A/N: My first HP fanfic, and it's a weird'un, too! :D Enjoy, and don't
forget to post a review, lest the horrible demons of my malice haunt you
forever. Mwahahahaha!
Blood dripped from an open wound on the young man's scalp as he desperately clawed his way up the dungeon steps, the sounds of yells, incantations, and falling rubble filled his ears until he was certain he'd go deaf. A huge gash tore it's way through the fabric of his robes, bleeding even more furiously as the wound on his head. In one hand he clutched his wand tightly. Thirteen inches, cedar, dragon heartstrings. It was easier to focus on the wand and climbing now. Better not to remember what was back there, as another scream from the dungeons ripped the sky, and a piece of flooring crashed into the stairs next to him. It was unthinkable. Hogwarts had fallen. Dumbledore and Harry Potter were dead, the Dark Lord had taken the castle by storm, killing all students who dared oppose him. A last-ditch battle was beaten back into the dungeons, but it was already far beyond hopeless. 'Let me die. It's too much, I can't breath, I can't think. Let me die.' He thought with dark resignation. His silky black hair clung to his face, framing soft features, but unusually hard and cold black eyes. Dirt and blood were caked onto him, the latter still flowing quite freely. Demitrius gave up on his attempts to flee. He was no Gryffindor, he did not shine and sparkle with foolish bravery, but he certainly knew when he was beaten.
"Demi!" A hoarse voice called for him, and Demitrius half turned, barely catching the sound above the noises of a bloody war. A familiar face stared out at him, pained, from the shadows. She was badly injured, he could tell right away. With a wince of pain he managed to heave himself back down towards her.
"Professor McGonagall... We've lost..." He rasped sadly, looking at a woman he knew all too well to be dying. Still, defiance reigned in her eyes. Defiance and a little trace of hope. She clutched his uninjured arm tightly.
"Not yet, Demitrius, not yet." She said, and he found himself briefly wondering if she'd gone mad from grief and pain. Still, out of respect for someone he'd been intimidated by all his life, he didn't move. With a shaky hand she reached into her robes and pulled out what looked to be a pocket watch. However, as soon as the object fell into his shaky grasp, Demi knew it was nothing so simple. He looked imploringly at his dying professor. A rueful smile twisted her pale lips, as she coughed, spilling yet more blood onto his battered robes. "...In such times, some rules... should be broken..." She said enigmatically. Then, in a voice almost a whisper, she added; "Be careful. It will all make sense to you soon."
Demitrius opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Or rather they came, but did not come out. Everything froze. The movement of the world, the pain that racked his body, the feeling of his own heart beating and his lungs drawing frantic, shaky breaths. Then blackness, complete and total, consumed him, and young Demitrius was plunged into another time.
~
Hermione sighed as she moved purposefully, if reluctantly, down towards the dungeons and Snape's dreaded Potions class. While she hadn't been a student for the past five years, she had been a teacher since the last one, and had been discussing the plans for a new defensive spell on Hogwarts with Severus not ten minutes prior. 'I swear, that man is completely insufferable!" She thought angrily. Of course, most of it was probably prompted by bitterness, seeing as how Hermione had gotten the job in one try which he had failed to receive after years of fruitless efforts. Defence Against the Dark Arts. It had made almost impossible.
Still, Dumbledore wanted them to work together, on administering a potion to every single student, ghost, and staff member in the building, that would make them utterly undetectable to anyone who hadn't taken the same concoction. Just in case someone managed to sneak a spy in under the control of the Dark Lord. It was only logical, she thought, that they were expected to co-conspire. He was the Potions Master, and she was in charge of protecting the students from evil. Or at least teaching them how to do that themselves. Which had become a vastly more serious task, considering the dark times that plagued them.
Hermione sighed. Talking with Snape was bad enough, but she'd left he notes in his office, and getting them back would be downright degrading. She could just hear his voice inside her head. 'Really, Professor, it's disgraceful to see someone so lacking in sense teaching here. How ever will your students cope?' He'd say smoothly, the words rumbling out, with that sneer plastered on his face as he spat the word 'professor'. Mostly Hermione felt a warm glow when she heard it. But when Snap said it, it was like an insult, or some sort of twisted mockery on reality. Which he probably thought it was.
Suddenly the cold became far too intense, even for the dungeons, and Hermione's musings were halted as a feeling of intense pain and an unnatural energy slammed into her. With a shout she dropped to the cold steps. A great black tear raked the world next to her, opening it up like some horrific gash in real-life story book. Blue lightning crackled along her vision as a figure, robed in black, was dumped unceremoniously at her feet. The pain left as quickly as it had come, as did the tear, and with an explosive 'pop' something burst away from the ragged form before her. She vaguely noted, through her haze of confusion and panic, that it looked something like a broken pocket-watch.
That thought halted, however, as soon as she realised what the huddled lump of robes and thick, dark red fluid before her was. Charcoal black as looked into hers with a mixture of shock and utter amazement. "...I must be dead..." The figure choked out, before his eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and his head fell forward with a slight 'thud'.
At first, Hermione was too utterly amazed to do anything. She sat there, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a caught fish. Still, she was hardly one to take leave of her senses for very long, and quickly snapped her jaw shut. She was no mediwitch but she knew near-fatal injuries when she saw them. She'd seen enough to last her a lifetime, being one of Harry's closest friends. But in a situation like this, there were only a few things to do, and Hermione did them all. Lifting her wand, she cast a simple floating charm on the ragged boy before her. He didn't look more than fifteen. As she did this, she grabbed his robes, and began to haul his feather-light body upwards, barely taking note of the blood dripping from him. Getting him to the infirmary quickly was a definite must. And, as she performed these actions, she also released her best and most blood-curdling scream for help. Even her own ears rang.
Hermione didn't wait as she began up the stairs. She could get from potions to the infirmary in just under six minutes if she moved very quickly, something she'd picked up during the years spent as one of Malfoy's favourite targets. It did well to time such things she'd soon learned. At the sound of her scream, she heard the loud murmur that told her the door to the on-going Potions class had opened, and several doors further down the corridor were following suit. Familiar faces poked through, soon gaining looks of astonishment, but even still it was the swishing sound of Snape's robes that first reached her as she ran.
"What happened?" He demanded curtly, coming up to step with her. Hermione shook her head. The answer didn't even make much sense to her right now, she certainly wasn't going to waste breath trying to tell Snape. Instead she focused on running to the infirmary, and keeping a firm grasp on the young man floating beside her. After a few minutes she re-cast the float charm, seeing it begin to fade. Something stirred deeply inside of her as she glanced at this boy's face, ignoring the small contingent of staff and upper classmen sent to follow her, and barely aware of those who had gone ahead to warn Poppy. He seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn't place him as a student. Even though he obviously was. Through crimson stains she could still make out the silver and green of Slytherin on his scarf, and he was garbed in school robes.
It seemed like eternity before she reached the infirmary, where Pomfrey quickly took the boy from her charge, and began to work her magic. Literally. Hermione slumped into a seat nearby, watching intently, tired and still in more than a little shock. A murmur of voices began to fill the air, but the mediwitch dutifully shooed away the curious contingent, until all but she, Hermione, and the injured boy were left. Even Snape went away, though it was with a fairly vicious snarl.
"...Will he be alright?" Hermione asked at last, after minutes which seemed more like hours had snailed by, and the flurry of Madam Pomfrey's actions had finally slowed. She was folding the young man into the covers of the medical bed, having dressed him in loose pyjamas, and Hermione idly wondered when that had happened.
"Yes, quite alright, though it was a close one at that. What happened?" She asked, her typical briskness mingled with genuine concern. Hermione could only shake her head, slightly frozen.
"I don't know. I was going down to the Potions classroom, to ask Professor Snape if he would let me into his office, so I could get my notes. I'd forgotten them. But when I was going down the stairs, it just-" Hermione broke off there, her face pale. She knew somewhere in her foggy mind that it wouldn't be long until Dumbledore showed up. Then things would be right, her brain said, since Dumbledore could fix anything.
The wand was at her nose before she even had time to really register it, and Madam Pomfrey was inspecting her, brows knitted in concern. "My dear, you've been cursed." She said seriously. Hermione barely heard it. "Or at least something quite like it, definitely a lot of dark magic was used. It's like you've been sand-blasted!" She said, her usual tittering tones or scolding actions dripping away like wax off a candle. It was vaguely reminiscent of how she behaved the night Cedric Diggory died, when Harry had been brought in, gravely injured in his soul more than body. The night He returned. "Hermione?" Her eyes fixed on the mediwitch's face through a mingled blur.
"Yes?" She asked, feeling just a little bit dizzy.
"Hermione, I need you to tell me everything that happened. Did this boy use a curse on you? Dark magic?" Pomfrey demanded firmly, just as the door opened, and the room was filled with Dumbledore's undeniable presence.
"...No, it wasn't him, it was that horrible tear..." Hermione managed to slur out, before she felt her eyes slid shut and began the fast descent sideways off her chair.
~
When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on a medical bed, the sunlight beaming through the windows to warm her face. She blinked, raising a hand to rub the sleep from her face, and stretching her mouth into a yawn. 'What on earth am I doing here?" She wondered. Then her eyes widened, as memories came flooding back, and she sat up with a bolt. Instantly she regretted it as a painful surge coursed through her skull.
"Bad move, that. You should never bolt straight up when you're in a hospital bed you know. You're likely to be there for a reason." A voice, not mocking, but definitely cold and detached said. Hermione would have whipped her head around to look at it's owner, but his words rang true, and further movement would not be wise.
"Oh shut up." She said tartly. Whoever owned that voice, his tones were oddly reminiscent of Malfoy or Snape, the same bolt of ice-covered words, even if they're meaning wasn't the same sort of insults she'd come to expect. A laugh filled the air. Brisk, but genuine if nothing else, and definitely quite biting.
"Tsk tsk, she bites the hand that feeds her. Or, well, at least the voice that offers advice." He told her mockingly. Hermione twisted her head just enough to look at him, then realisation hit her like a ton of bricks, and she wondered how she could have been so thick. It was the Slytherin boy she'd brought in last night! The blood was gone, and he was cleaner now, but the same heart-shaped face and dark, piercing eyes were unmistakable. For a brief second a twinge of familiarity swept over Hermione. But it passed soon enough.
"Who are you?" She asked, no longer concerned with his words and tone of voice. The young man paled a little, and a brief laugh exploded from him, more like a painful bark than anything else.
"Wouldn't you like to know? But I really shouldn't say. At least, not until I've spoken to Dumbledore, and made sure of. things." He told her, his gaze still upon her, but his eyes becoming clouded with thought. He gave his head a brief shake before snapping back to reality. "Although I'd like to say I'm sorry about the trouble. Unfortunately I wasn't quite ready for the ride, you see, and didn't know what was happening until it already had. Bad luck you were there when I landed. Or, maybe good, since you probably saved my ass. But still, sorry about it." He told her, and Hermione got the brief impression that he was rambling, even though he's tones didn't really let on.
"Sorry for what?" She inquired. He blinked, surprise flashing through his gaze, and Hermione realised that he didn't show emotion much anyplace else.
"For hammering you with black magic." He said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione's as widened as she started, surprised by his words, and he let out a long, low whistle. "I must have hit you something nasty if you don't even remember!" He declared. Before either one could say anything more, however, the sound of a throat clearing itself rang through the air. Hermione and the boy both looked over to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway. The familiar twinkle of his eyes was overshadowed by concern, and his gaze seemed to take in the entire room, focusing on the two newly-awakened patients.
To Hermione's surprise, the young man on the bed nearby let loose a broad grin, only a little too happy to manage being a sneer. It seemed an unusual, yet oddly natural, expression for his features to take on. Like a well-worn piece of clothing in entirely the wrong colour for it's owner. A look of relief shone quite vibrantly in his dark eyes. This change did not go unnoticed by Dumbledore, but only the faintest change in his demeanour indicated that. "My apologies for interrupting." He said, moving over to stand closer to the new professor and the mysterious student. "I trust both of you are feeling considerably better?" He asked. Hermione nodded her head, as did the young man, and he smiled. "Excellent. Poppy will be gone for awhile, breakfast has just started. Blueberry pancakes I believe. It's a shame we three shall miss it, but alas, I'm afraid I have a few questions for you two." Dumbledore said, in his usual, round-about way of speaking.
Hermione was first to go. She knew she would be, when the Headmaster fixed her with an expectant look. Drawing a breath she managed to explain what had happened the other day, doing a much more thorough, sensible job than she'd managed to in yesterday's frenzy. When she'd finished she glanced at the boy nearby, and then at Dumbledore, obviously quite curious to know his side of the story. Before it could be looked into, however, the boy spoke up.
"Professor, if I may, I think it would be better if I told you my side in private." He said firmly, and Hermione felt herself deflate a little as the headmaster acquiesced. The two scurried off to Madam Pomfrey's office, with a single, tellingly apologetic look from Albus Dumbledore. Hermione sighed and leaned back into her bad. It was an almost certainty now that whatever she learned after the discussion would be an 'edited' version. She bit her lip and glanced at the door, briefly contemplating eaves- dropping. But while her curiosity was great, her sense of right and wrong outdid it, and purposefully listening in on one of Dumbledore's conversation took a type of audacity not even Severus Snape possessed.
~
Demitrius had felt such utter, complete, penetrating relief when he'd seen Albus Dumbledore, that it was a wonder he hadn't fainted on-sight. After all, the sighting could only confirm one of his two more preferable theories. The first was that he was dead, and heaven looked a great deal like Hogwarts, which to his mind was far from surprising. The other was a far less pessimistic possibility. And, having taken in the unusual state of the infirmary earlier, it was shaping up to be the more likely as well. He was slightly caught in his thoughts, but was drawn out when he heard the light 'thud' of something being placed on Madam Pomfrey's desk, as Dumbledore took a seat behind it. The item he had lowered was none other than the pocket watch McGonagall had slipped him as she died. It was stained red with blood here and there, and the face was completely smashed in. "A most interesting object." Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his twinkling blue eyes upon it. "I wonder how it came to be on the steps down to our infamous dungeons?"
Demi knew a veiled order when he saw one, and cleared his throat, ready to begin the telling of his tale. "Sir, I suspect that I'm from your future." He started. While Demitrius possessed a very smooth, elegant, slightly cold way with words, his militaristic behaviour betrayed him to be someone who had grown up in a very war-like environment. He was behaving like a soldier de-briefing himself. Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
"Yes, that would explain our mangled time-piece here. An object which is quite illegal you know." He mused, and stared at Demitrius expectantly over the rim of his glasses. The young man quirked an eyebrow at the comment. He could tell he was being sized up, and a small smirk twisted his lips. While it was surprising to see the headmaster behave so openly suspicious, he was used to being treated with uncertainty. And Demitrius had to admit he couldn't exactly blame the old man. A Slytherin exploding onto the dungeon steps, in a blur of dark magic, nearly killing one of their finest professors and using an illegal object to do it? His own father might doubt him under the circumstances.
"I can assure you, I was fairly unaware of what was happening when I used it." Demitrius explained. There was a pause as Dumbledore took him in, sizing him up. His eyes seemed to stare right through the young man before him. Demi knew he would believe him, it was an inherit trait of the old man to be trusting rather than not. Suddenly the evaluation ceased and Dumbledore smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him.
"Why don't you relax and try and tell me what's happened?" He suggested. Demi paused at first, his mind instantly suspicious, and then berated himself. 'Gods, Demi, it's Albus Dumbledore, not some drunken former Death- Eater.' He thought and took a seat. A bag of lemon sherbet candies was thrust under his nose, but he politely declined.
"Right. It might be easier if I knew the date." He said.
"March third, two thousand and eight, I believe." Dumbledore supplied. Demitrius nodded.
"Well, then, I guess that's that." He murmured to himself. Then he fixed Dumbledore with a keen gaze, and plunged into his tale.
"The last thing I remember happened in the year two thousand twenty-five. The war with the Dark Lord had taken on newer, viler levels. In my time you, and Harry Potter, are both quite dead. As are my own parents and many others as well. Howarts, the last great stand against He Who Must Not Be Named's forces, had fallen. We were beaten back to the dungeons by the Death Eaters, and-" Demi's eyes darkened considerably as he continued, "- and the turn-coat students. It was a hopeless case. There were only twelve of us at the end; McGonagall, myself, and ten foolishly devoted Gryffindors. The rest were either dead, captured, or even worse, traitors. Off the bat four fell to the Unforgivables. It was sport for the enemy now, they knew they'd won. But of course the couldn't resist the chance to torment us all. We fought as best we could, be in the end, it was obvious there was nothing left to fight for. At first I tried to retreat... But I was certain I would be dead anyway. Even if I got out of the dungeons, and escaped through some miracle, I would be dead before I reached the front gate." Demitrius paused briefly, deep in thought, before he continued.
"Just I was lying down to die, I heard a voice calling my name. McGonagall, stubborn as always, was scarping her way over. She was in worse shape than I. But before she died, she gave me that." Demitrius looked purposefully at the pocket-watch. "Then she might have muttered something about not giving up. I was pretty certain she'd gone mad, but since we were both dead anyway, I chose to indulge her. The next thing I knew I was being thrown around in a storm of black magic, and was unceremoniously deposited here. When I saw..." And here he paused again, though now his look was one of question, more than contemplation. "...Hermione, I was certain that I was dead. But after I woke up I began to think that it seemed a little unlikely that the watch and the sudden change were unconnected. So, my mind concluded that the dear professor had sent me back, an illegal and desperate act." Demitrius mused quietly. For someone as young as himself, he had a decidedly haunted look about him.
It was a time before Dumbledore spoke, but again the young Slytherin couldn't help but feel the old man would believe him. Scratch that, he was dead bloody sure Dumbledore didn't doubt his story. Demi looked at his hands. A strange thing. He was so certain that death was at hand, but this, this had come directly out of left-field, hadn't it? Inwardly he felt a rueful smile tug at his lips. It didn't get past to show outwardly, but it was there all the same. 'McGonagall, you stubborn old dingbat, it figures you wouldn't lay down and die.' He thought. Of course, it never occurred to him how odd it was for a Slytherin to be fond of the Gryffindor Head of House, he'd known her all his life, hadn't he? It wasn't like they were automatically enemies because most Slytherins and most Gryffindors didn't particularly get along. Out of habit Demi dropped his hand to his side to finger his wand. His eyes widened as he realised it wasn't there. 'Well, of course it's not, you're in pyjamas, not your robes!' His own mind scolded him. Dumbledore, however, noted the somewhat frantic look on his face and read him quite correctly.
"I believe your uniform was taken to be washed, but if I'm not mistaken, the house elves would most likely..." His voice became muffled as he leaned down to look in one of Pomfrey's drawers. He re-emerged shortly after. "Ah, yes, here we are." He said, and handed Demitrius his wand. The boy took it gratefully. Growing up in a place where people had a tendency to. well, die, to be honest, had left most wizards quite firmly protective of their wands. Being caught without one was as good as signing yourself up for a long, painful death. He looked at Dumbledore imploringly as he placed the wand at his side.
"You believe me, but you're not sure if you want me to change history, right?" He both asked and stated at the same time. Dumbledore chuckled, and Demi wondered how he could behave so lightly, before remembering who this was and what time he was in again.
"And people say I can read minds." He mused, and Demi didn't miss the note of laughter to his voice. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. People made a lot of comments about Dumbledore's skills. Not many were exaggerated. "Yes, you're quite right my boy, I don't doubt your story. The evidence before us is quite plain. The watch, your behaviour, even Professor Granger's condition all lean towards your tale." He said. Demi was about to ask who Professor Granger was when he remembered, and bit his tongue. Dumbledore continue undaunted. "Yes, according to witnesses, you weren't in much of a state to fling a powerful curse when Hermione found you. Yet Poppy could quite distinctly smell the taint of black magic on you two, which left quite a mystery on our hands. Severus seemed to think a group of Death Eaters must have sneaked in and assaulted you both. Quite livid, to be honest." The old man said. In spite of himself Demi smiled. The image of an irate Severus Snape stalking around, looking for non- existent Death Eaters, was a somewhat warming thought. It was a familiar enough scenario. "But you're also quite right about changing the future. Destiny is a tricky thing to start playing with." Dumbledore warned. Demitrius felt a familiar cold anger begin to swirl in him. He scowled. Ordinarily he was quite good at covering up his emotions, but in this instance, he was too strained to bother trying.
"I'm not some pained fool, grieving a lost loved-one, going back to stop them from drinking a cup of poisoned tea or going down a dark alleyway here Professor." He snapped. "If destiny plans for things to turn out as they did in my timeline, she can bloody well go and fuck herself, because the future I know isn't little rays of hope or beacons of sunshine. We were the last ones!" Demitrius was thoroughly riled before he was even sure what he was doing, and slammed his hands down firmly on the desk. "The last! Hogwarts' fall was the doom of wizards and muggles everywhere. It was that fool Vol-Volde-Vol-" He stopped yelling, and cast his eyes downwards, his eyes burning with frustration. "Even his name, I don't dare say it, no one but you or Potter ever could." He confessed. Wearily he returned his stinging palms to his side, and fingered his wand thoughtfully, as Dumbledore sat patiently and waited for him to go on. "I didn't plan this. But, it's not like McGonagall would do something so illegal, so frowned upon, if it wasn't our only hope. You never saw the worst of it. You died, natural causes, before they dared to become so bold. Potter was never the same after. They tricked him, lured him out with muggle hostages, and slaughtered him. Sent his heart back to Hogwarts in a box. That's we knew they were coming, when Potter died, there was nothing left. Without you or him Hogwarts wasn't a stronghold anymore. Maybe there were others who could have stopped it, if they hadn't been killed. Black and Lupin maybe. My mother told me about them before she died. But, they were killed by our own side, as the aurors became more and more desperate. More and more fierce. Azkaaban crumbled in the hands of the Death Eaters. Ron Weasley himself will die a year from now, caught in Hogsmeade as he leaves Hogwarts. My mother will also die at the hands of a Death Eater, and my father, well he will be killed in his pursuit of vengeance not two years later." Demitrius said it all quietly. He had to make the man understand! Dumbledore looked grave as he took his seat.
"Changing your history may seem wise now, but there may be consequences you could not have predicted. Even by arriving here you alter the fabric of the future. Your actions could prevent deaths, yes, and could stop the terrible events you described from coming to pass. But they could also have equally dark results as well. Your own birth may be prevented by your very presence here." Dumbledore said cautiously. Demitrius let out a caustic laugh.
"Yes, true, and maybe another child will be born because of it. Who's to say? All I know is that I would prefer not being born to living that particular life. Especially if it means sparing the others from it." He argued. A small smile began to grow on Dumbledore's face.
"Are you entirely certain the Sorting Hat placed you in the right House, my boy? You sound very Gryffindor to me." He mused, almost teasingly. Demi snorted at the comment.
"It was a close call. But that hat's never been wrong, and I doubt it finally screwed up when it hit me." He confessed.
"Oh, my, I just realised I didn't even ask your name!" Dumbledore suddenly exclaimed. Demitrius paled. Well, this would make things interesting, wouldn't it? He took a breath.
"You're excused, naturally. My name is Demitrius Snape." He said. Dumbledore didn't even bat a lash at the surname, and Demi felt his own wicked sense of humour urge him forward. "My parents were Severus and Hermione Snape."
Now at that, at least, the old man's eyebrows went up.
A/N: Well, whatcha think? Shall I go on? FEEDBACK!!!!!!!!!!! :D Either give me constructive criticism, or flatter me with your adoration *ignores the derisive snort from the background*, or flame me and feel my wrath. :D BTW, Snape will get a more prominent role in a few chappies, but right now I wanna focus on Hermione and Demi, for obvious reasons.
Blood dripped from an open wound on the young man's scalp as he desperately clawed his way up the dungeon steps, the sounds of yells, incantations, and falling rubble filled his ears until he was certain he'd go deaf. A huge gash tore it's way through the fabric of his robes, bleeding even more furiously as the wound on his head. In one hand he clutched his wand tightly. Thirteen inches, cedar, dragon heartstrings. It was easier to focus on the wand and climbing now. Better not to remember what was back there, as another scream from the dungeons ripped the sky, and a piece of flooring crashed into the stairs next to him. It was unthinkable. Hogwarts had fallen. Dumbledore and Harry Potter were dead, the Dark Lord had taken the castle by storm, killing all students who dared oppose him. A last-ditch battle was beaten back into the dungeons, but it was already far beyond hopeless. 'Let me die. It's too much, I can't breath, I can't think. Let me die.' He thought with dark resignation. His silky black hair clung to his face, framing soft features, but unusually hard and cold black eyes. Dirt and blood were caked onto him, the latter still flowing quite freely. Demitrius gave up on his attempts to flee. He was no Gryffindor, he did not shine and sparkle with foolish bravery, but he certainly knew when he was beaten.
"Demi!" A hoarse voice called for him, and Demitrius half turned, barely catching the sound above the noises of a bloody war. A familiar face stared out at him, pained, from the shadows. She was badly injured, he could tell right away. With a wince of pain he managed to heave himself back down towards her.
"Professor McGonagall... We've lost..." He rasped sadly, looking at a woman he knew all too well to be dying. Still, defiance reigned in her eyes. Defiance and a little trace of hope. She clutched his uninjured arm tightly.
"Not yet, Demitrius, not yet." She said, and he found himself briefly wondering if she'd gone mad from grief and pain. Still, out of respect for someone he'd been intimidated by all his life, he didn't move. With a shaky hand she reached into her robes and pulled out what looked to be a pocket watch. However, as soon as the object fell into his shaky grasp, Demi knew it was nothing so simple. He looked imploringly at his dying professor. A rueful smile twisted her pale lips, as she coughed, spilling yet more blood onto his battered robes. "...In such times, some rules... should be broken..." She said enigmatically. Then, in a voice almost a whisper, she added; "Be careful. It will all make sense to you soon."
Demitrius opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Or rather they came, but did not come out. Everything froze. The movement of the world, the pain that racked his body, the feeling of his own heart beating and his lungs drawing frantic, shaky breaths. Then blackness, complete and total, consumed him, and young Demitrius was plunged into another time.
~
Hermione sighed as she moved purposefully, if reluctantly, down towards the dungeons and Snape's dreaded Potions class. While she hadn't been a student for the past five years, she had been a teacher since the last one, and had been discussing the plans for a new defensive spell on Hogwarts with Severus not ten minutes prior. 'I swear, that man is completely insufferable!" She thought angrily. Of course, most of it was probably prompted by bitterness, seeing as how Hermione had gotten the job in one try which he had failed to receive after years of fruitless efforts. Defence Against the Dark Arts. It had made almost impossible.
Still, Dumbledore wanted them to work together, on administering a potion to every single student, ghost, and staff member in the building, that would make them utterly undetectable to anyone who hadn't taken the same concoction. Just in case someone managed to sneak a spy in under the control of the Dark Lord. It was only logical, she thought, that they were expected to co-conspire. He was the Potions Master, and she was in charge of protecting the students from evil. Or at least teaching them how to do that themselves. Which had become a vastly more serious task, considering the dark times that plagued them.
Hermione sighed. Talking with Snape was bad enough, but she'd left he notes in his office, and getting them back would be downright degrading. She could just hear his voice inside her head. 'Really, Professor, it's disgraceful to see someone so lacking in sense teaching here. How ever will your students cope?' He'd say smoothly, the words rumbling out, with that sneer plastered on his face as he spat the word 'professor'. Mostly Hermione felt a warm glow when she heard it. But when Snap said it, it was like an insult, or some sort of twisted mockery on reality. Which he probably thought it was.
Suddenly the cold became far too intense, even for the dungeons, and Hermione's musings were halted as a feeling of intense pain and an unnatural energy slammed into her. With a shout she dropped to the cold steps. A great black tear raked the world next to her, opening it up like some horrific gash in real-life story book. Blue lightning crackled along her vision as a figure, robed in black, was dumped unceremoniously at her feet. The pain left as quickly as it had come, as did the tear, and with an explosive 'pop' something burst away from the ragged form before her. She vaguely noted, through her haze of confusion and panic, that it looked something like a broken pocket-watch.
That thought halted, however, as soon as she realised what the huddled lump of robes and thick, dark red fluid before her was. Charcoal black as looked into hers with a mixture of shock and utter amazement. "...I must be dead..." The figure choked out, before his eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and his head fell forward with a slight 'thud'.
At first, Hermione was too utterly amazed to do anything. She sat there, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a caught fish. Still, she was hardly one to take leave of her senses for very long, and quickly snapped her jaw shut. She was no mediwitch but she knew near-fatal injuries when she saw them. She'd seen enough to last her a lifetime, being one of Harry's closest friends. But in a situation like this, there were only a few things to do, and Hermione did them all. Lifting her wand, she cast a simple floating charm on the ragged boy before her. He didn't look more than fifteen. As she did this, she grabbed his robes, and began to haul his feather-light body upwards, barely taking note of the blood dripping from him. Getting him to the infirmary quickly was a definite must. And, as she performed these actions, she also released her best and most blood-curdling scream for help. Even her own ears rang.
Hermione didn't wait as she began up the stairs. She could get from potions to the infirmary in just under six minutes if she moved very quickly, something she'd picked up during the years spent as one of Malfoy's favourite targets. It did well to time such things she'd soon learned. At the sound of her scream, she heard the loud murmur that told her the door to the on-going Potions class had opened, and several doors further down the corridor were following suit. Familiar faces poked through, soon gaining looks of astonishment, but even still it was the swishing sound of Snape's robes that first reached her as she ran.
"What happened?" He demanded curtly, coming up to step with her. Hermione shook her head. The answer didn't even make much sense to her right now, she certainly wasn't going to waste breath trying to tell Snape. Instead she focused on running to the infirmary, and keeping a firm grasp on the young man floating beside her. After a few minutes she re-cast the float charm, seeing it begin to fade. Something stirred deeply inside of her as she glanced at this boy's face, ignoring the small contingent of staff and upper classmen sent to follow her, and barely aware of those who had gone ahead to warn Poppy. He seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn't place him as a student. Even though he obviously was. Through crimson stains she could still make out the silver and green of Slytherin on his scarf, and he was garbed in school robes.
It seemed like eternity before she reached the infirmary, where Pomfrey quickly took the boy from her charge, and began to work her magic. Literally. Hermione slumped into a seat nearby, watching intently, tired and still in more than a little shock. A murmur of voices began to fill the air, but the mediwitch dutifully shooed away the curious contingent, until all but she, Hermione, and the injured boy were left. Even Snape went away, though it was with a fairly vicious snarl.
"...Will he be alright?" Hermione asked at last, after minutes which seemed more like hours had snailed by, and the flurry of Madam Pomfrey's actions had finally slowed. She was folding the young man into the covers of the medical bed, having dressed him in loose pyjamas, and Hermione idly wondered when that had happened.
"Yes, quite alright, though it was a close one at that. What happened?" She asked, her typical briskness mingled with genuine concern. Hermione could only shake her head, slightly frozen.
"I don't know. I was going down to the Potions classroom, to ask Professor Snape if he would let me into his office, so I could get my notes. I'd forgotten them. But when I was going down the stairs, it just-" Hermione broke off there, her face pale. She knew somewhere in her foggy mind that it wouldn't be long until Dumbledore showed up. Then things would be right, her brain said, since Dumbledore could fix anything.
The wand was at her nose before she even had time to really register it, and Madam Pomfrey was inspecting her, brows knitted in concern. "My dear, you've been cursed." She said seriously. Hermione barely heard it. "Or at least something quite like it, definitely a lot of dark magic was used. It's like you've been sand-blasted!" She said, her usual tittering tones or scolding actions dripping away like wax off a candle. It was vaguely reminiscent of how she behaved the night Cedric Diggory died, when Harry had been brought in, gravely injured in his soul more than body. The night He returned. "Hermione?" Her eyes fixed on the mediwitch's face through a mingled blur.
"Yes?" She asked, feeling just a little bit dizzy.
"Hermione, I need you to tell me everything that happened. Did this boy use a curse on you? Dark magic?" Pomfrey demanded firmly, just as the door opened, and the room was filled with Dumbledore's undeniable presence.
"...No, it wasn't him, it was that horrible tear..." Hermione managed to slur out, before she felt her eyes slid shut and began the fast descent sideways off her chair.
~
When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on a medical bed, the sunlight beaming through the windows to warm her face. She blinked, raising a hand to rub the sleep from her face, and stretching her mouth into a yawn. 'What on earth am I doing here?" She wondered. Then her eyes widened, as memories came flooding back, and she sat up with a bolt. Instantly she regretted it as a painful surge coursed through her skull.
"Bad move, that. You should never bolt straight up when you're in a hospital bed you know. You're likely to be there for a reason." A voice, not mocking, but definitely cold and detached said. Hermione would have whipped her head around to look at it's owner, but his words rang true, and further movement would not be wise.
"Oh shut up." She said tartly. Whoever owned that voice, his tones were oddly reminiscent of Malfoy or Snape, the same bolt of ice-covered words, even if they're meaning wasn't the same sort of insults she'd come to expect. A laugh filled the air. Brisk, but genuine if nothing else, and definitely quite biting.
"Tsk tsk, she bites the hand that feeds her. Or, well, at least the voice that offers advice." He told her mockingly. Hermione twisted her head just enough to look at him, then realisation hit her like a ton of bricks, and she wondered how she could have been so thick. It was the Slytherin boy she'd brought in last night! The blood was gone, and he was cleaner now, but the same heart-shaped face and dark, piercing eyes were unmistakable. For a brief second a twinge of familiarity swept over Hermione. But it passed soon enough.
"Who are you?" She asked, no longer concerned with his words and tone of voice. The young man paled a little, and a brief laugh exploded from him, more like a painful bark than anything else.
"Wouldn't you like to know? But I really shouldn't say. At least, not until I've spoken to Dumbledore, and made sure of. things." He told her, his gaze still upon her, but his eyes becoming clouded with thought. He gave his head a brief shake before snapping back to reality. "Although I'd like to say I'm sorry about the trouble. Unfortunately I wasn't quite ready for the ride, you see, and didn't know what was happening until it already had. Bad luck you were there when I landed. Or, maybe good, since you probably saved my ass. But still, sorry about it." He told her, and Hermione got the brief impression that he was rambling, even though he's tones didn't really let on.
"Sorry for what?" She inquired. He blinked, surprise flashing through his gaze, and Hermione realised that he didn't show emotion much anyplace else.
"For hammering you with black magic." He said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione's as widened as she started, surprised by his words, and he let out a long, low whistle. "I must have hit you something nasty if you don't even remember!" He declared. Before either one could say anything more, however, the sound of a throat clearing itself rang through the air. Hermione and the boy both looked over to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway. The familiar twinkle of his eyes was overshadowed by concern, and his gaze seemed to take in the entire room, focusing on the two newly-awakened patients.
To Hermione's surprise, the young man on the bed nearby let loose a broad grin, only a little too happy to manage being a sneer. It seemed an unusual, yet oddly natural, expression for his features to take on. Like a well-worn piece of clothing in entirely the wrong colour for it's owner. A look of relief shone quite vibrantly in his dark eyes. This change did not go unnoticed by Dumbledore, but only the faintest change in his demeanour indicated that. "My apologies for interrupting." He said, moving over to stand closer to the new professor and the mysterious student. "I trust both of you are feeling considerably better?" He asked. Hermione nodded her head, as did the young man, and he smiled. "Excellent. Poppy will be gone for awhile, breakfast has just started. Blueberry pancakes I believe. It's a shame we three shall miss it, but alas, I'm afraid I have a few questions for you two." Dumbledore said, in his usual, round-about way of speaking.
Hermione was first to go. She knew she would be, when the Headmaster fixed her with an expectant look. Drawing a breath she managed to explain what had happened the other day, doing a much more thorough, sensible job than she'd managed to in yesterday's frenzy. When she'd finished she glanced at the boy nearby, and then at Dumbledore, obviously quite curious to know his side of the story. Before it could be looked into, however, the boy spoke up.
"Professor, if I may, I think it would be better if I told you my side in private." He said firmly, and Hermione felt herself deflate a little as the headmaster acquiesced. The two scurried off to Madam Pomfrey's office, with a single, tellingly apologetic look from Albus Dumbledore. Hermione sighed and leaned back into her bad. It was an almost certainty now that whatever she learned after the discussion would be an 'edited' version. She bit her lip and glanced at the door, briefly contemplating eaves- dropping. But while her curiosity was great, her sense of right and wrong outdid it, and purposefully listening in on one of Dumbledore's conversation took a type of audacity not even Severus Snape possessed.
~
Demitrius had felt such utter, complete, penetrating relief when he'd seen Albus Dumbledore, that it was a wonder he hadn't fainted on-sight. After all, the sighting could only confirm one of his two more preferable theories. The first was that he was dead, and heaven looked a great deal like Hogwarts, which to his mind was far from surprising. The other was a far less pessimistic possibility. And, having taken in the unusual state of the infirmary earlier, it was shaping up to be the more likely as well. He was slightly caught in his thoughts, but was drawn out when he heard the light 'thud' of something being placed on Madam Pomfrey's desk, as Dumbledore took a seat behind it. The item he had lowered was none other than the pocket watch McGonagall had slipped him as she died. It was stained red with blood here and there, and the face was completely smashed in. "A most interesting object." Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his twinkling blue eyes upon it. "I wonder how it came to be on the steps down to our infamous dungeons?"
Demi knew a veiled order when he saw one, and cleared his throat, ready to begin the telling of his tale. "Sir, I suspect that I'm from your future." He started. While Demitrius possessed a very smooth, elegant, slightly cold way with words, his militaristic behaviour betrayed him to be someone who had grown up in a very war-like environment. He was behaving like a soldier de-briefing himself. Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
"Yes, that would explain our mangled time-piece here. An object which is quite illegal you know." He mused, and stared at Demitrius expectantly over the rim of his glasses. The young man quirked an eyebrow at the comment. He could tell he was being sized up, and a small smirk twisted his lips. While it was surprising to see the headmaster behave so openly suspicious, he was used to being treated with uncertainty. And Demitrius had to admit he couldn't exactly blame the old man. A Slytherin exploding onto the dungeon steps, in a blur of dark magic, nearly killing one of their finest professors and using an illegal object to do it? His own father might doubt him under the circumstances.
"I can assure you, I was fairly unaware of what was happening when I used it." Demitrius explained. There was a pause as Dumbledore took him in, sizing him up. His eyes seemed to stare right through the young man before him. Demi knew he would believe him, it was an inherit trait of the old man to be trusting rather than not. Suddenly the evaluation ceased and Dumbledore smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him.
"Why don't you relax and try and tell me what's happened?" He suggested. Demi paused at first, his mind instantly suspicious, and then berated himself. 'Gods, Demi, it's Albus Dumbledore, not some drunken former Death- Eater.' He thought and took a seat. A bag of lemon sherbet candies was thrust under his nose, but he politely declined.
"Right. It might be easier if I knew the date." He said.
"March third, two thousand and eight, I believe." Dumbledore supplied. Demitrius nodded.
"Well, then, I guess that's that." He murmured to himself. Then he fixed Dumbledore with a keen gaze, and plunged into his tale.
"The last thing I remember happened in the year two thousand twenty-five. The war with the Dark Lord had taken on newer, viler levels. In my time you, and Harry Potter, are both quite dead. As are my own parents and many others as well. Howarts, the last great stand against He Who Must Not Be Named's forces, had fallen. We were beaten back to the dungeons by the Death Eaters, and-" Demi's eyes darkened considerably as he continued, "- and the turn-coat students. It was a hopeless case. There were only twelve of us at the end; McGonagall, myself, and ten foolishly devoted Gryffindors. The rest were either dead, captured, or even worse, traitors. Off the bat four fell to the Unforgivables. It was sport for the enemy now, they knew they'd won. But of course the couldn't resist the chance to torment us all. We fought as best we could, be in the end, it was obvious there was nothing left to fight for. At first I tried to retreat... But I was certain I would be dead anyway. Even if I got out of the dungeons, and escaped through some miracle, I would be dead before I reached the front gate." Demitrius paused briefly, deep in thought, before he continued.
"Just I was lying down to die, I heard a voice calling my name. McGonagall, stubborn as always, was scarping her way over. She was in worse shape than I. But before she died, she gave me that." Demitrius looked purposefully at the pocket-watch. "Then she might have muttered something about not giving up. I was pretty certain she'd gone mad, but since we were both dead anyway, I chose to indulge her. The next thing I knew I was being thrown around in a storm of black magic, and was unceremoniously deposited here. When I saw..." And here he paused again, though now his look was one of question, more than contemplation. "...Hermione, I was certain that I was dead. But after I woke up I began to think that it seemed a little unlikely that the watch and the sudden change were unconnected. So, my mind concluded that the dear professor had sent me back, an illegal and desperate act." Demitrius mused quietly. For someone as young as himself, he had a decidedly haunted look about him.
It was a time before Dumbledore spoke, but again the young Slytherin couldn't help but feel the old man would believe him. Scratch that, he was dead bloody sure Dumbledore didn't doubt his story. Demi looked at his hands. A strange thing. He was so certain that death was at hand, but this, this had come directly out of left-field, hadn't it? Inwardly he felt a rueful smile tug at his lips. It didn't get past to show outwardly, but it was there all the same. 'McGonagall, you stubborn old dingbat, it figures you wouldn't lay down and die.' He thought. Of course, it never occurred to him how odd it was for a Slytherin to be fond of the Gryffindor Head of House, he'd known her all his life, hadn't he? It wasn't like they were automatically enemies because most Slytherins and most Gryffindors didn't particularly get along. Out of habit Demi dropped his hand to his side to finger his wand. His eyes widened as he realised it wasn't there. 'Well, of course it's not, you're in pyjamas, not your robes!' His own mind scolded him. Dumbledore, however, noted the somewhat frantic look on his face and read him quite correctly.
"I believe your uniform was taken to be washed, but if I'm not mistaken, the house elves would most likely..." His voice became muffled as he leaned down to look in one of Pomfrey's drawers. He re-emerged shortly after. "Ah, yes, here we are." He said, and handed Demitrius his wand. The boy took it gratefully. Growing up in a place where people had a tendency to. well, die, to be honest, had left most wizards quite firmly protective of their wands. Being caught without one was as good as signing yourself up for a long, painful death. He looked at Dumbledore imploringly as he placed the wand at his side.
"You believe me, but you're not sure if you want me to change history, right?" He both asked and stated at the same time. Dumbledore chuckled, and Demi wondered how he could behave so lightly, before remembering who this was and what time he was in again.
"And people say I can read minds." He mused, and Demi didn't miss the note of laughter to his voice. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. People made a lot of comments about Dumbledore's skills. Not many were exaggerated. "Yes, you're quite right my boy, I don't doubt your story. The evidence before us is quite plain. The watch, your behaviour, even Professor Granger's condition all lean towards your tale." He said. Demi was about to ask who Professor Granger was when he remembered, and bit his tongue. Dumbledore continue undaunted. "Yes, according to witnesses, you weren't in much of a state to fling a powerful curse when Hermione found you. Yet Poppy could quite distinctly smell the taint of black magic on you two, which left quite a mystery on our hands. Severus seemed to think a group of Death Eaters must have sneaked in and assaulted you both. Quite livid, to be honest." The old man said. In spite of himself Demi smiled. The image of an irate Severus Snape stalking around, looking for non- existent Death Eaters, was a somewhat warming thought. It was a familiar enough scenario. "But you're also quite right about changing the future. Destiny is a tricky thing to start playing with." Dumbledore warned. Demitrius felt a familiar cold anger begin to swirl in him. He scowled. Ordinarily he was quite good at covering up his emotions, but in this instance, he was too strained to bother trying.
"I'm not some pained fool, grieving a lost loved-one, going back to stop them from drinking a cup of poisoned tea or going down a dark alleyway here Professor." He snapped. "If destiny plans for things to turn out as they did in my timeline, she can bloody well go and fuck herself, because the future I know isn't little rays of hope or beacons of sunshine. We were the last ones!" Demitrius was thoroughly riled before he was even sure what he was doing, and slammed his hands down firmly on the desk. "The last! Hogwarts' fall was the doom of wizards and muggles everywhere. It was that fool Vol-Volde-Vol-" He stopped yelling, and cast his eyes downwards, his eyes burning with frustration. "Even his name, I don't dare say it, no one but you or Potter ever could." He confessed. Wearily he returned his stinging palms to his side, and fingered his wand thoughtfully, as Dumbledore sat patiently and waited for him to go on. "I didn't plan this. But, it's not like McGonagall would do something so illegal, so frowned upon, if it wasn't our only hope. You never saw the worst of it. You died, natural causes, before they dared to become so bold. Potter was never the same after. They tricked him, lured him out with muggle hostages, and slaughtered him. Sent his heart back to Hogwarts in a box. That's we knew they were coming, when Potter died, there was nothing left. Without you or him Hogwarts wasn't a stronghold anymore. Maybe there were others who could have stopped it, if they hadn't been killed. Black and Lupin maybe. My mother told me about them before she died. But, they were killed by our own side, as the aurors became more and more desperate. More and more fierce. Azkaaban crumbled in the hands of the Death Eaters. Ron Weasley himself will die a year from now, caught in Hogsmeade as he leaves Hogwarts. My mother will also die at the hands of a Death Eater, and my father, well he will be killed in his pursuit of vengeance not two years later." Demitrius said it all quietly. He had to make the man understand! Dumbledore looked grave as he took his seat.
"Changing your history may seem wise now, but there may be consequences you could not have predicted. Even by arriving here you alter the fabric of the future. Your actions could prevent deaths, yes, and could stop the terrible events you described from coming to pass. But they could also have equally dark results as well. Your own birth may be prevented by your very presence here." Dumbledore said cautiously. Demitrius let out a caustic laugh.
"Yes, true, and maybe another child will be born because of it. Who's to say? All I know is that I would prefer not being born to living that particular life. Especially if it means sparing the others from it." He argued. A small smile began to grow on Dumbledore's face.
"Are you entirely certain the Sorting Hat placed you in the right House, my boy? You sound very Gryffindor to me." He mused, almost teasingly. Demi snorted at the comment.
"It was a close call. But that hat's never been wrong, and I doubt it finally screwed up when it hit me." He confessed.
"Oh, my, I just realised I didn't even ask your name!" Dumbledore suddenly exclaimed. Demitrius paled. Well, this would make things interesting, wouldn't it? He took a breath.
"You're excused, naturally. My name is Demitrius Snape." He said. Dumbledore didn't even bat a lash at the surname, and Demi felt his own wicked sense of humour urge him forward. "My parents were Severus and Hermione Snape."
Now at that, at least, the old man's eyebrows went up.
A/N: Well, whatcha think? Shall I go on? FEEDBACK!!!!!!!!!!! :D Either give me constructive criticism, or flatter me with your adoration *ignores the derisive snort from the background*, or flame me and feel my wrath. :D BTW, Snape will get a more prominent role in a few chappies, but right now I wanna focus on Hermione and Demi, for obvious reasons.