Shopping with Severus Snape was not a pleasant pasttime. The three Gryffindors noted that the man appeared to have turned back into their acid-tongued Potions instructor overnight. He was liberal with his usual snide insults as he snapped orders and dragged them here and there from store to store. Harry shot a random glare over his shoulder at the man in black. Snape caught the boy's scowl and glared right back. Harry had a fleeting flash of his memory father from the Odd Room. He hoped that the memory of his father had been right; that they would get home. It would be horrible if the whole thing had been the wishful thinking of his own mind.

Snape didn't care, at the moment, what Harry - the boy wonder - was thinking. He had not meant for this trip to be a nice, friendly outing. They had been surviving upon the good graces of the headmistress of Howarts. Now that they were leaving, they would need to rely upon themselves. One of their most prevalent needs was clothing. Cleaning spells could only do so much and they all needed a few changes in clothing that would help them to blend in better with their surroundings.

Snape was annoyed and he wasn't making enough of an effort to hide that annoyance. Harry had implied that he'd given up. So what if he had? It wasn't as if there was anything in it for him. Oh, yes... well, there was Lyrica. Though he smiled briefly at that thought, it was quickly replaced by the scowl-of-the-day. He didn't want to wind up as the father figure to three Gryffindors and a Slytherin. To put it plainly, they were all children!

All right, truth be told, he didn't mind children. He was a bastard and a slimy git, in order to protect the children from their own folly. Potions were dangerous. The ingredients were dangerous. The tools were dangerous. In his tenure in teaching at Hogwarts, he was quite pleased with the fact that no one taking his Potions classes had died, lost a limb or fingers, or suffered any major injury that could not be treated by Madam Pomfrey. Quite a sterling record when compared to Horace Slughorn who'd had three students die, twenty-seven with permanent disfigurements, and nearly a dozen that lost fingers.

The fact of the matter, in regards to Snape's so called hatred of children, was that he didn't molly-coddle them. He preferred to think that all the children he taught were intelligent, until they proved otherwise. Neville Longbottom, for example. He was an abominable Potions student. There were many, even a few Slytherins, who felt that Snape was unduly unfair to the boy. Quite the opposite. Snape was doing his best to toughen the boy's spirit. Unfortunately, Longbottom took class with the penultimate compassionate soul, Hermione Granger. Attempting to teach Neville and to thwart Hermione's generosity of spirit often provided him with migraines. What those sympathetic to Neville's "plight" didn't understand was the potential the child had. He was unbelievably brilliant. It didn't matter to Snape that Potions wasn't of interest; Snape had figured that out in Neville's first year. The boy was a natural where plants were concerned. Neville's problem was that he was so painfully sensitive that it made him nearly unable to function. What the students failed to see was what Snape did see. As each day passed, Neville Longbottom was growing a thicker skin and becoming more himself.

Dealing with children was a tricky business. Dealing with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco in 1898 was much harder. Harry was a volatile ticking time bomb, ready to explode when one least expected it. Draco wouldn't explode, but he might just slit someone's throat in their sleep. No, that wasn't a fair assessment at all. Draco held his pain inside, where it tended only to harm himself. When Draco did choose to act out, it came in the form of baiting other students, more specifically, the trio of Gryffindors. Ron had a temper, when it came to his friends, but he also had an analytical mind. He was a child that could adapt, quickly, to any situation. What Snape found interesting about the youngest Weasley boy was that when he did choose to adapt, he did so in his own way and that wasn't always the way others around him expected. As for Hermione Granger, Snape understood her far too well. Her very attributes that others praised were the very attributes Snape had recognized in himself. Hermione bossed people because it was the only way for her to get attention. She relied heavily upon her books because she was awkward and lacking in normal activities. She studied so thoroughly because she was shy in social situations. No one would believe him, but Snape approved of the girl's friendship with Ron and Harry. It was good for her to get into trouble, to sometimes put down the books and play.

Snape had found it fascinating to watch as the sniping and taunts had taken on a softer, more camrade-like mien. Draco, if he was ever to become himself and not his father, needed friends like these. He didn't need idiots like Crabbe and Goyle or the decidedly poisonous Pansy Parkinson. Snape knew that all four of them had the unspoken worry about what would happen to them, as friends, if they returned to their time.

When Snape had been the same age as Draco, he had made the mistake of becoming friends with the elder Malfoy, a mistake that he was still paying for years later. After the deaths of James and Lily Potter, he had vowed to protect Harry. What irritated him about Potter was that the boy often failed to realize that he wasn't the only one caught in events he had little or no control over.

From birth, Draco Malfoy was more than just the son of Lucius Malfoy, he was an heir and he would someday be key to Lucius' desire for power and favor in the eyes of the Dark Lord. Once Lucius' wife, Narcissa, had performed the one duty he'd required of her, she was nothing more to him than an ornament with social connections and wealth. In his eyes, she was to be honored the rare times he chose to spend a moment in her bed. Lucius Malfoy had love for no one and he had no need of anyone that could not serve his purposes. The arrival of Elydree had only meant that he now had a daughter he could someday marry in union to another powerful, pureblood family. She became a liability when Lucius discovered the child was causing a severe weakness in Draco; sentiment and compassion. Elydree needed to be taken care of and he had used a 'friend' to do just that.

These thoughts added to his frustration and he didn't much care, at the moment, that he had allowed his usual irritation toward his students to take over. Unfortunately, he should have tempered himself better. After all, hadn't he thought something about a 'ticking time bomb'?

A shop that sold Quidditch supplies caught the eyes of Harry and Ron. As boys would do that had a love of the popular sport, they could not help but pause and peer into the window.

Snape strode up behind the two boys. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasely, pick up your feet and move a little faster." Snape zeroed in on Harry, grasped him by his shoulder, and shoved him back into step.

It was one nasty remark, one shove too many. Harry spun around and caught the potions professor off guard by shoving him right back. Snape was knocked against a bystander who almost said something, but the man thought better of it as he caught the fire smoldering in Snape's eyes and so he moved rapidly out of the way. Snape righted himself just as Harry snarled, "Why don't you just hit me and get it over with, Snape? The suspense is killing me!"

A dreadful anger lit Snape's eyes with black fire. Grasping Harry by the collar of his robe, he yanked him into a side alley and dragged him several feet away from prying eyes. Ron and Hermione ran after them. Harry tried to wrestle himself from Snape's grasp but the man was taller and stronger than he was. When the potions master came to a halt, he pushed Harry roughly up against the brick wall. It was enough to knock the wind out of Harry's lungs. In the blink of an eye, Snape's wand was out and the tip of it was dangerously close to Harry's nose.

"Don't tempt me, Potter!" Snape hissed with fury. "I'm not in the mood for your Gryffindor sense of injustice."

Harry really didn't care if Snape was going to blow his head off or turn him into a blast-ended skrewt. He was just as frustrated and angry as Snape was and this time he wasn't going to back down. "You're not in the mood? I'm not in the mood! If you hate me that much, why don't you just give Voldemort what he wants? Go on," Harry snarled back with his own fury. "I'm sick and tired of your insults toward me and my father! If you want to kill me, then have done with it, because I don't give a bloody damn anymore!"

"Harry," Hermione warned.

"Shut up, Hermione! Don't you dare make any exuses for him!" Hermione backed into Ron at the unexpected backlash from her friend. Harry raised his hands and Snape was suddenly at the receiving end of unfocused, wandless magic. He slammed against the opposite brick wall and his wand clattered to the ground. Harry didn't give Snape, Ron or Hermione a second glance. He just ran down the narrow alley and back onto Diagon Alley.

Ron looked after Harry and then down at Snape. His voice was low and held a note of warning. "You know, professor, you aren't half as smart as you think you are." Shaking his head he turned away. "I should have guessed the last few weeks was just a Slytherin act, wasn't it?" Gesturing to Hermione, he muttered, "C'mon Hermione, let's go find Harry."

Snape slumped against the far wall. His anger with Harry was gone, but he was still angry with himself. Acting as he did in class worked only in the classroom. What he failed to remember, time and again these days, was that they were not in a classroom. As much as he truly did understand these four, particular children, that understanding only extended as far as Potions classes went. This wasn't Potions. He was not only the only adult, but he was their only connection to what they'd all lost, and were all afraid they were going to lose permanently.

Students didn't go to him for sympathy, for advice. His Slytherins did, of course, but even that was dodgy since most of their parents were Death Eaters and for him, even then, he had to play the spy.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, he crossed his arms over his knees and laid his head down. What he failed to realize, once again, was that they needed what he found so hard to give. "This is impossible," he muttered with his head still upon his arms. He could not, no, he did not want to face this challenge of caring for and nurturing of four young lives. "I must get them back." He had no choice. If he didn't find a way back to their time, he would most assuredly go insane.

"Professor? Your wand." He looked up to see that Hermione had returned. She had picked up his wand from the ground and was holding it out to him.

He stared for a long moment at his wand and then he settled that stare upon Hermione. She flinched, oh so imperceptibly, but that was all. She made no move to turn away. The least he could do was meet her halfway. Stretching out his hand, he took the wand from the girl. "Thank you, Miss Granger," he muttered. He made no move to stand, but remained where he was.

"Professor Snape," she asked softly. "I've always thought you couldn't, that you were doing what you had... "

"If you have a question or an accusation to make, Miss Granger, do so now, if you would?" he spoke tiredly and rubbed one hand across his face.

"Do you really hate Harry?" She blurted. "Do you really dislike us that much? I don't mean Gryffindors, but us." Hermione realized she was asking a desperately stupid question that could only serve to bring her trouble, but her rationalization was that they were no longer in school. They were in a place none of them had any real control over and they couldn't continue on in this manner. It was high time they all began to act civilly toward each other.

A caustic remark was right on the tip of Snape's tongue, but he saw that something deeper, much more serious was stirring in the child's thoughts. And, he thought to himself, wasn't I just thinking to myself that this situation is one that isn't a classroom?

"Miss Granger," he sighed heavily, hesitated and then began again. "Hermione, I have never hated you. Nor have I held hatred in my heart for your friends. There have been times, though, when your know-it-all superiority, Ron's lackadaisacal attitude and Harry's hero complex have gotten exceedingly on my nerves." He could clearly see he'd touched a nerve in the girl. He knew he would, but so be it. Picking himself up off the ground and putting away his wand, he gave her a few minutes to calm herself before he continued.

"What you must understand, Hermione, is the position I have been in up until we fell back in time. I am your teacher. I have never felt that I was here to be any student's friend, to hug them, or to make sure that I'm liked. We live in dark and dangerous times, where trust is a rare commodity and Hogwarts stands as the last safe haven of what we wish our world to be. It is my job to prepare you for a very difficult and uncertain future. My methods are unpleasant, to be sure, and I'm not at all beloved by any; not even my own house."

Hermione let all of what Snape had said sink in. "I understand that, Professor Snape. Believe me, I do. Now look at our point of view. Our chances of returning home don't look good. You haven't family like we do. I may never see my parents again and I may have to live with the knowledge that they'll never know what happened to me. Ron will lose his entire family, and Draco, well, he certainly won't miss his father, but he does speak well of his mother."

"I suppose Harry will miss the Dursleys?" he said with a smirk.

"That was beneath you, Professor," she glowered. Snape had to agree and inwardly, he stomped on his own foot. He would have stopped Hermione there, but she was on a roll. Best to let her continue, he thought quietly, and listened. "Harry's family, whether you realize it or not, are Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and many of the students at Hogwarts. There is also Sirius Black, his godfather. How do you think he's feeling knowing he won't be returning to fulfill his destiny? Can you imagine what it's like to know that you have the power to save your friends and family from Voldemort, but you dare not do it for fear of unleashing a greater evil through tampering with time?"

He regarded Hermione Granger critically. She was as he'd always known, a know-it-all, but she earned it. She was an incredibly intelligent girl.

Hermione took a deep breath. "However you might feel about us, Professor Snape, we need you." There. She'd said it. She really hoped he didn't hit her with a blasting curse.

Snape closed his eyes as he felt the migraine that had been threatening, settle and fade. When he opened them, he placed a hand tentatively upon her shoulder. "Miss Granger, I shall give you and your friends this promise, as long as we are here, I shall be as a parent to each of you. A poor substitute, I wager, but I shall do my best to provide all of you with what you need. Do you believe me?" He watched carefully as this registered with the girl. A very small part of him, a very small part, was afraid that she would reject his promise.

Hermione didn't like to look into Snape's eyes. He had a disturbing, glittering hawk-like stare that made her always feel as though he was reading her soul, peering into the depths of her fears, her secrets, and her dreams. This time she did not shrink from his gaze. She would never be able to put into words what she saw in his glittering black eyes, but it allayed many of the fears she'd been dealing with since their arrival in 1898. It made her feel more at peace than she'd felt in a long time and she took a deep breath. Tentatively she placed her hand upon his as it rested on her shoulder and hoped he wouldn't pull away. When he didn't, she spoke. "Yes, professor, I do believe you."

Snape took Hermione's hand in his and walked with her out of the alley. "Let us find your friends and see if we might salvage this disastrous afternoon." As they walked down the cobbled street, hand in hand, Snape took a deep breath of the fresh air and wondered if he ought to just go mad. It might be simpler than having to face the Boy-Who-Lived.