And Disappear

"I don't know what possessed me to get myself into this mess," the man grumbled, frowning as Hermione attached the suction cups to his forehead and chest.

Her wild curls bounced like springs with every movement of her head, while the delicate scent of her perfume filled his sensitive nostrils.

He knew perfectly well why he had agreed to it—why, in fact, this was already the second time he had volunteered to serve as her guinea pig—but appearances had to be maintained.

After all, despite having accepted some time ago the dreadful fact that he had fallen hopelessly in love with his colleague, he would not be Severus Snape if he were reckless enough to admit it.

Yes, he had been a fool, and now he was paying the price, desperately longing for the caress of her fingers and the kiss of her lips, neither of which would ever come.

But he was used to suffering in silence. His protests and cries of pain had never been heard before—or even acknowledged—so having to swallow this latest Disappointment, along with all the others, was hardly news.

What cruel irony had condemned him to cross paths once again with the most insufferable know-it-all he had ever taught, only to fall in love with her? Why, after resigning from Hogwarts precisely to keep his distance from everyone who knew him, had she chosen that very same place to work, now inhabiting the exquisitely mature body of a woman?

"Oh, Severus, stop complaining," she chided gently. "I've already told you it's perfectly safe, and no one's forcing you to be here. If you'd rather back out, Renfield assured me he'd be happy to take your place."

With a grunt, Snape made perfectly clear what he thought of that.

"Back out? Do you really take me for the sort of person who abandons a task once he's begun it?"

Hermione laughed softly as she fixed another pair of suction cups to his torso.

For a moment, she seemed lost in thought as she gazed at the flawless whiteness of his skin, then absent-mindedly let one finger glide in a straight line a few inches above his left nipple, as though tracing a scar that was no longer there.

"It worked perfectly well, didn't it?" she said in wonder. "It's as though you never had them."

Snape forced himself to ignore the unconscious caress of her fingertip and drag his mind back to reality.

"Yes," he said, though his voice came out rough, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "Yes... it turned out well. No trace of the scars anymore."

"That’s wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, her face lighting up. "That experiment was an extraordinary success. And we still have to test whether it works on your Dark Mark! Are you sure you want to do it once we’re finished with this one?"

"Completely."

A dreamy expression crossed her face.

"I still remember how little confidence I had when we first tested my spells on you," she said. "But they worked beautifully, and I really hope this one does too. We’re good together, Severus."

She had turned away to retrieve the last pair of suction cups and didn't see the effect those words had on him.

By the time she faced him again, he had already mastered himself.

"Not sure about that," he remarked, trying to summon some of the sarcasm that always protected him whenever he feared revealing too much of what he felt. "But, at the very least, agreeing to this has earned me a free cosmetic procedure. With all those scars, I looked like Frankenstein's monster."

"Not at all!" she protested. "Those scars didn't look bad on you. In fact..." She stopped herself just before saying I quite liked them, and a sudden blush made her turn away abruptly, even though there were no more suction cups left to pick up.

Unsure how to justify the movement, she began slowly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves until she felt the heat leave her cheeks. Only then did she finally turn back to face him.

"Right... we can begin."

"What were you going to say?" he asked.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, pretending not to know what he meant.

"Hm?"

"About my scars. You were saying something about my scars."

"Oh... well, I only meant that you shouldn't have felt self-conscious about them. Scars give people character," she replied with remarkably convincing indifference. "Now, lie down on the examination table, please. It'll be better if you're lying flat."

"Are the gloves really necessary?" he asked, nodding towards her hands.

"Er... actually, no."

She slipped them off again, and Snape lay down, suppressing a smile, already anticipating the feel of her small, warm fingers against his skin instead of the sterile touch of latex.

Once stretched out on the table, he immediately felt awkward.

He wasn't sure what to do with his arms. His instinct was to fold them across his stomach, as though trying to cover himself a little, but they bumped against the suction cups already attached there. In the end, he let them rest stiffly at his sides, pressing his lips together.

By now, he ought to have grown accustomed to standing shirtless before her after so many afternoons of testing.

First it had been for Hermione's previous experiment. Now it was for this new project. She was convinced that every person possessed an inner source of healing magic, one capable of restoring patients trapped in comas or lost to madness.

Yet despite the fact that she had already seen him half-undressed several times in this very laboratory, it did nothing to ease his discomfort.

At least, he thought, he no longer had to worry about horrifying her with his scars—especially the one Nagini had left across much of his neck. He was certain she hadn't really meant it when she'd claimed scars gave people character. She had simply been trying to be kind.

"If I manage to find the source of healing magic," Hermione said excitedly as she dipped a finger into a jar of powdered pigment, "do you know what the very first thing I'll do will be? I'll try to cure the Longbottoms of their madness."

Her finger, now stained green, slid across the Potions Master's chest, painting the shape of a rune.

"Oh, it would be wonderful if it worked!"Hermione exclaimed.

She continued decorating his skin with intricate runic designs, each intended to help her identify the origin of magical stimuli in combination with the potion-soaked suction cups.

"But for that to happen, this experiment has to succeed." She placed both palms against his chest and leaned over him. "Please... tell me it's going to work."

She was so close that her unruly curls tickled his neck and cheeks.

Snape found himself wondering whether she realised how beautiful she looked whenever that little crease appeared between her brows in worry.

"It will," he whispered.

Hermione quite literally beamed with joy as she straightened again.

"You sound so certain I almost believe you."

"I have faith in your abilities," he replied matter-of-factly, suppressing the urge to shrug, which would have looked rather strange in his current position.

She looked genuinely surprised.

"That wasn't the impression I got when you were my professor."

"At school, you were always far more interested in proving how well you'd memorised the lessons than in demonstrating your abilities through practical work. Since then, however, you've more than proved that you know exactly what you're doing. I'm well aware that many people are grateful to you for discovering a way to remove scars caused by Dark Magic. Bill Weasley among them."

Countless witches and wizards had been left scarred by Dark Magic during the war or through other violent experiences. No conventional potion or spell had ever managed to erase such scars. Glamour Charms offered only temporary concealment, fading after a few hours, until those same witches and wizards were once again forced to confront the marks of their painful past every time they looked into a mirror.

Hermione had given them a permanent and painless alternative.

Now everyone burdened with such scars wanted them erased by the spells she had developed. Several Healers at St Mungo's had already begun using her techniques, and the waiting list for treatment had grown so long they could barely keep up. One of the very first to seek her help had been Bill Weasley, whose scars from Greyback she had removed with complete success.

Hermione smiled briefly at the memory before beginning a series of spells that caused the runes painted across Snape's skin to glow.

"They're warm," he murmured in surprise.

"Do they burn?"

"No. It's tolerable."

"Good."

With a graceful flick of her wand, a translucent, shimmering dome sprang up around them, enclosing them both within an airtight barrier.

"Now we have the containment circle. Any magic cast within it will remain trapped inside and amplify itself, multiplying its own power."

"I know the procedure."

"Oh... yes, of course. Sorry. Force of habit. After spending an entire day explaining every step of the process to patients, it's difficult to switch off."

"You should stop," Snape remarked, staring at the ceiling.

"What?"

"You should give up ordinary Healing and devote yourself entirely to research," he clarified, still without looking at her. "You're exceptionally gifted in this field. Your discoveries could prove invaluable."

Hermione felt herself blush yet again and bit her lower lip.

"Thank you... that's... that's very kind of you."

At those words, Snape lifted his head and frowned at her.

"Kindness has no business in this. Nor does false modesty. You know as well as I do that the magical community is in desperate need of good researchers. Mediocrity has been the rule for far too many decades."

Deeply touched, Hermione tried to hide her embarrassment by tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"Anyway... let's leave that for another time," she said. "What I need you to do now, Severus, is think of something happy."

The expression that crossed his face made her hurry to add,

"You can use the same memory you use to cast your Patronus, for instance."

"The memory I use for my Patronus..." he repeated.

A low grunt escaped him before he rested his head against the examination table once more.

"Very well. That, I can do."

"Hold on to that thought. Don't let it go."

Snape gave a curt nod and closed his eyes to concentrate.

Hermione resumed her spells.

The runes flared brighter still, seeming to lift from his skin until they hovered a couple of inches above his body.

Then, without warning, a brilliant burst of white light erupted from the centre of Snape's chest and raced through the laboratory.

Hermione stumbled backwards in alarm and immediately lowered her wand.

The light vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The runes went dark.

Snape opened his eyes, bewildered.

"What happened?" he asked, looking at Hermione without moving. "Why did you stop casting the spells?"

Still shaken, she hurried over and examined his eyes, lifting his eyelids to inspect his pupils.

"Are you all right? Do you feel dizzy? Any headache?"

"I'm fine," he growled, sitting up. "What was that light I saw through my eyelids? Why did it feel as though..."

He broke off abruptly.

His eyes widened as he stared at one corner of the laboratory.

Hermione turned to follow his gaze.

Huddled there, curled in on himself, twisting his hands in distress, sat a dark-haired little boy with black eyes, no older than eight.

"But... what...?" Hermione whispered, utterly unable to understand what had happened—or how the child had got there.

Carefully, so as not to frighten him further, she approached, crouched down beside him, and said softly,

"Hello there... Are you lost? How did you get in here?"

When the boy didn't answer, she tried again.

"What's your name?"

"S-Severus..." he whispered.

Hermione turned instinctively towards the man.

"That’s right, he's—" she began. But the look of horror on Snape's face made her realise her mistake.

She slowly turned back to the child.

"Wait... do you mean...? What did you say your name was?"

"Severus Snape," he repeated, a little louder, "and I want to go home."

 

---

A deathly silence had fallen over the room.

Snape, open-mouthed and more livid than ever, still failed to react.

Hermione mentally retraced every step she had taken, trying to work out what could have gone wrong. The child, looking from one to the other without understanding what was happening, had begun to tremble.

"Who are you?" he said at last, in a thin voice. "How did I get here? What do you want from me?"

The anguished question brought Hermione back to reality.

"Oh, sweetheart..." She tried to ignore the fact that she had just called a younger version of the man behind her sweetheart. "You see, it seems there has been an... accident. We were carrying out an experiment and you... appeared here unexpectedly."

"I can't stay," the boy said. "If I'm late getting home, my father will beat me..."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Snape roared suddenly, rising from the examination table and crossing the distance to the boy in four furious strides. "You are not real. You can't be."

He seized the child by the shoulders and began to shake him. Hermione cried out and pushed him away, pulling the boy against her body to protect him from his adult self.

"Leave him alone! Can't you see he's terrified? And you're only frightening him even more."

"But this is impossible! Can't you see that? It can't be!"

"Please stop shouting, that won't solve anything. I think we're all far too nervous, and what we need is to calm down a little. Go back to the table and try to relax, will you?"

Snape shot the young woman a murderous look, then another at the child, but finally turned on his heel and sat back down on the examination table.

Only then did Hermione turn to the boy again and, stroking his straight black hair, said,

"Well, Severus, I suppose I'd better introduce myself. My name is Hermione and he is... his name is Alan."

A snort from behind her was the only reaction she received from the man, who was sitting very stiffly, frowning, with his arms crossed over his bare chest.

"We don't know how you got here, and we don't know how to send you back home either," she went on. If that's even possible, she thought. "But while we try to find a way, you'll have to wait here with us for a little while."

"If I'm late, Dad will beat me," the child insisted nervously. "He doesn't like it when I'm late, and I don't like it when he punishes me with his belt."

Hermione froze at that.

"Does he beat you often?" she asked.

"Granger!" Snape called. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

"In a minute," she replied, raising one hand in his direction. "Look, sweetheart, I'm going to try to sort this out as soon as I can, but in the meantime, just sit at this table and... and draw me a nice picture."

She conjured a piece of parchment and some coloured pencils.

"Would you?"

The child looked at her as though he did not understand her words.

"You want me to draw something for you?"

"Yes. What do you like drawing most?"

The boy shrugged.

"I don't draw."

"What do you mean, you don't? Never? Don't you have coloured pencils at home? Or at school?"

"Granger..." Snape called again.

"All right, look, draw me... draw me your mother, all right? Can you do that for me?"

The child shrugged again, not entirely convinced, and picked up the grey pencil. Hermione stroked his head affectionately and returned to the man.

"Oh, God, Severus, you were adorable as a child," she whispered.

Snape frowned even more, something Hermione would have thought impossible had she not seen it happen.

"You think? To me he’s just another irritating brat," he said. "And besides, he has to go."

"Of course, of course. Naturally. But first I need to know what happened."

"He has to leave. Now. He cannot be here. You cannot ask him any more questions!"

"What are you afraid of?" she asked, somewhat annoyed. "I'm not trying to extract information about you from him, if that's what you think."

"Anything he tells you is private information that no one but me has the right to know."

"Don't be so touchy. It's not as though we're discussing state secrets. Come on, lie back on the table. I'm going to check the runes again, in case I made a mistake with one of them."

"I don't need to lie down. You can see them perfectly well from here," he grumbled.

"Oh, fine. I should have known your good mood couldn't last forever..." she replied, examining the runic designs carefully.

"And what was that about calling me Alan?"

"What did you expect me to do? I couldn't tell him the truth. He was frightened enough already without my explaining to him that one day he would become a grumpy bat like you."

The look Snape gave her this time was more than murderous.

"Oh. Oh, I think I know where the problem is," Hermione said, pointing to one of the runes on the side of the man's body. "This one isn't drawn properly. You must have moved a little while I was doing it..."

She brushed it with one finger, and Snape shifted involuntarily.

"Wait... don't tell me you're ticklish."

"Don't be absurd," the man growled.

But she brushed his skin with her fingers again, and Snape jerked once more.

"Stop doing that."

"You are ticklish!" she exclaimed, delighted, clapping her hands. "Who would have thought?"

The man's next growl, deeper and far more threatening, warned her that she would be wise to drop the subject if she valued her life at all.

"Right, well... I think I know what happened. When you moved, I altered the design of this rune and its magic was changed."

"But what does that have to do with a child version of myself appearing?"

"I don't know. What were you thinking about when he appeared?"

"What you told me to think about. The memory I use to summon my Patronus."

"And that is...?"

Snape's face twisted with distaste at having to confess something so intimate.

"The first time I saw Lily Evans..." he whispered bitterly.

"Oh..." Hermione replied, looking away. "Of course. You were only a child then. Somehow, your memory—or your past self from the time of that memory—has materialised here because of the altered rune."

"How are you going to fix this?" Snape asked, plainly irritated.

Hermione looked back at him, worried.

"The truth is, I don't know that I can."

"You must!" the man shouted, exasperated. "That child cannot stay!"

Hermione turned and saw the boy looking up at them, distressed. She turned back to face the man.

"Severus Snape," she whispered warningly, narrowing her eyes and pointing an accusing finger at him. "I will not tolerate you shouting at him or frightening him in any way. Do you understand me? I know every spell has a counter-spell and all magic can be reversed; the question is how. I don't know how long we'll have to look after him until we discover it, but while he's here, I'm going to make sure he feels safe and calm, and that he forgets whatever bad things there may be in his life."

"What are you saying? Do you intend to keep him for days?"

"I've already told you I don't know how to fix it, and while things remain as they are, little Severus has basic needs we'll have to meet. He needs to eat, drink, sleep... unless you can assure me that when you were eight years old you were capable of living on air."

Snape pressed his lips together, angry.

"Of course not, but..."

"Then that's it. We have to look after him, and I'll make sure that he plays and has fun while he's at my house."

"At your house? What do you mean, your house? Absolutely not. You are not taking him with you."

Hermione sighed.

"And just what do you expect me to do with him? Leave him at an orphanage? To begin with, he can’t know what year this is. If we let him interact with other people, we run the risk of him discovering that something strange is going on."

"But he is mine. You have no right to take him away. I do not want to leave him alone with you. Who knows what that indiscreet brat might tell you..."

"And I am not leaving him in your care. I won't allow you to torment him."

"But he is me!"

"That doesn't matter. I've already seen how badly you treated yourself a moment ago. If you really don't want little Severus to stay alone with me, there's only one solution."

"Oh, is there?" he said, folding his arms. "And what might that be?"

"You stay at my house too, for as long as he is here."

Snape stared at her, stunned.

One part of him flatly refused to agree to such an absurd idea. But then there was the other part, the one that insidiously reminded him that he was in love with her, and that staying at her house would mean spending more time with the young woman.

"I..." he murmured. "I don't know if..."

"Come on," she encouraged him. "I have plenty of space. You can stay in the guest room and the child can sleep with me. The poor thing must be feeling so homesick..."

"Pfft!" Snape snorted, and immediately regretted doing so, because a look of pity—which he instantly detested—crossed Hermione's face.

"Don't ask him any questions," he warned her. "I have a right to my privacy. Is that clear?"

"May I at least ask him whether he prefers toast or cereal for breakfast?" she mocked, irritated by her former professor's overly defensive attitude.

"Toast," he answered. "And don't give him milk before bed. He'll spend the entire night tossing and turning."

"Oohh..." Hermione exclaimed, sincerely moved by that intimate little detail. "Does that still happen to you if you drink milk?"

Snape growled, rose from the examination table and picked up his shirt to put it on.

"I assume we're finished for today, since you do not seem especially inclined to continue working. Tomorrow, however, I expect you to devote body and soul to this from the very first hour of the morning, and I believe it would be best if you informed your patients that you will not be holding consultations. I want this solved as soon as possible."

"I can't do that, I'm sorry. I have many patients who..."

"Granger," the Potions Master snapped, his expression threatening, "if you do not set everything else aside to focus on this, I swear I will call Child Services and say this boy is an orphan and mentally unstable, which will seem perfectly obvious to them the moment they ask him what year he believes it is."

"You wouldn't do something so awful! Especially to a child who is actually you!"

"Try me," he challenged her.

Then, with a shrug, he finished buttoning his white shirt and muttered,

"After all, being sent to an orphanage would hardly be worse than what awaits him at home..."

Hermione felt a knot form in her stomach at those words.

She was so distressed that she did not dare say anything, and simply watched him in silence as he pulled his hair out from under the collar of his shirt and put on his eternal black frock coat.

When he was ready, he raised his eyes to her, and only then did Hermione manage to react. She turned and walked over to the child.

"Severus, darling, how would you like to come and sleep at my house tonight?"

The boy lifted his head and looked at her in terror.

"I can't do that! If Dad gets home and I'm not there..."

"Don't worry. We'll find a solution."

But her answer did not calm the child at all. Instead, he leapt to his feet and began shaking his head frantically.

"No, no, no! I can't stay! I have to go home! I have to leave!"

The little boy seemed to have tipped into hysteria, for he neither listened to nor seemed even to hear Hermione's promises that everything would be all right.

He had been backing away more and more until his back hit the wall. When he found himself cornered, he looked desperately from side to side until he spotted the door, and then he bolted towards it.

But Snape was faster. He stepped in front of the exit and blocked his path.

"Child, do not behave like a fool," he said, his voice irritated and authoritative. "I will speak to Tobias myself. You will not get into trouble over this. I will see to it. So there is no need for you to panic."

The child blinked, confused, and looked up at the stern, disagreeable man who, for some reason, seemed to understand perfectly the source of his fear.

"You know my father, sir?" he asked nervously.

"I do," Snape replied, with an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice. "And I assure you that one day you will grow tall and strong, and you will no longer be afraid of him."

Little Severus took a step back, deeply impressed by how much the man knew about him.

"Will you speak to him, sir? Will you tell him it's not my fault if I'm late getting home?"

"Tobias will not punish you for this. Do not worry."

Much calmer now, the child seemed to resign himself to the situation. He turned towards Hermione and waited silently for them to tell him what they were going to do next.

The young woman did not know which weighed more heavily on her soul at that moment: astonishment or shock.

She had been deeply unsettled by the boy's extreme distress, and worried by her own inability to calm him. Yet with only a few sentences, the man had achieved what had seemed impossible.

And not only that.

The brief exchange between them had made her skin crawl.

Suddenly aware that the child was looking at her expectantly, she cleared her throat and rested a hand on the table where he had been sitting. That was when she noticed the drawing he had made.

She lifted the parchment to get a better look.

The drawing was crude and poorly proportioned, but that was to be expected from a child who was not used to drawing. It showed the face of a deeply sad-looking woman staring straight ahead, her eyes as black as night. He had coloured her skin grey, and the upper part of her clothes, which was all that could be seen, a darker shade of grey.

"Is this your mother?" Hermione asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the boy nod.

"She's very..." She could not think what to say. The drawing was not exactly pretty, and the woman herself was not beautiful either, judging by what Hermione remembered from the photograph she had seen in her sixth year. "...it's very good. Are you sure you weren't pulling my leg when you said you don't draw much?"

The child couldn't help letting out a small, proud smile.

"I wasn't. I never draw," he said shyly, with a hint of satisfaction. "Do you really like it?"

"I do. I like it very much. Thank you for drawing it for me," she replied, happy that the child's mood had finally shifted. "What do you say we buy something for tea on the way home? Do you like ice cream?"

"Oh!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes widening. He nodded eagerly.

Hermione smiled and moved closer to him.

"Then I'm having chocolate," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.