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Severus climbed the rickety stairs of the Shrieking Shack, a shiver crawling down his spine. He had the oddest sensation of déjà vu, like this exact moment had already happened. When he reached the top of the stairs, he would find The Dark Lord waiting for him, that impossibly huge snake would tear his throat out and he would die, alone, on the filthy floor. He unconsciously touched his neck, expecting to find the wounds already there. All he found was smooth skin, unblemished.
Barriers in place, Severus swallowed his fear, determined that if this was his death, he would face it with dignity. The déjà vu increased ten-fold when he did find his Master waiting for him, Nagini coiled around his feet. The words that tripped off Voldemort’s tongue played through his head seconds before he spoke them. This was impossible!
The Dark Lord commanded Nagini to kill, but the snake never lunged. A blade whistled through the air, taking her head off, and Voldemort screamed in pain and fear, Disapparating with a crack, leaving Severus behind. He looked around for Nagini’s killer, but none materialised. He left the shack and waded back into battle.
After it was all done, and Potter had won, Severus retreated to his rooms. No one spoke to him, no one looked at him, and Severus was convinced he was dead. He must be a ghost. Would he relive the moment of his death over and over again, his dead-self concocting possibility after possibility? The door to his rooms creaked open and Severus looked around wildly, finding no one there.
Then, before he could react, Hermione Granger stood before him, her face covered in blood, clothes stained, and the velvet material of Potter’s invisibility cloak in one hand, the sword of Gryffindor in the other. “You’re alive,” she breathed.
Severus blinked stupidly, mouth working but no sound emerging. Finally, he found his voice. “What in the ever loving fuck is going on?”
Granger burst into tears and ran at him, her arms going around his waist, her head on his chest, sobbing, tears soaking the front of his frock coat in seconds. He begged her to release him, tried to wriggle out of her stronghold, but Granger had a surprisingly good grip. He resigned himself to waiting the episode out before he could get some answers out of her.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I don’t know what came over me, I’m just so glad you’re alive this time!”
Severus frowned. “This time? I think you better explain yourself.”
Granger flinched at the anger in his tone but steeled herself. “I stole back my Time Turner from my third year. You died, sir. Nagini killed you. I…I couldn’t stand it! Knowing you’d been on our side all along and your fate was to die on the floor of a filthy shack, alone? I went back, must be a dozen times now, until I was able to kill the snake and make sure Voldemort didn’t kill you in anger.”
“You’ve watched me die a dozen times? A dozen!” He bellowed.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I tried to make sure it didn’t keep happening but he would always kill you in anger, blaming you for her death even though you were never close enough and magic doesn’t affect her.”
“The feeling of déjà vu I had, it was all the times I’d died, a small part of my subconscious remembered. What you did was stupid, Granger!” He was screaming now, his face bright red in his anger. Of all the hair-brained, idiotic, dim-witted things she could have done, she messed with time.
“Why does it matter if I die? I didn’t want accolades or thanks, I didn’t want an Order of Merlin or any other recognition. I had my own reasons for doing what I did and I accepted my fate long before you were even born, Miss Granger!”
She hiccupped and nodded. “I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, sir. I couldn’t have you painted the villain when you’d given everything, even your life, to make sure Voldemort was gone. And I’m sorry, sir, but I’d witness your death another dozen times if it meant you lived.”
“You witnessed every death? Why did you not leave the second you realised he wasn’t going to leave?”
Granger reached for his hand, her thumb smoothing over his knuckles. “I held your hand every time, no matter how long it took, so you wouldn’t die alone again.”