A little of your time

Chapter 19

-Days of future past –

After careful consideration Severus was sure to be dead.

He had to be.

Just – if he really was – was it normal for his head to still be spinning from the potion's after effect?

And why was he thinking at all?

Well, that was something he had to toy with. He tried to concentrate harder, tried to remember what had happened since he'd swallowed the brewery.

At first he'd felt just a little odd, all confused, heated up and shaky. The room's noise had funnily drifted far away and back close and Hermione's face had shifted out of and into focus several times.

Then a thick, almost blinding bright mist, that seemed to glow from the inside, had enclosed him, had clouded his vision and had befogged his thoughts and reasoning.

He had suddenly felt fear, he remembered, he had been wondering whether the potion had somehow turned out to be toxic and if he was now – dying.

The alertness had only increased when he hadn't been able to move in any other way but in slow motion while his body had mysteriously moved upwards.

But he hadn't passed through the ceiling, hadn't glanced down onto the tables, the heads of his fellow students, the castle, the clouds…

There hadn't been any tunnel with a bright light on its end either. And not a trace of any kind of past happenings.

Wasn't that what dying was supposed to be like? Well, maybe people were wrong. Who could tell for sure, really? Maybe he should have paid more attention to the girly-ghost in the loo two floors above the Entrance Hall.

He hadn't seen anything but whiteness all around. His feet hovering just a few inches above the ground as it felt, he had drifted further into the mist, every noise from the classroom had become very faint, distant and – irrelevant – and from that moment on Severus had truly feared to be doomed.

He had just hoped Hermione wouldn't have taken her dose by then. When Professor Figg and the class would finally realise, hopefully at least Hermione would be save. He was just stunned at how much regret he felt at the idea of never seeing her again.


Even now that the blinding whiteness was gone, the light was still there.

Slowly Severus shook his head to clear his vision. Relieved he noticed that he was able to move at normal speed again. His feet had solid contact to the floor and caused a sound at each step he took. So much for reality to return.

So, if he wasn't dead after all, where the heck was he?

Blinking against the light, Severus turned around to give his surroundings a closer look. The windows to his left looked familiar in shape and pattern. High lancet arcs they were, reaching from floor to ceiling. Currently their lower wings were opened widely to give the mild air outside access to the room.

A room that was strangely familiar. It was a nice, sunny place – a place he knew – a place that very much resembled the Hogwarts' library!

For a moment Severus was disappointed despite the fact that he felt a great amount of relief to be definitely – alive.

So he'd spoiled the potion. Oh what a shame! Figg wouldn't be pleased at all!

His next thought was where Hermione might have reappeared and another surprisingly strong amount of worry captured him at the idea that she might have been harmed in the process. If the potion had turned out so very wrong, she might just as well be cut off on the rooftop or down the deepest dungeon that had been shut down for years – or decades. This idea left him eager to look for her in spite of their trouble.

He had almost reached the large double-folders-door when he realised that it was probably best if he talked to Madam Pince to apologise for bluntly apperating into her property, first.

Turning around, Severus expected to face the stern, displeased face of the librettist, but the desk was empty – deserted as it seemed. There was no one around – no one at all.

Everything looked just as usual and still – different.

The high bookshelves were packed with hundreds and thousands of different sized volumes, but yet, there was some difference. He couldn't quite lay a finger on it, but this wasn't the library he knew.

Or was it?

To prove himself paranoid, he looked for the book he had read the day before. It should be right over there in the second row to the right. He would soon enough know if he was imagining things.

But even while on his way, Severus realised how strange everything was. None of the volumes he saw looked familiar. Not a single one. He neither knew any of their titles, nor had he ever seen the labelling. There were countless notes, concerning dates, names and places on each book.

All of the volumes appeared to be handwritten. They were seemingly original scripts rather than the familiar books he was looking for.

In the place were he'd supposed 'Plenty-Powerful-Potions' to be, he found a middle-sized book with ink-blue covers instead. A date was written across its back – Potions class, January the 10'th of 1978 –

Severus paused, taking in a sharp breath as he recognised Hermione's handwriting.

Left from this volume there was a small, notebook-sized book labelled – Flashes of January the 9'th in 1978, nothing important – while to the right a flat, yellow book, labelled – Sirius being a prick on January the 11'th in 1978, nothing unusual – caught his interest.

So he was right after all. The potion had worked out perfectly fine.

This was Hermione's mind, the store of her memories, the very place containing the chapters of her life.

Despite the tension Severus' lips curled into a smile. He should have known. Of course her mind would be organised like a library. What – ever – else?!

Briefly he wondered what his own mind might look like and which memories Hermione would explore during her stay. With a feeling of uneasiness, he dismissed the thought, as quickly as it had occurred. This was nothing he wanted to dwell on about right now. He could try to figure out how to cope with the embarrassment of his unreturned feelings revealed later.

For now he was determent to gather as much information about what made her tick - so to say. He hoped to understand why she'd acted so strangely ever since he'd dared to give her a glimpse of his feelings...

His steps echoed hollow through the deserted room with its endless rows of bookshelves. Light floated in through the high, lancet windows. It was a warm, pleasant place. Not unlike the Hogwarts library, it was an almost identical copy even – except for the fact that every single book in here was a handwritten manuscript.

Hermione had written all these chapters of her life – and he would have to literally read her mind now.

One by one, Severus passed the long rows of shelves in wonder, unsure and hesitant of what to do, but finally decided that he had no choice but to open and read the single books to find out.

Still fighting against his issues to do what felt like intruding on her privacy, he suddenly had the impression of hearing someone muttering a spell.

It was – Hermione – he realised with shock and whirled around to face her, but where he'd expected her to be was just the door, nothing else…

Nonetheless her voice was all around him.

'Incendio', she muttered and it was as real and vivid as if she were there, in the same room with him –but yet – it was different.

Confused, Severus whirled around once again glancing over his shoulder almost convinced to see her by the entrance door now - but there was no one.

No one at all.

Nonetheless he could hear her voice plain and clear. It was all around him, it was – he gasped – inside his head.

He listened, tensely waiting for the weird thing to happen again, but it didn't. After a few minutes he relaxed enough to focus onto the task at hand.

Well then, so she'd saved her memories and knowledge in a – mental library – his lips switched. How very – suitable!

Giving the various huge tomes and smaller volumes a curious look, Severus realised that she had obviously made some differences according to the importance and detail of her memories. The single storages didn't take an equal amount of space. Their appearance differed in size, in number of pages, colour and material of their covers.

Some volumes looked thread and well-thumped, containing memories of importance to her – which she had obviously looked up and run through several times – while others were covered by a slight film of dust and looked somewhat unaffected as if she hadn't touched them since the day of their creation.

As the books were in chronological order as it seemed, Severus decided to start from the beginning and pick out whichever titles would catch his eye. It would be the best way to get an impression of her 'character development'.

Following this plan he moved backwards along the timeline and everything went just fine – until he reached the 2'nd of December in 1977 – the day she had arrived at Hogwarts.

Before that date - and he really looked everywhere, including atop and beneath the ledge – there was no, absolutely no further book.

Where her former memories should have been there were meters and meters of bare, completely empty shelves.

Severus bit his lip. Was this the reason for her secretiveness? Did she suffer from a bad kind of memory loss that didn't allow her to recall anything but her name? Was it possible that she had been obliviated?

But why? And by whom? And why was she so afraid to tell anyone? Was she ashamed, he wondered. But what for? It wasn't her fault if she couldn't remember, was it? Why hadn't she trusted him enough to tell him? Had she been afraid, he might be repelled by her state of 'defectiveness'?

Suddenly he faltered. Had she seen – or done – anything so horrible that she had been obliviated to forget? An ice-cold fear clenched his heart at that thought. Was she possibly in danger?

She had been sent away from whatever place was her home. Why so, if it would have been so much easier for her to regain her memories in a place she was familiar with?

Or was this the effect of a fortuity? Had she been cut off from the place and the people she knew by accident? It might explain her sadness on Sylvester's Eve and her desperation on New Year's morning, when she'd told him that she just couldn't tell him anything about her past. Was it because she didn't know it herself? A wave of sympathy captured him at the thought how lost and afraid she must be. Poor Hermione, she had to be so scared.

But why hadn't she used her real name, if she remembered it? Was it a piece of memory that had returned during her stay so that she'd had to make up a name in the beginning? But no, Dumbledore knew, she'd said and he'd made her promise not to tell anyone else. There must be more to it, much more.

Maybe she was on the run, hiding from someone, possibly even from Voldemort. Maybe she had found out about something she shouldn't, about the identity of one of The Dark Lord's followers possibly and was now a threat that had to be taken care of.

Uncomfortably aware of the fact that people like his own parents might be ordered to capture her, that he himself might have traced her down in a few months time – if he hadn't met her – Severus dismissed the thought as quickly as possible. No – no, he wouldn't torture himself with thoughts like that.

His head still squirming in confusion Severus walked round the empty bookshelf and into the next row of ledges. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find. A few dislocated fractures of pictures and emotions, maybe – the rough, vague outlines of an erstwhile memory.

Or flashes of the accident that had caused her amnesia. He was prepared for many things – but what he saw didn't make any sense at all.

The books in this section were likewise neatly placed in chronological order, only that the dates couldn't be correct since all of them were dated to a time twenty years in the future!

Was it possible that she was perhaps – a seer, he wondered.

Were all these books about the future prophesies she had made, or visions she'd had of future days?

Whatever this was about, she certainly had more than one problem!

Poor Hermione. There must be more damage to her brain than a 'plain' memory loss. Maybe he could find something in those books that she believed to be her past that could help him to understand her and let him figure out how he could help her rearranging her sense of time.

Well, there was only one way to find out. With a very bad feeling and as cautiously as he could manage, Severus picked one of the books, which was labelled –An evening with Miri in August 1986 – at the left end of the shelf out and started to read:


It was a sunny afternoon in late August and the sunbeams' reddish glow that danced across the garden trees contradicted strongly to the enlarging shadows on the dry grass, when I crawled out of my little 'cave' beneath the elderberry bushes, where I'd spend all afternoon, reading 'Five fall into Adventure'.

Shielding my eyes against the sun, I watched a swarm of gnats dancing in mid air, foreboding another day as bright and sunny as the passing one. I smiled, rubbing my skin where a stirring nettle must have brushed across the bare skin of my knee...

An intense itching sensation drew Severus' attention away from the lines of crawly, untrained handwriting. Quite unconsciously he started to rub the spot were the stirring-nettle seemed to have brushed against the inner part of his right knee, but froze in mid movement. Last time he'd checked there hadn't been any stirring-nettles in the library, magical or real. Neither had he been crawling around beneath any shrubs, wearing short trousers since he'd turned twelve. Cautiously he looked round himself, blinking in wonder.

He was no longer inside the vast room filled with books. He wasn't even at Hogwarts, nor in any place he knew. He was inside the very same garden he'd just read about. And like the little girl whose scribbling had led him here he was crawling on hands and knees beneath a group of elderberry bushes.

This wasn't what he'd expected to find when he had prepared himself to explore the memories of 'Hermione-whose-last-name-wasn't-Henshler'.

To his utter confusion, 'she-who-didn't-want-to-be-named' didn't pay any attention to his sudden appearance in her timeless hideout. She merely crawled back into her little green cave of bushes and picked up that mysterious book about someone falling into adventure, ignoring him thoroughly. She was very young in this memory, a child, but undoubtedly Hermione.

Slowly and carefully avoiding the stirring nettles, Severus withdrew from the memory.


Once he'd returned to the library, he hurried to pick up a new book to learn more abut Hermione's time-twisting memories.

The burgundy covered journal he chose brought him to:

All Hallows Eve 1986

As much as I had hoped for it, the weather just wouldn't improve. Since I'd caught a cold, mum refused to let me go outside if it kept raining on. Therefore I remained sitting in the window-seat of my bedroom all afternoon, pressing my face against the window glass. I didn't switch the lights on, so I'd have a better view at the darkening street. Within the last half an hour the rain had lessened. But it just wouldn't stop completely.

Though it wasn't exactly a downpour, one couldn't deny it was raining. It really was a pity. The only thing to cheer me up was the prospect of meeting Miriam. I was looking very much forward to spend the evening with her, while Mummy and Dad were at the Phillips for dinner. She'd promised she'd prepare a pumpkin lantern with me to be placed at the front steps. And maybe I could persuade her to take me for a short stroll later this evening. If only…

Once again Severus was amazed at how thoroughly he got sucked into the memory. He actually was inside that room she described. The comfortably nursery was only lit by the soft orange light of the street lamp below.

It was so dim Severus could merely recognise vague outlines of the furniture.

To his amazement he was seated in the window-seat alongside the little girl, whose memory he shared once again, without her even noticing him.

Like little Hermione, teenage Severus pressed his hands to the window to peer outside into the dark. The nearby street-lamp seemed endangered to drown in the damp and somewhat misty air. Nonetheless Severus could see the opposite house – a dark-green Art Nouveau villa, with a curved iron-fence that opened to a narrow gateway, surrounded by shrubs and trees whose bright red, yellow and orange leaves shone even through the misty dusk. Lime trees were lining the street. Their bare, wet branches and trunks stood out against the hazes of mist. And a bunch of moist yellowish leaves covered the asphalt.

A group of children was hopping about in the street below, laughing and yelling excitedly at one another. Nearly all of them had their faces painted and were dressed in funny cloths.

They were dressed in odd, stiff looking bright yellow, red and orange robes and funny boots that seemed to repel the rain. Just one little girl was dressed properly in what seemed like some foreign kind of wizards robes. Her pointed hat in hands, she was hoping off and about, refusing to take the stiff orange robes her mother was offering her.

Just then, a woman's voice was calling from downstairs that Miriam had arrived.

With yell of excitement little Hermione jumped to her feet and stormed out of the room to welcome her friend, a pretty, black-haired girl in her late twenties. Severus felt a stab of envy, when he grew aware of these childhood memories. So she too had been left with a nanny. But how different it was from his own experiences...


Once again Severus returned to the library of memories to search for a new book of Hermione's stores. And one by one her own handwriting led him into each single memory, but soon blurred in front of his eyes and gave him access to how she remembered the various incidents.

He had part in how she'd felt about odd things happening to her at Primary school. It got him a faint idea of how difficult it must be for a Muggleborn witch to get along with all these unexplainable things happening to her. What a horrid idea not to know about ones own magic and face the nonacceptance and rejection in her fellow students' and teachers'.

In one memory she sat on one of the chairs in front of the Primary school's Headmistresses office door and watched the small particles of dust floating in the trace of sunlight that fell through the window at the headwall.

To pass the time Hermione counted the chessboard mosaic on the floor, but he could easily sense her distress. She was very afraid. Once again all the pieces of chalk had been soaking wet or broken when the teacher had picked a classmate in her place, in spite of Hermione's desperate attempts to do the task, while the only whole and dry piece left had been found in her pocket. And once again she was going to face a detention because of it.


No longer questing the dates of a future past, Severus grabbed more books from the shelves, determined to find out about Hermione as much as possible in the time he was to spend inside her mind. He sensed her great pleasure and relief, when she received her Hogwarts letter in Summer 1991 as it was an explanation for all the weirdness that had been happening to her in her life so far.

He watched her at her Sorting.

'Hm, a smart one, indeed!' The old hat's voice sounded thoughtful. 'Add studious, my dear – a real gain for the righteous honoured house of Ravenclaw. But there's also courage and a great deal of stubbornness and the unhealthy but persistent habit of getting yourself in trouble as hard as you might try to avoid it. No, dear, I think it's best for you to get settled into:' "GRYFFINDOR!"

Severus flinched at the memory of the Sorting Hat's voice ringing in his own head. Merlin! His parents might have strangled him had he experienced that little dialogue on his own sorting.

Hermione didn't seem to mind its choice in the slightest, though. Beaming brightly she jumped off the stool and hurried to join her new housemates.

She was so happy that Severus couldn't help but be glad for her, even if she joined the Gryffindor table.

He didn't even bother to wonder about the date anymore, so much was he captivated by his explorations of her 'past'.


A large, well thumped tome with a bright red cover led him to -Halloween's Eve 1991-

I knew I was being stupid. Hiding out in a to-to-toilet like this, crying about something some stupid, crude person like Ron We-we- weeasley had said. I knew I shouldn't have bo-bothered, but I had put so many hopes in this new schoooool, I thought I had finally resolved the mi-mi-mystery why no one had liked me back at Primary school. And all my glorious theories cr-cru-cumbled into n-n-nothing. It upset me and it stung…

Severus winked, wondering which wood-headed Weasley whizz would wind her up so wholly, she would wrap up at the W.C. – worrying and weeping.

The splitting of wood and the chattering of porcelain sinks made Severus snap out of his thoughts. When he turned around, he came to face the most terrifying creature he'd ever seen. A full grown Mountain Troll headed his way, its raw, deathly club that had just shattered the sinks, risen to attack.

Paralysed with fright Severus jumped backwards, out of the monster's reach, but found there was not much space left to back away. It was even now that he realised that the Troll couldn't see him since he was exploring a memory and that it was Hermione's frightened cowering form it was heading for. She had tried to hide beneath the sink in the far corner of the room. Her piercing, terrified scream tore at his heart.

Then – suddenly - there was the image of a boy – James – though she called him 'Harry' and a red-head bursting into the room. Both of their faces expressed the same terror Severus felt but in contrast to him they were able to interfere. Brave-heartedly they dashed forward into what Severus supposed to be their certain and unavoidable undoing.

The read-head yelled something to distract the Troll and threw a piece of metal from the demolished sinks in its direction, while his James-ish companion hurried across the room to drag the petrified Hermione out of her hiding place. Even if he hadn't been unable to interact Severus would have stood rooted to the spot, gawking at the scenery in utter terror.

The two boys fought the beast in a way that left him no other choice but admire their bravery. Together they actually managed to knock their inhuman opponent unconscious. With a deafening sound the massive body crumpled to the floor, were it remained unmoving.

Only then Severus released the breath he'd been holding. He had barely time to cast a worried glance in Hermione's direction when voices and hurried steps approached from the corridor. The sounds of fighting hadn't remained unnoticed as it seemed. The very next second McGonagall and – a dark and evil tempered man in his mid-thirties – appeared at the scenery. After a shocked glance at the unconscious beast the two adults started lecturing the boys.

There was some bothersome moment of preferment though that Severus didn't dare to dwell on.


Mysterious Hermione's next memory led him into:

-The logical riddle, in June 1991-

I still remember the shock, when that purple fire sprang up as soon we'd stepped over the threshold. It blocked our way back, just as the black flickering fire in the opposite doorway stopped us from leaving. Fear welled up inside me as I realised that we were trapped.

I felt the waves of panic radiating from Harry, just as heath was radiating from the fire. Only then I noted a roll of parchment next to the flasks. This must be some kind of – instructions. I picked up the paper and read:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you will find,

One amongst us seven will let you move ahead

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Three amongst our number hold only nettle wine,

Two of us are killers, waiting hidden in the line,

Choose unless you wish to stay here for evermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side,

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Once she had ended Severus let out the breath he'd been holding. This was worse than he would have expected. Doubtfully he viewed a table with seven bottles in front of them and couldn't help but frown at their sight.

Whoever had made that riddle up had to be a freaking maniac. How on earth were they supposed to get out of this – ever?

James-Harry seemed to share his worries as his face expressed the very same shock that Severus felt at the prospect to choose.

But when he sent a worried glance at Hermione, she didn't look bothered at all. On the contrary, she looked – pleased – thrilled even.

"This isn't magic – it's logic – a puzzle," she called, sounding impressed. "A lot of the greatest wizards don't have an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?" James-Harry asked. His voice sounded far less enthusiastic than Hermione's and Severus could only agree with him. They were doomed.

"Of course not," Hermione said.

And within the next couple of minutes Severus watched amazed how she solved the terrible riddle. He could follow her train of thoughts. It was amazing how she put everything together – figured it out. And at her young age, it was – he was very proud of her.

There while James-Harry and little Hermione were frantically discussing their plans how to handle the current situation. For all it seemed Harry-James wanted her to drink the potion that would allow her to head back through the purple fire and Severus could only agree with that.

Wherever they had come from, it was probably better than this. Hermione wasn't thrilled at all, but her uncombed friend finally convinced her to get back and get Ron – the red-headed Weasley, Severus concluded – the one she'd been crying over on Halloween, who'd knocked out the Mountain Troll – and grab brooms from the flying-key room to get past Fluffy – whoever that was – and out of the trapdoor. He advised her to send Hedwig – probably a friend of hers – to Dumbledore. At that Severus smiled, finally a name he knew, but the boy's very next comment spoiled it all.

"I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really." His face fell, expressing surprise and utter confusion. Snape??? What the heck was going on?

But it was Hermione's response that truly shocked him. "But Harry – what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

James- no – Harry said something about having been lucky once and stated that he might get off again, but Severus didn't really care.

'Snape' was supposed to be with You-know-W-V-oldemort and they were about to keep him off. Did that mean that he would really join The Circle and serve the Dark Lord, then? Was this, why she didn't want anything to do with him anymore? He frowned. If it were true and she'd had a vision about him joining the Dark Lord it had to be in the future! So why was she at such a young age in it? It didn't make any sense at all.

Unable to solve the question Severus dropped the book and jumped forward to grab another one.

Beside himself with confusion, angst and curiosity, he nearly dropped the book once again, though. Nonetheless Hermione's magic did enclose him over again…


Soon enough he witnessed her brewing Polyjuice Potion in the shut down girls' bathroom on the second floor and couldn't hold on himself, when she grudgingly acknowledged that she had turned into a catlike being, with claws and a tail and had all of her face covered in fur.

After all the built up tension this vision of her cheered him up and before he realised it, he had laughed out aloud at the sight of her whiskers and nervously switching tail.

As delightful as this memory might be it didn't lead him anywhere near the answer.

Therefore Severus reluctantly replaced the cat-girl book, moving further down the row.


He watched her in class, whispering instructions to Frank – or wasn't it him – to prevent him from blowing up his cauldron - once again... Well, it must be Frank then, Severus decided with a grin, before he moved on towards the next book – the next memory – to reveal her secrets to him…

He cringed at the realisation that the dark, spiteful man, addressing her as an insufferable know-it-all was indeed him…


When a thirteen years old Hermione stepped out of McGonagall's office, her cheeks bright with delight at the glorious prospect to finally manage handling two classes at the same time, Severus viewed the tiny hour-glass on the fragile silver chain in her hands suspiciously – but when he was circling round the rooftops of Hogwarts alongside her and Harry on a sentenced Hippogriff to change a likewise doomed Sirius Black's fate, realisation hit him like - Hogwarts Express…


Before he had any time to recover, though, Severus already witnessed himself, the red and the uncombed talking about Voldemort. The one they called 'Harry' was lying in a hospital-bed. Whether he was injured or just badly shocked, Severus couldn't tell. It didn't matter that much as the sight of the man he considered he'd once to be, rolled up his left sleeve to reveal the ugly, mark marring his forearm.


He caught a few glimpses of Hermione as she looked now, wearing a head girl badge.

Finally, on an early summers morning – he literally bumped into - himself - before every fragment of sight – blood- on the stairs – the time-turner – fractured – blurred into a whirl of colours…


The soft creaking noise of the library's heavy folders door made Severus look up from Hermione's memories. Hesitatingly, almost fearfully, he turned around. And gasped…

It was the last thing he'd expected to see, but there she stood, surrounded by soft golden sunlight, smiling at him with –fondness– in her eyes.

"Hermione," he stammered, moving ahead.

"Severus," he heard her muttering inside – his – head.

Pinching his eyes shut in confusion, he didn't know what was real anymore. This was all so very odd. It felt so real, but yet, how could it be?

No longer bothering with these thoughts, Severus stepped forward, reaching out to her – Hermione - whose whole beautiful face lit with a genuine smile. She crossed the short distance between them and threw both of her arms around him.

He quickly responded, pulling her close, no longer questioning any of these weird things happening to him – but just accepting them as weird and impossible as they might occur.

The next moment they were kissing, which was - heavenly, but yet, something felt strange. It was only then Severus realised he was experiencing the kiss from her point of view. But just when he decided that it didn't matter at all as long as she kissed him he grew aware of some nasty sniggering around them. So much for reality to return.


Slowly Hermione grew aware of the classroom around her. She was seated on the edge of her seat leaning so much forward she had surely been falling hadn't it been for the person she was leaning into and the pair of arms wrapped around her as tightly as if they were afraid to ever let go.

Despite these new realisations she could still feel the sweetness of the kiss she'd been experiencing only a moment before.

She realised that she was 'back in her right mind again' and she also realised that what was causing their class mates to snigger was the fact that she was still kissing – him, 'whose cheeks flushed pink'.

Eyes wide and oddly bright, he stared at her and unable to get a room Hermione ignored the tumult of voices, laughter and noise around them just staring back at him. Vaguely she grew aware of the bell ringing.

Hogwarts was back.

Hogwarts in its 1970s.

From out of nowhere her hand found itself enwrapped in Severus': "We need to talk," he demanded, severely.

A/N: The passages marked with are cited from the first book: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, which I'm sure you already recognised anyway, but it just wouldn't do not to mention…

Tee hee, I bet you just love me for that ending. Lots of thanks for all the encouragement.

I really intend to finish the fiction, which will probably turn out to become a tale of at least forty chapters. The ending and some important passages are already done but it needs lots of care to put all the fragments together, especially since timelines are going to twist and spin around each other…and peoples' pasts and fates are going to change somewhat and literally overnight in the process…and although changes in my life haven't been half as thoroughly it has been well enough to keep me busy…

I promise to add more as soon as possible.

Tina the Serpent.

TBC within the century…;)