The Burning Pen

A Turn for the Better
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 7 ~ Looking for Answers

Hermione knocked on the Potions office door, but there was no answer. After a minute or two, she walked down to the Potions classroom, opened the door and peeked in. No, professor Snape wasn't in here either. Then she listened closely.

She heard . . . music. It was faint, but definitely music as if behind a closed door. Hermione walked into the classroom, listened, then headed down a short corridor that ended at a heavy wooden door. The music was coming from behind it. She knocked but there was no answer. Still, someone had to be in there, otherwise why would music be playing?

She turned the knob and opened the door slowly, cautiously sticking her head inside. Sure enough, there was professor Snape, busily chopping some herbs, Vivaldi's Four Seasons blasting from a Wizarding Wireless.

Hermione smiled, because the professor was bobbing his head in a conductor-like manner as he worked, his lank hair lifting and swinging, the wizard pausing when the music hit a strain he particularly liked, one pale finger acting as a baton before he returned to his work. Obviously, he enjoyed Vivaldi very much.

"Professor!" Hermione shouted over the music, but Snape didn't hear her. She shouted several more times before there was a slight diminuendo in the piece and Snape's head twisted about quickly, the wizard scowling until he saw Hermione, waving a piece of parchment at him. His face went neutral immediately as he walking over to the Wizarding Wireless and turned it off.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I'm sorry I didn't hear you knock," the wizard said, gliding toward her and taking the parchment, studying it for a moment then looking at her rather sharply.

Hermione was busily craning her neck, looking about his lab. She'd never seen it before.

"Having trouble sleeping, Miss Granger?" the wizard asked her, concern in his black eyes as he looked upon the brilliant young woman who changed the path of his life at great risk to herself.

Hermione's brown eyes shifted and met his.

"Ah, yes, Professor. I'm not sleeping well at all," she said.

"I see. Well, let me put away these ingredients and then I will retrieve your prescription," the wizard said.

Hermione watched as he put away the herbs, cleaned his utensils and cleaned up his work area. Professor Snape was always so meticulous when it came to anything concerning potions, and Hermione emulated him at every turn. Finally, he turned down the torches and faced her.

"After you, Miss Granger," he said softly, and Hermione withdrew, Snape closing the door and following her to his potions store. He pulled out his wand and unwarded the door, a torch flaring up as he entered. Hermione stood outside, watching as he climbed a ladder, picked over a few bottles then retrieved a large green bottle, studying it before climbing back down. He exited the store, warded the door back and handed her the bottle.

He looked her over, mentally calculating the amount she needed to take to insure a full night of dreamless sleep. But before he told her, he decided to find out the nature of her problem.

"Miss Granger, what exactly are your complaints? I need to know so I can give you the proper dosage. If it is just restlessness, for example . . . the dosage will be lower. If the complaint is more severe, such as recurring nightmares, you will need to take more," Snape said to her.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, and Snape's brow furrowed slightly. She was reluctant to say what the problem was, although he suspected she was dreaming about the alternate timeline.

"Miss Granger, I am a Head of House and quite used to listening to students' problems and difficulties. I do not pass judgment and whatever passes between us remains strictly confidential, even if you aren't in Slytherin. Now please, don't hesitate. Tell me what the problem is," he said to her gently.

Hermione sighed. She had told Neville about it while they studied in the Gryffindor Common Room and he said she was probably working too hard. To dream Harry Potter was her "friend" was absolutely ludicrous, the way she described the Tri-Wizard challenge was all wrong, and Alastor Moody was a well-known Auror who had both his eyes and legs.

"Your mind needs a rest. Give me your backpack," he had demanded, making a grab for it, but Hermione ran and made it up the stairs before Neville could catch her. He slid down the folding stairs unceremoniously on his belly, his housemates cracking up as he got off the floor sheepishly, brushing off his robes.

"Damn, she's quick," he said to himself with a grin, looking up at the empty landing, then returning to his studies.

"Well, I'm not having nightmares exactly," Hermione said as Snape led her into the classroom, "just very strange dreams."

"What kind of dreams?" Snape asked her.

Hermione started to pace.

Snape walked up to his desk, turned around and leaned on it, his arms folded, watching the agitated witch.

"Well, they're about my life . . . kind of, but different. Everything's different. I mean, I'm still at Hogwarts, but . . ."

Hermione stopped and looked at him, her eyes troubled.

"Go on, Miss Granger, I'm listening," Snape urged.

"It's like the whole world is turned upside down. Harry Potter is in Gryffindor, he and Ron are my friends. Somebody named Voldemort killed him and Cedric Diggory, and it's like an entirely different world. You're in it too, professor, and you're so mean that I can't even describe it. You don't even look like yourself really. You're much skinnier and look . . . unhealthy. You absolutely hate Harry and you're mean to me as well, mean to everybody really. Nothing like you are in reality."

Snape's lip quirked.

Actually, he was thought of as the snarkiest teacher in the school and he knew it.

"People have different perceptions of me, Miss Granger. Obviously, you think I'm the good sort," he said with a hint of mirth.

"Yes, I do. But in my dreams, you're pretty bad," she replied.

"I see. Well, they are just dreams, Miss Granger . . . more than likely brought about by the pressures you're feeling in your last year," he said reassuringly.

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Professor, I didn't start having these dreams until that incident with Harry Potter," she said suspiciously.

"Uh oh," Snape thought.

That mind was starting to go to work. Damn it.

"And I still don't know what happened that evening," she said to him. "but . . . but I think you do. Couldn't you tell me now, rather than wait until after I graduate? Maybe all of these dreams are the result of that strange happening. If I know why I was in his room, then maybe the dreams would stop and I wouldn't have to take that draught," Hermione said.

Snape sighed. It wouldn't do for Hermione to know about the alternate timeline while still a student. Once she was beyond the halls of Hogwarts, it would be better for her. She wouldn't be constantly faced with the glaring differences between her life as it was now, compared to what it was then. Everything here would be a constant reminder and distraction.

"Miss Granger, please trust me on this. I will gladly give you the details once you leave Hogwarts. It would be better for you in the long run. To tell you now would be a grave disservice. I would like you to graduate with full marks, and you won't be able to do that if you are distracted. Besides, if you don't get full marks . . . I won't be able to offer you an apprenticeship," the wizard said softly.

Hermione's eyes lit up. An apprenticeship? Did professor Snape, the best Potions master in the Wizarding World just say he wanted to offer her an apprenticeship?

Snape eyed her, holding his breath slightly. He knew the only way out of this was to get her thinking about something else. An apprenticeship offer would do nicely in a pinch.

"Do you mean it, professor?" Hermione squealed, clasping her hands together with delight.

"Only if get the marks I expect," the dark wizard responded.

"Oh . . . oh I will! I will!" Hermione said.

Suddenly, the witch rushed forward and launched herself at a rather surprised professor Snape, landing in his arms and hugging him tightly. Snape looked down at her, blinking for a moment.

"Professor Snape?" a voice said, then, "oh shit!"

Snape looked up sharply and Hermione turned her head toward the voice, still clutching the wizard, in shock this time.

Harry Potter stood in the doorway, staring at the compromising position that his Head of House was in. He was embracing Hermione Granger! He was on his way to meet Hagrid when he saw the classroom door open, which was unusual. He had been about to close it if it wasn't occupied.

"Oh. Oh, now I see what the detention really was about, professor," he said in a low voice, his green eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, Hermione seemed to realize what she was doing and jumped away from Snape as if he had turned red-hot. Snape cocked his head at Harry.

"Do you, Mr. Potter?" the wizard said in a controlled voice.

Harry's mouth turned down as he looked at Hermione, who stared back at him, her face red.

"You didn't want me touching her because that's your job," the young wizard accused.

Now Snape frowned, and he billowed toward Harry. He stopped a foot from him, his face slightly twisted as he addressed the young wizard.

"Mr. Potter, we have had an amicable relationship up to this point, and I would like to continue to keep it that way. Don't make your father's mistake and jump to erroneous conclusions about me. What you witnessed, Mr. Potter, was Miss Granger's overzealous reaction to my telling her I would like to offer her a Potions apprenticeship if her marks are worthy. Like most over-reactive young women, her first reaction was to fling herself upon me and try to squeeze me to death. You happened by when that occurred. I assure you I do not involve myself with students, not even those as appealing as Miss Granger," Snape said to him, his eyes cold.

Harry looked from Snape to Hermione to Snape again. Yes, that's probably what happened. Snape was a great Head of House, but he was ugly as hell. There's no way Hermione could be attracted to him. Besides, he could lose his position, dipping his wand into the student body. And Granger probably wet her knickers at the idea of more hard work ahead after graduation. She was like that. Harry and Draco discussed the possibility that she masturbated to her extra credit assignments.

Harry apologized.

"I'm sorry, professor. I just jumped to conclusions," Harry said, hanging his head.

"Yes you did, and because you did, you just earned two more nights with Hagrid," Snape told him.

"Oh . . . f . . fudge," Harry hissed, altering his comment before it got out fully.

"You may go, Mr. Potter," Snape said, dismissing the wizard.

Harry looked at him, then turned on his heel and exited the classroom, cursing under his breath. Granger had gotten him in trouble again.

Hermione was standing there, wide-eyed. Did . . . did professor Snape say she was "appealing?" "Appealing?" Did that mean he personally found her attractive in a way that wasn't remotely connected to her brain?

Snape turned to her.

"In the future, Miss Granger, I must insist you control your impulsive nature. You placed me in a very compromising position by touching my person," he said to her softly, his black eyes glittering slightly. But . . . strangely he didn't look displeased.

"I'm sorry, professor. I just wasn't thinking," she said apologetically.

"Indeed," he said, arching an eyebrow at her speculatively. She was a well-rounded young woman, but he already knew that. "Well, you are to take two large tablespoons of the sleeping draught before you retire. That should stop your dreams for the night. You may go, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, walking by him slowly, her belly full of butterflies.

Snape watched as she exited, then sighed.

She had come too close, too early. He hoped she didn't think too hard about those dreams and being in Harry's room. He had no doubt she'd make the connection, especially if she thought about that Time Turner.

Unfortunately, this was one hope that professor had that didn't come to fruition. Once Hermione returned to her room and got past his "appealing" comment and his offer of apprenticeship, she started thinking about her dreams again and went over what happened in Harry's room and afterwards.

Professor Snape had taken a Time Turner from her, and said something about she didn't think about her return. Return from where?

Suddenly a cold feeling washed over Hermione as she realized she must have used that Time Turner, and Snape knew why. But, that wouldn't explain why she couldn't remember where and when she went. She had used a Time Turner in her third year in order to take extra classes. It wore her out, so she stopped using it, but she always remembered what she had done when using it. In her dream last night, she also had a Time Turner and used it to save a hippogriff and that same bearded man, who was Harry's godfather.

"What's going on here?" Hermione said to herself, looking at the sleeping draught resting on her nightstand.

Hermione thought hard. A Time Turner moved you through time, but not through space. A person using one would be standing in the same place as time changed around them. The only reason she could have been in Harry's room was if she was already there when she used the Turner. Why would she be in the Head Boy's room?

Professor Snape knew the answers, she was sure of it. He said as much when he told her that knowing what happened wouldn't be conducive. Well, having these dreams weren't conducive either . . . but . . . maybe that's because she was consciously fighting them. Maybe, maybe if she just started accepting them and paying close attention, she'd get some answers. If she got enough, maybe she could force professor Snape to tell her everything.

Hermione put the sleeping draught into her nightstand, and lay down in her bed on her back, willing herself to keep an open mind and remember what she dreamed. She needed to retain as much of the dreams as possible.

Maybe then she'd understand what was happening to her.

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"Just come on, Neville," Hermione said, dragging the wizard along by his wrist.

"But Hermione, it's lunchtime. I'm starving," Neville complained. "Where are we going anyway?"

"I just want to check something. Come on," she said, tightening her hold on him.

It was pretty comical to see the short, curly-haired witch dragging Neville, who was at least six feet tall, down corridors. Hermione certainly was determined. But she wanted a witness.

She pulled Neville up a staircase to the third floor and entered the trophy room.

"What are we doing in here?" Neville asked her as Hermione continued walking forward, her brown eyes shifting about warily as she looked at the crystal cases and their contents. She didn't answer him. She turned down a long galley full of suits of armor, swung around a doorpost and walked up and down several corridors until they came to a tapestry.

"In here," Hermione said, pulling it back and revealing a hidden passageway.

"How did you know about this?" Neville asked her, free now but still following

"I dreamed about it," Hermione replied.

Neville looked at her quizzically, but didn't reply.

They walked along the passageway and emerged by the Charms classroom.

"We went through all of that just to end up here, Hermione? I swear, I think you're going nutters," Neville said to her in disbelief.

"Just come on, Neville. There's a reason I'm doing this. I'm retracing my steps from the dream last night. This is the easiest path to follow," she replied. "The passageway was there, just like in my dream. Now I'm trying to find something else. Something I couldn't know was there."

She walked down a corridor that ended in a heavy wooden door. It was locked.

"What's that room?" Neville asked her.

"It's not a room, Neville. According to my dream it's a hidden corridor," she said, pulling out her wand.

"Alohamora," she breathed, unlocking the door, her heart pounding.

She pushed it open and entered.

"This is it!" she said excitedly, running forward and looking down at the floor.

There, embedded in the stone tile, was a trapdoor with a large pull ring.

"There it is, Neville, the trapdoor that Fluffy was guarding," Hermione exclaimed excitedly.

"Fluffy?" Neville repeated, a confused look in his eyes.

"Yes, Fluffy. Hagrid's three-headed dog," she said, smiling down at the door as if she'd stumbled on a cache of gold.

"Hagrid? You mean the groundskeeper? He doesn't have a dog, especially a three-headed dog. The only one who has one of those is the devil last I heard," the wizard said.

"Help me, open it, Neville," Hermione said excitedly, pulling on the ring without budging the trapdoor at all.

"Why?" Neville asked her, moving her aside and gripping the rusted ring with both hands before he even got an answer.

"Because, we have to explore what's down there," Hermione breathed. "If it's what I dreamed, Neville, there's a lot more going on here than dreams. I might be able to figure things out."

"Fine," Neville said, heaving and pulling the heavy door up.

He'd do anything as long as it got Hermione back up to snuff.

Right now, she was acting like a trip to St. Mungo's was in order.

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A/N: And we're off! This was a fun chapter to write. So, Snape thinks Hermione is "appealing" eh? :::chuckles::: Thanks for reading.

PLEASE REVIEW "A Turn for the Better"  >>>> NEXT CHAPTER

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