A/N: Sorry for the long wait everyone. It's been. Whoa, heheh, um. Huh. Anyway, now that OotP's come out, there are some nasty bits here and there that don't exactly match up anymore. Thankfully nothing too major, but if anyone notices any of these, kindly chalk them up to being conceived of before contradictory information was at hand. Also, the storyline for this fic has taken a slight twist in the hopes of accommodating the newer information. That, and I lost my original outline. I remember most of it, but I'm still re-writing bits and pieces. *Crosses fingers and hopes it all still flows properly*

Re-Cap: Alright, so here's what's going on. Demi, Snape and Hermione's son from the future, has gone back in time to try and stop Voldemort from winning the war. Malfoy kidnaps him, but Demi manages to escape, meanwhile tricking him into believing a completely bogus story about the future. Now Demi is with Ron and Harry. Snape and Hermione, on the other hand, are assigned to search for their adventuresome son, but have their own growing romantic feelings to deal with. Snape was called away by Voldemort, who asked him to keep an eye on Malfoy. Hermione's gone down to the dungeons to wait for Snape so they can talk, and Snape's lying unconscious in a field just outside of Hogsmeade, suffering the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. Ron thinks Demi's evil, Hagrid's got a lot more figured out than 'Mione or Sev about the both of them, and Dumbledore's just sitting back and watching the shit hit the fan. So, let's continue.

Demi watched as Ron stalked over to the window, and carefully gave the owl admittance. The bird landed on the back of a chair and waited patiently while Dunderhead Two detached the message from its leg. "He's a Hogwarts owl." The redhead said curiously, as he fished into his pocket, and pulled out a packet of crackers. The fluffy grey bird snatched one away. Curiously, Dunderhead Two unfurled the scrap of paper, and began to read. After a minute he handed it to Dunderhead One. Demi took in the scene carefully. A Hogwarts owl? Had they noticed he was missing, then? That was a bit sooner than he'd thought.

Potter finished reading, and looked at his friend thoughtfully. "Well, at least we know he is, in fact, a student." He said.

"And he's at least got 'Mione convinced he's not a Death Eater wannabe." Dunderhead Two added. Demitrius blinked. His mother had sent the letter? She had noticed him gone? Well, now, that was interesting. He wondered what had happened. Maybe his father had caught the boys on their return trip? He would have to look into it later. Relaxing into his seat, Demitrius allowed a disconcertingly happy smile to cross his features. What next?

Apparently, Hermione's faith in Demi wasn't enough for Dunderhead Two. The man shot him with a very suspicious look. He was starting to think it was the only one Weasley was capable of. "Yeah, but you know how she is about that stuff..." Dunderhead Two said to Potter. Demi raised an eyebrow. Was he implying that his mother was naïve? Something akin to anger, but not quite, began to flare in him. More like outrage, really. How dare this obvious prat insinuate that his mother couldn't tell a loyal bungler of the dark from an honest student?

"Watch what you say, Weasley, I happen to like Professor Granger." Demitrius snapped, unable to resist the urge to retaliate. Two sets of eyes turned to regard him in mild surprise.

"A Slytherin student who likes a Gryffindor teacher? Now that's a first." Potter said, rather dumbly in Demi's opinion. He shot the man a withering look.

"Yes, well, unlike most Gryffindors Professor Granger is intelligent." He retorted. 'Getting off track here, Demi. Let's get back to manipulation.' His brain reminded him. As the Dunderheads proceeded to ponder a reasonable retort to that, he mulled over what his next move should be. Go back to Hogwarts and return to trying to teach his mother to take credit? Or... Was there another option?

"...Is it just me, Harry, or does he remind you of someone?" Dunderhead Two said suddenly, drawing Demi away from his thoughts. He looked up to see the two men watching him carefully. Demitrius firmly transformed his face into a mask, bland and unemotional, and waited to see where this train of thought would lead. Potter was looking at him closely.

"Now that you mention it, he does look familiar. It's the hair." Dunderhead One said.

"And the eyes." Dunderhead Two replied.

"The voice..."

"...And that 'look'..."

"...Ron? You know who he reminds me of?" Potter at last said, and Demi wondered if he'd figured it out. Had he been acting like his father? Perhaps. Certainly not like his mother, she would never insult Gryffindor House openly. Dunderhead One was looking at him in a curious fashion. "Professor Snape."

Well, well, well, apparently Potter had a little presence-of-mind in this timeline. Interesting. Dunderhead Two was looking at him with that same gaping, mistrustful stare, like he was the devil incarnate. Demitrius sort of liked it, gave him a power rush. "Merlin's teeth, you're right!" Ron said. "You don't suppose they're related, do you?" He asked, and it slightly irked Demi to see the obvious displeasure on Dunderhead Two's face.

"Are you?" Dunderhead One asked. Demitrius considered his answer before he gave it. Obviously, outward denial would look a bit fishy. Then again, he couldn't really lay claim to being some distant relation, could he? Judging by the way Dunderhead Two's look of contempt had darkened, that wouldn't earn him much in they way of trust. He knew perfectly well that his father came from a less than noble family. Well, truly noble, anyway. They were a fairly respected, incredibly small group.

Then again, there was the truth. But the truth, besides being an utterly boring way to answer a question, was very hard to believe. He darted a glance over at his mother's letter. Perhaps she had mentioned his unique origins? But, then again, owl post was hardly leak-proof. She would know that. Demitrius sighed. His head hurt, he was sore, tired, and sick to death of trying to figure the whole damned world out. He looked at Potter. For a brief, split-second, something passed between them. A sort of mutual weariness. In that small sliver of time Demi stopped, if only for a moment, despising Harry Potter. Then he remembered the sort of man Dunderhead One could turn into, weak, empty, and spiritless, and it all returned. Demitrius straightened back up and decided to do something completely out of character. He told the truth.


The tea was keeping warm. The dungeons, on the other hand, were slowly but steadily getting much, much colder as the moments went by. Hermione sat next to the brewing tea, thinking not of Snape this time, but of the mission they were supposed to be on. It had occurred to her, after she had reached the dungeons, that her colleague's sudden disappearance did not bode well for their search. A student goes missing, and a Death Eater is summoned away? Something cold had grasped Hermione's stomach firmly, and had been holding it tight for the past half hour. She wasn't sure what to do. Their search, though informative, still left no real clues as to Demitrius' location. He could be anywhere. He could be dead, lying cold and still on some interrogation room's floor, the information pumped out of him and his body tossed aside like so much garbage. The image made her both terrified and enraged at the same time. Death Eaters. People like the Malfoys. They were scum, baby-killers, cowards who slinked through the shadows putting knives in people's backs.

And when they weren't busy killing children, they were corrupting them. People like Draco Malfoy didn't start out as evil pricks. Well, granted, nobody did, but having a full-blown recruiting service for the dark side at the ready wasn't much help. At least for their side. Hermione shook her head, rising from her seat. These thoughts were useless. She knew they were on the wrong side, knew exactly why she was fighting them, so dwelling on it wasn't any good. It wouldn't get poor Demitrius out of harm's way.

As she whirled to her feet, something caught Hermione's eye. She had decided to set up her 'waiting post' in the classroom. It was less invasive than the other rooms in the dungeons, but she would still know when Snape arrived. Occasionally he would keep experimental potions behind his desk. Projects he worked on, when he had nothing to do between classes. Hermione herself kept a hefty stash of books on-hand for such situations. The potion itself was probably nothing remarkable. She couldn't really tell, it was thick and black, and likely had an anti- opening charm on the stopper. It reminded her of the evening she'd caught Snape and Demi brewing all those concoctions together. So many potions. All of them foreign and fascinating.

The boy was brilliant. Hermione had only been a teacher for a few short years, but she could tell the difference between someone who knew a lot, and someone who knew how to use their knowledge. And the interesting thing was, Slytherins and Gryffindors seemed the best at using what they knew. Hufflepuffs lacked the drive for it, and Ravenclaws were too busy amassing it to be bothered. In general, of course. Really, the only thing that set Slytherins and Gryffindors apart was what they used it for. A Gryffindor would use their knowledge to the benefit of their moral principals. Whatever they believed was right, that was what they worked to support. Slytherins, on the other hand, used it for what was in their best interests. That meant that some were, undeniably, selfish pricks. But it also meant that some of the most ingenious developments in the wizarding world came from Slytherin minds. Of course, when she was younger she hadn't realised that. 'Slytherin' was just another word for 'evil'.

Demitrius, it seemed, had the power to play on either team. A unique thing in a person. Usually those able to be Slytherins would be unacceptable as Gryffindors, and vice versa. But Hermione had seen it before. She always thought Harry could have been a very passable Slytherin. He had the drive, the need to succeed, to push himself towards his goals. It was just that for him, success contradicted no moral rules. But what about Demi? Hermione looked at the potions. Yes, definitely a Slytherin. He had contradicted a good many of society's rules so far. The only real question was, to what end?

"Listen, Professor, just say you came up with it alright?" "What is wrong with you! Can't you just take credit for once?" "Look, you're smart enough, I'm smart enough, who cares if it isn't the actual truth? No one will find out." The words rang in her mind, things he had said to her, trying to convince her to take credit for spells that weren't her own. But why? Always he seemed so urgent and desperate, as if there was a great dark beast tugging at his mind. As the days passed he had begun to look more haggard. More than once she spied him downing a full mug of coffee at breakfast, looking just about ready to fall out of his seat. And it wasn't likely that the studies were what was killing him. In class, he did well, but not as well as he could have done. Enough to run around a seventy-five percent average.

Hermione ran a hand through the thick mass of her hair. Extra potions with Snape, extra spells with her, looking exhausted all the time, and not doing anywhere near so well as he should have in class. It all screamed of someone who was working desperately hard at another project. She remembered the first time he had arrived, in that explosion of magic. When he'd talked to Dumbledore in secret. Just what had been said? She thought on this for a moment. If she had come back in time, and was acting this way, it would be because she came back for a reason. More than just an accident. If it was that, her extra time would be spent trying to get home, not teaching professors spells they would learn anyway. And if she were a Slytherin, then that reason would likely be very personal.

So, what would benefit him, from having his teachers learn all this ahead of time? Hermione's mind raced over the information he'd given her. Spells, incantations, charms, curses, all of it seemed designed perfectly for a very vicious fight. Protection and offence. They were the bits of magic from a time of war. But something was keeping Demi back, holding his tongue and staying his hand, of that much she was certain. So what was it? What was going on here?

The sound of heavy footsteps tugged Hermione's mind from it's thoughts. Of course. Tea, dungeons, Snape. She walked over to the doorway. What time was it? Before her mind could formulate an answer, she reached the opening to the classroom and peered out. Her breath caught in her throat.

He looked beyond haggard. His drained form leaned limply up against the wall of the hallway, strands of dark hair falling into his face, as he drew deep and shaking breaths. His very being screamed of a man pulling along his body, the spirit unwilling to succumb to the physical form's exhaustion. A moment passed by, like the beat of a heart, as Hermione and Snape regarded one another. Then before she even made a conscious thought, she had moved towards him. "What are you doing here?" Snape asked, his voice gruff and harsh. Were it not for the fact that the man could barely walk, Hermione might have thought there was nothing wrong with him.

"We need to talk." She said, her voice hushed as she looped an arm around his waist. He recoiled only slightly at the contact. Hermione ignored it, and his protests, as she helped him into the classroom nearby. Carefully she deposited him into a seat near the working burner, right in front of the tea that had been keeping warm. He sat there, drawing hushed breaths and looking at her with his dark eyes. Hermione began to pour the tea. And froze.

Dark hair, dark eyes, swathed in black as he tried meekly to keep from passing out. The strength his form emitted, even through weakness. Pale skin. And a face that held only a look of torment in it's gaze, shielded behind a mask, so carefully laid and kept that you could forget it was there. Hermione knew that look. She had seen it in him so many times before, but she had also seen it in one other. When the boy came crashing to her feet from a swirling mass of black energy. She took a deep breath. Something had fallen into place.

The only question was, could it possibly be true?


A dark, hopeless future. A world where Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and countless other brave witches and wizards are little more than lifeless corpses. The son of a traitor to the dark goes back in time, to save everything from its own broken destiny. Demitrius was certain that they wouldn't believe him. It was truth, but it was so outrageous, even for the wizarding world. So very dark. It wasn't something they would want to believe, and it was far-fetched enough that they didn't have to. But at this point Demi really didn't care. Stronger, older, and wiser wizards before him had crumpled under the pressure of trying to change the world. There was only so much a person could take before they snapped. He wondered how his father had managed it all.

The last words fell from his lips. ".And that's how I got here." He said. As soon as he was through, he couldn't believe how much he'd just told these two Gryffindors. Who his parents were, where he came from, how and why he came back, what his plans were. He'd left out nothing. Nothing, except what had really passed between Malfoy and himself. But that was a personal matter to be dealt with later, when Marcus' life was more or less assured.

It was hard to describe the way Potter and Weasley were looking at him. Weasley seemed to be unsure as to whether he should look outraged, horrified, disgusted, afraid, angry, sympathetic, suspicious, or confused. He seemed to have settled on furrowing his brows and opening his mouth periodically, making a slight 'whoosh' sound as air passed his lips, and then cutting it off abruptly. Potter had gone pale and quiet, and was staring at Demi with a serious intensity that almost threw him off. He'd seen him look like that before only a few times in his life. His mother's funeral, and the last night he saw him, a few weeks before he died. It was the expression of a man weighing something that pulled at his soul. ".Why should we believe you?" Potter asked, as coldly as any man could. Demitrius recognised this; it was a method of distancing ones self from an unwanted prospect without using blatant denial. You separate yourself into a two pieces. The one that asks what needs to be asked, does what needs to be done, and deals with what needs to be dealt with. Like raising a wand against any enemy as you watch your family die around you. Not thinking, not processing, just completing the actions ingrained into your system. Then there is the other part, that almost seems to be watching you as you do this, hovering far, far past your eyes. The part of you that screams silently in terror. Potter wasn't quite that far yet. But he seemed a man accustomed to splitting himself in two.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't take it all at face value if I were you." Demitrius said, somewhat wearily, and this time now completely unaware of how like either of his parents he may be acting. "Point one. You're a Gryffindor, and I'm a Slytherin. The default for us is to hate each other first, and ask questions later. Point two, you don't know me, don't like me, and don't exactly trust me. Point three, apart from an obviously short letter delivered to you not long ago, you have no reason to believe I am anything remotely close to what I claim to be. And point four, denial is the greatest contributor to happiness in the minds of the ignorant." He supplied, ticking off the points on his fingers, and failing to maintain his accustomed level of grace and composure through it. He felt like he'd been run through a meat grinder. Or at the very least been spun around extremely fast in a particularly large racing wheel.

"Are you calling us ignorant, kid?" Weasley finally managed to say, catching hold on one of the more familiar emotions vying for attention in his mind, and lashing out at possibly one of the least impacting statements Demi had made since he began talking. Demitrius shot him a withering look.

"Don't be an idiot." He snapped neatly. "It's not my fault if you can't interpret an open sentence in a non-insulting way. Besides, your intelligence is far from the main issue here." Demi said, and really hoped he wasn't about to get punched in the mouth. He had the sneaking suspicion he would pass out again if that happened, and though he doubted either of the two men in the room would harm him while he was in such a state, unconsciousness was a dangerous position to be in. After all, only so many people in the world could be trusted when your eyes were closed.

Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to have decided that he liked Demi better when he was unconscious. Well, no, decided was possibly the wrong way to describe it. He looked like he was going to stop Demitrius from saying any more things he didn't want to hear, and in the most basic of ways possible. Thought didn't have a lot to do with Ronald Weasley when he took a step forward.

"Ron, leave it." Potter said, raising an arm to block his friend, his voice still quite distant. "He's telling the truth." He said simply. Weasley looked at him in shock.

"The truth? All of that... that rubbish? Even if the world did fall off on its hinges, our Hermione would never, not in a million years have a kid with that greasy git! Not unless he forced her anyway." Weasley said, muttering the last bit in such a manner that Demitrius could tell he didn't really mean it. He could see, straight-off, that the words were spoken in a moment of heat, out of spite and anger. People often became insulting when they were scared or confused, and especially when they were both.

So it was that Demi realised that there was another way a person could split into two halves, or else how could his logical, rational mind be watching himself lunge forward, smashing his fist against a rather pale cheek, and topple to the ground, angrily clutching at Ron Weasley's shirt and trying to both hit and strangle him at the same time. "Bastard! How dare you?!?" He shouted, before he knew what he was saying, or even remembered why.

A pair of brightly coloured eyes were looking up at him in shock, as surprisingly strong arms suddenly yanked him away, and unceremoniously deposited him on the floor nearby. Demi winced as his freshly healed arm thudded against the rather hard floor, and his teeth rattled a bit in his mouth. A few specks of colour blinked across his vision, his body's warning lights, telling him that he should most certainly not do anything like that again. But past that, in the calm centre of his obviously stormy temper, Demitrius was shocked. It wasn't as though the man had said anything he hadn't heard before, and in more foul wording as well. This wasn't like him. He didn't punch people on instinct, that was what his wand was for.

But he didn't have his wand. Realisation hit Demitrius, followed with a growing understanding of the jumpy, uneasy, nagging feeling pulling at his stomach. He still didn't have his wand back. "I need my wand!" The words came tumbling out in a jumbled panic before Demi could think about what he was saying. The minute they came out he cursed himself for the display, and the look of growing shock he was receiving from both Dunderheads now.

"I rather think you've done enough damage without one." Potter said, and now that Demitrius looked, he could see the slight trickle of blood trailing down Weasley's jaw. 'Slow. Easy. Calm.' He thought, trying to suppress the tumultuous emotions that were suddenly boiling too close to the surface. In his heart of hearts, he'd known that these emotions were strong, and as he fought them down each day, trying to rid himself of them through small acts, they only continued to grow. Punching a wall in privacy, a violent act that rid him of something for a while, an outlet that helped to calm the storm. To keep it below the surface while he kept his wits about him. And now that he thought back on it, he could see in his mind just how many times he had lashed out on some inanimate thing. Always trying to get rid of all those feelings. But now, he could barely hold on to his strength of will. His wand was gone. He was tired, burnt out, alone, uneasy, under suspicion... And still reeling from one of the greatest massacres that had yet to occur. His face was in his hands, and he simply sat there, shielding his eyes from the light and forcing himself under control.

Several moments went by like that. Perhaps it was only a few seconds. More than likely it was longer. He just sat, feeling his own palms against his cheeks, breathing deeply. First he would need to deal with the repercussions of his recent actions. He had never struck a wall in anger where eyes could see him, and now, he'd done it to a person with very little provocation. Such things did not sweep easily under rugs. After that, he would have to get his wand back, and see if he still couldn't salvage some sort of a victory out of this disaster.

Drawing a breath, Demitrius looked up. They were starting at him. Weasley had a kerchief to his lower lip and was gently dabbing at the blood. It looked as though the blow would swell quite a bit. Potter was looking at him carefully again. Slowly, Demitrius stood up, brushing off his robes, though by now they were filthy enough that the effort was futile. He'd already put them through the ringer of sorts, there were a few rips here and there, and at least one rather large dirt mark from his unfortunate fall. "I apologise, that was an over-reaction." He said, as quietly as he dared.

".You look like you could use a proper rest and something to eat." Potter said. Demitrius said nothing, though he knew it was true. "Come on, maybe nobody lives in this house on a regular basis, but the kitchen is still stalked nicely. We can talk more later, and see about finding your wand, of course."

"Of course."


"Professor Granger, I can assure you that while I agree a discussion of some sort is probably in order, this is possibly not the most appropriate of times for it." Severus said, as he tried very hard not to fall unconscious again. He loathed doing that. Had he not been lost in something of a haze, he might have noticed that Hermione was looking at him in a very odd manner. As it was his rather battered mind simply took it for nervousness, and put it to rest. A soft hand was pressing a warm cup into his fingers before he was entirely certain how or why, but he nonetheless accepted the offering, raising the object to his lips and letting the pleasant liquid slide down his throat.

"I can see that, obviously you can barely stay awake. I just... I wanted to make sure you were alright." She confessed softly, and Severus was surprised to hear her say such a thing. 'I wanted to make sure you were alright.' Only a few people in his life had said such words to him. And, if he was going to be completely truthful with himself, Severus had never gotten a strange buzz in his heart when Albus Dumbledore said that. But he did now. A beautiful, intelligent, strong and virtuous young woman had just told him she actually cared whether or not he came back dead from one of his 'meetings'. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he might've thought that he was dreaming.

"Why?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. Hermione looked at him, and for a moment, he saw sadness flicker across her vision. Not pity, not annoyance, just a gentle, subtle sadness that flickered there. Sadness at the thought that a man she believed to be good, to be worthwhile, could actually have to ask that question of anyone. It, more than her words, took Severus aback.

"...I don't know quite why I kissed you, but... I know I enjoyed it. Now that I think about it, I've spent so much time thinking about you, maybe not the nicest things, but you've been in my mind. And when I stop being angry, or annoyed, or thinking about other things, I... I don't think I mind you at all. In fact, I rather like you. I don't think anyone's made me want to be so good at something, just to show them up, and I respected you for that when I was younger. I still do respect you, but now I think I have a lot more reasons to. I suppose... I suppose I've taken an interest in you. And I want to see where it goes. No matter what you may think of yourself, Severus, you're a better man than most." She said, and through his lingering pain and exhaustion, and even past the soothing haze of the tea, he could see the truth, and the resolve in her eyes. A rather rueful smile swept up his lips. It surprised her, obviously, to see it. Not a sneer, nor a mockery of its kinder cousin, but a real, if somewhat jaded smile.

"Am I another of the infamous Hermione Granger's experiments then?" He asked. Hermione froze, and her eyes widened.

"I-I didn't mean it like that!" She said suddenly. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Really? That's a shame. I always rather liked your experiments." He managed to say, though he was fairly certain he slurred the last bit out. Somewhere he knew what her response would be before she said it, though if asked to pinpoint the source of the location, he would have to decline on the grounds that he wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't be committing for claiming it was the wall to his left. But then he really wasn't entirely together.

"Y-you did? I mean, you knew about them? B-but, but why didn't you ever catch me up?" She asked, startled. Ever since the polyjuice potion she made in her second year, concocting difficult and unique potions in her spare time had become something of a hobby. Which meant that in her school years, she'd nipped quite a bit from Snape's stores. He shook his head at her a bit.

"My dear Hermione, you may have thought I was the only professor who didn't hold you as their favourite student. Apart from that Umbridge woman of course. You were rather incorrect, I'm afraid." He said, and he could see the confusion flash in her eyes. She had such powerful eyes. Why had he ever thought that showing emotions in them was a weakness? Eyes like that could stop a giant dead in its tracks.

"Then why..."

"Why didn't I make you my top student?" He asked, finishing a question he knew had torn at her since she graduated, although why she let it had always baffled him. "I had held out hope for Malfoy, and held onto spite for Potter. I'm afraid you were in the crossfire." He confessed. "Though, for what it's worth," He added quietly, "If I could go back in time I would have failed that little brat. Of course, there are quite a few other things about my life I'd change as well."

".Severus?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm?" He replied, finally realising that he'd lost the war with his own tired body, and was falling to sleep on the spot.

"I somehow don't think that time travel is all it's cracked up to be."


To Be Continued.

A/N: I know it's a bit on the short side, it was a busy weekend, but at least I'm back to doing it now. Ordinarily I'd post shout-outs here, but I'm afraid I don't have the time to do those anymore. Sorry! But, anyway, hope you all liked it.