The Time-Traveler's Dilemma

Chapter Five: Fates Revealed, Fates Concealed.

Three notes:

First: This is a rewrite of this chapter; the ending is quite different.

Second: A little more relationship "stuff" his this chapter. All Harry/Hermione, and soundly PG-13.

Third: A reminder that this story was started before Deathly Hallows hit the bookshelves, so please consider this an alternate to book seven.

Hermione peered up at the sign, reading it, her lips forming the words "Spinner's End."

She frowned. Spinner's End. She'd never heard of Spinner's End.

Just then, a voice crawled out from the shadows to her left. "Miss Granger," it said softly. "I was not aware you were coming to call. And me, not even prepared with elf-made wine …" It was a dangerous voice, a voice like a silk noose.

Hermione spun around, drawing her wand, and was just in time to see a figure step out of the shadows, a faint sneer marring his sharp features. She was face to face with Severus Snape.

Oh, crap.

Hermione took several steps back, tripping over the uneven cobblestones and inhaling more of that smell like old cooking and dirty river water.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

"Prof—Professor Snape?" Hermione managed to say in a strangled sort of voice, gazing up at his face, which was, as always, peering out from between two curtains of black shoulder-length hair.

Snape surveyed her with dark, impatient eyes. His light sneer deepened to a mocking smile.

"No, not professor," he purred sardonically. "Or don't you remember your history? One tends to lose one's title if the job is also lost."

"But—But what are you doing here?"

"I think you'll find, Miss Granger, that it is I that should be asking you that question," he said, pointing his wand at a inconspicuous door set into a recess of the brick building behind them. It swung soundlessly and slowly open, almost with menace, and a wedge of light threw itself onto the cobblestone sidewalk. " Get inside. Now." He pointed a long finger at the doorway.

Hermione's already intense feelings of misgiving deepened, and she stayed rooted to the spot.

"Well, Miss Granger?" A pause. Snape let his hand relax for a moment, his fingers drooping elegantly. "It is still 'Miss Granger,' isn't it? You haven't gone off and married that insufferable Weasley yet, have you? Hogwarts doesn't have a dozen ginger-headed know-it-alls fouling up its halls, does it?"

Marry? Hermione's mind struggled to keep up. Despite herself, she glanced at her ring finger and felt slightly emboldened when she saw that it lacked a wedding ring. Well, at least that's not something I have to worry about ...

There was another pause, in which Snape surveyed her through narrowed eyes and Hermione began to contemplate in earnest how many years she had traveled into the future.

Snape sneered. Then said, almost inaudibly, "No, perhaps not… I knew you would choose Potter."

Hermione gaped. Since when had Snape been interested in discussing her love life? Anyone's love life? "I—What? No, of course I haven't—"

"Oh stop," he snapped. "I wasn't asking. And your stuttering is repugnant. Get in, Miss Granger," and he jabbed his finger impatiently at the open doorway again. "I haven't the faintest idea how you've found me or why you're here, but we can't stand here all night. That is highly unwise."

Hermione hesitated, and deciding to try to discover Snape's loyalties, clutched her wand tighter in her hand and stepped forward. She followed Snape's finger into a very small flat filled with the flickering light.

"Is … Is this …? Do you live here, Professor?"

Snape made no answer, but something like a grimace tugged at one corner of his mouth.

She didn't know where she had expected Snape to live—perhaps someplace darkly glamorous, someplace remote and steeped in a melancholy, arcane brand of magic—but it certainly wasn't in a place like this, in a tiny flat on a dodgy street in the middle of muggle London.

She had stepped into the sitting room of a small apartment. The place had a sort of brown decrepitude about it, like a place of bottomless decline. But for all of this it did not strike her has unwelcoming.

Old leather chairs and a threadbare couch stood in the middle of the room, grouped around a low, rickety table which supported a large quantity of stubby candles. A fireplace stood against one wall, and the rest of the walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, mostly old leather ones that had cracked along the bindings.

"Sit," commanded Snape lazily as he closed the apartment door with a snap.

Hermione perched herself gingerly on one end of the couch, her wand tight in her fist.

"Old habits die hard, don't they, Miss Granger?"

"I'm sorry?"

"By all means keep your wand out, but I daresay you'll find it isn't remotely necessary." Snape sat opposite her and gestured to a plate of biscuits sitting on the table in front of her. "Have a biscuit."

"No, thank you," said Hermione promptly.

"They're not poisonous, I assure you."

"I'm not hungry," lied Hermione.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Don't be ridiculous. You're going to have a biscuit and then we're going to have a nice little chat."

Hermione eyed the plate suspiciously.

"Eat one, Miss Granger," said Snape, prodding the plate towards her.

Hermione stretched out a tentative hand towards the biscuit plate, her eyes trained on Snape's face.

"They're spider webs and lacewing eyes, mmm-mmm, my favorite." Hermione's eyes widened and she snatched her hand back.

Snape's mouth twitched. "You're all the same, you Gryffindors. They're dark chocolate almond praline. Take one."

Hermione let out a noise somewhere between a strangled laugh and a squeak of fright, and she took a biscuit. "Why are you being nice to me?" She asked, nibbling on a corner of chocolate.

Snape ignored her. Then, in a low voice, "Tell me. I am on pins and needles. You have arrived here on my doorstep without a hint of either forewarning or invitation and are in danger of trespassing upon my privacy to an unbearable extent." He shifted in his chair. It creaked with his weight. "Explain yourself. Has Potter sent you?"

Hermione hesitated. "I—" she began, but stopped abruptly, dropping her barely eaten biscuit. A series of soft thumps was issuing from behind one of the ceiling-high bookshelves. "Who's there?" she breathed, leaping to her feet and pointing her wand at the bookcase.

Where were Harry and Ron at a time like this!

"Allow me," Snape drawled.

With a bang, the bookcase swung forward to reveal a dimly lit hallway probing back into darkness beyond. A figure whose face she could not make out stooped at the threshold. Snape slipped swiftly through the doorway and the bookshelf closed again, swallowing him.

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione made her way to the bookcase and pressed her ear against it. Why would Harry send her to Snape? Did this mean Harry trusted Snape, or that he didn't?

"Idiot boy," sounded Snape's harsh whisper on the other side of the shelves. "Have you no idea the danger in which you put yourself? And by extension, me?"

"I heard voices," said a second, sullen-sounding voice, addressing Snape.

"Of course you heard voices! The caterwauling jinx has been set off. Have you no sense of safety? I have told you a hundred times to remain invisible and quiet when visitors approach."

Hermione clutched one of the shelves, listening intently, her nose practically buried between two dusty volumes.

"I was just trying to hear who was there!" came the second voice again.

Hermione could hear the sneer in Snape's voice: "And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be intelligent. Tell me, Draco, will you be this careless when your father comes here again searching for you?"

Hermione gasped. Draco?

Heavy footfalls told Hermione that Snape was pacing back and forth behind the shelf.

Snape continued: "He is still looking for you, believe me. He, for one, does not believe you to be dead. And I can only hide you while your intelligence remains intact and your recollection of what Voldemort's old supporters did to your mother remains at the forefront of your memory."

She tried to make out Draco's next words, but Snape's footfalls drowned them out.

"I don't care, Draco. I don't care if you think you've heard Harry Potter's name. I don't care if you think you've heard Potter's very own voice professing undying love to Peeves the Poltergeist! You will remain silent! And you will look at me when I am talking to you."

Hermione gulped, her shock at hearing Draco's voice ebbing slightly under the curiosity of the conversation unfolding mere inches from her.

"There is only one person alive who can possibly hide you, and that is me. If I were to decide that your presence in my house was too much of a danger to me, believe me, you would be turned out."

There was a pause in which Draco mumbled something incoherent.

"That's right, Mr. Malfoy. I can see by the look of horror on your face that you grasp just how quickly your noble father would snatch you up. The current state of the Ministry demands your death as a deserter, and Lucius' position has fallen and he is desperate as ever. Do you not agree that he will do anything to regain his good standing? Some things still have not changed. Until things settle down, and until we can procure for you a proper disguise, you are to remain hidden."

A thrill rose in Hermione's throat that threatened to burst out of her, and she yearned even more to know what year it was. She pressed her ear even harder to the shelf, desperate to hear more details. It sounded as if Draco and Snape had deserted Voldemort …

"I—you're bluffing. You wouldn't turn me out."

"I assure you, I do not bluff. And I value my own life enormously."

Hermione's ears were met with silence for several seconds, and then she heard Draco concede to Snape's demands.

"Very well. You are fortunate, Draco," came Snape's voice again. "I very much doubt our guest will tattle on you…"

Hermione had barely a moment's warning to move. With another bang, the bookshelf swung outwards again, and Hermione flattened herself against the nearest chair, barely missing getting smashed.

She blinked, and the smaller figure's features came into focus: his pale, sculpted face had lost the haughtiness it had once borne so well, and the grey eyes revealed a sense of mourning she had not thought possible for him, but the blond hair, slight figure, and upturned mouth were just the same. Draco Malfoy had stepped into the room, followed by Snape.

"Miss Granger," Snape purred, turning to her. "I'm sure you recognize Mr. Malfoy when you eavesdrop on him." He gestured lazily to Draco.

"Well, well," drawled Draco, stepping towards her. "If it isn't the Mudblood Granger."

Hermione threw him a venomous look and straightened, clutching her wand at her side.

"Oh relax," laughed Draco, seeing this, "We're on the same side now, you and me."

Hermione balked, incredulity overcoming her sense of panic. "Oh? And which side is that, Malfoy? We'll never be on the same side so long as you call me 'Mudblood.'"

Draco laughed again, an unpleasant, harsh sort of sound, as Snape looked on, his beetle black eyes darting between Hermione and Draco.

"The good side, as Potter calls it. You know, the side that won the war ... not that it's effects are over yet. Don't worry granger, I'm on the side that champions Mudbloods and blood traitors. The side of the Order and the Weasleys." He paused, letting out a long breath through his nose. "Well," he corrected himself maliciously, as if he could not quite help himself, "not all the Weasleys."

Hermione started, but it was Snape's voice that sounded first. "Enough, Draco."

"Why not all of the Weasleys?" Hermione demanded. She couldn't imagine that any of them had abandoned the Order.

"Tut, tut," sneered Draco, rounding on her. His face was not a breath's distance from hers. "You were there, Granger. Don't tell me you've forgotten the day my mother died along with half of the Weasley clan."

"I said enough!" Snape snarled as Hermione gasped. She took several steps back and knocked a number of candles off their spindly table. They snuffed themselves out on the carpet, leaving burn holes.

"No!" she said shakily, tears springing to her eyes as recognition popped in her mind. "They can't have been … I just saw them all … I was just now with …"

And with that, her breathing seemed to stop entirely. Because of course, here she was, several months, if not years in the future. She had not come here from the Burrow, where nine Weasleys were sleeping soundly in their beds, memories from the wedding lacing themselves into their dreams.

As though an exacting blow had been aimed at her gut, Hermione's mind seized on Ron. Weasley, she thought, But surely not Ron …?

Through her tears of shock and disbelief, Hermione could make out Snape wrestling Draco back into the room hidden by the ceiling-high bookcase.

How many others, she wondered. How many others had been lost?

She felt a strange tingling sensation begin in her hands and rise up through her body, as if she were melting into the air around her. "What year is it?" she yelled desperately at Snape's back. She caught one last glimpse of him with his wand prodding Draco's back, his face turned towards her in bewilderment before she found herself lying face-up on the carpeted floor of that parlor in Grimmauld Place, the very much alive faces of Harry and Ron blinking down at her.

Hermione kicked at a rock with the toe of her shoe, sending it sailing.

It was nearly dawn and a yellow line had stretching itself across the horizon, breaking the world in two, the dark halves separated by a clear bright line. Hermione was still awake, her mood going from merely blue to black, then a black so black it became some other color entirely.

She was mad at everything, she thought, striding along the edge of the duck pond at the outer boundary of the Burrow's back garden. Mad at the Time Turner. Mad at Dumbledore's note for making it seem safe. Mad at Malfoy for telling her about the future death of an unknown number of Weasleys. Mad at Snape for being abhorrent. Mad at herself for not ascertaining precisely which side he was working for or what year she had traveled to. Mad at Ron for again treating her like a damsel in distress …

She knew she wasn't being fair. But damnit, why her?

She kicked again, and another rock sailed off, landing in the very center of the duck pond with a satisfying plunk. A scurrying sound issuing from a nearby rosebush told her she had frightened a pair of garden gnomes with the sound.

"Good one," came a voice behind her, and Hermione spun around. Harry was several yards from her, his blurry outline growing slowly sharper in the inky darkness. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets to protect from the cool morning fog.

"Thanks," she said sardonically, and aimed kick at yet another unsuspecting rock. It spun across the smooth surface of the water.

"I guessed I might find you down here," he said.

"Did you?" She didn't turn around this time, but she could feel that he was closer to her now. Over her shoulder, she said, "Did you also guess that I might want to be alone?"

Harry paused. "No," he said finally. He seemed untroubled by her less than friendly welcome. "But I did think you might need the company of someone who wouldn't fawn over you."

Hermione frowned and said nothing, but privately agreed.

"I get it," he said, coming to a halt next to her as she continued to stare out over the pond. "I don't like people to fawn over me, either. You of all people are more than capable of taking care of yourself."

She nodded. "Thanks for that, Harry," she said seriously. She had finally yelled at Ron for his behavior, though by now she wished she hadn't, as it piled guilt on top of everything else. She cringed now, remembering that she had called him several ugly things, aware that he was just trying to help.

She dug up another rock with her toe and launched it clear across the water; it landed in a clump of grass on the opposite bank.

Harry gave an appreciative chuckle and leaned his shoulder into hers briefly. "I like this New Surly Hermione," he said lightly. "Feel like I have a comrade in arms."

Hermione let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, and they lapsed into silence. They stood at the water's edge as if simply waiting for daylight to appear out of the darkness. The yellow line at the horizon had broadened and turned palest pink.

"You didn't tell us everything," said Harry quietly after a few minutes, and she turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time. They looked almost black in the dim light. "When you time-traveled to Snape's. You didn't tell us everything."

She said nothing and looked away. It was true, she thought. She had not told Harry and Ron everything. She had left out the fact that half of Ron's family would be dead within a few years, and that she did not know the fate of anyone else, let alone him.

"I'm not asking you to tell me," he said. "I'm just saying … I'm just saying that I get it. We're more alike that you might think. I'm here if you need me." Harry made to head back to the house, but he only walked a few feet before Hermione's voice stopped him.

"I never understood why you felt -- why you feel -- so angry." She heard him turn to face her and she kept going. "I mean, I never truly understood how angry being powerless makes you feel." She paused, and kicked at yet another unsuspecting rock at the pond's edge. "I've never been so angry."

She hated that her voice trembled. Tears sprung into her eyes and she sank into the grass at the water's edge. "I'm so angry at the Time Turner. I wish I hadn't seen Snape in the future. I don't want to know … anything. I don't want to know what happens, I don't want to know who gets hurt, I don't want to know anything."

Harry strode back to her and sat next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She folded herself into him.

"Are you telling me," said Harry quietly, "that if you were given a chance to know things about the future—like where Voldemort's Horcruxes are—that you wouldn't seize the opportunity?" He paused. "I know you, and you're far too curious for that. I know that I'm too curious for that, when I travel into Voldemort's mind."

"I know," she answered. "And it's not really that. It's just …" Hermione struggled to voice what was going through her mind without telling Harry exactly what she had seen and heard at Snape's.

She sniffed back tears and continued. "It's just that nothing is under my own control anymore. I can't even get through one day without getting whisked off to some other … I don't know, some other time where something bad happens."

Harry nodded, and thumbed away a stream of tears that had reached her jawbone.

"It's like I'm seeing red all the time," she continued, gesticulating wildly, kind of hating herself for being this upset, this vulnerable. "It makes me want to … oh, I don't' know, rebel, you know? I want to streak the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch or … or go skinny dipping in this duck pond or … I don't know, transfigure Fleur into a bat."

She gave Harry a pained sort of look and was surprised when he let out a laugh. "Hermione," he said emphatically. "Hermione … believe me, that's completely and utterly understandable. Merlin knows I've felt that way loads of times." He paused, rubbing her back absentmindedly. "Well, maybe not the skinny dipping, but—"

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to hers.

She could feel Harry's body go rigid with shock, and she reached up to lace her fingers in the hairs at the base of his neck, but Harry pulled away, panting slightly.

"Hermione, no … what're you … you don't know what you're …"

She drew his head down gently and their noses touched. She was sure Harry could feel the wet on her cheeks. "But I do know, Harry. Please?"

She pressed her lips to his cheek, to his closed eyelids, pressed her mouth to the corner of his.

Harry trembled slightly, and his hand gripped the back of her sweater.

She was hardly playing fair, thought Hermione. A seventeen-year-old boy, a stew of hormones, spending most days trying not to think about his former girlfriend.

"I'm already a target, Harry," she whispered, resting her cheek against his, letting his breath sound raggedly in her ear. "I'm already attached, and I … I'm dying to do something of my own free will. Now, before the time travel takes me again … Please …"

Hermione ran her fingers down Harry's throat and kissed the spot below his ear where his heart beat the loudest, and he let out a low groan.

"I don't know, Hermione … Maybe you should try transfiguring Fleur into a bat. You do know how to do that, right?"

Hermione felt her lips turn up into a grin and she looked up, catching Harry's eye. There was something fierce there, meant just for her, and suddenly it was all too much and she began to laugh, laugh so hard that she flopped backward onto the grass. Her hair became damp with dew and her eyes registered the stars fading out of the sky as daylight crept in, she finally breathed herself into silence. Harry hovered over her, some unrecognizable expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, now sober. "I was a bit rash."

Harry let out a small bark of laughter and lay back next to her in the grass. "I certainly think you were a bit un-Hermione-ish."

She nodded, another chuckle escaping her mouth. She watched the sky lighten above her in order to avoid looking at him. "I know. You're angry with me?"

Harry shifted restlessly beside her and she could feel him looking at her. "I think Ron might be, if he found out. He'd be mad at me, anyway, that I found out that you're a good kisser before he did."

Hermione groaned. "I shouldn't have yelled at him. And I probably shouldn't have kissed you … you know, if I were thinking straight, I wouldn't have. Should I apologize again?"

Harry stood up, brushing the grass from his trousers and looking towards the widening horizon. "Hermione, 'angry' isn't at all what I'm feeling towards you right now. I'm kinda glad you weren't thinking straight, at least for a few moments." He offered her a hand and she struggled to her feet. "C'mon. Let's go get some toast. And then let's go see about finding some Horcruxes."

Lights had appeared in the kitchen window of the Burrow, beckoning, drawing them in. Hermione felt her embarrassment ebb, and as they walked back to the house and towards the bright patch of light in the kitchen window, she knew that one day soon she would have to tell Harry what she learned from Malfoy in the future.

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