"I wish you luck, my friend," portrait Albus said.

Severus scowled without responding. He believed Albus' well wishes were sincere.

To a point.

One last look at the office that had been his for the past nine months to ensure there was nothing left behind that shouldn't be before he left. Likely for good. He had been very careful the past nine months to leave little behind in both this office and his quarters. He never knew from day to day which might be his last. That one of them would be his last was a given.

He made his way through the halls of Hogwarts from the headmaster's office to the one he'd used as a professor for seventeen years. He wasn't nostalgic. He felt nothing. It was … just a room. It, however, had what he needed.

Luck had nothing to do with any of this, and the damned wizard in the portrait knew it just as well as Severus did. He was no fool, and had … taken precautions to give himself the best chance to survive. Even if Albus didn't know what Severus had done, the older wizard knew Severus had done something.

If the three Gryffindors had escaped so publicly, as seemed to be the case, based on what portrait Albus reported to him moments ago. Well, they would no doubt be here soon.

How soon, he had no way of knowing.

How he knew they'd end up here, for that matter, he wasn't sure either.

He just felt in his gut, his soul, assuming he had a portion of it left. He was doubtful of that, but he imagined it was possible. Albus had asked him to kill him. Albus was already dying. Would those things be taken into account? He had no idea.

Regardless, he felt that this was where they would be heading. He could see the Dark Lord bringing the war here, wanting the climax of the fighting to be on Hogwarts' grounds as a final ‘fuck you' to all those he believed had wronged or betrayed him over the years.

Severus was not privy to Albus' plans, or what exactly was happening as far as the three errant Gryffindors (who had quickly become the bane of Voldemort's existence despite their age and lack of experience) went. However, Albus had not seemed to disagree with his assumption of their ending up here. Severus took that as a sign that he was thinking correctly. (Because, even in portrait form, the old coot couldn't actually say something directly!)

Of course, Severus wasn't privy to much of anything with regard to Albus' plan or thoughts on things occurring in general.

Because giving his spy knowledge that could be helpful would make too much sense!

If he'd known he was going after the Gaunt ring, for example, or been tempted to put it on, Severus would have stopped the man. There was a part of Severus that wondered the past months if it hadn't been weakness on Albus' part to put the ring on, but another part of his plan.

Severus killing him had accomplished quite a bit.

It had convinced the Dark Lord that Severus was his man. It had set him up here at Hogwarts as headmaster, keeping him away from the day to day activities of Tom and the other Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor with him. Had Albus known he would be placed in the headmaster's position? Severus didn't know.

Forget the ring.

Severus still wasn't sure why he had needed to basically hand deliver Godric Gryffindor's sword to the trio in December. He'd been told to, and did as asked, ensuring the recovery would be heroic despite it seeming incredibly risky. Albus said they needed it, Severus took the wizard at his word (portrait or not).

This, though. Breaking into a Gringotts vault. Escaping on a dragon.

Well.

He did know that they would not have risked such an attention-grabbing thing if they were not closing in on the end of their task. Whatever said task was that they required Gryffindor's sword.

Even in death, portrait Albus would not say.

Severus was prepared. He had been preparing for over two years.

He could keep secrets from Albus, too.

Knowing the halls and corridors of Hogwarts better than almost anyone came in handy at times like this. Certainly, he knew them better than anyone still alive.

Other than perhaps Filch.

There were things about the castle Filch wouldn't be privy to as a squib, though.

A secret passage here, a tunnel that not even the map Harry Potter inherited knew about (because Albus did know of it, and wanted it to be an escape route for Severus if necessary), and here he was in his lab.

Severus had gotten a good chuckle a couple of times at the idea of Potter spotting him on the map in the middle of what would seem to be solid stone walls.

What could he say? There was little to amuse him, particularly lately, so he had to take it in whatever form it came in.

No one observed him getting here either. He wouldn't be much of a spy if he didn't know how to be discreet and stealthy.

Seventeen years he'd been waiting to do this.

Once he'd turned spy and Voldemort was defeated back in 1981, he'd told Albus he had come up with an idea. A way of … blocking a summons received through the Dark Mark. Obviously, he would have to experiment, but certainly it would be prudent to find out if it could be done. Voldemort was gone, but someone else could take over and still use the Mark if they were aware of its workings.

Albus had insisted Severus should not do this. Easy for him to do, since he didn't have one on his arm. Still indebted to the headmaster, as well as James Potter, and knowing he had taken the Dark Mark willingly.

If what Albus believed to be true as to Voldemort perhaps not being truly dead was fact.

Well, he'd kept the bloody Dark Mark active.

He hadn't wanted to, at all, and wondered if the old man was stringing him along to make him heel. Was he afraid if he was done being committed to Albus and the Order's cause that he'd turn dark?

He doubted that he would ever stop accumulating the knowledge of the Dark Arts, regardless if the war was over or not. He was a curious man by nature. He loved knowledge. He was no longer going to go down the path he'd been headed in 1980. Now it was a proactive interest, wanting to prevent another Dark Lord from happening on his watch.

Assuming this one was defeated anyway. He had to hope.

People would forget. They'd move on to bigger and better things. Children. Grandchildren. Good jobs. The wars and the hate would be but a distant, unpleasant memory. Severus never wanted to do that. He wanted to remember how easy it had been.

For Voldemort to recruit.

And for Severus to join.

Albus' wishes didn't stop Severus from experimenting. From seeing whether his idea would work. He took every free moment he had to work on a potion or spell that would negate the Dark Mark's magic altogether. Fortunately, for all his knowledge, Albus was not a potions whiz, so he never suspected what potions Severus was working on at any given time.

He'd had to.

With his luck, Albus would die and Severus would be left hung out to dry with no one else aware he was truly part of the Order. Honestly, who he'd report to in the event something happened to Albus had never come up. That just reaffirmed the fact that he was well and truly on his own. So, Severus was taking no chances that he was included in any part of Albus' plan.

It had taken him until about ten months ago to come up with a potion, but he finally had. He'd captured an erstwhile Death Eater, fed him the potion, and held him until Severus received the next group summons. The captured Death Eater hadn't flinched or reacted in any way to suggest he felt the call, proving to Severus that his research and tireless efforts worked.

Either the Dark Lord would be defeated soon, or he would be in charge. Potter would likely be dead regardless of who won. Whatever the outcome, and with Albus dead, Severus Snape had no further reason to keep an active Dark Mark.

Without it.

Well, selfishly, he could go anywhere. He wouldn't go and live it up. He would work on a way to defeat the Dark Lord without anyone the wiser. If he was victorious. And Severus would come up with a way. There were few who knew the Dark Lord as well as he did. Bellatrix's familiarity did not count as far as Severus was concerned.

So, here in his lab, feeling as if the end was coming, he took the potion. Once downed, he cast the spell that would ensure the potion was activated, and allowed himself a few minutes for it to take effect, just in case he had an adverse reaction his test subject had not.

Assured he was good, he took another dose of the antivenin as he'd been doing with regularity since the fucking snake struck Arthur Weasley. Severus observed the Dark Lord using his familiar to do his killing more and more lately.

A sign of weakness? Something else? He didn't know nor did he care. All he knew was for the first time in his life, he was finally close to being his own man.

And also for the first time in his life.

With the idea of the Dark Mark being negated, regardless of the war's outcome.

Well, he wanted a life to go with being his own man. Oh, he'd led most to believe he was ready to die, but that was far from the truth. If he seemed hopeless, no one would suspect he had plans for the future.

He planned on living long and well. Probably alone. Somewhere … off the grid. Somewhere where no one could find him: muggle or magical.

That done, he ensured his time turner was in place and disillusioned. He also checked to be sure that it was set. All he'd have to do is say the word while tugging on the pendant that was the time turner and he would be gone.

He had carefully thought out where and when he would go.

He would return to himself during the school year Black escaped, a year before the Dark Lord returned. His younger self would know what it meant. At least he should, he couldn't quite remember what frame of mind he'd been in with Black's escape.

Other than angry.

He did recall he'd been furious for a wide variety of reasons that year.

Still improperly upset about his role in Lily's death?

No.

It relieved him to no end to find that was so, too.

It had taken him a while to realize that wasn't there any longer. He'd say he was embarrassed at how long it took, but there were so many other infractions for him to dwell on and be upset about. It came down to, he'd had a long time to come to terms with the fact Lily Evans had been his friend and nothing more. He just hadn't put it forefront in his mind until he'd come face to face with Black again.

At the time of Black's escape, Severus believed he'd been a traitor. He would be upset at that over anyone who betrayed a friend. However, if together they could circumvent the whole hunt for Sirius Black, with this Severus knowing the truth. Well, perhaps, for once, the two (three) wizards could work together.

If Black would not cooperate, which was possible. Well, together, he (with his deactivated Dark Mark) and his younger self, maybe they could come up with a way to stop the Dark Lord's return from happening altogether. He just wished Albus had filled him in on how he'd been able to return to begin with!

He found himself in the Shrieking Shack with the Dark Lord, and knew somehow this was it. The irony of it being here. Perhaps he was fated to die here after all!

All he knew was that the fucking snake looked far too … pleased with herself. He sensed the three Gryffindors were hiding in the tunnel. A tunnel Voldemort would not know of since it had been created after his time as a student at Hogwarts. Severus hoped that meant that he wouldn't think to search for anyone else here.

Severus found it ironic that Voldemort was so close to Harry Potter at the moment and oblivious. At least Severus hoped he didn't know about this tunnel. He honestly wasn't sure if any Death Eaters knew about it. Maybe. More than one had been at Hogwarts at the same time Severus was, so they could have found out about it.

For the Dark Lord's part, he was so out of his mind with hate and this blasted war that he would not be in tune enough with his surroundings to detect them.

Thank Merlin.

Contrary to what they, and many others, thought, he did not want any student harmed. They were here, and for once he was grateful for their propensity to be precisely where they should not be. And that they were doing exactly as they should, hiding. They hadn't busted in here, wands drawn.

That would not end well.

They'd be witnesses to what occurred here, though. For that, he hoped Granger and the other two survived the war.

They would assume Severus Snape died.

And tell others.

They would be unable to stop themselves.

Even better.

Because there was no way Tom Riddle was letting him out of this shack alive. He'd be able to get his memories to Potter because no doubt they'd charge in here, assuming they could help him.

Except.

Severus felt a sliver of hope as the maniac spoke, realizing he didn't know! He thought Severus was still his man.

How could he possibly not know?

And then that hope was dashed. Because of course nothing could ever go as he wanted it to.

He was going to kill him …

Over a wand Severus didn't even control!

Oh, would he be in for a rude awakening when he discovered that was true.

Even better, Harry Potter controlled the wand, and something told Severus that was as it should be. And a good thing, not a bad one. Maybe the young wizard would survive. Doubtful, but maybe.

It would almost be worth it to stay and see the end of this mess.

Almost.

No, he wanted to survive and live. He might survive if he stayed, but he doubted he'd be allowed to live if he remained in this time. At least not freely. So, he would go back, help his younger self and then ride off into the sunset like John Wayne.

So it was when Nagini struck that Severus laughed.

He couldn't help it.

The irony.

After all the crimes and sins he had committed over the years, both before and after turning spy.

To be killed for an infraction he did not commit!

Of course, Tom would know of his duplicity soon enough, so it was probably good that his former master left here believing that Severus had been murdered for controlling the Elder Wand. Severus could really do without being tortured and brutalized on top of being bitten and poisoned by Nagini.

He got his memories to Potter. Well, to Granger who got them to Potter and, no doubt, Weasley. For her part. The witch looked … concerned. He imagined he really did look a fright. Admittedly, he never thought he'd see that look aimed at him by her. … By anyone really.

"I wish there was something we could do for you, Professor," the brains of the three friends said. She sounded so … sincere. It was odd to hear.

He regretted now the hateful things he'd said to her over the years. If there was anyone who could help him if he needed it, it was this witch.

He knew without a doubt that was true. He wished he'd taken the time, one moment however discreetly, to tell her that she truly was very bright. He could not do that, though. That wouldn't do because she'd … doubt his duplicity. Despite his treatment of her, she was still hovering over him wishing she could save him. She leaned in closer, as if getting ready to tell him a secret.

"We got five of the horcruxes, including the two already destroyed. All except Nagini. Can you believe Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem was in the Room of Requirement here at Hogwarts the entire time! We used the sword, but you already know that, don't you? I'm sure now that it was you who got it to us. Very clever of you to realize that it had been used to kill the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, so we could use it to destroy the other horcruxes. I'm sorry we couldn't get to her before now, Sir. Nagini, I mean."

Horcruxes?

Plural, meaning more than one?

Well, that explained some things. Both about the Dark Lord, and Potter's hunting trip. And why they'd needed the sword. He could rest easy now that Albus hadn't lost his mind after all. Of all the errands he'd thought were rather foolish, delivering that sword had been up there.

Why had Albus never mentioned horcruxes to him? He could have helped! He could have looked for them instead of these three! He wished he could ask him, but he wouldn't be able to.

"We will find and kill Nagini, Sir, and then hopefully we will win."

Oh, if only she knew.

He huffed softly, wishing he could tell her. She'd find out soon enough. They could still win, but it would cost her her best friend. Honestly, she didn't sound completely certain this was true.

Victory.

That they'd win.

He was glad to hear it, as there were no absolutes in war. And he wasn't even sure how honest Albus had been with him.

Good did not always persevere over evil.

"Go," he whispered, hoarsely. "They need you. I do not. There is nothing you can do for me."

Antivenin or not, the bite still hurt like a son of a bitch. He needed them gone, though, or his plan wouldn't work. He needed to be believed dead. He needed them to tell everyone he hadn't survived the shack.

"I'm so sorry, Sir," she whispered.

He watched, his vision fading as some of her tears dripped into his wounds at his neck as she finally drew away after a quick kiss to his cheek. "So sorry," she said again. He'd curse her … brazenness at such an act, but in truth it was … nice to think that someone cared he might be dying.

The three unofficial Order of the Phoenix members dispatched, he took a moment to catch his breath. Advance preparations or not, being bit by a huge snake, and leaking blood everywhere as a result of the wounds the bite caused, was taking its toll.

Weakly, he reached to his chest, grateful he thought to make the chain longer than usual. It was really closer to his abdomen than chest. Thank Merlin the witch hadn't found it! Then she'd used one. Maybe she would have said and done nothing upon seeing it. He lifted up on the switch that would activate the time turner and whispered "gestromt", groaning as he felt the time turner begin to do its thing.

Miss Granger thought that she was the only one around here with the knowledge of what traveling through time felt like.

Not so.

***

"What happened to you?"

"How did you get here?"

"How did you get so hurt?"

Why won't you look at me?"

"Come on. Are you all right?"

The first thing he realized as he came to was that he was on a bed that he knew without a doubt was not his.

How did he know that?

Well, despite the fact he couldn't keep his eyes open, he was able to open them enough to take a look before closing them again.

There were no bright colours in his rooms.

Any of them, be it at Hogwarts or Spinner's End.

Never had been, even when his mother had been in charge of decorating. (Not that he'd done much decorating himself since taking over the home.)

The second thing was that the concerned hand touching his throat and left side absolutely did not belong to himself. At that precise moment, it registered going along with that realization, that he currently had no hands. And while he could see the room was outfitted in bright colours, he couldn't see the colours themselves.

The third thing was that the voice was most definitely not his and yet it was oddly familiar and … dare he think it … soothing.

The fourth thing, at the realization that he was in bed - with a student - was that he was not in his human form and could not shift out of the Bullmastiff form for the life of him.

That had never happened before in nearly twenty years.

He let out a low woof at the feel of her hands on his fur.

She didn't mean it to be a sensual thing he knew. The fact that he … enjoyed it in such a way was a reflection on him and the lack of any affection in his life by anyone. Still, despite being gravely hurt and beyond exhausted it was … nice to be touched.

Maybe if he'd been touched more it wouldn't. Who knew?

All he knew was that he liked it.

A lot.

Enough to not try to get up and leave when she spoke next.

"Let me get some bandages. I think we have some gauze. I'll be right back."

Did she know?

She couldn't possibly know it was him, no one but Albus knew he was an animagus. So she wouldn't think it was Professor Snape.

Would she realize the fact that his left front leg was almost all black versus the brindle colouring of the rest of him pointed to the fact that he was a wizard?

It had bothered him the first time he shifted to realize that the Dark Mark somehow … followed him into this form. He supposed it was better than oily-seeming fur.

He supposed she would have to realize it was magic at work by him showing up in her bed. How had that even happened? Her bedroom was nowhere near his home or quarters at Hogwarts. And it was clearly her bedroom at home, so he hadn't just arrived in the wrong place at Hogwarts. He'd never even been in her home to know where her bedroom might be.

She returned a short while later and he let out a woof when she moved to stand by him on the bed.

"Okay," she said, "let's see what we've got here."

She was incredibly thorough as she checked him over. He could appreciate that. He could tell by her tsk's and sharp intakes of breath that it likely wasn't pretty.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

Could he?

Probably.

Did he want to?

No.

He was so tired. More than that, though. In truth, he did not want to leave. He wanted to stay right here. Standing was reflective of the fact she was going to shoo him on his way. Wasn't it?

"My thinking," she said, seeming to take his lack of a response to mean he was hesitant to try to stand. "Is to get you a bath. Clean you up better, so I can see what exactly I'm working with. I didn't realize how bad it was at first."

She scrunched her nose a bit, but gave a soft laugh as she scratched his right ear.

"My hands are covered in blood just from touching you and you are rather dirty, so it's hard for me to see what's what. Or where exactly the blood is coming from. I don't want to waste bandages on something that's just dirt. Or put them on you just to have to clean you up again. And dirt in wounds could lead to infection. We don't want that."

"Woof," he said.

She wasn't wrong. It made sense, which he'd expect out of this witch.

"Okay," she said, patting his head. "Good …" she glanced between his legs. "Boy." And then she blushed. He smelled the change in her more than saw it. He wasn't sure people knew that … even a bodily change like blushing had a scent. "A big boy from the looks of it," she muttered.

He heard her, though, and his tongue lolled at the praise. He gave an appreciative woof, he couldn't help it. Even in this form, he had pride!

Who knew Hermione Granger even noticed such things?

She helped him off the bed, which was appreciated. He probably could have done it, but he could admit he was weak. Add to it exhausted. Well, the help was accepted.

He allowed her to lead him to the bathroom and she maneuvered him into the tub. He cooperated, but her arms around him, particularly his waist, as she helped him felt too good for him to let her know he likely could have done it on his own. Should he, as injured as he currently was? Probably not. That had never stopped him from doing a great many things over the years, though.

He gave a soft whimper when her hand brushed against his cock. Inadvertent as it was, it was the most action, human or not, he had ever seen that wasn't his own doing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" she trailed off as he finished getting in the tub. Had he given some indication he was upset? It was an accident. He knew he was sizable in this form, and she was not a sizable witch. Normally, healthy, he could have done it himself. Was she blushing again? It was hard to tell this time, but she seemed to be.

Interesting.

And yet. Why?

"Okay, stay. I'll be right back."

He tilted his head a bit at her words. He was confused. She was leaving? Was she not giving him a bath after all? She thought he'd get out of the tub after just getting in it?

He wasn't going anywhere, that was for certain. He doubted he could get out on his own anyway. This form wasn't keen on baths, but Severus knew it was likely necessary for the reasons she rambled off in her room. And exerting himself just to get out of the tub he'd gone willingly into seemed unwise. So he was able to temper down the dog's desire to flee.

She returned what seemed like minutes later in a bathing suit. He tilted his head again with a soft whimper as he regarded her. What in the world was she doing? Then she turned on the water and got in the tub with him, drawing the curtain around them before turning on the showerhead. Smart actually, she could rinse him off and wash him without worrying about the floor outside the tub getting soaked.

Her wearing the suit was indicative that she knew he wasn't merely a dog.

Good witch.

"So much blood," she murmured as she washed him off. He couldn't see the blood as true red in this form as she did, but he could clearly see there was little water by itself washing off at first. It likely wasn't just blood either. The Shrieking Shack was not exactly the cleanest establishment around. "What happened to you?"

You wouldn't believe it if I told you.

Well, probably she would. Maybe, depending on when he'd come back to. If he came back to her home instead of his, there was no telling he came back during her fifth year either.

She was thorough, including between his hind legs which caused him to shiver. He liked it. She could probably do that all day and he wouldn't complain. He was a little ashamed at having such a reaction.

Eventually, the water came away as just water. He presumed anyway because she seemed … pleased with what the shower and bath had accomplished.

"Okay, almost done," she said, evidently mistaking his shivers for discomfort from the shower. Likely she'd kick him out if she knew her touch was not just soothing to him but somewhat arousing. Most certainly she would if she found out who her canine visitor was.

She toweled him off and even in this form, he couldn't help but admire the way the bathing suit she wore clung to her form. He gave a soft woof when she toweled between his legs, perhaps more than was necessary. He jerked his head up, regarding her as he scented … arousal coming from her. His snout was practically right in line with her for him to smell such a thing.

Surely he had to be imagining.

And yet.

He nuzzled his snout against her thigh, getting as close as he could between her legs without being obvious.

She paused her drying him off and gave a soft gasp, shifting a bit, which only served to scent more arousal not less. To disguise what he was doing, he gave her thigh a lick which made her laugh and scratch the top of his head.

He knew something in that moment.

She was his.

His mate.

Absolutely, without question.

Leaving him to wonder, how had it escaped his notice before now?

He could chalk it up to being busy with other things.

That would certainly be a valid argument. He had been a bit preoccupied since her first year.

And likely she hadn't gone through her animagus training for him to see her in her form, which would be the most obvious way for him to recognize his mate.

He also didn't believe that he had a mate this close to forty, so certainly wasn't looking for her. Not to mention he wouldn't have looked at the student body for said mate whether he was or wasn't actively searching her out.

It meant, though, she'd be the female version of him if she completed her training.

At least now that one of them had recognized the other, she would be. From his woefully inadequate knowledge on such things, until she (or he) had been recognized there would have been a chance of her having a different form. Mates were not something for Severus Snape, so he'd never looked into them. Now that they'd found one another, and he recognized their bond. She would be the female counterpoint to his brindle bullmastiff.

Had she completed animagus training? He didn't think so, but there was plenty this witch knew from the day she walked into Hogwarts that she shouldn't have, so he wouldn't put anything past her. Certainly though, Minerva would have bragged about it if she had, so he took that to mean she hadn't. Then who knew what she did the ten months she, Potter, and Weasley were off doing their task that Minerva didn't know about. So the possibility that she did it on her own, as he had done, was incredibly strong.

Of course, if she'd done it then, she wouldn't have yet because those ten months certainly hadn't happened yet. Her house was no longer habitable, so they wouldn't be here if he accidentally moved forward in time instead of backward.

And she didn't look older than when last he'd seen her.

Or had he known there was something about her, and didn't want to acknowledge it? Was that the reason he was particularly … hard on her? He really couldn't say, because in the grand scheme of things, Hermione Granger was (until now) not all that important. Other than being a nuisance.

Occluding so much as he did constantly likely didn't help.

Had he chosen to treat her badly, as expected since she was a muggleborn Gryffindor, instead of allowing himself to discover that finally there was tangible proof that Lily was not his?

A more sinister thought occurred to him, but nothing would surprise him anymore.

Had Albus known, sensed it, and done something so that Severus would not discover it? He'd never know now, but he wouldn't put it past the conniving wizard. The older wizard knew many things he should not have.

"Okay," she said when she evidently thought she'd dried him off thoroughly enough. And not going to say anything about the fact she was … aroused by touching him. He shook himself off and she scoffed, but gave a laugh so she wasn't truly mad. He wasn't sure he would - or rather should - get used to caring about her being mad or not. "Ready to go back to my room?"

"Woof," he said.

"You have a rather deep woof. Is your voice normally so deep?"

He had no idea how to answer that. His voice certainly could be deep, but he wouldn't say it was like Barry White's or anything.

He gave a soft snuff.

"Yeah, I know, it's not really something you can answer in woofs."

Exactly right.

"But you understand me, yeah?"

"Woof," he answered with a soft whimper.

That seemed to be the end of her questions.

For now. No doubt she'd have more and pepper him with them despite his inability to answer them.

With her help, he hopped gingerly back onto her bed and prepared to let her go to work. She was his mate. He'd take her attention anyway he could get it. He even did the gentlemanly thing, and put his paws over his eyes as she changed out of her swimsuit.

Without her having to ask.

He didn't even peek.

Not even a little.

She was very thorough in checking him over as he laid there. He was tempted to roll onto his back and present his abdomen to her, but resisted the urge. And it was an urge. He wanted her to touch him. What was more, he suspected she would enjoy touching him even if she didn't understand why.

The shower did seem to help, even if he now smelled like her shampoo and soap. Unavoidable, as he doubted she gave her feline familiar baths.

He felt cleaner, so that had to mean something. It made him wonder just how filthy he'd been when he landed on her bed in the first place. He hadn't stopped to take an assessment of his appearance in the shack before activating the time turner.

He also felt less exhausted, but expected that rejuvenation would be short lived. She seemed to sense his … displeasure at smelling like a female in the bath earlier. "I'm sorry. I don't have any dog shampoo," she had said while washing him.

As if he truly cared! She was touching and caring for him, smelling like home while doing it. He'd probably let her put a ribbon on his head if she wanted to, if it meant she'd keep paying attention to him.

She ran her hand along his left front paw. He flinched. Not from pain. Instinctual not to let anyone touch that arm (leg in this form) for many years now. He knew she had to, though.

"Do you know me?"

How was he supposed to answer that?

Technically, yes, he did. He didn't know the witch, though. Not really. Now that he knew who - rather what - she was, though, he was going to do his damnedest to find out everything he could about her. How he'd accomplish that in this form, he wasn't sure.

Eventually, though, he had to be able to shift back into himself. He was counting on that anyway. Or coming back here would have been pretty useless!

"Dogs just don't show up in my bedroom every day. So, I'm guessing you're magical, and that's why this leg is different from the others. That means there must be something different about this arm for you in real life," she asked, watching him evenly. She didn't flinch or appear as if she was doubting her conclusion.

He stuck his tongue out, panting. She was clever. Of course he knew that already, and it fit that his mate would be.

He was not getting into this with her.

She was clearly waiting for an answer.

Did she suspect why the left front leg was different? Would she make the leap to a Dark Mark? Had she seen his? He tilted his head, wondering if she had. He didn't believe so. Did she know for certain he had one? He didn't think anyone but Albus and Fudge knew with certainty, but again nothing about this witch's tenacity when it came to accumulating knowledge would surprise him.

He woofed with a soft growl.

"Okay. I ask questions. It's who I am. I should probably give you the boot so soon after death eaters got into Hogwarts and the headmaster's death. I'm not sure He Who Must Not Be Named would think to send a dog to me. He doesn't seem the type to be that discreet. And this wound at your throat still looks bad. And pretty fresh. I don't think he'd send someone hurt to me. Then I suppose maybe he would. I'm going to apply some pressure to it now, and worry about whether I should trust you later. Okay?"

He woofed again. No growl this time.

"Something tells me a stray dog would not be this easy. I'm guessing it's going to hurt. Don't bite or snarl at me, okay?"

He woofed again. Of course he would not!

He was still wrapping his mind around how, and why, he'd arrived in Hermione Granger's bedroom.

He'd been to her home a few times over the years. The neighbourhood. He'd only ever seen the exterior. Albus liked to know how receptive muggleborns, and their family, might be to the news they were a witch or wizard. He also liked to get a feel for the neighbourhood, the upcoming student's upbringing, and that sort of thing. This was not something Albus Dumbledore did in the seventies. Severus' experience at Hogwarts might have been better if he had.

Then again, maybe not, as he wasn't muggleborn, and Severus' information gathering was exclusively about muggleborns.

Had he been brought to her because she was his mate? Even if she didn't know or recognize he was, she would feel the need to care for and look after him. He clearly needed that, animagus form or not.

She sighed as he observed her get a towel. She shifted then, pressing up against him completely as she held the towel in place over his neck and throat.

He wondered what she'd think if she realized the bleeding would have been far worse if he didn't enhance the antivenin with some ingredients that helped slow his blood's flow. He also wondered if she would be this … accommodating and helpful if she knew who he was.

Likely she would be. It was the type of person she was.

"What is going on, Hermione?"

"Of course, she comes home for lunch today of all days," he heard her whisper.

He cursed himself for allowing himself to get so complacent from someone touching and caring for him that he hadn't heard, or smelled, that there was anyone else in the house. He smelled the second presence now.

"Mm, an injured dog."

"Hermione Jean!" He recognized that tone. There was usually something not so physically pleasant following it for him. Evidently not so for her.

"Mum, he's not rabid or viscous."

"He's got at least ten kilograms on you!"

The pressure at his throat hadn't let up during this exchange.

"Mum, it's fine."

"He cannot stay here…"

"I want to bring him back to Hogwarts with me."

Severus tried to look helpless as he gazed at the mum in question. He must have succeeded in at least not looking threatening, because he saw her face change from displaying apprehension and nerves about her daughter being alone with a strange dog his size to one of concern.

As he did this, he wondered if his witch was actually as intelligent as everyone thought. She was returning to Hogwarts? Was that what he was sent back to this time instead of when he'd intended on returning to. She could not return. She'd be killed. Worse. (And yes, there was worse than being outright killed.)

He knew for a fact she didn't get there, though, so that couldn't be why he'd been brought here. Did something happen between now and September first to stop her? He supposed he'd find out.

"Well, let me have a look at him then."

Severus gave a soft growl.

"It's okay," Hermione whispered next to him. "She has medical training."

He whimpered then. She was tending to him just fine with no medical training. He did not want anyone else touching him. Her parents were dentists. How much medical training could they have? Then, she had none and he trusted her.

"It's okay," she said again and he turned then, licking her cheek. She gave a soft laugh, the type of which he had never been on the receiving end of in his life. Flirtatious. Accepting. What was that about? "Yes, right. This is my mum."

She moved away from his side as her mum approached the bed and him. She did the right thing, letting him smell her hand. He … liked Hermione's scent better, but she smelled familiar. Safe. Not home as Hermione smelled, but safe. So, he licked the back of her hand. She took that as a sign of acceptance, and took a look at his throat.

"I'll be right back," he heard Hermione's mum say.

Hermione returned to him then. She hadn't really left, just allowed her mum to have room to look. She ran her fingers lightly through his fur, staying away from his neck. Her mum's hand had come away bloody when she pulled away from him. Hermione's did, too, anytime she got near that area.

He was incredibly lucky. If he'd gone back to his other self, he honestly wasn't sure he would have gotten the immediate care he was in need of.

Her mum returned a few minutes later.

"Brady Holmes from down the street is a veterinarian. He has agreed to see us. I called your father and told him I'll be late returning from lunch."

Severus whimpered.

He did not wish to see a veterinarian, but damn if he could shift into his human form to tell either of the women that. He tried. He really did.

As Severus, he knew it was likely necessary to make such a visit. As his current form, he just knew that was not where he wanted to go. And for some reason his bullmastiff mind was currently overpowering his human thought process on this.

He howled, placing his right paw over his eyes, ears twitching.

"I don't think he likes that idea," his witch's mother said. She sounded amused.

He woofed then, panting his agreement to that assessment.

With Hermione's help (complete with an enthusiastic good boy), he got down from the bed and padded to the door. He was walking gingerly. His left front leg and neck bore the brunt of it, but he ached everywhere . He had no idea how much time passed between him activating the time turner in the shack and him coming to on her bed with her talking to him. He was aware, no matter the amount of time, he'd been perilously close to death's door a matter of an hour or so ago.

"No collar? I guess we don't have a leash anyway."

"He'll be fine, Mum."

She sounded very certain of that. Of course, he would behave, but she was really putting a lot of faith into him going along with the idea of a visit to a veterinarian.

He found it interesting that she had not told her mum she thought he was a wizard. She hadn't told her mum that he'd randomly shown up on her bed either. She'd told her she wanted to bring him back to Hogwarts with her, but not why.

Why? Maybe there was no reason, but he presumed she had one. He rarely did anything without one. If she was his mate, surely she would be of a similar mindset.

He fell into step beside her, noticing she seemed to adjust her steps when she observed that he was not walking as quickly as he could be. He let out a woof, bumping the top of his head and muzzle against the palm of her head.

"Yeah," she said with a light laugh, patting his head and nose. He licked her hand in response. "Don't make me regret not getting you a leash."

He woofed. He would never!

She helped him into the backseat of her mum's car, gesturing for him to lay down which he did before she got in the front passenger seat.

He glanced at her with a whimper when they arrived at the veterinarian.

"It will be okay," she said.

He wasn't so sure about that. If he could avoid this - by shifting into his human form - he would not be here. Hopefully, the veterinarian would not be too curious about what he was seeing beyond dog+hurt=needs healing. It would not do for him to run tests on the wound.

Or on him!

Hopefully his mate would know that, too. She might not have completed her animagus training, but certainly she would know not to have tests run on him.

He gave a woof when she and her mum discussed various names to assign him. Their first few suggestions were ridiculous, and he'd let her know that in no uncertain terms for each of those. However, Ziggy was … acceptable. It made him think of David Bowie. He liked David Bowie. He gave a yip that Hermione took for acceptance at that one. Especially since the veterinarian's office insisted he have a collar and leash while in there. So, a name, something for her to call him seemed necessary.

For paperwork.

Ridiculous.

Had he really survived Nagini's bite to be relegated to being addressed as Ziggy?

However, not knowing how long he was going to be stuck like this, he could answer to Ziggy for a while, and not feel like an idiot doing so. She certainly wasn't going to call him ‘dog'.

That taken care of, he was led to a room where the veterinarian saw him. It sounded as if he was doing Hermione's mum a favour, seeing them while on his lunch.

Stitched, bandaged, injected with antibiotics plus more to be administered at home he was released with a clear bill of health. The obvious wounds aside. No tests run. Hermione's mum assured the veterinarian they'd return if any sign of infection or anything occurred. The veterinarian obviously assumed he'd been in a row of some sort with another dog.

If only!

He rode in the backseat, nose planted against the window so he could watch the traffic and surroundings go by as her mum drove them away from the veterinarian. They were talking, but he was too busy looking out the window to pay what they said any mind.

Until the car stopped.

He howled. They were not at his mate's home. Were they taking him somewhere else? Was she going to leave him after all of this?

She and her mother got out of the car. Where were they going? Why were they leaving him? Had he done something wrong? He'd behaved! He hadn't tugged while on the leash or anything.

He let out a concerned whimper. He hadn't meant to do that, but it came out.

She looked at him from the front passenger seat, running her hand along the top of his head.

"We'll be right back. We have to go get some things for you."

Of course they would have to. She had a cat, not a dog. Cats and dogs required different things. He was rather embarrassed he'd reacted so … violently to the idea she'd leave him. Obviously, they had to leave him in the car, they weren't abandoning him.

"Woof," he said.

They left the windows down sufficiently. Obviously, they weren't worried about their car being stolen because who was going to try to break in and take a dog who weighed fifty-five kilograms and was around sixty-five centimeters tall? He doubted there would be many.

So, he waited, curling up on the seat as now that there was … quiet but for the sounds outside the car and nothing to do. Well, his neck, throat, and leg hurt. Really, his whole left side from face to just up to his left hind leg ached. He was tired. Exhausted really. And that wasn't all due to the injury either. It had been a long twenty years.

He came awake to the scent of … her. His. Other than his wand, he'd been possessive of rather little in his life. He hadn't realized he had it in him to be. He sat up and gave an enthusiastic bark when he heard them approach the vehicle. It was as if the bullmastiff in him thought they'd forget about him.

How humiliating!

"Aww It's okay. I told you we'd be right back," Hermione said.

He barked again and she shook her head, but he sensed she was amused rather than annoyed. She chose to sit in the backseat with him for the rest of the way back to her house. He settled his head against her thigh, and she worked her hand along the top of his head and ears. She was obviously careful where she touched him.

He whimpered contentedly, positively preening on the inside that his mate was so affectionate with him. Even if she didn't know. He knew. With proper time to think on it, he might be embarrassed at how much he relished and welcomed it. For now, though, considering he'd never been on the receiving end of positive attention. He was enjoying it.

It felt so good! He couldn't imagine how much better it would feel with emotions involved.

If he was being honest. He'd never felt so cared for in his entire life before today. What the fuck did that say?

Back at her home, he curled up on the floor in the kitchen and watched as she and her mother set up bowls and put a bag of food for him on a shelf. They worked together. It was obviously not the first time either. It was odd to watch, as it was something he never witnessed in his home.

"All right, honey, I have to get back to the office."

"Thank you, Mum," she said, hugging her mum.

Severus/Ziggy gave a woof of appreciation and Hermione's mum petted his head.

"Don't make me regret this. If you hurt her…"

"Woof," he said.

He had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He just wanted to heal so that he could then (hopefully) return to his human form. As exciting as finding his mate might ordinarily be, he was here to try and aid his other self, in this time, win a war sooner than May 1998.

Assuming they'd even won. He really didn't know.

There was something he hadn't really contemplated.

Had getting the memories to his mate been for nowt? Did Harry Potter die as Snape believe the wizard would have to do, and they still lost?

"So, it's too early to feed you yet," Hermione said. "And they said no water yet because of the antibiotics and anesthetic they gave you." She gestured to the cone the veterinarian had sent home with them. "You're not going to make me put that on you, right? You're going to refrain from licking your wounds."

He shook his head. He absolutely was not going to allow her to put that thing over his head.

"Woof! Woof! Woof!" The barks were accentuated by him shaking his head.

"Okay, just making sure, because I will put it on you if you don't. We want you better." She tilted her head regarding him. "I really wish you could tell me who you are." She sighed. She was clearly frustrated. And likely going over a list of wizards he might be.

"Woof," he said, panting.

He knew she wouldn't like the answer. So, he thought for now, it was a good thing that he couldn't.

"Want to watch TV?"

He woofed and padded behind her. She led him upstairs to a room that was clearly meant for her. He noticed a TV, VCR, and DVD player as well as a videogame counsel.

Who knew Hermione Granger played videogames?

There were also shelves of books and a decent stereo system. That was not surprising to him in the least.

There was a sofa and comfortable looking reclining chair as well as a desk. Did she study in here? He tried to recall if he saw a desk in her bedroom. He wasn't thinking about such things at the time to notice, though. Imagine having choices on where to spend one's free time. Growing up, it'd been his room or nowhere. If he wanted time to himself anyway.

"All right," she said, turning the TV on. She took a seat on the sofa and regarded him. "You probably shouldn't be getting up here. My parents wouldn't care, you don't seem as if you shed much. The vet said no unnecessary jumping."

He whimpered because he very much wanted to be up there.

With her.

Not here on the floor by himself.

Did this no jumping mean she wouldn't allow him on her bed either? He didn't like that idea at all. He liked her bed. She would be in it. If he were in his human form, he'd likely be embarrassed to admit that at nearly forty he'd never slept with a woman. He wasn't sure he found it unfair or not that his first time doing so would be as Ziggy.

Clever witch that she was, she put a blanket on the floor and grabbed a couple of the sofa throw pillows and sat down next to him. "There," she said.

He pawed at her thigh, his way of saying thank you. He turned around a few times, trying to decide where and how to lay down. He decided that he would lay with his head on her thigh, thank you very much. He let out a content sounding sigh.

As expected, she pet him once she turned the television on.

If he was her cat, he'd be purring by now. He wasn't, though, so he gave a huff and licked the hand that wasn't petting him at the moment. She brought that hand to his mouth, eyeing him for a second as he licked it.

She turned onto her side then, facing him.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked softly.

There was genuine concern in her voice. A very foreign thing for him, other than Poppy. Albus acted as if he was concerned, but Severus was convinced he had rarely been sincere.

"Woof," he said.

She smiled at that. "I wish I knew how you showed up in my bedroom, and I can't very well tell Harry or Ron that's what happened. They'd tell me I'm too trusting. However, you could have torn my throat out at any time before Mum got home." She eyed him curiously. She was looking, really looking, at him. "And I feel it here," she said, tapping where her heart would be with the pad of her fingers. "That you wouldn't hurt me. That you're here for a reason and I should take care of you."

He would not! He bowed his head, hoping to convey that sentiment with his eyes.

"That probably sounds crazy to you. It sounds crazy to me. Very illogical. I never would have believed I could feel such a thing until now. I know you weren't sent here to hurt me," she said.

There was something he hadn't even contemplated she'd think. That he'd been sent by the Dark Lord to kill her. It would be a solid plan. Voldemort wasn't really that subtle, though.

She slid down further on the blanket and he wondered what time it was when he'd arrived in her bed. He'd come to to her already aware of his presence, so he had no idea what her initial reaction to him was. Or whether she'd already been awake. Or well, anything.

She ran her hand along his side and back, being careful around his neck and leg. He gave an almost guttural sounding sigh as he realized she was falling asleep as she pet him.

Next to him.

With him.

He knew he should leave. It absolutely would be the right thing to do.

Whether or not she knew the truth, he did, and was supposed to behave like an adult.

And yet.

Her hand clutching the fur on his hind leg almost possessively as she succumbed to sleep felt good. Nice. As if it belonged there.

Of course, it did.

She just didn't know that.

Yet.

He gave a soft whine and she snuggled closer against him.

"It's okay, Ziggy."

He huffed.

He must have drifted off, too, for the next thing he knew there was a hand between his hind legs that wasn't his own. He knew that because he still couldn't bloody change into his human form.

And wouldn't that be the shock of a lifetime? Her potions professor being in her home and looking older than she remembered him. He had a hard time judging age, comparing her to his memories. She'd mentioned Albus being dead, though, so that led him to believe she'd just finished her sixth year. So, he'd only gone back a year. That seemed right, but it was hard to compare her to what he knew of her at various points in her schooling.

Her hand felt nice. She wasn't doing anything, and she'd touched him there while giving him his bath earlier. And, he recalled proudly, she had commented on his adequate size (not that she'd seen it all, as it was still sheathed).

This time, though, she grazed his shaft with the backs of her fingers. He panted, licking her cheek with a soft huff that was nestled against his throat, just shy of where his Nagini wounds began.

"Mm," she said.

She didn't wake up, instead seemed to nestle against him even deeper. He drifted back to his canine nap himself without doing anything to move her hand from its current spot. He didn't want to. Just one more thing he'd have to face judgment for when he got wherever he was going at the end of his life.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com