with someone.

How utterly bizarre.

He never imagined she’d say yes to this scheme of Albus’. What sixteen year old would agree to going back to 1926? Leaving everyone and everything behind except him? Albus’ joking of his personality and temperament aside, Severus knew he was not a catch.

She was running a finger along its rather beautiful plumage. She had apparently already gained its favour. His eyes darted from the owl to the witch.

His witch.

She was an attractive witch.

A week ago, he would never have looked at or thought of her in such a capacity. Students were students. They were just bodies in chairs in his classroom that he tried to ensure didn’t die. Some were wizards and some were witches, but that was about the only thing that he allowed to register with him. He didn’t allow himself to see them as people. Individuals.

This one, though.

Attractive. Intelligent. Capable.

And so very young.

Sixteen and seventy years from her friends or parents, from anything and everything familiar. He wasn’t fool or conceited enough to believe she’d find him familiar. She’d given up a potentially bright future (assuming Voldemort was defeated) to come to this time where, no matter her intelligence or capabilities, she would be seen as less than. No matter her ability to make a decision for them, such as wanting an elf, he would be looked to for decision making.

He wasn’t stupid enough to believe she’d made the decision unaware of these things. One of the reasons he’d agreed to this scheme with her involved in it, was precisely that. He was confident she would have read about history enough to at least have a handle on things.

His immediate reaction when Albus had mentioned this project, and her as his choice in witches, was to say no. Albus had indicated at the time it was something he was thinking about, nothing more. Severus hadn’t cared. There was no way. At the time, she had not turned sixteen yet. Albus had asked him for the name of another witch who could do this. Well, Severus had not been able to name one. Intelligence was going to be a key element to all of this. They couldn’t have a dunderhead in charge of Tom’s day to day upbringing.

He cleared his throat. She apparently hadn’t found his silence out of place. Or offensive. That was a relief. He was not accustomed to being chatty.

“Those things can certainly be transfigured to fit you for today, while we do our shopping or around the house if you like. I would prefer that it not appear my wife is wearing transfigured clothing, as if I cannot afford better for you.”

“Mm,” she said, almost sounding distracted as she offered another small piece of crisp bacon, this one dipped in a bit of leftover egg yolk, to their owl. “Erik Prins is that particular, is he?”

She was being a bit cheeky, but he could tell there was genuine curiosity behind the question. Certainly, nothing she knew about him would lead her to the conclusion he might care about how anyone was presented to the world.

He’d never, until this moment and her mentioning that there were clothes already available to her, realized that he cared. He knew how it worked, though.

“He will be,” he said.

He absolutely would never have it said, or even thought, that he could not provide for his wife. He would wear used robes before he’d allow her to. Her image, and eventually that of Tom, was a reflection of him, probably more than what he himself presented to people. If people thought he didn’t care or provide for her, his family, that would not do for what they came here to do.

She gave a soft laugh.

“I suppose jeans, T-shirts, and lacy thong knickers are out for sixty years or so.”

He could not deny he had no problem envisioning her in just the outfit described. He’d seen her in muggle attire a few times, so picturing her out of robes was not difficult to do. The knickers, though, he would never even have deigned to think on what type of undergarment she, or any witch if he were being honest, wore. His few encounters involving witches weren’t the kind where focusing on their undergarments was required.

He was fairly certain on Saturday night when he fetched clothes for her, and took away the soiled ones, that neither pair of knickers was what she just mentioned. He hadn’t really paid attention, he just did her the favour of giving her clean clothes and getting rid of the dirty ones. He wouldn’t want to wear something again he’d worn for three days. At that particular moment she was still his student, intended wife or not. So, thinking about her knickers would have been entirely inappropriate.

Now she was his wife. How odd to think he had … rights now he didn’t days ago where she was concerned. A lesser man.

Well, he wasn’t a lesser man. He’d done some abhorrent things, but sullying a minor was not among them.

And that, he was sure, was one of the primary reasons that he was the male choice of this scheme of Albus’. Now that he thought about it, he wondered if Hermione hadn’t been the one the scheme was tailored around rather than the other way around. It never even occurred to him that might be the case until this moment. How incredibly … shortsighted of him. Albus knew he could trust Severus not to act inappropriately. He likely wouldn’t know that for certain about a few other wizards who could have been in contention for coming here.

“Do you actually wear thong knickers?”

He asked the question more as a joke, but as he’d just thought. She was his wife. She had brought the subject of undergarments up! He was allowed to be curious. 

Wasn’t he?

“That’s a very personal question, and I think one best put off for a few months at least, yeah?”

“Why?”

“Well, I’d offer to show you…”

He cleared his throat. Cheeky witch. Was she serious? She couldn’t possibly mean that. Could she? And why was that thought not completely unappealing?

“So long as you are dressed in appropriate knickers when we leave the house.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” she said with a salute.

“You are hilarious, Marie Rose.”

“Oh, that’s going to be how it is then?” This was asked with a laugh. “I always knew I was in trouble when my mum called out Hermione Jean.”

He chuckled. Yes, he was aware of that type of thing. “I didn’t have to worry about that very often. I knew that I was in trouble if my parents paid any kind of attention to me. They didn’t need to say my name.”

She stood then, and he watched discreetly as she brought her breakfast dishes, and then his, to the counter. She fussed at the sink area for a moment, getting everything just so apparently. She walked up behind him then, and he had to do everything in his power not to turn around or ask her what she thought she was doing.

She slid her hands to his shoulders and then after a moment, apparently waiting for him to scold or stop her, she slid them around his shoulders loosely when he did neither. He was so shocked by the gesture, that he didn’t have the wherewithal to scold her even if he’d wanted to. People just didn’t … touch him. He didn’t invite it, and no one challenged him on that. It suited him very well.

“Something tells me lack of attention will not be an issue from now on, Erik Magnus. Not in my presence at least. I will go get ready, and will be able to meet you in the foyer in about twenty minutes. I promise that I will be dressed in appropriate knickers. Top and bottom.”

She drew away then after bussing his cheek with her lips ever so lightly and quickly. She grazed her finger along Verdandi’s head and then left the room leaving him with no time to react, to either the kiss or her leaving.

“Insufferable witch,” he called out just for good measure. She wasn’t that fast where she wouldn’t have heard him.

What in the hell was he supposed to do with any of that?

Touching him? Kissing his cheek? Talking about her undergarments? Suggesting she’d show them to him eventually?

He sighed softly as he finished folding the newspaper back to the way it had been received. He would have to see where to put it. There had to be a barrel or something for burning material.

“Come, Verdandi, let’s find a suitable room for you to reside in. Madam Prins and I will endeavour to find something for you to claim as a perch and get you food while we are out today as well.”

The food would be gotten easily enough for certain. The perch might be a different story. If she was to be theirs, he would want her comfortable. He’d never had an owl before, but enough students certainly had over the years for him to have a basic idea of what an owl's needs might be. He briefly wondered how Hermione’s cat would do with an owl in the house, but realized he’d prowled Hogwarts for almost three school years, so was likely used to all manner of creatures; winged and otherwise.

He made his way in the direction of the staff quarters, which was accessible by a door off the kitchen pantry, to find a room there that would be adequate for their new family member. At least for today while they were gone.

Staff quarters.

He scoffed at that. They were probably larger and more opulent than his house growing up had been as a whole. In theory, they could close up the rest of the house and live here since there was access to the kitchen. He wouldn’t ask Hermione to do that, of course, and part of their … cover, for lack of a better word, was to endeavour to be social creatures. Wealthy ones. It would look suspect if they took up residence in the servants quarters.

She hadn’t traveled back seventy years with him to live in staff quarters. As if he wanted to give her the impression that he thought of her as nothing more than that.

Owls. Wives. Soon to be sons.

How had his life even come to be this?

And that wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he highly doubted Narcissa Malfoy or Walburga Black would ever have engaged Lucius or Orion in a conversation about their preferred type of knickers. Nevermind someone like Alecto Carrow. He didn’t even want to think on that, shuddering internally at the very idea!

And now he was left with months, potentially more given the type of man he was. He wasn’t going to walk up to her on the day of her seventeenth birthday expecting her to consummate their marriage.

That paved way to a thought.

When would she turn seventeen?

He should know that.

Not for consummation purposes, but as a husband, he should know his wife’s birthday. And gift her with something.

There was something he’d never thought of before.

Merlin, why hadn’t Albus warned him?

As if he’d ever had to buy a witch a gift before.

As if he’d bought anyone a gift before, for that matter.

Not willingly.

All that to realize that he would be left likely with several months to wonder what his wife’s preferred choice in knickers was.

And just what did she mean by lack of attention not being an issue? Was she planning on being a shrew of a woman until the day he died two days into this? A wife who planned on pestering him about every little thing?

He sighed, finding a suitable spot for an owl to go here and there from as was required of Verdandi. He returned to the kitchens, finding some additional scraps from their breakfast that the owl could feast on while they were gone. That was what she’d been doing at the sink area, no doubt, putting their uneaten food together for just this purpose.

She was a caring person. Genuinely so, it didn’t appear to be an act. He was most familiar with that type of caring. Insincere. Wanting something out of it. That was not in her nature. He would do well to remember that, he supposed.

He returned to the kitchen, assured Verdandi was settled for the moment, and started their morning dishes to washing. He had little to get ready for, other than to get some money.

How much would new clothes for her cost anyway? He truly had no idea. He imagined it wouldn’t be cheap, though, given she needed a complete wardrobe, right down to the aforementioned top and bottom knickers. They should also stop at Gringotts so that he could establish an account there. Even if he didn’t get the job at Hogwarts, they were here in Britain to stay. At least until January.

He realized that he would be wise not to deposit everything he’d brought with him at once. He also thought that it would be prudent for her to set up a second vault with her wand and the emergency alias Albus had set them up with. The second vault could wait until they were a bit more settled. Opening an account with the hope he got a job locally, wanting his wife to have access to funds in the event she went shopping without him. That sounded plausible to him.

He went to his room then, collecting what he thought was a more than sufficient amount of money for clothes shopping for the two of them. One good thing about his attire, while modern they didn’t stand out as being not of this time. He did glance at the man’s robes in the closet and ensured he would pass for today.

She was in the foyer waiting for him when he came down the stairs. She looked … nice. She wore a hat, and looked as though she spent time on her hair as well as applied a bit of makeup that was subtle and flattering to her colouring and features. He could only recall one time seeing her … made up, and that was the Yule Ball last year. He recalled she’d looked … more than adequately nice.

Had she done it for him?

There was a thought he wasn’t sure how to feel about, as no one had ever done such a thing for him or with him in mind in his life. He couldn’t ask, that would be both rude and rather conceited seeming, so he shelved it for a later time.

“I assume you got everything transfigured as needed?” he asked.

“Yes. This outer robe,” she said, gesturing to the item in question.

It was really more of a cloak than a robe. It looked nice on her, though. Flattering in the way it hugged her curves.

“Is so nice. I hated doing anything to it. I don’t know who these people were, and don’t want to think about what happened to them that we’re able to live here. She, it seems, was quite stylish.”

He’d noticed that, too, when he’d walked through their shared closet. While he had robes and suitable enough clothes to wear today. She, on the other hand, had left quite literally with the clothes on her back. When he’d gone to Hogwarts to retrieve her familiar, he’d spoken covertly with Minerva as to whether there was anything in her wardrobe … salvageable for their excursion. Minerva hadn’t believed so. He took the witch at her word, and he honestly couldn’t say he’d ever seen Hermione wear anything that would be suitable for 1926.

“May I make a suggestion?” he asked, regarding her.

“You may.”

“Leave the hat.”

“But it’s March and…”

“We will find you another hat if you so desire.”

“I thought it looked nice,” she said, looking confused and, if he didn’t know better, hurt.

“It’s not that it doesn’t look nice. It’s that it…” he paused, trying to think of the right words without looking like a romantic fool. He found that he rather liked her hair and, evidently, did not like it covered up. It seemed to be a pretty accurate way to gauge her mood as well. “Tames your hair.”

“I want it to!”

“Why?” The question was posed as he removed the hat in question.

“Well, I thought it would be less memorable. So, people wouldn’t remember that you had to buy me an entire wardrobe of clothing.”

“Our trunks did not arrive as they were supposed to? You want a new wardrobe as part of getting married? Your husband wishes to spoil you? Take your pick.”

“Honestly, Severus,” she said, reaching for her hat.

“It’s Erik.”

“Fine, Erik. Can I have the hat? Why do you even care!”

“Are you going to be this insolent when we are in public?” he asked.

“Insolent? Erik, please. I just want my hat.”

“I will give you your hat if you insist upon covering your hair. However, you have to remember when we are, Marie.”

“I remember!”

“In your actions as well as your words.”

“Really? You’re going to remove my hat from my person in public?”

“I might.”

She huffed.

“Is it likely we are going to meet Lucius Malfoy’s grandfather today? No, but is the potential there? Yes. As well as Arthur Weasley’s and so on. Are you going to huff at me like a child in front of them?”

“Well we aren’t in public. We’re in our home. I just want my hat! Why are you being ridiculous? It’s a hat, Erik. It’s March. Last I checked it’s permissible to cover one’s ears, and it was in the closet with this cloak so it has to be sufficient!”

He held the hat up, tapped it with his wand and instead of the brown hat it was now green. He reached then, and slid it over her head gently.

“Green, Erik? Really?” She huffed in indignation.

He shrugged. “It looks better,” he said simply.

She turned then, regarding herself in the mirror that was over a table in the foyer. She adjusted her hair a bit under the hat, scowling at the mirror reflection of him. He could see in her eyes that she realized it did improve the appearance of her outfit. Even if it was just an outer cloak and hat.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “It does look nicer than the black cloak with a brown hat. If that’s what you wanted to do, why not just say so?”

“I’d actually prefer no hat, but if you insist,” he shrugged.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, turning to face him after one last look in the mirror.

His lips thinned as he regarded her. “This ought to be good. Go ahead, Marie Rose.”

“I will try my best not to be insolent if you do your best not to be an arse, Erik Magnus.”

His lips quirked up. He knew it. He couldn’t stop it, and that seemed to make her angrier.

“And I swear to all that is holy, if you dare call me a child again, I will find somewhere else to live and a way to support myself that is not reliant on you. If my age is a problem for you then you should have thought about that before dragging my arse seventy years into the past. Do you think any sixteen year old daydreams about marrying someone nearly twenty years older than her? I have not said one word about that, though, have I.” She stepped closer to him then and poked his chest with her index finger. “And I didn’t before you took the deaging potion, so don’t bring that into this. Until this moment you’ve been … decent, but if this is any reflection on how you plan on behaving going forward then please count me out.”

“And you’d what? Leave?”

“I don’t know!”

He saw something in her eyes then.

Determination.

She would leave, he realized.

She would rather live alone in this strange time than put up with him behaving like a git or a selfish prick.

She had her notebook of things that could earn her money, after all. She could, in fact, probably survive just fine. With or without the notebook, truthfully. She was smart enough.

He shouldn’t care.

Really, life would be simpler without her. He’d survived this long having no one, he knew he could do it just fine without her interference.

Mothers died in childbirth all of the time.

And yet, what in the hell did he know about raising a child the right way?

Love?

Proper guidance?

Taking the steps to avoid Thomas Riddle from turning into what he did?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

His mother had been all right he supposed, but she was no prize. Somehow he didn’t think treating Tom Riddle the way he’d been treated would affect the change they were trying for.

He regarded this witch in front of him, daring to poke him in the chest and make demands upon him, as if she had any say in any of this. This was 1926, she had very few rights; abilities or not.

No one had dared speak to him in such a manner in years. They were too scared to.

She’d agreed to this plan on less than an hour’s notice. She’d asked no real questions, truthfully. The errand she went on was to aid them, the three of them, not just herself. She wanted to ensure the three of them, because Tom would be here sooner than either of them liked to think about, would survive.

She’d given up a family that loved her, friends who cared for, and were relying on, her. Granted, she probably agreed to this for Harry Potter, so she wasn’t really giving him up. She’d turned her back on what was certain to be a bright future, assuming the war ended in the way he (everyone not on the Dark Lord’s side) hoped. She, as far as he could tell, hadn’t even thought on her future, or what she’d be giving up by coming here.

He had none of those things. His future before they’d come here was not going to be a long or happy one. He’d contented himself with that back in 1980 when he’d agreed to Albus’ terms and conditions.

She, presuming they won the war, had a long life ahead of her. He had no doubt it would be a successful one. She’d given that up, though, to come here with him to raise a child that she, or he, may decide they had to end the life of despite their best efforts.

And do what with her life filled with so much potential until yesterday?

A life as a librarian or school teacher? Not that being his wife was any great prize either.

“What a waste,” he murmured.

“Talk to Albus then! This was not my idea. It was his, and yours!”

“You mistook my statement, it was not directed at you,” he said.

The way he saw it, he had two options here.

He could endeavour to not be a bastard, or he could continue to alienate the only person who was, when it got down to it, on his side. She would be on his side, too, if he didn’t fuck that up. She was loyal and defended those who fell under her umbrella of friendship and protection staunchly. He was all that was left. Until Tom came anyway.

Someone on his side was a very foreign concept, something he’d never had before. Not even Albus was truly on Severus Snape’s side. Severus was but a tool, a tool he had no doubt Albus had grown fond of as the years passed. He knew the old man would go on with another plan if something happened to Severus.

She had chosen to be on his side. No, she hadn’t specifically said that, but she had not had to. That was the crux of agreeing to do this. She was on his side. She had agreed to fidelity, but would she keep her word on that alone here for months if he was an arse? He liked to think that she would, but knew deep down he would not blame her if she did not.

There was a third option, he supposed.

One he truly hadn’t thought of until this very moment.

Was that pathetic?

He could endeavour not to be a bastard and actually make an attempt at courting his wife. Of course he had no idea on how to go about doing that. He’d tried somewhat with the hat. Obviously, not very well, since she’d gotten angry with him. He liked her hair down, flowing freely, almost an entity unto itself.

She’d taken it as him insulting or controlling her, so clearly he’d failed in that attempt. He did not feel … comfortable saying that he liked it in any particular way, though. Shy no doubt, even he could admit that, despite his age, he was not proficient in such activities. Fear of ridicule was there, too. He had no … complimentary experiences to look back on and use as an example when it came to dealings with women.

As she just pointed out, he was nearly two decades older than her and looked nothing like Weasley. An argument could be made for Krum perhaps, but Severus could acknowledge other than dark hair and eyes, the similarities in appearance ended there.

She would no doubt take her cue from him. At least for now. If he behaved like an emotionless arse, she would presumably do the same.

He didn’t want that!

He wasn’t sure he knew that until this very moment. He wanted better than that. He’d come, she’d agreed. They were married.

Now that he had that available to him.

He wanted it.

All of it.

That love Albus preached about.

They were likely going to be alone here for months, assuming he started teaching in September. He did not want those months to be miserable. He preferred, instead, that they were the beginning of what Albus wanted out of them.

A loving couple.

He rather liked the idea of passing those months pleasantly with, dare he think it, his wife who was his friend first.

He huffed softly, taking a deep breath.

His decision made.

He would attempt to woo her. To love her.

To not be an arse.

“I like your hair down, that is all I was trying to say. It was evidently my inept way of trying to pay you a compliment. I am unsure how it got turned into your interpretation that I was trying to tell you what to do,” he said softly with a bow of his head. “Shall we go then?”

She seemed to accept his roundabout apology. He knew he hadn’t actually said he was apologizing, but he wasn’t going to for trying to say he preferred her without the hat! That was beyond ridiculous. He was allowed an opinion!

The day did improve. At least he thought it did. He supposed she might have a vastly different opinion of things. She seemed no longer upset at any rate.

He ensured that she would be outfitted in everything a witch could need, quite literally from head to toe. He’d left her in the capable hands of the shopkeeper, told them he’d return, and ensured they saw he did truly have a coin purse full of galleons to spend. He just did not want to see her trying on garment after garment. If he did his things while she was doing hers then they’d be done sooner was his reasoning.

It had absolutely nothing to do with not wanting to see her clad in different outfits, some of them for sleeping and such, that he’d prefer not to see right now.

He returned to the shop at the allotted time, his own purchases and errands done. He was still made to wait, however. Finally she was ready, dressed in what she’d arrived in, including the cloak and hat.

“That was actually somewhat fun,” she whispered low enough he was sure no one else heard it. He scoffed in response.

That was all he needed! Her developing the shopping gene so many other women seemed to have been born with.

He returned the whisper with his own. “Do I need to worry about you bleeding our vault dry before I’m employed to add to it?”

“No, I think not, I’ve just never had the privilege of a total overhaul right down to my stockings. You know?”

“How would I?”

“Well, have you?”

He peered at her. Was she serious? Had she not been paying attention to how he outfitted himself the past four plus years she’d seen him? It was evidently a sincere question.

“No,” he drawled simply.

“Hmm, well, when I’m independently wealthy, I will deign to treat you to such an experience then.”

“Surely there are better things that you could spend your wealth on.”

“Yes, well,” she said with a shrug, dropping her hand to his forearm once the clerk had finished with her hefty purchases. “Thank you,” she said, moving onto her toes to kiss his cheek.

Touching. Kissing. These were things he was going to have to get adjusted to receiving.

And there was a thought. Would she expect them in return? Forget expecting them. Would she want them?

“It is far less than you deserve,” he said, in part because he knew this close the clerk was listening. In part, too, he spoke the truth. A suitable wardrobe was a drop in the bucket compared to what most would say she deserved for agreeing to this.

“Now what would you like to do?” he asked once they were out on the street outside the shop.

“You took care of everything you needed to?”

“I did. Clothes, Gringotts, lab supplies. We will return to Gringotts another day so that you can set up an account with your wand under your other pseudonym.”

She nodded slightly, as they’d already discussed why he wished her to do that. There may come a time when they’d have to flee, for a variety of reasons if things went pear shaped with Tom Riddle. She’d agreed an account, versus a vault, as a contingency was a wise course of action. Only monies would be necessary for it. They didn’t need two vaults, neither currently had enough for one really. Severus planned on storing things that had no business being at their home, though. They would be able to access the account anywhere, so long as they had her wand. Or for him, his identification.

“All that in a day?”

“It’s easy when I know what I’m looking for and the apothecary knows I’m not to be trifled with. I told them I’d be back if I found a job locally to outfit an entire lab. They seemed pleased at the prospect of a repeat customer.”

“I can imagine, it probably helped, I’m sure, that you also gave that stare.”

“What stare?” he asked.

“The one you’re so good at, that tells people exactly what you just said. ‘Don’t trifle with me.’”

“I have no such look.”

She scoffed. “Honestly, Erik. You do. I hope to see much less of it going forward, but you do.”

He knew that he did, of course. He hoped not to have to use it much going forward, and not just with her, truthfully. If he could go the rest of his life without people being frightened of him, or thinking he was evil, he would consider this scheme a success. He couldn’t say the image wasn’t fun to a degree, but it was also tiresome.

“As to my original question,” he prompted so they could do something other than stand outside the store.

“Can we just walk around some? And then go home before we do the food shopping?”

“That can be managed.”

Both had agreed there wasn’t an abundance of food shopping to do with as well as the elves had stocked them up.

It was almost like a different world walking around Diagon Alley at this time. Familiar yet not. She likely felt the same way even though she had fewer years to compare. It was strange, like walking in the shadows of what he knew. The same and, yet, very different.

She seemed to enjoy peeking into the various stores that she had no interest in entering, just wanting to see their windows. He found it somewhat intriguing, and a little endearing. She truly had a mind that wanted to know … everything. He’d never met anyone like that before. He could admit it wasn’t awful. At least she didn’t drag him into every store for this or that.

Eventually, they made their way back home where they went to their respective rooms to put their purchases away. He found her in her room, laying on her bed.

“Are you unwell?” he asked.

He asked it partly in jest, but time travel to this extreme could take its toll he wagered. He felt fine, but that didn’t mean that she did.

“No, just thinking,” she said.

“About?”

Did he want to know? Did he just open up a can of worms? He hoped not. It seemed the thing to ask, though. To show concern for her. It was a friendly and, certainly, a husbandly thing to do. Wasn’t it?

“Will I have much reason to wear muggle clothes? Like pants, I mean?”

“I guess that depends on what you plan on doing, but for the time being, I would think not. We can see about getting you a few things so that you can if you wish to without feeling uncomfortable. I realize it’s what you would be accustomed to outside of Hogwarts, but outside of our home I think we will be primarily magical. And propriety at this time would dictate skirts and dresses.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Albus also included a map with his information this morning, showing me more specifically where we are, so apparating into town should not be an issue. It appears it’s quite a distance otherwise. Evidently there is a muggle motor car in the garage of the muggle house that is functional, but I admit I hadn’t driven a muggle car in the time we came from since probably the eighties. I’m not sure I’d know how to drive one in this era.”

“Is it magical? The town, I mean. I agree with you on the car. We can look at it some other time. I wouldn’t have a clue how to drive it, but I’m sure we can figure it out together. I’m in no hurry, as long as you teach me to apparate.”

“I will, yes, I said I would. I will teach you all that I can, so that you are self-sufficient come fall. As to the town, I get the impression that there is a small magical community as part of a larger muggle town so we can do our food shopping there. As far as a library, or any other suitable for you job opportunities, we’ll review the map and go from there.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I have something else for you,” he said.

She sat up then, feet barely touching the floor due to the height of the bed. He kind of chuckled at that. He knew she was quite a bit shorter than he was, but something like this really drew his attention to it. “Oh, Erik, you already spent too much…”

“This is a necessary item, toward our story, but I did pick it out,” he said, approaching her bed. 

Should he feel odd about doing so? He wasn’t sure. They’d sat in this room yesterday going through her notebook and such. She hadn’t closed the door in an attempt to keep him out. They shared a closet, which he noticed was full of new items. A few of the items already there still hung in it, he imagined they were things she liked and wanted to see how they looked on her.

He took her left hand in both of his and slid a ring over her ring finger.

“We already did the official part, so I have nothing to say but it seems as if I should. So I vow to try my best not be an arse,” he whispered.

She laughed lightly, sliding her hand out of his and peering at the ring as she touched it with the index and middle fingers of her other hand. He’d actually left Diagon Alley and found a muggle jeweler for this errand. He did not want it remembered by anyone in Diagon Alley that he had purchased these items just today.

It wasn’t crazily extravagant, but it was certainly nothing he thought she’d be ashamed of wearing or telling anyone he picked out. He’d seen this set, and thought they fit with the story of their Scandinavian roots. The engagement ring could be worn by itself, obviously, as it would normally be given ahead of the wedding. Set above the knotted-looking gold band was an emerald cut diamond that he’d liked over the other offerings. The wedding band was the same knotted gold as the engagement ring with some small diamonds resting along the knots. They weren’t huge diamonds on the wedding band but were more than just chips.

The salesman had called the design a celtic knot, which Severus was familiar with, just having never seen it as part of a ring. Then he’d never paid much attention to the jewelry others wore. He’d spent probably longer than he should have picking them out. He kept coming back to this set, though, believing she deserved all that came with marriage, and that included the ring that should have come first. The knots had no start or finish, which was the point. It was to represent eternity. He had no doubt she knew that so didn’t bother offering up an explanation. For now, he could promise her an eternity of loyalty. He hoped, if she was receptive, that he could add the friendship, love, and faith in time with this initial promise.

“They are lovely, Severus, thank you,” she said. He tapped both rings with his wand so that they would adjust to the correct size.

“You are welcome. I did not feel right, you not having that symbol. Bringing one from the future could have caused problems.”

“I understand. Did you get one?”

“I did,” he said, holding out his palm to show her the male counterpart to hers.

He wasn’t certain if she would care if he wore one, but it seemed the right thing to do when he’d been looking at various rings that he should have one, too. Similar and yet different enough. The band was thicker. There were no diamonds either. Obviously he just had the band, no engagement ring. She closed her eyes, wandlessly summoning it from his hand with some obvious effort and held it in her fingers before sliding it over his finger. He would work with her on her wandless magic, too.

“And I vow to try not to be insolent.”

She stood then, still holding his hand in hers and went to her tiptoes. “They are lovely. I didn’t expect…”

“Yes, well, you deserve. What groom wouldn’t splurge on such a thing for his bride?”

“Thank you,” she said.

And there she went bussing his cheek with her lips again. Only this time she didn’t draw away completely and found his lips with hers. She drew away so quickly he might have thought he imagined it, but his lips were warm from the contact.

And she was blushing deeply, which prevented him from asking or commenting on it. He didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable.

“To town then? So we can see what is available locally to us without having to go to Diagon Alley? I will also look at the map or ask Albus for ideas of another town you may be able to apparate to that’s not near us or so public as Diagon Alley. That will be most important for you come the fall if I can’t get home. People cannot see you not with child.”

“Yes,” she said.

It was actually a nice sized town and, like the map Albus sent that morning depicted, it had a small magical population but was primarily muggle. They spent quite a bit of time there just walking, taking in what was near them. Was there the possibility of a job for Hermione? He wasn’t sure. There was a library and a school. They’d both agreed she could likely pass in this era as a school nurse, with her familiarity of basic healing and care for common illnesses.

“Dinner?”

“Out?” she asked, seeming surprised and hopeful.

“I was thinking so. Somewhere in muggle London maybe? Get a feel for things. We won’t do it if we remain home secluded all of the time.”

“Sure. Yes, you’re right. And you do have an interview tomorrow, so if anyone said anything it wouldn’t be unusual we were seen together.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Thank you,” she said.

***

June 1996

Melbourne, Florida

Harold and Phyllis Smythe watched with thousands of others as the Space Shuttle Columbia took off as projected.

“I’m so glad we took the time to come here for this,” Harold said.

It was something they’d talked about for years, but for whatever reason hadn’t done it. It was everything he’d expected it to be since news of rockets, astronauts, and the idea of space travel had first been talked about. He and Phyllis hadn’t been married yet, but she hadn’t found his interest strange.

And then things like moon landings, in addition to satellites being launched, happened and he was like a child again, wanting more.

They had both hoped to do this type of a trip with a child one day. That wasn’t to be, but it was no less enjoyable a way to spend the time before opening their newly purchased practice in Canada’s Winnipeg.

Like most around them, they’d been out here before sunrise to get a good spot to observe the launch.

Phyllis grabbed onto his wrist, tightening it a bit. She was, pleasingly, as excited to see this as he was.

Eventually, they could no longer see the Columbia with their eyes. Only then did her grip on his wrist loosen.

“That was amazing,” she said, echoing his thoughts exactly.

Not too long after that, they and the others gathered to watch the launch made their way back to their cars, hotels, or houses.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he said, wrapping his arms around her before they, too, left the area. He was in no hurry. He knew it would take them hours to get out of the area.

Next was Orlando for a few days. Neither was a big amusement park person, but they wanted to go since they were here. Then they’d make their way up to St. Augustine before finally heading to their final destination in Canada and their new dental practice.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Six***

Severus apparated into the library not at all surprised to see Hermione there, reading. He suspected this would be a well-used room in their home over the years.

By all of them.

Severus didn’t know Tom growing up, but he knew the man in the seventies. He liked knowledge. He liked learning. He liked knowing things others did not.

He knew they would have to go volume by volume to ensure there was nothing dark here. Anything inappropriate for Tom would be kept elsewhere. That was one of the things she was going to do in her spare time. She was going to start here with these texts to see if trying to organize and see if some sort of database system appropriate for 1926 could be established. If after doing that, here at their home, she hated it that would likely rule out being a librarian as an occupation.

Albus had assured him again today that whatever her CV needed to say, within reason given her age, it would say. Albus said he would think on it between now and a decision was made as to what to give her credit for. Knowing 1926 Albus well or not, Severus was confident the wizard was resourceful enough that Hermione would not be laughed out of the interview room about her obviously fake CV.

Things were a bit different today than they were in the future they’d come from when a degree for such a position was a requirement. Irma Pince held no such degree that Severus was aware of. In fact, Severus wasn’t even certain what Irma’s qualifications were beyond not liking people and seeming to tolerate the company of books best.

If Severus didn’t believe Hermione was organized and intelligent enough to pull off such a position, he wouldn’t suggest it. Clearly, any missteps would reflect on him as well as her, especially since she would be applying for the position at Hogwarts. Honestly, the only reason he even suggested it again once they arrived here was because he truly believed the position would suit her. In truth, he thought it would suit him if he had a choice, which he did not. At least not really.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the library wasn’t of interest to her. Being a secretary was so … beneath her capabilities even at this age. He and Albus would have to talk about that if university was the route she’d need to go for nursing or some such. The witch liked books and loved Hogwarts library, so he wasn’t planning on her looking elsewhere.

As to what the witch was currently doing. He couldn’t decipher from where he stood what she was reading. He truly wondered what happened, what the situation was that all of these … things were still here. None of his business, he supposed, but it was curious. The books alone. It didn’t rival Hogwarts’ library, by any means, but there was enough reading material here to keep either of them occupied for some time.

Why would Albus have left them? Unless he was truly so distracted by other events as to not even look in the house.

He smirked a bit because, of course, this was where she would be, and what she would be doing seventy years in the past. His thought wasn’t mocking. If he had the time, he’d likely be here, too. Today was somewhat of a free day for her since he was at Hogwarts. Yes, he had texts for her to study for her OWLs, but he thought they both deserved a day or two before they got to work on that. (Not that he thought she needed that much work.)

The library was well-stocked with books from magical to muggle, fiction to nonfiction. So he had no idea what she might have chosen. There were books he knew he wanted to add to their collection. He already had a list of various titles that he knew were published between now and 1996 that he wanted to get his hands on.

He certainly was not worried this witch would get bored with what was here and what he’d brought with him anytime soon. She had a blanket around her to offset the light chill in the air, that he just noticed, from the fire on the verge of dying out.

In March! She didn’t look cold, but the way the blanket was gathered around her suggested she wasn’t particularly warm either.

He hadn’t stopped to consider that she might not know how to tend to it. He’d take care of that this evening to ensure that she did. At Hogwarts, they were tended to by the elves in the student areas. So there was a very good possibility she didn’t know. Stupid of him not to have thought of that before leaving her alone for hours. Then, she didn’t look as if she was suffering or cursing his thoughtlessness. Was she so engrossed that she didn’t tend to it? He imagined that was a possibility.

On this, they were similar he’d found over the past couple of days. He hadn’t had much reason to observe her study habits until now. Nor did he have any reason to be curious about them, as her essays were enough to drive him to drink sometimes. (Though they had gotten better as her actual knowledge increased.).

There were many times Albus had come into his quarters over the years complaining of the cold because Severus had been too engrossed in what he was reading or grading to notice the fire had long ago gone out.

“Oh,” she said, apparently only noticing him when he cleared his throat. He’d expected her to be practically waiting by the floo full of questions as to how his interview went and what Hogwarts was like when he returned. He wasn’t sure what this meant.

Was she not concerned he’d get the job?

Or did she not care?

“Good book?”

“It’s a diary,” she said, holding it up so he could see it.

“Did you not learn your lesson…”

“I did, in fact, thank you. I checked it for spells, charms, dark magic, and portkeys. It’s just a diary.”

“The previous owners?”

“I think perhaps the owners before them based on the dates. I get the impression they were relatively new and young themselves. The people before us, I mean. I’ve only seen evidence of adults, no children in any of the belongings. And the clothes seem fashionable for a younger couple.”

“Versus someone old like me?”

She chuckled, evidently realizing he was … teasing her. That was good. The episode with her hat made him uncertain as to how he came across. “I was thinking more like my grandparents actually.”

He had noticed that, too, actually. Most of the items in the closet, even the furnishings, told him the couple who lived here had, perhaps, just been starting out themselves. He imagined it was why Albus thought of this house for them.

“I see,” he said, removing his cravat and robes, draping them over a nearby chair. He walked to the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and sighed none too softly.

“Bad day?”

He turned to face her, drink in hand. He knew he was glowering. He was still … angry wasn’t quite the word.

“That was the most insulting thing I’ve had to do.”

She arched a brow at him.

Cheeky thing.

Obviously she knew it wasn’t overall. She kindly refrained from pointing out his exaggeration.

“In order to obtain a job,” he clarified.

“Since you obtained your last job as part of your role with Albus and You Know Who from how I understand it, I’m not sure you can make a very objective comparison, Erik.”

“I am aware,” he ground out, lips tight. He did not need a reminder that he had, in fact, not earned his first - and only - job. “I was asked to make … potions.”

“God forbid.,” she replied dryly, causing him to scowl further.

“My mood is foul enough already, Madam, thank you! I have been a potions master for nearly twenty years, and I was being quizzed and tested as if I am an imbecile.”

“Well, they don’t know you. Erik Prins is nobody. I’m assuming Albus’ CV was sufficient without being padded too much so as to appear fake.”

“I know this!”

She stood then, crossing the room to him and set her hand over his wrist holding the glass. She did these things. Small touches, that he had no idea what to do with, nor did he have any idea what they meant. Until her, until these past few days, he could count on one hand how many people had willingly touched him. None had ever been … good. Oh, sure, he’d had dalliances, but not one of those women sought to touch him more than necessary.

She moved her hand to the edge of the glass opposite the side he was holding, tugging gently. He let her take the glass from his hand. She brought it to her nose and made a face after smelling it. This would have made him laugh under normal circumstances. He watched curiously as she took a small sip before setting the glass down. She set her hand back on his wrist.

“Did you convince them?”

Was she truly questioning his abilities? Did she doubt that he was capable?

And then she looked into his eyes.

There was no derision or doubt there. She … believed he did. How odd to have someone think he was capable on his own merit. And he felt as if he’d already broken the vow of not being an arse for thinking she thought otherwise.

“Of course I did,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Did you get the job?”

“Yes, beginning next school year.”

“Well then, mission accomplished. That’s one less thing to worry about, isn’t it? And we know that Hogwarts doesn’t close during the upcoming … difficulties. So, gainful employment is a win,” she asked, glancing at him with her eyes wide with … dare he think it, concern.

“I suppose you are right.”

“You have the next, forever, to show them that Erik Prins is one of the best potion masters ever. Of course they’re going to quiz you, Erik. That’s part of the job application process.”

“And you’ve had how many?”

“Now you’re just being a stubborn arse, Erik. I haven’t had any, you’re right. Of course. I’m sixteen! How many jobs had you had at my age? My parents owned their dental practice, and had office staff, as well as hygienists, who worked for them. I listened to them talk about things at home. They, and I, knew I wasn’t going to follow in their footsteps and be a dentist, but they thought it was important that I know what made someone more hireable than the other candidate with perhaps more experience, or the better CV.”

She shrugged, looking uncertain. He was uncertain. Was she serious? Or was she telling a story to make him feel better?

“They would discuss those things with you?”

He found that concept so odd.

His parents barely said two words to one another in front of him, let alone had actual discussions about their days or anything they did. She was suggesting her parents included her in their conversations. How very foreign.

“Oh, yes. I mean as I got older, of course, but yes. I think most of the time they’d already made their decision, but they would tell me about person A and person B and we would discuss who would make a better fit for their practice.”

“Interesting.”

Was that how normal families functioned? He truly had no idea. Was it because they were muggle? Was that the difference?

“It was actually. There’s more to consider sometimes than simply experience and education.” She shrugged. “Anyway,” she said, squeezing his wrist before releasing it. “I am glad that you got the job, Severus. That’s huge. I mean an apothecary would be a good place for you, but we don’t know how well that would work during difficult times. I’m afraid I don’t have information on potion purchasing habits during the Depression and World War II. I also really believe that someone should be able to keep an eye on Tom at Hogwarts more than Albus can since we can’t tell him what to be looking for.”

Valid points, all of them. She was right. An apothecary, while perhaps, what he’d truly like to do. There were too many unknown variables in the economy to know that would not be wise. He knew in less than a year he would be responsible for one additional mouth to feed for certain. She had not balked at the idea of their own child. So there was the potential for more than the three of them.

One day. He was in no hurry for that.

“Agreed.”

“You can be confident without appearing to be an arrogant prat, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

Who the hell did she think she was, talking to him like that?

“Calm down. I’m not insulting you. I’m trying to help you so that you don’t start out in September with people thinking you’re a git before Tom is even here. I know your experience. I know some of your history. Not even the Albus here with us knows. They don’t know all that you’ve accomplished. All that you’ve done. They don’t know how very smart and capable you are. So you can be confident and self-assured in knowing what you can do without seeming to be a pompous arse to everyone else. The point of this, in part, is for the three of us to be accepted, to gain friends, so that we, and Tom, aren’t alone. We’re supposed to fit in. Believe me that’s not going to be easy for me either.”

He nodded simply. He hated to admit it, but she was right even if she could have been a little more polite about saying it. Part of the reason he’d been sucked in by the version of Tom Riddle he knew was that he was intelligent. Severus thought he’d finally met someone of equal intelligence. The idea that someone as intelligent as Tom could be a psychopath hadn’t entered his mind until it was far too late. He maintained if Tom Riddle had been of just average intelligence, his past would have turned out very different.

Not that it mattered when all was said and done. He was here. He’d done what he’d done. Made the choices he’d made. Betrayed the only person who’d ever been kind to him. All that leading to where he was here and now.

“I’m glad you came home to me to express your frustration. I know. I mean, I don’t, but I can imagine it’s terribly frustrating for you. You’re a proud man, as you should be for what you’ve accomplished. It must have felt demeaning. I’m sorry you felt that. Truly. You have months now to prepare your lessons because I know you’re going to start your class with ‘I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.’ You have to prepare to keep their interest, though, Severus. I can help if you’d like, listen to your ideas I mean. I don’t think you realized that if you’d been a … fair and approachable teacher, you would have had the students eating out of your hands after that opening.”

He stared at her for a moment after she’d finished speaking. That was over four years ago. How many lectures had she listened to since that one? How many papers had she written?

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do! I told you I thought you were a good professor. I wasn’t lying. I was captivated and, eventually, sad the more it became evident you would not teach me all that you knew as I would have liked.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. That’s you. You made me think that. You are a good professor, Erik. You have the potential to be a great one. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it. Students may not have liked you. They may have been afraid of you, so didn’t know that you were a good professor. That doesn’t take away from the fact that you are knowledgeable, and more than sufficiently capable to teach the subject. You have your whole teaching career to rewrite from day one, to be whatever professor you envisioned for yourself without a war, Albus and Tom’s interference, and without Harry in the picture. I’m excited to see it unfold, truthfully. Now, have you eaten lunch?”

She tilted her head at him. Did she see that she’d surprised him, he wondered? Could she tell that? No one had ever told him they thought he was a good professor. Albus did on occasion, but he was placating him. This witch, though, had been his student.

“Or did they starve you?”

“I could eat.”

“I thought about the fact I was hungry not too long before you came home. I was just going to make a sandwich after a few more pages.” She glanced at the fireplace with a slight frown, seeming to realize she’d read more than just a few pages. He recognized that look of surprise at time passing. “Would you like one?”

“I can join you.”

“Afraid I’m going to poison yours?”

“No, should I be?”

She gave a soft laugh with a shake of her head. “No, not yet anyway.”

Over the next few weeks they fell into somewhat of a routine.

Severus usually made breakfast, and he did not scrimp on anything while doing so, as it seemed to be the meal they both enjoyed most. She helped, and took guidance, obviously wanting to learn. They both knew sooner than they believed he’d be at Hogwarts and she’d be on her own. There were no microwaves here and they were choosing to forego elves. So, that meant she’d be responsible for her own meals.

They were also quite busy doing various things around the house and property around her studying at first for her OWLs and now notes he, Albus, and Hermione had compiled as far as her externally appearing to be prepared to be a librarian if she chose that route. The OWL scores had been passed on to Albus already, so now they could focus on her NEWTs. Severus knew she’d need little to complete her OWLs, their review prior to giving her the exams was a formality. By April of her fifth year, she’d likely been ready since Christmas. He’d wanted to be sure, though.

Busy doing their thing meant that there was no set time they got to lunch. What they ate in the morning sometimes was all they’d get for several hours. So it made sense to make it a somewhat luxurious and filling meal.

He took the time to teach and show her how to do various things, knowing eventually she’d be here by herself and have to do them. Yes, she could eat toast or oatmeal or whatever, but he wanted to ensure she could make whatever she wanted to if she chose to go that route. And, well, she needed to know.

She would take care of lunch, usually something like sandwiches that would keep to be eaten whenever they were ready. He was busy putting his lab together in the cellar dungeons. She was busy changing things in the various assorted rooms.

Crookshanks was adapting to life in a new house, one larger than his mistress’ usual home but smaller than Hogwarts. Severus saw quite a bit of the feline, which wasn’t surprising. The cellar, and its dungeons, were where he was most likely to find critters to stalk and eat.

They’d decided with a few exceptions to keep everything as it was. For now at any rate. As they acclimated and adapted to, not just this time, but being a family they might change things. Both agreed to discuss before making any decisions. Severus mentioned this to Albus, not wanting to appear to be freeloaders, taking another family’s belongings and keeping them as theirs, to anyone they might invite into their home. Albus assured them that the couple before them hadn’t done any entertaining in-home (as Hermione had guessed, they hadn’t lived there very long to do any) so no one would know but them.

Some things were transfigured to look or be a little different. Sometimes it was as simple as a sofa turned to cream instead of white. Some things were simply moved around to give the room a different look and feel.

Neither were dissatisfied enough with anything to spend the money to replace it. Also knowing that there was going to be a child in the house, sooner rather than later, buying something new just to be stylish seemed foolish.

He worked with her on occlumency and legilimency, as well as the undetectable extension charm, improving her wandless magic, and apparition. She still needed work, but he told her that he believed she could bury thoughts of the time turner and her notebook enough to keep most people probing her from discovering anything they shouldn’t. They would continue to work on it to prepare her for Albus. No doubt she’d meet him again.

As far as his lab, he was to the point now he thought that he could make some potions instead of just fiddling with the equipment to get it the way he wanted it. She’d watched him more than a few times as he worked in the lab and, as frantic as he looked, she thought he looked more at home than she’d ever seen him. She wouldn’t say relaxed, but this was his environment.

His home some might say.

He was clearly exceedingly more comfortable around cauldrons and stirring rods than he was sofas and doilies. He knew a lab and the equipment that went into it better than anything else, and that was evident in not just the way he carried himself but the way he treated each and every item, right down to the vial stoppers.

These items and this equipment were comforting to him. He respected them. And with that respect, they gave him a wealth of knowledge many passed over because it wasn’t as magical as a charm or transfiguring something.

He cared.

He knew these things were powerful. He respected that which could be created here, and the burden that carried for someone like him. If his potion were to be used by someone else for something nefarious. One day, maybe, she’d enjoy talking to him about her polyjuice potion, but that time wasn’t now. She wasn’t sure he knew where she’d made it, but could imagine his reaction if he found out. She realized now, after watching him, how frustrating teaching potions to students who wanted to learn what they considered to be real magic, not things they had to chop, crush, and stir had to have been to someone like him.

He couldn’t teach someone to respect something they truly didn’t, and wouldn’t, take the time to understand.

He thought creating potions was magical.

Magic to most was pointing a wand and making something happen. It didn’t come in a beaker or vial. He may not have wanted to teach, but the students' disinterest and inability to comprehend how dangerous the subject could be had to take a toll. And lessened his opinion of the profession.

She thought back to the kiss the day they’d been married, two months ago and wondered what it would be like to have him treat her the same way he treated these non-living items. His fingers were long, elegant, and capable. She suspected they were scarred and callused from years of use but she didn’t care. The kiss had been … surprisingly nice, and she found that she wanted him to do it again.

That left her wondering whether he would ever do it again? She hoped he would. Someday. It had been nice enough she’d like to see what it would be like doing it without Albus Dumbledore standing there. The kiss she’d given him after they’d exchanged their wedding bands wasn’t the same. He’d done something thoughtful. She kissed him to display her gratitude. She’d started with his cheek, that Gryffindor bravery took control and, before she knew it, her lips were on his.

There was a limit to her bravery, though. She’d pulled away almost immediately. He hadn’t said anything, which surprised her. She appreciated that, though, versus the scolding she’d expected.

Hermione also spent a lot of time outdoors as the weather grew nicer, weeding and preparing the grounds for new things to be planted. They had so much land, probably close to two hundred acres they guessed based on the map and she had plans for some of it. It was busy work, getting her mind off of the fact that her husband likely wouldn’t want to kiss or touch her for months yet. There was nothing illegal about kissing! She knew, though, he wouldn’t want that line blurred. And, likely he thought (as she did) that this time was important to figure out how they worked together as a couple.

So, she’d taken the map of their land Albus had provided them and created a magical copy. She went out at various times to each section to make notes on sun exposure, areas that got more or less rain, and what not. She took herself to the local library to research what would grow best based on her research. With that, she plotted what could be planted where, and what would work for which season.

She knew Severus had lots of ideas as far as potion ingredients went. The garden off the conservatory would be flowers and such. They’d already cleared a spot and put some paving stones down so they had a small patio in the middle of their (hopefully) blooming garden they could sit in and read. Or, less likely knowing the both of them, just sit.

Dinner they usually worked on together, like breakfast. Sometimes they talked while preparing, but not always and the silence was rarely uncomfortable. At times it was, but she imagined that would come with time as they settled into the reality of being here together forever. Their lives for now were very much about one another. It was odd for her, and she was sure it was for him, too. Evenings they spent reading, or enjoyed the occasional card or dice game together while they unwound before heading to bed. There were evenings they didn’t sit in the same room, but both seemed to know they were welcome if they wanted to venture to where the other was.

Today he hadn’t seen her all day except at breakfast. She’d gone into town yesterday to pick something up she’d ordered a week or two before. He presumed she was busy with that, so didn’t think much of it until she didn’t come down for dinner. That was not at all like her.

She seemed to enjoy assisting him. He was the better cook, but she was learning. She was a more than sufficient baker he’d come to discover. He had little to compare her abilities to, beyond the elves at Hogwarts or Malfoy Manor. His mum. Well, she baked cookies, but those homemade goodies were few and far between, even when he was a youngster. And non-existent the older he got.

He went up to the game room and found her bent over one of the tables studiously working on something. So immersed, she obviously hadn’t even heard him come in. That actually happened with some regularity. Even outdoors while she was tending to gardens and the various outbuildings they had.

There were times he wondered if she even cared that he was there.

“Pray tell, Marie Rose, what is it that you are so immersed in that has you missing dinner?”

He had to admit he was growing … accustomed to the company and assistance with dinner nightly. Her questions were sincere. Why do you sear that cut of beef but not the one we had last night? Why do you combine those spices? Why do you prefer asparagus to broccoli with this dish? Some of them were tiresome, but he realized that she was asking because she truly wanted to know why he preferred things one way versus another. She didn’t say so, but she wanted to get to the point that he did not need to do these things any longer. So, he answered her questions, and they had gotten to the point with some dishes he didn’t say anything until she asked.

“Jesus,” she said, practically jumping out of the chair. “Announce yourself next time.”

He arched his brow at her choice in expletives. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her swear. He wouldn’t have believed she had it in her truthfully.

“I didn’t realize that was necessary in my own home.”

“It is when I’m trying to work on a surprise.”

“A surprise,” he said, stepping toward her.

She held out her hand to stop him from coming closer. No spell was cast, so he could have continued if he wanted to. He, however, respected her request. She very rarely asked anything of him.

“Don’t you dare come any closer! I am almost done. Can you make dinner without me and I’ll be down to eat with you when it’s finished? I should be done by then.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to comment about the fact it was not his job to prepare her dinner while she was amusing herself. However, as he couldn’t recall ever being on the receiving end of a surprise, he held his tongue. He assumed the surprise was for him at any rate, because as to this point there was no one else for her to be surprising.

“Very well. I will come back for you if it gets too late.”

“I’m almost done,” she said, waving dismissively and he shook his head.

He was not accustomed to … being brushed off.

What was that?

He left then, heading down to the kitchens to see to dinner. True to her word she showed up in time to eat, perhaps a minute or two after everything was ready, but he didn’t have to go find her at any rate.

“Did you have a productive day then?”

“Yes,” she said.

He noticed a flush of excitement on her face that he truthfully hadn’t seen yet in this time. Oh, the work she did around the house, inside and outside of it, appealed to her, but it wasn’t like this. He’d seen it a number of times in their original time when she was excited to share something she’d learned with Potter or Weasley. She seemed to enjoy the work she was doing outside especially, but she didn’t get this look on her face while doing it. At least not that he had seen.

And anyone who thought she wasn’t working hard outside would be a fool. He helped once in a while, but she wanted to do it by hand not with magic. She wanted to know the state of the various building foundations and what not. He was fairly certain she was already on a first name basis with quite a few people in town with her errands to buy things or ask questions about what she’d found.

“I did as well,” he said.

“Oh, good. I’m sorry,” she said as they both tucked into their food.

It was nothing fancy, but she had yet to complain about any of their meals. There was no McDonald’s here, of course, and neither wanted elves. He hoped to convince her to employ at least one or two after Tom came into the picture. He didn’t see how she’d have time to cook and care for a house this size with a baby without some assistance. Of course women did it without any help, he knew that. However, from what Albus had been saying for years, Tom Riddle was no ordinary child.

She helped him do the dishes and then beamed at him as she took one of his hands in both of hers and tugged.

“What? Did you have something on your mind?”

“Oh, stop it. Yes, you know I do. I’ve been working on this for days! That you only once almost discovered it I consider a huge victory.”

He followed her to the game room. There was a covering on the table she’d been working at when he was in here almost two hours ago.

“Close your eyes,” she said, sounding immensely proud of herself. He heard excitement in her tone, too.

He huffed but did as she requested, closing his eyes.

He heard the rustle of fabric indicating she was removing the cloth covering from the table.

“You can look now.”

He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to process what he was looking at.

“You made this?”

“Well, yes, and no. The actual board I had made in town. The tiles and the grid on the board, though, yes,” she said.

It was a homemade Scrabble board. The tiles were little more than pieces of paper fastened onto what appeared to be sturdy pieces of cardboard, judging by the look and feel of it.

They had both mentioned one of their first evenings here, while playing cards, that it was too bad such games as Scrabble would not be available to them for years. It had been a throw-away comment, really. She would likely be a formidable opponent, which was what led to his making the comment to begin with. And it would have been something to add into their rotation of what was available to them between things like cards, dice, dominoes, and backgammon.

“Hermione,” he said, sliding a finger along the board.

He was so caught off guard by this offering that her true name slipped out unintentionally. They both agreed not to use them, even in the privacy of their home for fear that one day they’d slip when it mattered. He never cared for his name, but there were moments the past couple of months he would have liked hearing it.

The game board was rudimentary, the paper obviously glued onto the board sized to be the size of a Scrabble board. The tiles had the letter and point value on them just as they should, which meant she actually put some thought into this. He wasn’t sure he could recall off the top of his head that J and X were worth eight points versus Q and Z being worth ten points each. Or that V was worth less than K. Or how many squares were on a Scrabble board and the placement of the bonus squares. From what he could see based on his memory, though, she’d gotten it exactly right.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, sounding disappointed.

“On the contrary. You’ve accomplished what few, if any, have done previously. You’ve left me speechless.”

“Oh, well,” she said.

“I’d be afraid we’d ruin your work, though.”

“Well, I spelled the paper so it should be pretty resistant. I mean, we’re the only ones who are ever going to use it, so I’m not worried about it getting ruined by children playing with it. And I made extra of the tile pieces so if we lose one or one gets ruined I have extras.”

“Of course you did,” he quipped. He ignored the feeling that washed through him when she mentioned children. Not a child, but children, implying more than Tom would be here.

“It’s just cardboard and paper. It’s not like we can’t make more.”

“You’re right,” he said, picking up one of the tiles.

Certainly not as sturdy as one of the actual tiles from their original time, but as he didn’t imagine either of them would become violent with, or mishandle, the tiles he thought they would likely do just fine.

He regarded her then, her eyes were glimmering and she was biting her lower lip. He was coming to realize that gesture meant she was nervous. About his reaction to this gift she’d made for him. She hadn’t just bought something for him. She’d taken a comment he’d made in passing to heart and did this.

For him.

He tilted his head, regarding her as he set the tile he’d been holding back on the tabletop.

“You thought I’d scold you?”

She shrugged.

“It’s probably not the best thing to waste money on.”

He closed the distance between them then, setting a finger at her chin to tilt her face up a bit so he could look at her.

“Have I given you some sort of impression that you are overspending?”

“No, I just…”

“It’s paper and some cardboard. I can’t imagine that the board itself cost that much, and it will give us hours of entertainment potentially for years, Marie. I see no issue with it.”

In truth he’d never had anyone make something for him before. Hell, he had never really been given a gift before. He did not count the gifts other staff members gave him at Christmas. He was fairly certain he would remember this moment, this gift, for as long as he lived.

He did something he swore he wouldn’t do for months yet despite how enjoyable he’d found it to be the first time he’d done it (even if he’d had to be told he was supposed to!).

Enjoyable and Severus did not usually go together. Not without ending tragically.

He leaned down and kissed her. She breathed in with a gasp. Other than outside of the house they did not really touch. Sometimes in the kitchen, while cooking or cleaning up, their fingers would come in contact while reaching for this or that, but it was accidental, inadvertent. (Mostly) unintentional.

This was anything but that.

She let out a soft sigh, hands reaching for his forearms as she moved to her toes. She gave a soft laugh, as her moving to her toes resulted in her cheek bumping against his jaw, but she didn’t pull away or tell him to stop.

Not only did she not tell him to stop, but her left hand slid up his right arm until it was at his shoulder and then her fingers were touching his hair as she stroked the nape of his neck with her thumb. And then she closed her lips over his lower lip, grazing it with her tongue before drawing away. Though not going far, as if she was offended or insulted he kissed her.

“I thought you were never going to do that again,” she whispered.

“What?”

Certainly what he’d heard wasn’t what she meant.

She shrugged, kissing the side of his mouth and then his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me doing it first.”

“You wanted me to?”

Had she gone mad? Had he? In what world would she want him to kiss her?

“Of course.”

“Enlighten me, Witch. How is that an of course?”

“We are married, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I presume married people kiss. Other than when we’ve been shopping or whatever, you haven’t even acted as if you particularly like me, which I get. I know this was thrust on you and everything, but it was on me, too. And I just want to make the best of it, so that we can be happy. Both of us. Together. I can’t help but think that … closeness will lead to happiness. In part anyway. I wasn’t going to throw myself at you, though. Does that really sound baffling?”

“A bit actually.”

“You don’t want to be happy?”

“That you think you can be that with me .”

“Oh, well, you haven’t been terrible to this point. You’ve been mostly nice, in fact, other than taking my hat,” she said, laughing softly so he knew she wasn’t truly still upset with him about it. 

He also noticed that she took to wearing hats for the remainder of the colder weather they’d experienced that did not flatten her hair or cover up so much of it. So she had evidently deciphered what he meant that first day they’d gone out together.

“Yes, well, you haven’t been nearly as insolent as I imagined you’d be.”

“Ringing endorsement from you. So you like it,” she said, returning his attention to her gift.

“I do. I’m just sorry we can’t let anyone else see it.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes getting a bit of a sad look at that.

“I see it, though, and we will use it.”

“I’m glad you like it then. I was afraid when you didn’t say anything at first that I’d overstepped some unspoken boundary.”

“No, it’s truly the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, Marie Rose. I realize it’s for us, not exclusively for me, but you made it with me in mind. I’m unaccustomed to being given things.”

She reached in then, sliding her arms around him and hugged him. He held his breath for a moment, certain it was some sort of trick. Yet, she did nothing else. She merely hugged him. He slid his arms around her cautiously, mirroring her gesture. She sighed softly, rubbing her cheek against his torso much as he’d picture a cat doing when they were content. Fitting, he supposed, since her familiar was a cat. A cat, he now noticed, that was still curled up in front of the fireplace from when he’d seen him earlier. Had he even moved when she’d come down for dinner, Severus wondered.

“Nice,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

He agreed. It was … nice. Very nice. Who knew?

“Would you still like to go to the Kentucky Derby?” The question was blurted out before he could screen it properly.

She drew away then, hands still at his sides but not around him as they had been. He almost wished she hadn’t moved. “Are you serious?” she asked, and he loved the gleeful look in her eyes.

“I am. We’ve worked hard since our arrival. Why not? You’ll have to tell me what we need to make this drink you spoke of.”

“You’ve never heard of a mint julep?”

“I’m afraid not. My father’s choice of liquor was well whiskey, served neat. And if he got it on the rocks he’d send it back. He wasn’t going to waste his money with the whiskey getting watered down by the ice.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, all we’d really need from here is bourbon. The rest we should be able to get while there, it’s not illegal. It’s just sugar and some mint sprigs.”

“I see. And clothes? We need muggle formal attire?”

“Are you really serious?”

“I am.”

“Well, yes, I’d need a dress. And a hat, of course,” she said, smiling at him cheekily.

“Are any of my muggle suits appropriate?”

“Oh, yes, they’ll do fine. Once I get a dress I will let you know which one will go best.”

“Good.”

“But Severus, really, we don’t need…”

“You mentioned it. So, clearly it’s something that is of interest to you. I agree it would be nice to get away from here for a few days. We’ve been working hard for nearly two months straight putting the house and our affairs together, acclimating ourselves to this world we’re now a part of. We’re going to have a lot on our plate come January. I won’t be around much after August. So, let’s take advantage of having some extra money, since we aren’t changing much of the furniture, and free time and treat ourselves. I have a few things I could do in London tomorrow. If you wanted to accompany me, you could shop then.”

“Oh, Severus,” she said. She reached up and kissed him. “Thank you! I was thinking,” she said, biting her lower lip and then shook her head. “Never mind.”

“When aren’t you thinking? Go on, don’t never mind me. What?”

“Very funny! No, seriously. All right. Do you think Albus would send a couple of elves to help get the land ready to be planted and used? I’ve done about everything I can, but if I want to start planting things. I’m only one person!”

“You want to grow things?”

She scowled a bit at him. Why? He honestly hadn’t presumed she’d want to do much beyond flowers.

“Well, I know you have ingredients you’d like to grow. You can give me a list. I realize I’m not as experienced as you, but I should certainly be able to buy the basics. I was also thinking it might be a good idea for me to learn how to plant and care for things like tomato plants, corn, other vegetables, and such now. We both know in a few years the more we grow ourselves, the better we’ll be for a while. And I’d rather not have to learn while we’re starving with a growing boy. To hear Mrs. Weasley talk, Ron’s appetite isn’t unusual. The buildings outside suggest there were animals here before. I wager they were pretty self-sustaining, with the help of elves I realize, from the looks of things. If you trust me, I’d like to be that way, too.”

He scoffed. If there was anyone he would trust to get something like self-sustainability right, it was her. He, for his part, had already set aside a few areas for various compost piles. They also had a box in the pantry of newspapers they could use to assist for fires and what not. They were only two people, but he knew that if they got anyone else reusing things, and that person got someone else reusing things. Well, they’d be lightyears ahead of where they were in their future when it came to reusing and recycling. He hoped.

“It’s a good idea. I’ll send a letter with Verdandi to ask him. I doubt he’d say no. It would be good hands-on work for Tom as he gets older as well.”

“That was my thinking, too. You will have to be patient with me if I ask questions, Severus. These are things I do not know about.”

“I will bear that in mind, and will ask him if he will think of some elves for next year who might be willing to do such labour. I would only purchase those willingly embarking on that path.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not talking about supplying thousands of people, but we need to be able to take care of ourselves. We have savings, that doesn’t mean we should plan on having to spend it.”

“Understood.”

He liked that she was practical and thinking ahead. It would be so easy to not think about what was to come. He hadn’t expected her to dive right in, though, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. She was right. The more she - and he - learned now, the easier and more second nature it would be when those lean times were upon them.

“We certainly have the land for it.”

“We do. I never thought I’d say this, but here it goes. I like that you think of such things. That you remember your history and when we are in relation to certain events and want to prepare without utilizing your notebook.”

“No, as I said that’s a contingency plan, in case of some dire emergency. My desire is not to get ahead by cheating.”

“Except for the Kentucky Derby.”

She smiled slightly. “We don’t have to bet! I really just think it would be so fun, and all right a little sad.”

“Sad?”

She shrugged. “Don’t you wish you could warn them? Tell them what’s going to happen in a few years?”

“Unfortunately, you know that we cannot.”

“I know that. I do, but still, seeing all of those people dressed in their finery, knowing some of them probably spent every penny to make that trip and a few years from now would wish they had that money back.”

“I understand. We will experience that a lot over the next seventy years, I imagine. Just remember that our focus is Tom. We can help as we can, and I’m sure that we will contribute as we are able. We cannot save everyone, though! And he cannot see us fretting over everyone else as if there is no tomorrow.”

“I know.”

He nodded. He knew she did know. He … appreciated that she was like that, thinking of others. There were limits to what they could do, though. “I will send an owl inquiring about elves to get the land prepared. You set our board up for a game and whatever you care to drink.”

“Trying to get me drunk so you have an advantage and can beat me?”

He snorted. “I hardly think I need to get you drunk in order to do that, Marie Rose.”

“Mm, we shall see.”

Chapter Text

***Chapter Seven***

Late August 1926

“And you think this will work?”

Hermione asked this regarding the robes he had transfigured and charmed for her. He’d worked for weeks on them. Weeks because, until now, it wasn’t something he’d ever dreamt of needing to come up with a spell or charm for. She wasn’t really doubting him, and he knew that. Thus, no snarky response, merely a glare that seven months ago likely would have made her think Ron and Harry were right in calling him a git. It wasn’t nearly as effective today. He wasn’t sure if the look had changed or she had. Both?

They were transfigured to be slightly bigger in the abdominal area even though she had nothing there to take up the additional space. He charmed them to move with her. They were hoping no one would pay that close attention. In this time period, it was very possible they would not. Severus didn’t know many pregnant women well enough to talk about such things with, but the propensity for other women to think being pregnant gave them the right to freely touch another woman seemed to be a rather recent thing.

“We have no choice, it had better work. The headmaster and staff would like to meet my wife before the term starts. You are to be about five months along. In my experience, limited though it may be, women run the gamut at this stage from hardly noticeable to very obviously pregnant. It would be suspicious if I told them you were unable to make dinner. I also need to key my wards to you, so that when you are free later to come and go from Hogwarts as you please you are able to enter my quarters and office. I need you there to do that.”

“Oh my, I get access to your office and your quarters? Your lab and stores, too?”

“I trust that you are not going to steal from me nor turn yourself into a cat again anytime soon, so yes.”

She smiled wryly, sticking her tongue out at him for good measure.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Mm, and you promised, nay vowed, not to be insolent any longer.”

She laughed softly, so he recognized that she was clearly not upset.

“Yes, well. You promised not to be an arse!”

“Did you or did you not steal from my stores and turn yourself into a cat?”

“It was a partial cat, and it worked just fine for Harry and Ron!”

“Irrelevant. I did not mention Potter or Weasley. I mentioned you.”

“Fine, yes! It was an accident.”

“You’re quite becoming when you have your ire up,” he said, tilting his head as he regarded her.

She truly was. He kind of liked it, but he knew her being angry at him was not what he needed in his life. At least not this early into things. Certainly not tonight, meeting the Hogwarts staff for the first time.

“Yes, well, something tells me you don’t want me to meet the headmaster and the rest of the staff with my ire raised so be nice to your wife!”

He slid his hands to her waist, drawing her toward him a bit. They’d gotten more comfortable at kissing with some hugging thrown in, but that was all. Certainly nothing he felt was crossing any line. He really didn’t want to go back seventy years into the past, only to end up doing something here that would send him to hell.

He actually realized when the thought occurred to him that this would be his last week here at the house that they’d been here for over five months. That meant, technically, she was seventeen now.

They’d both decided to keep the month and dates they were born the same. Neither wanted to deal with remembering, or inadvertently giving the wrong date to someone else. Her being seventeen meant she was legally a witch.

As tempting as it was, he knew that making love to her and then being gone for days on end for potentially over three months was not the best way to embark on that aspect of their relationship. Her enthusiasm at kissing him, and seeming desire to want to do it, made him curious how responsive she’d be to the rest. He’d never been with someone who truly wanted to be with him. Who truly liked him. It was a heady thought to wonder what it would be like. He lifted one of his hands to her face, cupping her cheek.

“Oh, I don’t know, your skin is flushed, your hair looks all Medusa-like.”

She snorted. “You like snakes, do you?”

“Well, I was Slytherin…”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she said, reaching up to kiss him. He was getting better adjusted to her doing these things, but it was still new to him. Odd. Not in a bad way, just so strange that she would be so caring. “So, do I pass?” She asked this after drawing away from him and turning around one final time so he could look at her.

“You’ll do.”

“You sure we shouldn’t glamour? Or put some padding…”

“No, you are slight enough, this should be sufficient. Just don’t put your hands on your abdomen. I have seen pregnant women do that a lot, but that tends to be further along in their pregnancy from my experience.”

“Okay,” she said. She nodded, clearly filing it away with his other tips and warnings.

“And we will come up with excuses if they ask to see you during the school year. Not feeling well. Visiting a friend. Healer suggested no floo travel or apparition, which may allow me weekend home visits.”

Going forward, the floo to his quarters would be accessible to her once she was keyed into his wards. He’d put in the request, so that he could be informed promptly when she went into labour, or if she needed him. For now, they would make their entrance into the Slytherin common room since he had taken on the role of head of house. Why it had been offered to him before he’d even started, he wasn’t sure. He could only presume Albus had something to do with it.

“Wow,” she said, taking in the room. “It’s very black and green, which I guess I expected. It’s just rather dark and rather gloomy …”

He chuckled. She wasn’t wrong. “Indeed.”

She glanced at him, sliding her arm around his. “Is it much different?” she whispered.

“Well, yes and no. The furnishings had changed obviously, but the scheme and general feel was always pretty similar. I say always, because I had twenty-five years experience with it. Obviously, until now, I can’t speak to anything prior to 1971.”

“Huh,” she said.

“First let’s take care of the wards.”

“Worried I won’t ever come visit?”

She was joking, and yet there was probably a bit of … sincerity to her question.

“Well, I have gotten rather used to our evening card games.”

More than just used to them admittedly. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he quite looked forward to the end of the day when they unwound from their respective busy days around the house.

Together.

Occasionally, they just read, but those evenings weren’t as common now over five months into this as they were toward the beginning.

“Me, too,” she said, resting her head against his forearm before releasing it.

He led her first to his office off the common room, not that she’d ever have a reason to come here but just in case. Being his wife, she would be welcome in the Slytherin common room. He’d just have to apprise her of any password changes during the school year.

Then they went to his classroom, that office, his storeroom, and finally his quarters.

“And these?”

“Virtually identical aside from obvious time period constraints,” he said simply.

It was interesting she asked that, because he’d been surprised how … similar they’d been to what he’d left behind in 1996. He shouldn’t have been, he supposed. Hogwarts had never stopped amazing him. He decided that there must be something about him that told the castle these things were what he should have.

He couldn’t stomach telling her that it was far more … homey than originally. He’d noticed in his sleeping chamber, for example, the bedding he’d been supplied with was the same as colour went but far nicer than anything he’d ever purchased. The same with the towels and such. Never mind that what was set out was clearly for two not just himself.

She accepted his answer with a nod. He showed her around. The password to gain access to his rooms via the floo was Yeltsin, which she seemed to find amusing.

He wanted to choose something that she would remember but no one else would guess. As he had no plans on granting anyone else the password to access his rooms from outside of Hogwarts, he didn’t need to worry about someone wondering how he thought of Yeltsin some sixty-five years before the man took office in Russia. That he knew while choosing it she’d find it amusing was a bonus.

They were early for dinner, so took their time making their way up from the dungeons to the Great Hall.

“I would like to see the library before we go,” she whispered.

“I would have been shocked, and probably disappointed, if you had not requested to.”

She looked at the ceiling immediately upon entering the Great Hall he noticed. He had, too, his first time. It was good to know he was not alone in wondering what it would look like. Currently, it looked like a typical Scottish summer night.

“I will tell you if it looks any different when the students arrive,” he whispered.

She smiled up at him. She seemed to like when he was able to know what she was thinking without her having to tell him. “Thank you,” she said.

It was just the staff, no students yet, so they were seated at a large round table instead of a long rectangular one.

“Hello Professor,” she said to Albus with a polite bow of her head.

“Madam Prins, how lovely to see you again. You are positively glowing,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Severus couldn’t help but think that as effective as the twinkle was here in 1926, the wizard had perfected it by 1996. The twinkle was there now only because Severus had assured him, privately, that it was required that his wife be believed to be with child. He’d assured the professor that she was, in fact, not pregnant, nor had he broken his unspoken word to the other man that nothing would happen between them before she was of age.

He normally would give a flying fig what someone thought about him, but the future Albus held Severus in high enough regard that he actually cared what this version of that man thought of him. He didn’t want a reputation, even if it was only among one person, of having behaved reprehensibly. Especially given his position with students. He assumed Albus believed him, thus leading to him being offered the head of house position. A reward? Who knew how Albus thought.

“Thank you,” she said, blushing quite appropriately.

“You are feeling well?”

“Yes, for the most part, thank you for asking,” she said.

This was met with a few chuckles. A couple of witches looked at her with an understanding and sympathetic look in their eyes. Severus briefly felt guilty that they were duping these people, but what choice did they have? They both agreed that the adoption route would not be wise.

Introductions were made by the headmaster. Some were meeting Severus for the first time as well. Not at all surprising, people didn’t frequent the dungeons in this time any more than they had in 1996.

It wasn’t overly uncomfortable, but strange to put faces with names he’d read about in books. He imagined Hermione felt the same way with her fondness for Hogwarts: A History . Once the introductions were finished, Severus held her chair for her as she took a seat. Severus and Hermione were both rather quiet, answering questions asked of them, but both seemed content to observe the rest of the staff while they conversed. On this, they were similar. He’d imparted on her that his silence had earned him some of the best information over the years.

After dessert, Severus made their excuses. “Marie would like to see our library. Is it acceptable that I show it to her?”

“Of course,” Headmaster Dippet said.

His eyes did not twinkle as Albus’ did. He was no less likable, just a bit more stern-seeming. Serious. Albus could be serious, too, but his demeanor seemed far more good-natured than Dippet’s. Of course, Severus hadn’t found him very good-natured or of good disposition when he was a student. It took … time, once he’d turned spy, for both men to develop the friendship that had happened. Honestly, fifteen years later, Severus still wasn’t sure if Albus truly considered him a friend or merely one of the many tools in his warchest.

“It was nice to meet all of you,” Hermione said as she stood, taking Severus’ offered arm. “Thank you for dinner,” she said to the headmaster.

“It was a pleasure meeting Erik’s wife. He has mentioned the work you’ve done at your home.”

“Oh, yes, it is quite the project, but it will be worth it when I’m done. Then I’m not sure there ever truly will be a done.”

“Of course,” he said. Others nodded in agreement to what she’d said.

They took their leave then, and walked through halls that were so familiar to them both yet different at the same time. Portraits were in different places than they were accustomed, or missing altogether. The same with things like suits of armour and statues. He hadn’t strayed much beyond the dungeons, infirmary, library, and Great Hall to this point. Somehow he sensed it would bother her if he was well acquainted with the differences before she even had the chance to see them for the first time.

He tried to ignore what it might mean that he cared that it would bother her. That he’d purposely done (or not done) something because he didn’t want to bother her.

“It smells different,” she whispered when they entered the library and he chuckled. “You find that funny?”

“No, actually, I don’t, only because I thought the same thing when I first came in here. The librarian, by the way, is a complete dunderhead. So if you so desired it, I’m certain that you would be a more than an acceptable replacement.”

“Well, thank you, I think.”

“It wasn’t meant to be demeaning, Marie Rose. Plus, you are more than familiar with the way Irma successfully ran it for years. So you would already have in your head how a successful system works. I’m sure you’d have ideas of your own, too.”

“Oh,” she said with a nod.

“Dinner seemed to go well,” he said.

“It did,” she said. “You think I passed?”

“I do. You are familiar enough with how they act and behave from your own experiences and the run-throughs we’ve done at our own meals and such. You’ve done your research, read enough books on propriety, I am not overly concerned.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She looked relieved. They had practiced more than two weeks’ worth of formal dinners at their house. Dinner with the staff of Hogwarts wasn’t as formal as some occasions they’d likely have, but she would be the odd one out, so the attention would be on her. They both knew that, and prepared for it.

They took their time returning to the dungeons and his rooms.

“And I can come any evening?”

“You may,” he said. “I do not plan on doing any entertaining, if that’s what has you concerned.”

“No, that wasn’t what I was implying. I just don’t want to overstep…”

“There is no overstepping. You are in fact my wife, Marie Rose. Assistance while brewing would be tolerable.”

She gave a soft laugh, shaking her head. He had noticed over the months she seemed to prefer when he called her Marie Rose versus just Marie. In truth, he preferred it, too. Hermione was not a common name. Marie was rather common. Marie Rose made it … hers. “I see how it is. You’re going to put me to work.”

“I wouldn’t let just anyone assist me.”

She rolled her eyes. He hoped she knew he spoke the truth. She had proven the past few months capable of brewing, as well as not talking his ear off while they were working together.

“Let’s get you home then.”

“Okay,” she said softly, taking one last look at his rooms before stepping to the fireplace.

She would be able to get to him from the three fireplaces connected to the floo network in their home anywhere she wanted to find him. He from Hogwarts, on the other hand, could only access their home via the fireplace that came out in the game room. He preferred, as did she, that no one inadvertently arrive in her bedroom.

“You’ll stay for a while?” she asked once they were back home.

“I can.”

“Great.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but my rooms have cards and such in them as well.”

Her eyes lit up. She evidently hadn’t noticed, which was interesting because he had purposely set them out in the hope that she would. “Oh, you are prepared for a visit then.”

“I am,” he said.

He certainly had not believed it possible five months ago when she first agreed to this scheme of Albus’, but tonight he thought that he would truly miss her company.

“So, what will it be tonight then?” she asked.

“Oh, I get to choose?”

“Yes, well, it only seems right since it’s your last night here.”

“You make it sound so permanent. You’ll be able to join me in no time.”

They both knew it would likely be a long four months. There was nothing stopping her from coming to see him, but the more she did the more chances there would be for her to be seen. That would not do.

“I know.”

She would be busy. She’d planted onions, lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, and a couple of other things just to see if she could do it. She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty or anything. There were days over the summer that she woke before him and came in just in time for dinner filthy from head to toe. The head to toe days weren’t the norm toward the end of summer. She’d evidently … learned as she went to prevent that from happening.

They also discovered on one of their many walks of their property that they had blueberries, gooseberries, and blackberries as well as peaches, apples, pears, and cherries. There were also more than a few chestnut, hazelnut, and walnut trees. They all had to be tended to as they were overrun with weeds and such, but she mentioned looking forward to some fresh fruit and nuts this fall.

They’d made lists of all of these things they already had, and she’d researched how to care for and get them to thrive. He was fairly certain she was on a first name basis with many in town who she went to with questions. Sometimes they weren’t sure what something was, so he or she would draw it and she’d bring the drawing into town to get information on what it was and what they should do with it. No one seemed to find this odd, chalking it up to the young couple learning the ins and outs of their property.

She was going to try her hand at making a pie after he left. It wasn’t something she’d done before, but she’d seen her mum do it. She hadn’t said anything to Severus because if it turned out horrible, she wasn’t even going to tell him she’d attempted it. If it turned out well, she’d surprise him with a piece tomorrow or the next day. She didn’t think she needed an excuse to visit him, but just in case he didn’t really mean she could come by anytime.

It was after midnight by the time he took his leave back to Hogwarts. He had permission to come home on weekends that he didn’t have rounds. Having gardens and fruit trees to tend to seemed to be a legitimate enough excuse for her to stay home for now.

“I am but a patronus or owl away,” he whispered. His cheek was resting against the top of her head. It was … nice. They’d gotten good at these close moments since she’d given him the homemade Scrabble board.

“I know,” she said, resting her head against his chest. Hearing the steady, very real, beat of his heart was grounding. She had to let him go. He had to. This was what they came here to do. And she truly thought he deserved the chance to try his hand at teaching without spying and anything else thrown in the mix.

She’d spent most all day, every day with this man for nearly six months. She would be alone in this large house for months. Albus had asked Mintzy to stock the kitchen thoroughly while they spent their evening at Hogwarts. She was not to stray from the kitchen and pantry areas. As far as they knew, she had not. In Hermione’s experience the elves that were treated fair and decent, as Albus seemed to treat Mintzy, were not ones who rebelled against their owners’ directives.

He leaned down then, kissing her and she gasped, fighting back tears. He slid his hands to her cheeks as he drew away. His fingertips slid along the tips of her ears and through a bit of her hair. It felt … nice.

“Hermione,” he whispered.

“I know, it’s probably stupid to you, you’ve lived alone most of your life, but I never have! Never! I’ve never spent a night alone before.”

“If you cannot sleep, come on through.”

“Okay,” she said through a sniffle, feeling pathetic.

“But ensure you bring the robe with you.”

“I will,” she said.

No sense transfiguring a bunch when they would hopefully only need it a few times.

“Good night,” he said. His voice sounded … gruffer than normal. Maybe he wasn’t totally unaffected by this either.

“Good night,” she said, wiping her cheeks with her hands. She knew she looked a fright, though. Her eyes were likely red and puffy. Her hair was probably frizzy since it was so late and he’d had his hands in it.

He’d gotten most of the tears with his own hands. She fled the room then, not wanting to see him floo out of the house.

She went through the house, ensuring everything was locked and secured. She knew it was since they’d used the floo to and from Hogwarts, but it gave her something to do to distract herself. She checked the kitchen, which had in fact been stocked, as had the pantry and ice box. The door to the servants quarters was locked as well. She was as safe and secure as she could be.

She took a hot bath, adding one of the oils Severus made for her, knowing she liked bubble baths. She had a whole assortment of them, and she loved playing with the different scents he created for her. One of the perks of having her own personal potions master it seemed. She never specified which she preferred, but he must take note of which fragrances were used faster because those were always replenished. She got ready for bed and realized she was tired, so didn’t see the point in even attempting to read. The fact it was closing in on nearly half past one in the morning played a role in her tiredness.

He wasn’t surprised when he was woken to the sound of his fireplace coming to life deep in the night. He’d expected her sooner, truth be told. He lifted his wand and determined that it was just after four o’clock in the morning.

“Erik,” she whispered.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice sounding gruff from hours of lack of use. He hoped she didn’t think he was upset with her for coming here. He truly wanted her to feel safe. If here was where she felt safe, he wouldn’t make fun of her for it.

She was silent, gesturing perhaps but in the dark he couldn’t see her.

“Do you have a blanket or something?”

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“For the sofa,” she said.

“You came here to sleep on the sofa?”

“Well,” she said.

“I won’t bite,” he murmured.

“I didn’t think you would. It’s just we haven’t…” He hadn’t specifically requested a room with two beds when they went to America for the Kentucky Derby in May, but  they’d gotten one that had a bedroom and a sitting room with a comfortable enough sofa that he was able to sleep on that.

“I’m aware. There is only one bed here, and I will not have you nor me sleeping on the sofa. It’s going to be a hectic weekend preparing.”

“I’m sorry. I can go back.”

“That is not my meaning.” He lifted his wand again, casting a soft light in the room before he drew the covers back. “Come.”

“Are you sure?”

She looked so prim and proper standing there in an appropriate white cotton nightdress for the time period. Very innocent. Which made him feel doubly guilty for thinking earlier tonight about the fact that she was now technically seventeen.

“The robe?”

“It’s on the sofa,” she said.

“Then come, sleep.”

She took a few steps in the direction of his bed, stopped, and turned to look back to the doorway, as if she was contemplating going back home. Eventually, she made it to the other side of the bed and climbed on, shifting all the way to the edge and he chuckled softly.

“I won’t bite, and won’t accost you.”

“I know, but it’s your bed.”

“There is plenty of room, make yourself comfortable.”

“So, it knows you,” she whispered.

“It would seem so, or it recognizes something ,” he murmured. “I’ve stopped trying to figure out how Hogwarts works.”

She turned onto her side then, facing away from him without another word.

And the point of her statement dawned on him, as he was drifting back to sleep.

He now had something familiar to him despite the time period differences in various things.

She had nothing.

Except him.

He felt immense responsibility with that realization.

She was completely reliant on him. She had months of solitude to look forward to, where he was here able to engage in conversations with other staff members and students. They didn’t have to go the route of claiming Tom was theirs, but it seemed the best way to go about things. She’d agreed, too. Less questions. And how would they claim to know there was a baby at that orphanage?

He wondered, as he succumbed to Morpheus’ call if she regretted it now.

***

August 1996

Harry and Charlie stood on the sidewalk, staring at the house in question.

“I just don’t get it,” Harry said. Charlie came along instead of Ron because he was an adult so could do magic if needed. Harry was not supposed to be here, so couldn’t risk doing magic in this very neighbourhood. He was sure it would draw all sorts of magical people here if illegal magic was done in this particular area.

Charlie disillusioned the both of them as they approached the nicer house.

“No mail or newspapers piled up,” Charlie murmured.

Harry looked through a living room window. It was odd not seeing their reflections in the window.

“It’s empty.”

They both went around back then and found another window to look through.

“Empty here, too,” Charlie said.

“Where’d they go? What did they do with all of their stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “Took it with them?”

“That would suggest they’re somewhere in England still then, wouldn’t it? Does that seem safe to you?”

Charlie huffed.

“Harry. She’s fine. Dumbledore wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“I know. It’s just so weird. I sent her a letter. A muggle one. It came back to the Dursleys.”

“Well, of course it would, Harry. They’re not going to forward their address. Even I know that!”

Harry scowled, not having thought of that. He really didn’t imagine Voldemort knew much about the postal system. Then, what did he know? For that matter, how did Charlie?

“Please tell me you only did that once. You could have put her in danger, Harry.”

“I know, and yes, it was just one.”

“She’ll be back if she can, Harry. She said so.”

“What does that mean? Is the headmaster going to keep her hidden indefinitely?”

“If the threat remains valid.”

“And what threat? Why hasn’t anyone else heard about it? You’d think Remus would have…”

“Harry. We came. There’s no one and nothing here. I know you’re missing Hermione, and I know you feel guilty because you think it’s your fault she was put in danger.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not your fault. You have to let it go. She’ll be back when she can. Professor Snape died, surely that implies something happened, or was going to. If you do more of this, you will actually be the one responsible for putting her in danger.”

“You don’t think I am now?”

“No. I think she’s smart, and can make her own decisions about what she does and doesn’t want to do. Including going away with her parents because the headmaster told her about a credible threat against her and them.”

Harry huffed.

“You’re right,” he said. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Well, it was either come with you, or risk you getting suspended again. We kind of like having you around, you know.”

“I know.”

“So, are we good?”

“Yeah, I just had to see for myself, I guess.”

“I understand, which is why I agreed. If she was my best friend, I’d probably want that assurance, too. The headmaster has ensured she’s safe.”

“I am glad I don’t have to go home, Charlie,” he said.

“I know I’m not there all of the time, but I know everyone else is equally glad. Mum likes having you around. It’s why I said yes to this. If she knew I said no and that caused you to get in trouble.”

Harry chuckled.

“Ready then?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Eight***

January 1, 1927

He returned to their home to find her sitting in the room she had worked hard in his absence to make into the nursery for the baby.

The reason they were here.

The reason he’d let this witch … in.

It wasn’t as difficult as he imagined it would be to do it either. Nearly ten months into this and there hadn’t been a single time he’d thought a stint in Azkaban would be easier than her twenty-four hour a day chatter. There had been moments she’d been more talkative than he’d prefer, but she seemed to realize that on her own and stopped talking.

Not to say that he didn’t have annoying habits either. The day he’d realized that went a long way toward letting her in. He didn’t confess his sins to her. She didn’t need nor, likely, want to hear them. He shared his books and papers with her, though. And that was something Severus had not done since Hogwarts.

With anyone.

She’d come home with the baby first a few hours ago. The less he was at the orphanage or anywhere but their home the better. Severus stayed behind to ensure any and all who’d had exposure to Merope Riddle had been obliviated.

He watched from the doorway for a moment as the witch held the newborn wizard in her arms.

Tom Riddle.

Obviously, that would not be his name this go around. Still, though. They both knew who he was. What he became.

It was such an … intimate moment. Truly her son or not, she was holding him, rocking him as Severus pictured any new mother would. Her head was bent over the hours old newborn, her unruly curls likely would tickle him if he was any older than he was. She appeared to be murmuring something, but Severus couldn’t hear what she was saying and her mouth was not visible so he couldn’t read her lips to know. He felt a little invasive and, yet, she had to know he was here. He wasn’t quiet with his approach. He wondered if his mother had ever sat with him like this. He obviously had no idea.

He saw an empty bottle on the small table by the rocking chair they were in, so he’d been fed it seemed. Her research as to what to give him evidently worked. They’d discussed before heading to his home whether he should stock up on infant formula before heading back. She had known that by the time he was born it would be close to expired anyway. He’d bought a couple of cans anyway, not to give to Thomas but to see if he could make something that would be better than the sugar mixed with a blend of evaporated and cow’s milk. He’d come up with a few possibilities, and had recently gotten permission to get some mice for testing purposes. The headmaster didn’t know what these experiments were, but there were many different things to experiment with in potions so he hadn’t been questioned too severely. What he’d be giving them wouldn’t hurt them, but he’d need to see if they grew and such as they should.

It might be too late for Tom when he finally came up with something, but it was something he’d be able to patent and sell going forward. He trusted Hermione’s research enough to believe the option she chose was the one she deemed the best.

There were lactating goats and wet nurses, of course, but neither wanted the responsibility of a goat just yet. And a wet nurse could not be employed.

“He is well?” He finally spoke up. She didn’t start or move, so she knew he was there.

“He seems to be,” she said, cradling the small, swaddled infant in her arms almost instinctively. “He looks so normal, Erik. I’ve sat here with him since getting back, assuming I’d see some indication. Some clue that he became what he did. I see nothing different about him than any other baby I’ve seen.”

“You know I’ve thought of that over the months. I’ve had a bit of time on my hands since September, knowing this day was fast approaching. In March, it seemed so far in the future. My being at Hogwarts meant it wasn’t that far off any longer. Anyway. A child growing up with nobody. I think in some ways that’s why I was,” he shrugged. He leaned against the doorframe a bit. He didn’t want to get any closer for fear of startling the seemingly quiet newborn. His wife’s attention was on him now, though. And he saw … interest and caring in her eyes. “Taken in as I was. I had parents, of course, but they were awful. Well, my father was. Mum,” he huffed. He didn’t want to be overly negative. One day, like with this day, sooner than he realized, this witch would meet his mother. He didn’t want her to dislike her or hold things against her. And she was the type of witch who would do that. “She just stopped caring after a while, which may have been worse than the physical abuse I suffered by my father. For a while, I at least knew I could get comfort from her. He,” he said, gesturing to the newborn. “Never had anyone. Orphanages were not kind, and as you and I both know, hard times are coming which would only bode worse. You saw the state of that place. They were negligibly able to care for the children entrusted to their care. Imagine with financially difficult times what it would look like.”

“Hopefully, even this small thing will make a difference.”

“It’s not small, Marie Rose, and we are not my parents.”

In his eyes, already what they’d done was rather huge.

This much, removing him from the orphanage alone was huge.

He wouldn’t starve. He would be cared for and loved. Even the way Hermione was holding him was probably more closeness than he’d ever gotten the first go around as a baby. The only advantage he had was that the orphanage his mother had chosen was muggle, so at least he had to be held for the essentials like feedings and nappy changing. A magical orphanage, there were spells to do those things.

“No,” she said.

She’d come to his rooms at Hogwarts most every weeknight since that first night. It seemed ridiculous to have this house and not use it, but he understood and never complained or said anything about her choice in sleeping accommodations. She went home every morning and spent her days doing whatever it was she had on the agenda for that day. He never asked her for an itinerary or assumed she was doing nothing. He knew she was not.

Every night, she came to him freshly bathed, hair still damp from washing it. He knew, between the gardening she was doing and the housework, that her days were busy and not spent doing needlepoint (though she had been practicing her knitting, but she was making things for the baby so it wasn’t simply knitting for amusement). He didn’t think she never picked up a book or took an hour for herself here and there, but he knew she was hard at work. He never once asked her to account for any of her time and she never attempted to do so. Once a week she gave him a rundown of her NEWT preparations.

It was an odd thing for him. To have a routine that involved another person. Even when he’d liked Lily, his thoughts never really took him past Hogwarts to what he had come to have the past ten months with this witch.

Companionship. Friendship. Trust. By both parties.

He woke up each morning to her in his bed. Some nights they made their way toward one another, but to this point he had (thankfully) not embarrassed himself by doing anything he wouldn’t do while awake. He got ready for his day and went to breakfast, knowing she’d make her way home when she woke. Some days she was awake before him, but those days were rare. She was talking about adding some animals to the property, so he suspected between those and Tom, her days of sleeping later than him were pretty well done for now.

He would go about his day, teaching classes and such, having lunch and dinner in the Great Hall. He’d go to his rooms in the evenings. Some evenings he’d go home to join her for some reading or a game. Walks in the evening before the weather turned real bitterly cold weren’t unheard of either. Some evenings she came to him and brewed with him or just sat with him while he graded potions turned in that day. He always had her assist him with grading. She seemed to enjoy it, and it led to some discussions that he was certain she got as much out of as he did. He’d never allowed anyone to get close enough to talk of these sorts of things. His word was final, but he would ask for her opinion on something, or would tell her the grade a paper or potion had gotten and see if she could figure out why. Those evenings led to some very nice discussions.

A few had gotten heated, but neither took the discussions personally. They were discussing academic subjects as two people who valued not only their minds but academia. It was … heady to have that. It was something he never imagined he’d get. He certainly never would have imagined it came from this witch.

He found himself thinking of her ten months into this as more than a wife, but a friend. Something he really couldn’t say he’d ever had. His friendship with Lily counted, certainly, but they’d been so young when they first met that it was just different. Looking around at others as he’d gotten older, very few remained friends with people they’d known as children. It wasn’t unusual for people to grow apart as their interests, and more generally their lives, diverged.

So, yes, he liked to think they’d taken the nearly ten months to build something sustainable. He knew now why Albus had chosen to send them back so early. At first he’d thought he was insane, but it was necessary for him to get to know Hermione as a person. Equally so for her to know him as Severus (Erik) and not her professor. Coming back very close to Tom’s birthdate would have essentially thrown them immediately into chaos. The shift in their relationship couldn’t have progressed as naturally as it had. He liked to think they were better for having had the extra time.

And now, he and this woman were responsible for this child. A child they both knew and understood they may have to make the decision to end his life if things did not change. That was what they were here to do, change the future.

To ensure that the Dark Lord never came to be.

Or else.

“I know you’re tired, likely exhausted. You did way more than I did tonight, but are you hungry?”

He smiled slightly. Her thought of and concern for him touched him. He was admittedly a little afraid that with Tom’s arrival, she’d see him differently. Holding the newborn that he’d essentially indentured himself to might make things more real for her.

“I am both, though not famished. I will make myself some toast or something and then rest. If you have everything handled in here for now.”

“I do,” she said.

“Would you like me to bring you anything?”

She glanced at him, clearly surprised at the offer. The smile she granted him suggested he did the right thing by offering. He stored that away. He tried to be considerate, but this was very much her domain anymore, even if he had been home for the holiday break. “I’m okay for now. You could take the empty bottle with you. I expect he’ll want another one soon, so I’ll be down shortly anyway. I’m just going to hold him for a while longer.”

“Very well,” he said with a nod. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t offer to bring her something, just that prior to tonight there’d been no reason she couldn’t join him in the kitchen.

“And Erik,” she said, fumbling over his name so he knew Erik was not what she wanted to call him.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad that you’re all right.”

“I am glad that you are, as well,” he said, bowing his head politely before heading to the kitchen after retrieving the empty bottle. In truth, he was glad both she and Tom were all right.

She found him about two hours later in his bedroom.

“He is resting?” he asked.

“Yes, for now. He took another bottle, and I changed him. He’ll wake soon, I’m sure. I have bottles boiled and everything so all I’ll have to do is prepare one.”

“Good.” He had seen the bottles out, presumed they were clean (other than the used one he’d brought with him).

She seemed prepared. He wasn’t sure he would have thought of bottles, or boiling them at any rate.

“Did you need something else?” he asked. It had been quite a while since he’d used that much magic, so he was more than just a bit exhausted. He wasn’t going to complain, though, that would be incredibly selfish considering she’d be waking up with him every couple of hours. He’d assist if she showed him, but until Tom was actually here it was not something that could really be demonstrated. So, he would learn, and offer to take a feeding off her hands. Likely, it would be an early morning one since he’d return to Hogwarts.

“Well, no, I just,” she said, biting that lower lip.

“Spit it out.” Normally, she wore her emotions rather plainly. He was having a hard time deciphering what this was tonight.

“You’re sleeping in here?”

“Yes, this is my room.”

“Yes, but,” she said and stopped. “Never mind. Good night then.”

She turned to leave, and he scowled with a shake of his head.

“Marie Rose,” he said, stopping her from leaving the room entirely. Their rooms connected via the bathroom and shared closet, however, they never used that connection to visit one another.

“It’s nothing.”

He knew what she wanted. He had to admit, he did as well.

Her coming to him when he started at Hogwarts was because she didn’t want to be alone in this house. He could completely understand her desire not to be alone here.

Him going to her now would be changing things. It was need, desire, and want, not fear or insecurity. It was him admitting he needed her, too. And he’d come to find that he did. If there was an evening she didn’t join him, or he her, for some reason, he missed her. He had not gone to her yet while he’d been home over the term break, but now that Tom was here and they were truly parents and the huge unknown of what they were embarking on from this point was weighing on her. He could understand why she’d want that closeness that sharing a bed gave them. Proof they were in this together.

It was on him, too. The past ten months it had almost seemed a dream, other than the lack of modern items he was accustomed to.

“You are ready for that step, Hermione?” he asked.

“Are you?” she asked, back still to him.

He scoffed.

“Don’t scoff at me.”

“Don’t ask me ridiculous questions.”

“It’s not ridiculous. I know that you are not accustomed to sleeping with …”

“And yet you’ve slept with me every night for months. Something I’ve never done with another woman before. That, to me, is far more intimate than anything physical that might occur between us.”

“Might?”

“I don’t want to make assumptions.”

“Well, I know I don’t plan on dying a virgin, Erik.”

“When there’s a not even day old babe in the home may not be the time to embark on changing that.”

“I wasn’t planning on it tonight. I, however, like sleeping with you and have missed it.”

“It may be difficult with Tom to go back and forth evenings.”

“I’m aware.”

“It was why I did not when I returned home. I knew that his presence would change things.”

“Well, and I have little trouble sleeping when I know you’re a room away.”

“I am glad to know that is true. When we first got here it was my duty to keep you safe.”

“You no longer find it a duty?”

“I do not.”

She turned then, facing him and closing the distance between them. She dropped her hands into his.

“I think until tonight it just didn’t seem real. Now it’s very real. He’s here. In our house. The brunt of ensuring he turns out differently falls to me.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his then, until then seeming to talk to their joined hands. Her brown eyes, which he found to be quite expressive once he started paying attention to them, depicted uncertainty and fear. She was right. No matter how involved he might want to be, the fact was, she was the mother and he was the father, and teachings on how to be a good human being would begin with her. He had never really gotten those instructions.

“Let me change and I’ll be there.”

“He’ll wake you.”

“He’ll wake you, too. That’s what being a parent is about the first little while from my understanding.”

She smiled at him then, releasing his hands.

“Thank you,” she said.

She left then and he readied himself for bed before leaving his room. He stopped first in the nursery. He knew better than to touch or talk to him. Let sleeping babies sleep. He may not have had one, but that was the rule. However, he could not help but be curious.

Would he feel anything? Would the nursery feel different with this baby now having taken his spot in it?

Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

The man he’d sold his soul to.

The man he’d turned against, committed to Albus to bring about his end.

The man who had killed his only friend, leaving her son essentially an orphan.

The man he’d come here for.

He’d been so busy at the orphanage that he hadn’t really taken the time to see the baby boy they’d traveled seventy years into the past in an attempt to save. He stopped by the crib, but not too close. His arms behind him, one hand clutching the other wrist.

This baby.

He looked so normal. Did anyone know, looking at him, that he would grow up to be the man hundreds would willingly follow and do evil acts for? When had he come up with the idea for the Dark Mark? Was it at Hogwarts? Later? What had he said to the first person to take it? How had he … justified the need to essentially have a protean charm embedded in their skin?

And it wasn’t just his life they were trying to save but his soul. The lives and souls of each and every witch and wizard who’d followed him.

And Severus felt that by doing that, he’d be saving a piece of his own as well.

It would be so easy here and now to end it, and avoid the risk entirely. No one would know, except Albus. Babies in this era didn’t automatically survive. So many deaths, so much horror and destruction could for certain be avoided.

And yet, Albus had sent them back here to give the baby, the boy who had become Tom Riddle, a chance. He hadn’t said to go back, kill the baby, and go on with their lives.

He had wanted to give him a chance.

He sighed heavily, his grip on his wrist tightening for a moment.

He turned then to make his way to her bedroom, surprised (though why he was he couldn’t say) that she was in the doorway watching him.

He saw understanding in her eyes, and he realized, not for the first time tonight, that he’d fallen in love with this witch. The first time he’d realized it? When he’d come in to see her holding the baby, Tom, close to her as any new mother would do. There was genuine affection in that gesture so many likely took for granted. She would love this child as if he was her own. It didn’t matter that ten months ago he was someone who wanted her dead. He closed the door most of the way, and followed her to her room. Their room now he supposed.

“I thought about it, too,” she said.

He nodded simply. He should be bothered that she knew what he’d been thinking in there, but it didn’t. Being able to read him at all was granting her immense power. He hoped it wasn’t a mistake, but he hadn’t felt the need to occlude for months.

“We’ll have to send Albus an owl so he can ensure the document is done for his birth.”

“I already did.”

“Oh? And his name? Are we keeping Thomas?”

“I thought we’d agreed to.”

“You hadn’t mentioned a middle name.”

“Magnus, of course,” she said.

He thought on it, said it in his head, and then “Thomas Magnus Prins”. He nodded then. “It’s passable.”

“Shut up,” she said, “It’s more than passable. I thought it sounded nice, and doesn’t stray completely away from the name he had.”

“It was a good decision.”

“Thank you. Albus already replied, by the way. It will be taken care of, and he congratulated us on the birth of our son.”

“Of course he did.”

“I’m just so grateful I’m not stuck here anymore!”

“As am I.”

He’d taken to doing the grocery shopping every weekend because she couldn’t very well go into town not pregnant much after the time he’d started at Hogwarts. Not that he minded grocery shopping. He didn’t, but if he had rounds one weekend, or if it was a Hogsmeade weekend, he had to balance his time carefully so she wouldn’t starve the following week.

Of course now it was January and winter, so she wouldn’t be leaving to go anywhere for a while with a newborn. So, likely his weekends home would still be a requisite for the time being. Eventually, next school year he hoped, they could close up the house for the most part and she and Tom could reside at Hogwarts most of the year.

She could come and go during the day as she pleased to tend to the gardens and such, but he really didn’t like the idea of her being alone with just Tom days at a time. In a year or two when they’d had the chance to, he shook his head at the thought, make friends. Well, then they could rethink how much the house got used. For now, though, no one on the staff had asked him if he was hosting a holiday party or anything. Eventually, yes, they likely would need to do that.

He watched as she slid into her bed, turning down the covers for him to join her. To make it their bed. Because if he slept in it tonight he was not going to go back to the other one. He was pretty sure she was aware that was the case. No, he wouldn’t expect sex when a baby was going to be waking her up every three hours or so, but he would not return to separate rooms.

What was more.

He didn’t want to.

***

January 1967

“How did you come by this again?” Minerva asked, glancing at the obviously old and ornate item Albus was gushing over for being in possession of. She couldn’t quite blame him.

“It was the strangest thing,” Albus said. “Hepzibah evidently willed it to Hogwarts in the event of her death.”

Minerva and Albus regarded the cup that both knew for a fact was the long-been missing cup of Helga Hufflepuff. No one knew what had happened to it, but it was one of the things that indeed should have been here and not in a private collection.

“And she never told you?”

“No,” he said.

She was a crafty one indeed to keep such a thing from Albus for all of these years. Her eyes shifted to the second item that had come with the cup.

“And the locket?”

Albus picked up the item in question fondly and carefully. It was, obviously, old, too. A bit more … delicate seeming than the cup so he treated it appropriately.

“It belonged to Salazar Slytherin.”

Minerva’s brow arched at that. She was no expert, but what was someone who bragged about being a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff doing with a Slytherin heirloom?

“I’ve asked at Borgin and Burkes since receiving the item, and the last known documentation of the locket was back before the Depression. It came to them from a Merope Riddle, a poor and desperate girl whose father and brother were imprisoned in Azkaban. A sad situation, and I get the impression they did not give her nearly as much as they should have for it, not realizing how valuable it was.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died while having a miscarriage, the story goes.”

“How tragic.”

“It is,” Albus said.

He had vague recollections of the time the locket came to be at Borgin and Burkes, but he was rather occupied with other - more important - things.

He also knew that the estimated death of Merope Riddle nee Gaunt timed with the birth of the wizard he - and all of the magical world - knew as Thomas Prins. He wasn’t a stupid man, but as the letter to himself indicated it was a world-threatening event that brought the Prins’ to his safe house in March 1926. Well, it was a secret he’d kept for years now.

The stories he’d accumulated about Merope since coming by the locket had not painted her in the most … sane or caring light. There were rumours that the wizard, Thomas, had been created via the use of a love spell or potion. Abhorrent behaviour for a magical person to do, especially to a muggle who wouldn’t even stand the chance of being able to protect himself against such a thing.

What was more, he did not believe that Erik Prins, his long time friend, had murdered the woman. He didn’t know what kind of man he was in the 1996 Severus Snape knew, but he liked to think he didn’t send him back to 1926 to commit murder.

From what he knew of Merope Riddle and the Gaunts’ in general, the child would have had a miserable childhood. He had everything but that from Albus’ observations over the years.

“Well, we will have to find somewhere grand to put them both for the time being.”

“I think you are right. Erik might have some ideas. He knows the castle perhaps better than most.”

“Even you, Albus?” she asked, amused.

“Even me, yes.”

Minerva left and Albus picked up the locket.

“What sort of story could you tell, hmm?” he asked, peering at the locket over the tops of his glasses.

His floo went off, alerting him to a visitor so he set the locket down.

Chapter Text

***Chapter Nine***

February 14, 1927

Hermione woke, stretching. There were days she just felt so tired. She knew she wasn’t the only mum of a newborn who felt that way. She just, really, had no idea. The babysitting she’d done had been for a few hours or so at a time. This was every day. All day. And doing things around the house when she could.

It was too cold to bring him with her outside, but there was always something to do in the house. Things would start to thaw soon to where she was already planning what to plant where. Her goal for this summer and fall was to grow as much as she could toward being as self-sustaining as they could be. Thomas wouldn’t be eating much yet, so her planning for enough for Severus and her should still be good. Next year, she imagined, it would change. Likely only somewhat. She imagined she had a couple of years before Thomas would have a ferocious appetite. She hoped!

It wasn’t until this week they’d thought it was acceptable for her to start coming here again. Taking into account how long it took to recover from delivering a baby, both knew even five weeks was pushing it. Severus had come home every weekend so they’d seen one another. Admittedly, it had given her much needed time to acclimate to this baby she was half responsible for. As prepared and on top of things as Severus seemed to think she was, she questioned herself every day. Several times a day!

This was not a rough draft that she could review and edit after thinking about it overnight. This was a living, breathing baby who was reliant on them for, well, everything.

There had been times over the past six weeks that he wouldn’t take his bottle and she’d break down in tears, certain the baby was going to starve to death before anything could possibly go wrong in the future!

She’d been spit up on.

She’d taken to wearing her hair at least tied back even in the house to ensure he wouldn’t spit up on it, too. The clothes were bad enough to get the smell out of. Scourgify helped, but the stuff was truly vile.

She’d been peed on, learning quickly to put a clean nappy over him as soon as she could. Or a flannel when she was giving him his bath.

Severus had woken up hours ago, at least it seemed like that. She’d woken up, too, but she’d returned to bed for a couple more hours as soon as Thomas had been fed and changed. She still alternated between calling him Thomas and Tom in her head six weeks into this. There was a part of her that thought they shouldn’t even tempt fate by calling him Tom.

They both came to the conclusion that it was Thomas until they decided otherwise. That decision would come as he grew. They both knew that sometimes a child’s personality dictated what they were called. Of course, neither of them had names that could really be shortened and neither had a nickname they liked.

She was starting to understand why new mums talked about it being so exhausting. She couldn’t imagine someone having to go through this who’d had a C-section or even a regular vaginal birth.

She heard no sounds to indicate Thomas was awake, so took advantage of that (and the better facilities at Hogwarts) and showered. Their bathroom at the house was nice, but baths took too long when she had a baby that could wake up fussing for sustenance at any moment.

Once in a while, when he was home on the weekend, Severus would sit with Thomas while grading papers, so that she could avail herself of their luxurious tub and the oils he made for her. She usually took an hour or so to read or whatever she chose to do undisturbed after the bath.

Those hours were heavenly. She didn’t get upset that there had only been a few of them in the past six weeks either. He was busy and didn’t consider himself a gentle enough man to hold a baby. (She didn’t agree.) She completely understood that. So, she took them and thoroughly enjoyed them, hoping that as Thomas got older there’d be more of them. She knew Severus wasn’t overly comfortable handling a baby yet. He was much better today than he had been even six weeks ago.

He hadn’t wanted to hold him at all the first day or two. She knew it wasn’t because of who the baby was, but feeling inept or unable to keep him safe. She’d finally set a sleeping and swaddled Thomas in his arms when he was seated on the couch one day.

She wasn’t comfortable either! Books were great for information, but they were not an actual baby!

Showered, she dressed for the day. Most of her clothes were here now, well the winter ones anyway. Everything for summer was still at the house. As she dressed very casually during the summer, she wasn’t expecting to bring any of those items here anyway.

She was thinking about breakfast, wondering if she’d get to eat it undisturbed this morning. It was never a certainty, no matter the time she ate. Mintzy seemed to love to bring her breakfast and check on the status of the Hogwarts baby.

She gasped when she came out of their room to a bouquet of pink ranunculus on the table where she took breakfast. She made her way to them, certain they were a mirage or something. She could smell them and there was even a letter set on the tabletop, leaning up against the vase. So, not her imagination at all.

She pulled the piece of parchment out from the envelope that had her name written on the front of it in his familiar script.

Dear Marie Rose,

Shocking, I'm sure, I am not a romantic by nature. You may know (or perhaps not) that I loathe this holiday and the cupids, red, pink, roses, hearts, and don’t even get me started on confetti or glitter that seem to accompany it; finding them tiresome and incredibly unimaginative. Putting those personal feelings, feelings that I realize not everyone subscribes to, aside you are, in fact, my Valentine henceforth. My first ever if I’m being honest. (That’s probably not overly shocking to learn.) So to avoid being delegated to the sofa for the night (I’ve fallen asleep on it and it’s not as comfortable as it might look), I thought it best I suck it up and wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day. I could not stomach roses, though. They are far too cliche and common. I like to think that I am anything but.

I know for certain that you are.

Begrudgingly,

Erik

She gave a giddy laugh, one that probably betrayed the fact she was seventeen and not twenty-seven as she read the note a second time. She really hadn’t expected anything from him. All students knew that Severus Snape was not a fan of Valentine’s Day, or anything to do with it. No one knew why, but there were rumours abound that Hermione found distasteful and disrespectful. So, she’d never believed any of them.

The fact he’d put that aside meant so much.

She noticed, too, there was more than one cookie missing from the plate she’d left out for him after coming back from the house late last night. (Thus the reason she didn’t wake up with him this morning.) The card she’d left for him was gone as well.

She called for Mintzy as she heard Tom stirring in his crib. Hogwarts truly was amazing. There hadn’t been a second bedroom as part of his quarters until she started bringing him here. She didn’t understand how it worked, but there was now and it had everything a baby needed in it.

“Yes, Missus,” Mintzy said.

Mintzy it seemed was their elf at Hogwarts, and to aid with household things at home. Severus had bought a few elves to help Hermione work the land this year. She loathed owning them, but Severus had been assured they wanted to work. The help was admittedly welcome as she suspected it was just too much for her to do completely on her own. Maybe once she got the hang of it she wouldn’t need them. She liked to think, too, that she treated them more than just fairly. She was barely home anymore, and it was winter, so they didn’t have much to do but tend to the animals right now as it was.

She’d been impressed that Severus hadn’t batted an eye or balked at her list of animals and quantities of them she wanted. Again, she wasn’t trying to feed thousands, but she wanted the three of them to survive. And if they had extra to help others. Well, that wasn’t a bad thing. So, they had everything she thought they could use.

“Whatever the breakfast was this morning, please. And a bottle for Thomas.”

“Right away, Missus.”

With a pop she was gone, returning moments later with all that Hermione had asked for.

“How are you today, Mintzy?”

“Mintzy is well, Missus. You?”

“Oh, good, thank you,” she said.

Mintzy cast a stasis charm on her plate so she could change and feed Thomas and still have warm food. Hermione appreciated the gesture because she forgot. She seemed to do that - eat cold or colder than it was meant to be food - more often than not these days. Thomas came first.

“And thank you for breakfast. Do I thank you for the flowers, too?” she asked, gesturing to the centerpiece.

“No, Missus, Mister brought them special for his Missus.”

“Oh,” she said. Where would he even go to get them, she wondered. Hogsmeade she supposed. “Well, thank you, see you in a little while.”

“Yes, Missus.”

With a pop she was gone. Thomas tended to, she brought him out to the dining area and set him on the floor. She had a blanket that she moved from place to place, so he had somewhere soft and warm to lie on on the floor. She cast the morning’s warming charm on the floor and then another one on the blanket before setting him on it. She always did two, wanting something that would take the chill off of the floor beneath him. The fire was going strong, of course, but the floor was still cooler.

“So, Daddy gave me flowers. That’s most unexpected,” she said. She honestly wasn’t even sure he’d get her anything. It was, she had to agree with him, a fairly silly holiday.

She hated to think it, but the cookies had been a whim. She didn’t believe he’d appreciate flowers, and she knew he hated the holiday. She’d racked her brain for more than a week for something she could get him. She hadn’t come up with anything that she didn’t think he’d hate. So, cookies it was. She’d even traded some canned cherries to one of the neighbors she’d met early last summer who had walnut trees in her yard and “still more from fall’s harvest than I know what to do with” so he had fresh walnuts in them. 

They had their own walnut trees, but it was Hermione’s attempt at making a friend. Thus far it seemed to work. Hermione had taken tea with Hedda a few times over the summer, stopping the visits once Severus went to Hogwarts. She’d excused her absence once she couldn’t be seen any longer, saying that she was accompanying her husband to the boarding school he taught at for a few months after all. She suspected somehow that Thomas would have a grandma figure in Hedda when he got old enough. She didn’t find it strange to have a friend old enough to be her mum.

Cookies seemed safe, personal (she baked what she knew by now were his favourites) yet not overreaching. She hoped anyway. And in her experience Valentine’s Day was really for the witch anyway.

Never in a million years did Hermione imagine that her life would be about canning fruit and vegetables, milking goats, planning how many heads of beef cattle she wanted, and learning how to raise chickens and pigs or plant and harvest crops.

She stared at the flowers, the first she’d ever been given now that she thought about it. Viktor had given her a corsage for the Yule Ball, but that was expected . She supposed Severus could view it as flowers were expected today, but she’d had no such expectations. Honestly, if he’d given her a card that showed he thought of her, she would have been touched.

Would her parents be disappointed in what she was doing with her life?

She’d wondered that probably a million times already the past nearly twelve months since making the decision to come back here. She liked to think they wouldn’t be. She was doing something hugely important, not just for the wizarding world either. The whole world really, as Voldemort’s violence was getting worse and broader. True, it wasn’t earth-shattering, newsworthy stuff. She wasn’t going to make history like Eleanor Roosevelt or Marie Curie. At the end, there would be no glorious epitaphs on her tombstone about saving the world.

She was coming to learn, there was more than being famous. She only recently began realizing just how much Severus had done in the background to protect not just Harry, Ron, and her but others as well. He did it without fanfare, without expecting thanks or even notoriety. Yes, his initial reasons weren’t with that in mind, but she firmly believed that by the time they’d come back here they were. He could have allowed harm to come to her or Ron at any point over the years, and it wouldn’t have mattered because Harry survived. Yet, he hadn’t. And no one knew. Everyone thought he was a git and an evil death eater. Her heart ached a bit for him. She wished she could go back and tell all of them, everyone, that he wasn’t those things. Of course, she couldn’t, and doing so would have outed him as a spy. It didn’t mean that it bothered her less that people saw him in that way. She took it as a compliment he was letting her see he wasn’t that man.

He was willing to basically give his life to try and help defeat the person who he’d committed violence for. If it weren’t for being sent here to this time with him, she wouldn’t know the truth either.

She wondered if anyone ever would have learned the truth. She couldn’t imagine how.

Well, she was coming to realize that sometimes the people who did things with no attention - and expecting none - were better off. And knowing that she might be able to help the friends around their house and the nearby town she’d made the past year made her feel as if she was doing the right thing. She was doing something.

She’d gotten a sling from the resident healer at Hogwarts and made a makeshift baby carrier out of it so she could walk with Thomas strapped to her. Carrying him in her arms throughout the castle got to be too much! Laranda was over the moon about Thomas so when Hermione had told her what the sling was for, she wanted to see it used. So, they’d worked on it together to ensure Thomas would be safe.

“You could make those, you know,” Laranda told her. “I don’t know why no one’s thought of it before now.”

“I’m sure others have!”

“I say we should put our heads together and come up with a way of getting them to other mums out there who might like a break from carrying their wee one everywhere.”

“Trust me, it’s no less taxing on my back, but yes, let’s. Let me talk to my husband first.”

Severus seemed to support the idea. (She hadn’t imagined he wouldn’t, but she wanted to be sure that he didn’t think “inventing” something like it wouldn’t disrupt something.) So, she and Healer Laranda would hopefully have a nice side project. Hermione agreed to supply the fabric for now because she did not excel at sewing. Laranda was more than willing to work with her on that, which Hermione wasn’t adverse to learning. Two could obviously produce more than one. They’d see what would happen from there. It would give her something to do with her days at Hogwarts while he was teaching. She needed something to do! It was something in addition to knitting she could add to her list of skills. Skills that would allow her to blend in if invited to someone’s home. Laranda, at least, hadn’t seemed to find it incredibly odd Hermione wasn’t good at sewing, thank goodness.

Breakfast eaten and Thomas in his sling, she left their rooms in search of her husband. She found him in his classroom, his class just ending it looked like.

“Madam Prins,” he said when he saw her.

“Good morning, Master Prins.”

A few students said hello to her and Thomas as they left the classroom.

“Taking Thomas for a stroll?”

“Yes. We wanted to see you,” she said. Obviously, she wanted to see him as Thomas had no opinion on the subject.

She walked toward his desk, saying hello to the few straggling students. They knew her by now. She was getting to know them. She was their potion professor’s wife. There were hundreds of them to remember.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning up as best as she could with Thomas strapped to her to kiss him. He met her halfway, though. 

“They met with your approval?”

“They did, they’re lovely.”

“And thank you for the cookies.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure…”

He set a hand against her cheek, grazing it with his thumb just under her eye. “You did fine. I would not want flowers or anything anyway. Knowing you thought of me is suitable and appreciated.”

“I did think of flowers or something, but didn’t want to get hexed!”

He chuckled. She was still getting used to Severus Snape laughing. She liked it. When she was responsible for it, it made her insides do things that she didn’t completely understand. “That wouldn’t be very husbandly of me now, would it?”

“It depends on whose version of husbandly we’re talking about.”

“Mine.”

“Then no.”

She’d come to find out over the past eleven months that his version of being a husband was rather … pleasing. He was overall kind, or at least tried to be. He had his moments for sure, but so did she. They both had tempers. They were both stubborn. He was used to doing things his way and not having to explain those ways to anyone else. She was used to the way her mum and dad organised things. They had to remind themselves, and each other, that they were in this together. He was patient as he worked with her on cooking and other things. He took her comments to heart and, if he disagreed, rather than just overrule her, they discussed it. He was rather old fashioned, but it fit in 1926.

She took a seat then once he’d drawn a nearby chair next to his desk.

“So, how is Thomas today?”

“Fine,” she said.

He was six weeks old now. She only had limited knowledge of babies and their development. It wasn’t something she’d thought to study obsessively before the age of seventeen. He seemed on track from what she knew. He was definitely able to hold his head up when on his tummy better now. She recognized his eyes were following her, and Severus, when they did things in his line of vision. He’d found his own fist a time or two recently, too. The first time she couldn’t figure out what the sound was she was hearing, only to discover he was sucking on his hand.

“He seems to be sleeping a little longer nights, yes?”

“Yes.”

She was able to feed him for the last time around midnight and have him sleep until about five o’clock now. Sometimes earlier, but those less than five hour spells were becoming fewer and fewer.

“Excellent. I know it’s not expected but,” he whispered, settling a hand at the top of Thomas’ head. It and his feet were about the only visible thing of his when in the sling like this. “I do apologize I’m not doing more to assist with that.”

“Nonsense. I’m not working, you are. You hold him, you’ve learned how to change him and get him his bath. So you’ve helped, and just knowing you can do these things if I get the flu or something eases my mind. The evenings you’ve let me relax for a couple of hours have been helpful. I assure you that’s more than probably most fathers do, regardless of when we’re talking about.”

“I’m glad that you think so.”

“I do. Now in two years when we’re trying to potty train him. That’s on you.”

“Is that so?” He sounded more amused than anything by what she’d just said. She doubted he’d thought much on potty training yet. Why would he?

“Yes. I don’t have the same equipment, you know.”

“Actually, no, I wouldn’t know.”

“Mm, would you like to know?”

“Is that a trick question? You know that I would,” he said.

“You have a very funny way of showing it.”

“I would not push. I’m sure Albus is watching to see if I’ve…”

“Yes, well, he’s not in our bedroom. I’ve been seventeen for months now. Unless you planned on waiting until I’m eighteen?”

“Would you think less of me if I said I would not wish to if you do not?”

“No,” she said. She was rather relieved to hear him say that. She was kind of afraid he was going to want to wait another six months! Maybe it was Thomas being here, a physical representation of the sex they supposedly did have. Or the fact that only one or two nights had gone by (and never consecutively) since the night Thomas came home that she hadn’t slept with him. She’d found herself thinking about it lately. Not obsessively so, but … she was curious. “I don’t either, really. I can admit I’m tired, and so are you, so it never seems like a good time. Maybe we could go home this weekend?”

“Our secluded dungeon bedroom is not private enough for you?”

She chuckled, shifting Thomas a bit so she could lean in closer after ensuring the classroom was, in fact, empty but for them. “No, in fact, it is not. Reason being, I don’t plan on either of us getting dressed again until we have to come back Monday morning. Our bedroom at home stays much warmer and our house is completely private.”

“No plans on eating?”

“I’ll wear one of your shirts.”

“And nothing else?” he asked, sounding shocked. The look in his eyes told her he was anything but. She liked that look there. She liked that she had caused it.

“Yes.”

“You are progressive, aren’t you?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“And I would wear?”

“Nothing? Whatever you want? I’d prefer you in as little as possible. As long as you leave me a shirt.”

“Mm. I think I like this idea of yours, Wife.”

“Home Friday night then?”

“I suddenly look forward to the weekend more so than usual.”

“Then my mission is accomplished here.”

“Will I see you both for lunch?”

“If I’m not too busy picking out which of your shirts I’m going to wear, yes.”

“I see that I should have added sass to that insolent promise and vow while I was at it.”

“You like me sassy, though, Erik. At least I’ll keep you on your toes.”

“I think this might be a more than slightly factual statement.”

She stood then, stepping toward him to kiss him. “You’ll see us for lunch,” she said, drawing away. He seemed to like it when they joined him at the head table for lunch. She did, too. It was the best way to … observe, and to ensure all of those etiquette and propriety morsels she’d learned and read up on got put to use. She’d never keep up on them if she ate in his rooms or at their house all of the time.

“I look forward to it.”

“Me, too,” she said.

She waved her hand then, sending the chair back to where he’d gotten it as a few students came in. They eyed her curiously. Severus still didn’t do much wand or hand waving in his classroom. He didn’t do much hand waving as a whole. He did not want people to know he was as capable with wandless magic as he was. No one but Hermione, that she knew of, was aware he was proficient with his left hand. Element of surprise if it was ever needed. Grindelwald was still out there. For her part, he did want people to know what she was capable of. It was a fine line, but she knew that if she was going to garner respect she had to show she deserved it. As this was her first week here, they probably weren’t expecting to see that type of magic being done in here.

“Begrudgingly,” she added before leaving to a chorus of. “Bye, Madam Prins. Bye, Thomas.”

It was around nine o’clock when he felt the wards go off briefly leading to his lab. They did not alert him to anything, so he knew it was Hermione.

“Mm, bored?” he asked, distractedly.

“Kind of,” she said from the doorway.

“Thomas?”

“Napping.”

“Mm, so you came to pester me?”

He felt a wave of magic in the air.

Hers.

After almost a year of being around and working with her on various things so much, he was capable of recognizing hers from anyone else’s. Even Albus’ was … different from what he knew of the wizard fifty, sixty, and seventy years from now. Of course fifty years from now, that Severus had not been capable of truly feeling the difference between specific peoples’ magic, he just knew what magic felt like.

“You never told me you bought a red shirt,” she said, still behind him and standing at the doorway from what he could tell.

“I didn’t realize that I had to clear my clothing purchases through you.”

“Erik,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked.

The word came out shorter than he’d meant it to. He knew he sounded annoyed. He didn’t mean to sound that way, but the earlier he finished here the sooner he could get to his rooms.

To his son.

And to his wife.

She knew that he didn’t like to be here so late, so hoped she would understand that his annoyance wasn’t with her. She didn’t usually come to his lab just to chat at this time of night for that reason.

Still, he should tell her it wasn’t her causing his annoyance and was going to do so.

Until he turned around to look at her.

He was no longer annoyed.

At all.

In fact, he went from annoyed to aroused so quickly he thought that he might very well be dreaming. Or hallucinating.

The magic he’d felt moments ago was evidently her shedding her robe. How did he know that? Well, it was obvious because it was currently in a pool of black fabric at her feet.

She wore the blood red shirt he’d purchased on a whim not long ago, and had yet to wear because it was new to him to even entertain the notion of wearing such a colour. His tailor had insisted it was a flattering colour. Buying it and wearing it didn’t go hand in hand for Severus.

From the looks of it, she wore nothing else except for a pair of black strappy heels that he remembered from their Christmas dinner in Limerick. They’d strayed from London in an attempt to ensure that no one would see her out of the house not severely pregnant. He’d given her a list of cities he knew no one currently residing at Hogwarts in any capacity called home, allowing her to choose. She’d chosen well. He remembered the shoes because he’d really never seen a witch wear such things, certainly not for him. He didn’t entertain in the muggle world to see non-witches wear them.

While he’d admired them Christmas night, tonight, he found them both fetching and provocative. He was pretty sure it wasn’t the shoes but the combination of her in them that he found fetching and provocative.

Certainly, he could tell she wore no bra. As to the knickers. He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling tight and a bit constricted as he remembered their conversation about thong knickers last March.

Had she preferred thong knickers in 1996? Was she wearing a pair now? (Assuming she had been wearing a pair when they came back.)

In all of his life, in all of his encounters, never had a witch come to him dressed in such a way. He didn’t partake in the offerings of Knockturn Alley trade workers, but there was certainly no thought in the process beyond having an itch to scratch and finding someone interested in helping him do that he encountered at a party or, when he really wanted to be anonymous, at a muggle bar. There was no forethought or planning. There was no undressing or dressing provocatively. There was certainly no donning his shirts in the process. It just was what it was.

Sex.

Fucking really, because even sex to him held … emotional connotations that had never been involved in his couplings. Hell, he didn’t even know their names, not that there were that many. Those encounters never left him feeling as fulfilled as he expected they would or should, so they were few and far between. He’d just assumed there was something … lacking in him that he did not desire such things.

He was obviously very, very wrong. He desired such things very intensely right at this moment.

She was nibbling that lower lip of hers, looking as if she wanted to flee the room or disappear under her robes still at her feet.

“It’s not Friday,” he said and shook his head, realizing that was an absolutely ridiculous thing to say.

“I thought maybe spontaneous so we weren’t both spending days thinking about it…”

“I see,” he said. He could see her thinking that very easily. Then the thought occurred to him. She’d come to his lab. “Here?”

She glanced at the spare potions table he had. It was currently empty because he’d set it up for her, if she were to assist him. He didn’t want to get into the habit of thinking he could use it in case she did. He wanted her to get as much experience as she could. Albus had mentioned being more than agreeable to letting her sit her NEWTs, privately, whenever Severus thought she was ready to do so. He wasn’t sure how that would be managed yet, but the tutoring toward that end was still happening as they could manage it. Albus, evidently, listened to her as she spoke at the head table, and realized that Severus wasn’t lying when they first met last year and said she was intelligent and deserved to sit them.

He truly wanted this witch to succeed in whatever she chose to do.

He wasn’t sure he’d envisioned the table being used for such purposes when he’d decided that one would be her table, though. Evidently parts of him liked that idea a lot. And it wasn’t just his mind.

Her lack of response seemed to be her answer.

“Really?” he asked finally. He could admit that she would think that as a suitable spot was surprising.

“Is that,” she shrugged. “Wrong?”

“No, not wrong. So long as you understand that this is not standard operating procedure for me in my lab.”