bakerstreet | we belong

[ ooc: I rolled: "Get the same injuries as your soulmate does" but I thought it could be modified to something like, feeling the pain of the injuries your soulmate gets w/o it leaving permanent marks? Unless you want xxc to also be missing a pinky finger, lol. ]

[AUs, canon and crosscanon welcome.]

[ info. slight f/f pref but ota, no smut. suggestions could be "telepathic link to your soulmate" or "if you haven't met your soulmate by your 25th birthday, you'll die", but open to others. prefer a historical setting with the soulmate au element, but willing to modernize. ]

( I'm also good for platonic / familial soulmate prompts. )

( Some options! Either 1) time travel where, suddenly, her soulmate mark makes sense or 2) it happens when she turns 17 and, oh damn, it's "war hero Severus", 3) something else!! )

( Severus Snape lay bleeding, dying, on the floor of the shrieking shack. It's hardly the first time he thought he'd die in this hovel, but this go around he's fairly certain he's likely to be right.

The Potter boy crowds his slumped form, pressing his hands to a wound that won't stop bleeding. It takes so much of his concentration to pass on the memories he needs to, he does not notice the other sensation at first. The world in his vignettes at the edges when Granger and Weasley slip into frame. He doesn't drink very often, but he has been drunk — and he feels that way now. Bleary, surreal, logic-gapped and foggy, but still sharp enough to sense the glow as it winds its way up his right arm.

The band of runic script on his right forearm has existed dormant for as long as he can remember. Never once has it so much as twitched, despite all his willing it to activate in his school years around a particular redhead. Now, it glows a faint ember light, and bleeds into his skin. It climbs through his veins, it wraps around his dying heart.

Some three or four feet away, he sees Granger's do the same, and he knows.

He looks at it. Looks at her. Feels the heat of his own blood leaving him and spilling down his throat. They say soulmarks only activate when they're meant to, and not a moment before — and now, of all times? Now?

Of course it is. For him, for his life? Of course it's now, of course it's here, of course it's her.

The giddiness of the magic finally locking into place something he's yearned for hollowly his entire life mingles with the pain from Nagini's bite, mixes with fear and regret and bitterness and spite. He lets his head slump back against the wall, and he barks out a broken, angry laugh.

The last thing he thinks as things go black — for both himself and, unbeknownst to him, the girl across the room — is of how, really, he's not sure any of this was worth it. )

( The year is 1976, and it is November. The leaves have long since turned, and the ground beneath Hermione is frosted and hard in the pre-dawn light. Hogwarts stands remarkably unfractured beyond her, whole and safe and cozy looking compared to a crisp early winter morning.

She'll find herself rather unceremoniously greeted by a boy her own age, a sneer on his face that matches the Slytherin green of his robes. )

What in God's name are you doing sleeping on the ground?

Edited 2024-02-07 19:06 (UTC)

[ Hermione has researched soulmates.

Of course she's researched soulmates; as soon as she had seen her peers beginning to match up, bonding to one another, she had devoured any literature about it. It was one of the things that was real in the magical world and mythological in the muggle one, so she had been desperate for it, clinging to the possibility of some kind of perfect match. She tries to consider herself logical, but there's something painfully romantic about it all.

The longer she waits, however, the more she loses that little bit of childish hope. When the war starts and she chooses to dedicate her life to Harry rather than the things she values most - education, her future, the promise of some kind of love - well, soulmates were a little less important. It wasn't worth thinking about. Maybe she'd wondered if, in the proximity, she and Ron - but that had been silly of her too.

Would the world really put the two of them together?

Of course, it all made sense when she came across Snape in the Shrieking Shack, when the moment of his death had brought her magic sparking to life. The horror and panic of it all had been enough to make her lurch, her stomach doing flip-flops as she tried to rationalise it, to try and make it make sense. She can feel, suddenly, all the things that he's feeling; the grief, the pain, the bitterness. She wonders if he can feel her hope, her despair, the sudden, gripping loss - she reaches out for him before everything goes black, her own magic hitting her like a punch to the gut.

Hearing his voice makes her groan when she wakes up, scowling a little. Why is he speaking to her like that - or, actually, how is he speaking to her like that? Her emotions prickle, even as she feels the burn of something inside of her, wanting to wrap her arms around the person in front of her - until she comes to her senses.

No, he - she watched him die, didn't she?

Head flaring with pain, arm aching, Hermione sits up, frowning as she stares at the man - boy? - sneering at her, and she immediately scowls back. She knows she must look a mess, dirty and bloodied, panic flaring on her face as she sits up, trying to take in her surroundings. ]

I wasn't sleeping. Don't you have eyes?

[ Honestly. Then she's drinking him in, realising, and her eyes widen. ]

... Where am I?

( Not all wixen bear the mark, but many do. Of the ones who carry it, a match isn't always guaranteed; there are cases where one's partner is born too early, or too late. Cases where half of a match dies prematurely. Cases where some have undergone rituals to have the mark stripped from them — a painful, rending procedure that he understands the Dark Lord to have undergone early on in his youth.

Severus developed a habit of staring at his since he was a child.
Waiting.
As his father battered his mother. As his mother grew detached and faded, like a spectre — markless, of course, because no soulmate could bear to treat their other half the way his father treated his mother.
Alone, in his hiding spots.
Lily Evans was the first other person his age to carry a similar mark, and he'd been convinced almost immediately that they must be a match.

Later, after he was accepted to Hogwarts, he studied it more in-depth. Took Ancient Runes, to learn to parse the script. He'd learned only bits of it, the language mostly dead, but a few words could be translated.

They read: courage, intellect, compassion. This had, if anything, only further cemented his belief of who this mark referred to. Why the bloody thing hadn't activated when some of his peers' had begun to is beyond him.

Now, he stands on the grounds before the castle, the faintest tingling buzz in his arm — he pays little to no mind to it. It's a ghost of a sensation, an echo that drives him to absently rub at his sleeve without bothering to look. Far more focused on the unfamiliar face picking herself up from the ground. )

Where do you think you are?

( He retorts derisively, flicking a pointed look back at the castle — and then raising one pointed eyebrow at her. He isn't going to say it, but he doesn't have to, the mockery's right there in his expression: don't you have eyes?

Only then does he see the blood on her clothes. The state of her.

And then his wand is in his hand, and his eyes flicker sharply toward the treeline of the forest for a fleeting moment, as if seeking a threat. )

Were you attacked? Why are you bleeding?

[ Hermione doesn't want this.

It's the only thing echoing through her mind as she lifts her hand to cover the tingling sensation where she knows her mark is, suddenly burning bright with their proximity. It had flared to life when Snape had died, or been dying, and now the echoes of it are thrumming through her. It's obvious who's in front of her now, the shape of his features unmistakable, but her sensible side denies it as she tries to work through it all. Something must have happened with the soulmate magic, but she can't even think of how it's happened without something like a time turner.

Scrambling back and away from the younger version of the man she'd left behind, she fumbles and reaches for her wand - at least that managed to come with her, for whatever it's worth. She's out of place, in more ways than one, and her brain starts to work a thousand miles a minute as she begins to put the pieces of a plan together. She'll have to talk to Dumbledore first, try and explain who she is without giving everything away, and at the same time she's going to have to try and stay as far away from Snape as possible.

Even the idea of distancing from him makes her heart ache, and a sharp jab hit her arm, like someone's thumped her with a metal fist.

Slowly, she rises up to her feet, wincing at the pull on some of her cuts and bruises. No wonder he looks so on edge, when it's as if she's stumbled out of a duel. ]

No one, it doesn't matter. They didn't make it here.

[ No one can apparate in or out of Hogwarts, anyone who's read the basics about the school would know that, so she has to be careful about what she says and how she explains this. Rubbing her arm absently, she sighs softly. ]

I'm sorry, this must be really strange for you. Do you think I could see the Headmaster? I know we're at Hogwarts, that's why I came here, obviously. Do you mind...?

( Dark eyes narrow as he studies her, keenly clocking a few of the subtler details that now stand out in his mind.

The way she grips her arm. The fact that she wears no house robes. The look on her face — recognition, or perhaps the knowing of something greater. He does not like it when someone else knows something he's unaware of. The desire to pry into her mind is strong, but at this stage in his life, he's still a fumbling novice at legilimency. That may be leaps and bounds ahead of his peers, but it's not smooth enough to prod at somebody's surface thoughts undetected.

When something hooks his curiosity, he has a tendency to become a little... obsessive. All of this is exceedingly curious indeed. )

Obviously...

( He echoes slowly, dubiously. Is it obvious? Is anything about her sudden appearance obvious?

A cool, calculating second passes wherein he seems to debate her request. Before he concedes or refuses, he has a follow-up inquiry: )

I don't recognize you. Who are you? Which house are you from?

( She's roughly the right age. She should be a student, or recently graduated. He hardly knows everyone at this school, but something about her... stands out. He feels, on some innate level, like he should've seen her before now. Known her face. Known her name. She feels important, and he's never doubted his own instincts. )

[ She knows that look.

That's the look that Professor Snape would give the three of them when he knew they were up to something, and they were doing a passable job at hiding it; studying, as if he could rip the answers from them with the glare alone. It was usually enough to have Hermione wanting to babble, especially when she was younger, but she's a little hardier these days. She's stood up to far worse than an irritable Severus Snape.

That's who this is, after all. His features are - well, memorable.

She didn't really want to have to go through an entire Inquisition to get through to Dumbledore, but she should have. The problem is that Hermione is tired, her body aches, she's fairly sure she's still breathing, and she hasn't had a good rest for hours. The last thing she wants to do is argue with a teenage version of the man who had made her life hell for a few years and is now magically, frustratingly proven to be her soulmate.

(Maybe she ought to have known, given the words, a reflection of her own secret desires for someone intelligent, determined, deeply uniquely thoughtful).

Lifting her head, she tries to give him what she hopes is a passable attempt at a polite smile. ]

I was in Gryffindor, a year or so ago. [ Not technically a lie, so she should be able to get away with it. ] Granger. I'm not surprised a Slytherin wouldn't know who I was, considering.

( A Gryffindor. His eyes narrow further, considering.

It seems unlikely, but he has to concede it's... possible. An older Gryffindor student, perhaps one that did not engage so much with the rivalries in the corridors, could very well float by without his immediate notice. Perhaps they've never interacted; he spent his early years here doing as much as he could to retreat into himself and keep his head down, after all. It's only recently that he's come into himself, gained the confidence and determination to stake his place and prove himself in a more public eye. Perhaps she was already gone by then.

But her face... something about the eyes...

Granger. Not a pureblood name. No association strikes, he has no frame of reference.

It is, ultimately, her attempt at politeness that earns his concession. He has a fondness, it seems, for Gryffindor girls who make the effort to be kind — and perhaps it helps that none of his housemates are here to see this exchange. He'd rather not add fuel to the fire that's been burning since first year, and the perpetual teasing he receives for being friends with one.

Having been friends with one, he icily corrects himself. )

Fine. I'll see you to him.

( He decides finally, turning on his heel and gesturing her on — because of course he's going to trail her there. It's the only way he's likely to have his curiosity appeased.

Also, she looks like she might just collapse right back onto the ground again if she's left to make the trip unchaperoned. )

[ Her mind is filled with brief, flaring panic as she nods and starts to follow after the man in front of her.

Convincing Dumbledore of who she is won’t be impossible, given what she knows about him and the future, but she’s stuck with the consequences of her arrival here and what it means. There’s no way she’s going to be able to hide her connection with Snape for that long, and once he figures out they’re soulmates he’s not going to leave her alone for a second. She can’t blame him for that.

It must be the bond that brought her here. If she tries to explain it rationally, it makes sense; their soulmate marks came to life in his last moments, when it was the last chance, but it was also for a reason. Soulmate magic is messy and complicated, unexplored, so it’s not unreasonable to think it tugged her back in time to find a living, breathing man for her to bond with. The issue is her being stuck, her place in this world and how much this would upset the balance of the future.

Snape isn’t a particularly nice man, had never been in any way kind to her, but maybe this is why. Maybe he hated his soulmate for leaving him, and didn’t realise who she was until his dying moment. It makes her pathetically sad for a few moments.

Shaking her head, Hermione pushes a tangle of hair from her face and jogs forward. She’s not foolish enough to ask what year it is - she can guess that approximately from his status as a student - but she does wish she could figure more out. ]

Um, sir - sorry, I didn’t get your name?

[ Who goes around calling their fellow students ‘sir’? Ugh. ]

I actually know the way to his office, and I’m sure you have other things to do.

( That sir earns her a sideways glance and a higher arch to his eyebrow. There's polite smiles and then there's that, strange deferential behavior from a Gryffindor. Particularly one that is, apparently, older than him. Practically Lovegood behavior, he'd think, if he didn't know her last name already.

Her feigned courtesy does not seem to slow his step in the slightest. )

I don't, as a matter of fact. ( He returns crisply, and the pair of them ascend the entryway stairs side by side. It's early enough that nearly nobody else roams the halls — his insomnia-propelled morning roaming is finally good for something. ) And frankly, I'm curious to see whether you faint or attack somebody before you make it to the office. Judging by your state, it seems equally likely to go either way.

( She'll likely be clever enough to pick up on it — the fact that he outright dodged her question about his name. Nothing is given away freely, and at the moment, he sees no benefit to sharing it.

Being so withholding drives the mark on his arm to itch, though he does not yet connect the dots on that being the cause. It's only just starting to occur to him that the source of his irritations these last few moments have been the mark, and he curls a delicate hand around it over his sleeve, rubbing it surreptitiously.

What the hell is it on about? )

[ Of course he’s not going to offer up his name just like that - she really should’ve known better, shaking her head even as an awkward wave of fondness hits her. Severus Snape was an adept spy, good at lying, hiding the truth and manipulation - he would get what he wanted. If she wants information from him, she’s going to have to give her own first.

What does surprise her is the fact that he hasn’t noticed yet, but maybe it shouldn’t. Who expects their soulmate to appear out of nowhere in the middle of their school grounds? It’s something out of a fairytale, so she doesn’t feel as petulant as she might otherwise. They existed around each other for almost a decade without any sign, so she can wait a little longer.

Hermione can see him touch his arm; her own mark thrums in response. She wishes that he would just turn and look at her properly, to see if they can forge that connection. ]

I don’t just attack people without reason, despite my appearance.

[ Which means, obviously, if she had reason… That would be different. Laws have been broken over the last year that Hermione can’t take back. She might be ashamed if she wasn’t saving the world. ]

Thank you, for watching out for me. [ The first part of his comment. If she faints. She doesn’t imagine for a second that was his intention, but with her mark itching she wants… To touch. To see him properly. ] You can call me Hermione.

( Without reason being the operative part of that statement, and they both think it. By that logic, the reason need not even be particularly good, so long as it exists. Though, to be clear, he said nothing of stopping her from attacking whoever it is she means to target, if anything he just intends to watch whatever's going to happen as it unfolds.

Call it ego or instinct that he knows she won't be attacking him. Hard to say which.

And then she thanks him, and gifts him with her name. His chin tips her direction, so he can study her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He means to suss out of this is a ploy, if she's playing him. If she's manipulating him, and if so, for what purpose?

In the end, he says nothing. It's a short, brisk walk to the stone gargoyles that guard Dumbledore's office. It's a pity he can't justify following her up the stone stairs once that blasted thing finally concedes to jumping out of the way, and he's long since learned it's nigh impossible to eavesdrop through the walls.

It's only as the stairs begin to ascend that he finally looks down at his arm properly-

-and sees the runes glowing, ever so faintly, as her torso begins to disappear from view. His head snaps up, lips parted, speechless.

And then she's gone.

So he does what any sane, rational person would do — and camps at the entrance, sulkily shadowing it like a sentry for minutes that stretch on, and on, and on. Students begin to trickle by, and then teachers, and ultimately it's McGonagall that asks him what he's doing skulking about and advises him on no uncertain terms he best be moving on.

He slips away, but only to find a better hiding spot from which to observe. )

[ The meeting with Dumbledore goes almost exactly as Hermione had predicted that it might.

She was a little firmer than the schoolgirl of the past had been, even if they both agreed her knowledge of the future is best kept to herself as much as possible. As tempting as it was to confess everything and get the older wizard to be involved now, to collect Horcruxes and destroy them before it ever becomes a problem for Harry… She knows better. Time magic is dangerous enough as it is, and if she starts playing around with the timeline it could ruin other things.

The question becomes what to do with her. The school year is still ongoing, and she can’t really go too far - sensibly, it means she has to stay at Hogwarts. She won’t necessarily be safe anywhere else, despite her ability to defend herself, and she knows she needs to find a way to return to her time, even if it makes her heart ache. When she rubs her arm absently, the fond look Dumbledore gives her makes her sheepish, embarrassed.

It’s agreed, eventually, that she’ll become something of a teaching assistant for the next few weeks, once she’d confirmed her academic ability. There are spare rooms in the castle for visiting professionals, so she can use them, and for now… She just has to survive.

Survive in a world where her soulmate is alive but won’t know her, dodging the eyes of people she knows in a few decades - or that she knows die. It’s some kind of awkward nightmare that Hermione now has to cope with.

Dumbledore doesn’t bother giving her specific directions to her room, but instead gives the implication someone else might be able to guide her. She doesn’t have to think too hard to imagine who that might be, lurking around the stairs below the headmaster’s office. Her mark burns again as she leaves the statue to slide back into place, trying not to smile fondly.

Who would’ve ever thought she’d smile fondly over Snape of all people. ]

The Headmaster said you might be able to show me to my rooms. [ It sounds like she’s speaking to the air, but the prickle of soulmate magic is a embarrassed. She can feel him. ] If you don’t mind, that is.

( He might think to be more frustrated than embarrassed at having been so easily called out for his spying, were he not far more preoccupied with being curious. A little-known fact about Severus Snape: he'd nearly been a hatstall. It had been a grapple between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but ultimately his desire for knowledge was more for the purpose of ambition rather than for learning's own sake, and thus it was decided. The desire to prove himself outweighs curiosity, but the latter exists in excess.

And so, he does not hesitate to slink forth from the shadows of an alcove, studying her openly and intently. It takes concentrated effort not to rub at the mark on his arm, but now that he's consciously aware of it, he knows to keep his hands steady. It's too telling, palming at it, and he's not yet willing to give away that much of what he's thinking.

Is it her?
It must be.
That's the only explanation for it.

A small part of him bucks, rebels, feels traitorous over the notion that it could be anyone except Lily Evans — but the mark does not lie, and what he feels is pure and honest. )

Which rooms have you been assigned?

( A house dormitory, the come and go room, guest accommodations, or the rooms for visiting professors? There are a number of options, and where she's been assigned may answer at least one or two of his hundred questions.

Another curiosity worth considering: that Dumbledore would assign him the task of taking her there. That they must have discussed him. She can't have known he'd still be lingering after she left, not unless she saw the mark, right? Not unless she knows? It's too unlikely an assumption otherwise. )

The guest ones, with the portrait of the fruit basket.

[ Hermione watches him carefully, watching to see how he reacts to her. Has he put two and two together to make four yet, or is he denying it? She expects him to act as if there's no connection between the two of them, to shrug it off and away because he doesn't want to accept it - he doesn't know anything about her, and she's appeared out of nowhere in the least trustworthy way possible. If their roles were reversed, Hermione knows she'd be equally suspicious.

It's hard, knowing that she's more aware of him than he might be of her, but she doesn't think for a second that the Snape she experienced as a teacher is anything like the real man - or the person in front of her. She wants to learn more about him, a literal burning that makes her want to poke and prod until he tells her more, and she shakes her head, forcing herself not to smile as she steps up to his side.

He still hasn't told her his name, so she has to bite her tongue. ]

Given my position, Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for me to be in the Gryffindor dorms, even if I'm close to their age.

[ Older than most of her peers by the chance of an early birthday, and definitely more mature than a lot of the late teens at Hogwarts now. War does that to you. ]

Shall we?

( He wouldn't blame her for making that assumption — neither this version of himself, nor the one she knows decades from now. He has done his level best to close himself off from the world, to be unapproachable and cold for the sake of his role. The concept that he could ever love someone, that he would ever willingly let someone in that way, should seem entirely laughable.

It couldn't be further from the truth. The reality is, love has driven every choice he's ever made. It fuels his convictions, even years after the object of that love died. He's so very dedicated to the concept, it's all-consuming.

There is no world where he lets her walk away, knowing this tether they might share in runic script on their arms and souls.

Granted, he is still... conflicted. He's spent so much of his time devoutly loyal to one Lily Evans, it's thus far been impossible to reconcile that he might belong to someone that isn't her. He needs more information. He needs to either prove or disprove this connection, and he needs to do it sooner rather than later, or he'll drive himself mad obsessing over it.

Shall we?
He nods, and sets out at a pace gentler than the one he'd set earlier this morning. He means to drag this out, just a bit. To have more time to interrogate her. )

Given your position... ( He echoes dubiously, shooting her a sideways glance. ) What position is that, exactly?

[ The slow pace works fine for now - there aren't too many other students around, and she's glad to hear that he's willing to take her where she needs to go. Hermione is in desperate need of a shower, to wash the dirt, grime and blood of war from her so that she can start to begin to make sense of this whole situation. When she's clean, she can go to the library and do a little more research, as if the books of the past will have any new information compared to the future.

At least the walk there gives her a little more time with Snape, to see how different he is from the other version of him.

She can almost feel him analysing her, as if he can somehow open her up like some kind of book and devour her. She's a mystery, and there's no way that she can blame him, not when her own eyes are flicking over him in the same way. The two of them are alike in that, she supposes, and the sudden hit that gives her, like a punch to the gut, almost makes her laugh - of course they are. They're soulmates, aren't they?

They're meant to have things in common.

Walking beside him is easy enough for now, at least, and Hermione keeps up her small smile, offering it to him without hesitation. ]

Teaching assistant. Whoever needs me, for the rest of the year.

( Though some may have a difficult time accepting it, Severus Snape does have a number of amiable, endearing qualities. Tragically, an excess of patience has never, ever been one of them. He has even less now, as an inexperienced and hot-headed teenager with a troubled home life.

It means this farce of a conversation makes it only as far as the nearest private alcove, before he's whirling around on her with hands digging into her shoulders to crowd her rather abruptly into the wall behind a pillar, eradicating their personal space in what he hopes to be an intimidating loom. Given the things she's seen far scarier than him, and the fact that he does not even remotely measure up to the countenance of his adult self, it likely won't be nearly as effective as he's hoping.

He certainly tries for it, anyway. There's heat in his voice, a threat, a warning, a demand, as he rips his sleeve up and thrusts his forerm up for her to behold. )

Enough. Don't lie to me. You expect me to believe you've happened upon school grounds out of nowhere to be a teaching assistant, and just so happen to have coincidentally activated- ( He cannot bring himself to call it what it is, and so he dodges the term with a sharp: ) this? Is this a game? A trick? What are you playing at?

[ Hermione thinks, abruptly, that perhaps the young man in front of her has more in common with the man of her future than she'd first imagined.

Crowded into a quiet alcove, she waits for his outburst to be over before she tilts her head up to look at him, expression tight and irritated. She has, in fact, faced far more frightening things than a teenager throwing a strop at her, and his shouting doesn't do much else other than to make her want to smack him around the head with something a little on the heavy side. She won't, of course, but equally she could blast him halfway across the corridor with a little wandless magic if she was inclined.

She waits, though. It's fair to him, to be so upset when she had turned up here out of nowhere, bonded to him in this way, so...

Shaking her head, she leans back to look at him, determination blazing across her face. Sorry, Severus Snape, but your soulmate is as painfully Gryffindor in her bullheaded courage as her friends - she just hides it better most of the time. ]

Does it look like a game?

[ That's a stupid thing to say, and she sighs, shifting to try and make herself a little more comfortable, give herself space. ]

You know how these kinds of bonds work, you've done the reading on it. [ She did. ] There's a reason I showed up here, isn't there?

( It will probably become rapidly clear that he hadn't actually expected this to work. He'd expected to fight and scrape tooth and nail for something even resembling an admission — perhaps that's why it hadn't occurred to him to simply ask, rather than snarl. He does not, by nature, get the things that he wants.

And she willingly offers it, more or less, without punishment or backlash.

It surprises him. He spends a moment caught off-guard, one hand still gripping her by the shoulder, the other that had been baring his mark slowly... lowering back down to his side.

He loses steam rapidly — only trace amounts of it left, token and absent, underlining his confusion. Black eyes stare imploringly, unblinking. )

So you don't deny it? That you're mine?

That would be pointless.

[ They've got the clear activation, don't they? Hers had only awoken moments before, and the dirt and grief of battle is still scarring her, making her want nothing more than a good bath and a long sleep, or vice versa, but she has to get through this first. Teenage Severus Snape, shackled by his own disbelief and then, if she lets herself assume, the idea that it might not be possible for even his soulmate to want him.

Of course, Hermione knows him. She's spent years as Snape's student, has learned a little bit of him, from what little he shared, and she believed in him even when others didn't.

Reaching out, she does what little she can, trying to let her hands find his and hold them gently. ]

I'm sorry, I'm incredibly tired. Do you think we could talk about this after I've changed, at least?

( She has, quite unfortunately, hit the nail on the head. It was apparently beyond his rationalization that anyone might willingly admit to a bond like this with him — anyone save perhaps Lily, the only person to ever accept and embrace him despite his faults and features.

But here she is, straightforward and not withholding. Here she is, reaching out to wrap her hands around his, which would be disarming enough on its own for a touch-starved and lonely young man, but the mark on his arm is thrumming with a contentment and peace that feels absolutely alien, and he does not- does not want to let that go yet (ever).

Quite suddenly, he feels stupid in a way he never really has. His tongue feels thick, his throat tight, his chest warm and anxious and just this side of desperate.

He looks at her. Really looks at her, properly — the dirt, the fatigue, the small hints that seem as though she's been through a mysterious Hell he could not begin to guess at.

And so, despite the gnawing ache in his heart, he peels away and spins on his heel, striding again toward her new quarters — with his fingers flexing at his sides, nerves still singing from the touch.

When he deposits her there, the only thing he can think to say is: )

Don't leave.

( Don't disappear without telling him. Please. )

[ It's not as if Hermione doesn't empathise, because she does.

There's no realm where she could imagine Snape wanting her, either, especially not the man she came to know in the future. The way he looked at her, the way he treated her and her friends, the insults and the nastiness - to have that evolve into a soulmate bond was impossible to even imagine. Was it because of this that he hated her so much, because he remembered a figment of her from the past? She'd done extensive study on Time Turners before, but this is something different.

Soulmate bonds were a magic unto themselves.

When he steps away, she longs to reach out for him again, a sudden desire for comfort and physical touch that she can't ignore, but she also can't ask for it. He barely knows her, and she doesn't picture him as being particularly tactile - unlike a Hermione who hugged her friends whenever she could.

Nodding, she begins to step after him, almost... Nervous. ]

I don't plan on leaving. Not by choice.

[ Stepping forward, she reaches out to let her hand grab at his sleeve, wanting the connection even if he wants nothing to do with her. ]

You can stay in the lounge while I change, if you want.

( She takes his sleeve, and he cannot decide whether he wants to wrench his hand away or turn it to catch hers properly. The two impulses war at him for opposing reasons — self-preservation grappling with the longing for connection. When neither option wins, it amounts to him going still, freezing in a perfectly permissive neutrality.

The offer is met with a stare, deliberately schooled features, long and contemplative and calculating.

It was nearly dawn when he stumbled across her. It's been at least an hour since. She looks exhausted, she needs to change, to rest, and he- needs to think.

And so, carefully, he says: )

I have class.

( He's still a student, and it's a weekday. He can't shirk it without his head of house hunting him down. )

I'll come back after. ( And then he repeats, more firmly: ) Don't leave.

( She already said she wouldn't, but it would be in line with all the rest of his life's luck that he'd come back to her gone anyway.

He casts one last lingering look, as though he means to memorize her face — and then turns, and is gone. In classes, during lunch, he is hardly more than a body in a seat. Silent, barely paying attention, deftly ignoring the prerequisite jabs that come his way from the Gyffindor popularity table, none of it matters in light of what's waiting upstairs.

Late afternoon brings him back, knocking crisply on her door and half-expecting no answer. )

[ Don't leave, he says, as if she has any control over it.

At least it means he can go and focus his mind on something else, and Hermione can slide into her new chambers and try and figure out how she's going to survive in this time. All the thoughts are coming to her at once - if Severus is here, then other people she knows are going to be here, and that could impact more than she wants to admit. Does she want to get involved in all of that?

Can she impact the future by being in the past? She knows she shouldn't, that she might erase herself, but the temptation...

The rest of the morning is spent showering, fixing up the wounds that are still stinging her body, and trying not to overthink. She already wants to make her way to the library and bury herself in a book (or ten) to try and figure out more about what's going on, but she's loath to go wandering around the castle until she's been properly introduced to staff. She'll just end up in trouble otherwise.

She's managed to sit and eat something when the knock to her chambers come, and she knows who it is without having to think. Going over to the door, she opens it, ushering him in - she looks tidier, now, her hair tied up behind her head, clothes freshly cleaned, cuts dealt with. She looks - and feels - almost human, which is a sweet relief. ]

Severus. Come in, I was just having something to eat.

[Soulmates are usually found in similar social spheres around Cramea's many continents, suspected to be as a result of beastfolks' innate natures (for at least two-thirds of population,) very literal need to be in pairs. "Dynamics" of such pairing not only balance the mental and physical state of each partner, but just being in proximity of a soulmate would slow the effects to a crawl and, rumored, to allow them to live life full or somewhat past their typical lifespans. A blessing that Alivian became all too aware that was beyond his reach at the age of thirteen.

[Wanting a soulmate was expected. Finding one, too, was an inevitability. The innate pull of one's partner was meant to get them to meet all the swifter, but as far as Alivian could understand, his pulling made absolutely none.

[Why would the pull of his soulmate go to the sky, and not across the mountains and oceans beyond the horizon? What was the point?

[But he knew this person tied to him existed. He knew, because there would be no pull if he didn't. Ultimately, throughout the years he sent trinkets through the sparse link between them, from youth through his budding adulthood. A small satchel of rare tea leaves with detailed brewing instructions, a hand-copied recipe of a meal or treat. Small things that meant something to him, but didn't give himself too terribly away, in spite of his growing, gnawing loneliness. He'd sent a letter, too, once, detailing the odds and ends of daily life, if only as proof that he yet lived. How he was glad that at least someone across this link existed, even if they'd probably never meet.

[Fortunately, the lack of a common language was no problem. Alivian's careful, elegant writing was clear, and the magic within each letter allowed anything he wrote to be read in the other person's native language. His letter in particular detailed the name of his world (Cramea,) the continent upon which he lived (Rowena,) and the fact that he was more than aware of the tales of humans falling through into his world, with the reverse being an unconfirmed possibility. Very little about himself, not even his name.

[Even if the whispers of dreams gave each of them a greater idea of who and where they were.

[Now in his early twenties, the urge to find this person pressed upon him even more keenly than ever, the tug of it only ever-skyward. As always.

[Clearly it was just some cruel joke. As he passes through the dense forest behind his home, his body lurches, and-- suddenly, everything smells wrong, and his thick boots tap into the shallows of a lake that shouldn't be there.

[Squinting at completely unfamiliar surroundings - a castle in the distance, and a dark forest just nearby it? - Alivian adjusts the hood on his head and tilts his ears back to hide the appendages, at least. There's no hiding the tail, but, wherever he is, he can probably pretend the appendage is fake, for all the tail wagging he doesn't do. Based on the documents he read as a kid, the world he's landed in - if it's the same one that humans have come from - does not have an abundance of beastfolk - if any at all. Furthermore, it's important to protect one's weaknesses, and his ears are also one of his greatest assets, his sense of smell aside.

[It's best to play cool as well as he can, and find some way to get back home.

[Clicking his tongue and stepping away from the water, he wonders, perhaps, where the safest place to turn first, is. The castle's a good start, and it'll let him feel less exposed, he's sure. If nothing else, he can find an alcove to tuck into, if not within. A moment to sit with his back protected.

[But, what's more-- that pulling sensation feels strangely horizontal. The wolf huffs where he stands, hidden gaze scowling even as his mouth barely twitches. More jokes upon jokes, it seems. Maybe a dream? The intensity of the pull is certainly much, much stronger, tugging on his very being like the pull of a leash around his throat.

[...Regardless, this isn't home, he's in a strange place, and it's an incredibly far cry from paths he's tread his entire life. There's no guarantee that he's safe in the slightest. Taking a slow breath, he listens to the surrounding sounds for a moment, and then confirms the pragmatism to further approach the castle in the distance. It can't hurt to ask someone to help him gather his bearings. And if there's anyone strange, he can perhaps pretend that he belongs here until he can find a way elsewhere.

[That lake, after all, is too big to traverse, and so dark in the moonlight that he doesn't dare try to swim through it. Besides, it might ruin the full tin of medicine he carries in his pocket...]

Edited (insomnia led me to scan my own tag, found typo that wasn't there before the first edit.) 2024-02-09 11:04 (UTC)

[Voicetesting.]

[She can be Drastic Measures timeframe or AU'd forward into Discovery proper. Or just AU'd in general, honestly.

Voicetesting.]

[She's the MOST voice-testy, please be gentle.]

we belong

Xiao Xingchen | The Untamed | M/M

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Zhou Zishu | Word of Honor | M/M

Alice Malvin | Pumpkin Scissors | OTA

cheng xiaoshi | link click

zelda | tears of the kingdom | m/f

machi kuragi | fruits basket | m/f

tifa lockhart | ffvii remake

mion sonozaki | higurashi no naku koro ni

chiaki nanami | super dangan ronpa 2 | m/f

Fushiguro Megumi | Jujutsu Kaisen | m/m

sylvie gallard | original character | ota

Severus Snape | HP

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counter-offer: both, eventually.

oh this is perfect actually

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resurrects this thread from the dead, time is an illusion

time is, in fact, hideously fake (wb)

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gonna eventually go with all the tropes we discussed :3

Saga Anderson | Alan Wake 2

Balayna Ferasini | Star Trek: Discovery

Margo Lane | The Shadow (film)

Keith Kogane | Voltron | OTA - m/m

Goro Akechi | Persona 5 franchise | ota - m/m