A/N: Hello! This is a fic I wrote as practice for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! If you're one of my teammates, bless your hearts, I'll list my prompts below! Otherwise, if I somehow managed to lure you in with my terribly summaries, hope you enjoy! :)

Prompt: Back to the Future (I've never seen this before btw, so I consulted Wikipedia lol)

Optional prompts:

[quote] "What age are you now? Fourteen? Fifteen?" "I'm twenty-six." Red Nose Day Actually

[song] Stella — All Time Low

[object] Pocket Watch

[word] Bitter

[colour] Steel Blue

Thanks for reading! :D

Clink. Clink.

Summers at Spinner's End were ruddy awful as an underage wizard.

Leaning back against his headboard with a steel blue acoustic guitar resting on his outstretched legs, Severus rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. He grabbed his stereo headphones off the nightstand to muffle the familiar sound of his father's drinking through the paper-thin walls at Spinner's End. His mother had probably already retreated to her bedroom in a futile attempt to evade Tobias's inevitable wrath.

Clink, clink. Clink.

Severus was forbidden from playing the guitar—at least, while his father was present—so he moodily cranked the volume to his stereo record player. Filch had confiscated the guitar and music player from some rowdy Hufflepuffs back in Severus's third year and, for some reason, the cantankerous caretaker had deemed 13 year old Severus responsible enough to be given the items instead.

More like Severus had appeared in such bad shape—that was the year his grandfather, Tobias's dad, had died—that even Filch had took pity on him.

Clink, clink, clink, clink.

His old headphones were too worn to play his musical salvation loud enough to drown out the cacophony of colliding beer bottles. Soon, his father's footsteps would trod clumsily up the creaky stairs and his mother's whimpers of pain would float through the house and Severus would grind his teeth helplessly.

No, best to head to the pub before that even began. Out of habit, he stuffed his wand and grandfather's pocket watch into his trouser pockets.

Severus held tightly onto the neck of his guitar and propped open the bedroom window. Climbing out was a common occurrence in the last few years. He landed softly on the unkempt grass and proceeded to the rundown pub down the street. He refused to give in to the urge to glance at Lily's house, although he imagined he could still feel her unmoving glare from behind her flowery curtains.

"Hey! It's the Snape kid!" One of the regulars at the pub waved at him.

Severus inclined his head in greeting.

"Eh? He's a scrawny little brat, ain't he?" An unfamiliar face leered down at him, breathing a rank stench in Severus's face. "What age are you now? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Sixteen. "I'm twenty-six," Severus lied, jutting his chin out stubbornly, and the regulars smiled knowingly.

The stranger—a newcomer to the pub, but evidently well acquainted with alcohol—eyed him contemptuously for his cheek. "That guitar must've cost a good bit," the man said too casually for Severus's liking. "You in a band or somethin'?"

Severus only shrugged in response.

"Naw, didn't think so. I reckon you stole it." This was announced triumphantly, and Severus dearly wished he could hex the man. "I tell you what, kid, why don't I buy it off ya for 10 bucks? I won't tell no one what you done."

"Aw, Rodgers, come off it, Snape's the best music we've got around here. Let the lad play, will ya?"

Severus smiled wanly at the support, but his expression quickly turned to dismay when he realized that the stranger—Rodgers—was too drunk to care; a cloud of anger had emerged through the man's alcohol-induced haze.

"Shut up," Rodgers snarled. "That's my guitar! That kid stole it, and I bloody want it back!"

Clammy hands shoved Severus roughly and he fell, pulling his guitar into his torso to protect it from the hard stone ground. A sharp object jabbed insistently at his thigh, causing him to gasp in dismay when he realized that his grandfather's pocket watch had cracked. The ruddy thing had been too stiff to open before but, as Severus pulled it out of his pocket, its dull exterior fell away and revealed a gleaming hourglass-shaped object. He frowned at the sand in the hourglass hanging loosely in the air, suspended almost as if by magic…

"That necklace is worth more than my house!" Rodgers interrupted Severus' musings. "That's my necklace, that is! The kid's a thief!"

Alarmed, Severus dodged away from Rodgers's lunge. He turned the dial on the hourglass, praying for its magic to save him, still clinging desperately to his guitar, and found himself dizzyingly whisked through the air.

He landed solidly on his back and was immediately struck by the charged, somber atmosphere within the familiar walls of the pub. Now, however, the tables were shone clean, the chairs were still intact, and patrons wore grim but determined expressions intermixed with solemn smiles.

What the devil was going on?

A kindly hand brushed against his forehead to check his temperature. Severus gawked at the unmistakable face.

"Oh dear, this one appears rather faint. What's your name, laddie? Who're you seein' off?" Eileen Prince asked with a gentle smile. Her hair was still as black as ever, but the tired wrinkles around her eyes had been replaced by laugh lines etched in a smooth, pale face.

"Wha—" Severus stuttered dumbly, sitting up and surreptitiously checking for his wand and watch.

"Oh!" Eileen gasped in surprise. "Are you related to Tobias? You'd better hurry, the rest of the family is already with him."

Eileen helped him to his feet and dragged him through the throng of people. He was disturbed to find that some were weeping openly, while others were wrapped around each other in a tight embrace.

With Eileen pulling him by one wrist, Severus pulled out his watch and his eyes widened when he realized what it was. Bugger. How had his Muggle grandfather come across a time turner? The sand now trickled slowly from the top to the bottom, leaving an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. At this rate, time would run out in just a few minutes. What would happen to him then?

Finally, amidst a crowd of people, Severus spotted his father. Tobias was dressed in military fatigues that accentuated his strong form, head held proudly as he graciously thanked and hugged his relatives.

Oh, Merlin.

"Ah, you wouldn't happen to have today's paper, would you, Miss?" he asked Eileen quietly.

Her eyes didn't move from Tobias's figure as she replied, "Certainly! There's a stack of them at the back."

Realizing that her attention was now entirely focused on Tobias, Severus slowly made his way to the back of the pub by himself. He gratefully leaned against the cool wall—this was the busiest he'd ever seen the establishment—and grabbed a newspaper.

July 25, 1940

Cokeworth's Newest Recruits To Be Employed Overseas!

With proud but heavy hearts, Cokeworth's small army of brave young men are now ready to join the battle in France. After Germany's last devastating attack, more soldiers are needed on the frontlines…

World War II… The sorrowful mothers and dignified fathers all made sense now. Shuddering, Severus carefully maneuvered towards the exit, only to stumble across Eileen and Tobias standing intimately together.

"I'll miss you," Eileen said tearfully.

Tobias chuckled and, in that moment, Severus could almost—almost—imagine his parents in a happy marriage.

"I'll miss you too, darling. But the war shouldn't be much longer now, and I'll come back a hero and we'll travel the new world together," Tobias preached passionately.

How old were they? 20?

Eileen's smile was blinding as she leaned in for a kiss, and Severus seized the chance to bolt out the door.

They were happy together! Surely that kind of love couldn't be faked. But what had happened? Why were they so miserable in his lifetime? He knew his conception hadn't been planned. Was he the reason for their tattered relationship?

Severus gasped for breath, heart thudding painfully in his chest. He was the reason for Tobias's drinking problem. He was the reason Tobias beat his own wife and son so forcefully.

He was turning the dial on the time turner wildly—recklessly. The bitter taste in his mouth stung as an aching reminder of his unwanted life.

Severus landed on his feet this time, surprised to find the pub completely abandoned. It had never been empty before—some poor sod could always be found drinking his sorrows away. There were no newspapers to check the date, and he was loath to venture outside lest he encounter his parents again.

The hourglass sand swirled madly and Severus shoved the watch back into his pocket. Great. The ruddy thing was broken.

Well, he'd already breached a good number of laws at this point—what was one more? Severus pivoted and Apparated with a crack.

He appeared just outside Diagon Alley, rather impressed that he'd completed a successful Apparition with his limbs and guitar intact. He hurried along to the Leaky Cauldron, the only place he could think of that would have cheap drinks for him to imbibe.

"What'll it be, son?" Tom the barkeeper asked.

"Well, I've got no money right now, but I can play and hand over the tips to you," Severus bartered desperately.

Tom shrugged. "Have it your way."

With a sigh of relief, Severus found a table with enough space to situate himself and began to play. Most of the patrons paid him no mind, and he sung softly, unwilling to draw too much attention to himself. He may still be bitter about the cards he'd been dealt, but he knew better than to throw them in the fire and mess with life's timeline. He'd come up with a suitable lie if anyone approached him.

Customers absent-mindedly tossed a few sickles and knuts onto his table, and Tom promptly appeared to collect the change and replace it with a glass of Firewhiskey. Severus nodded his thanks mid-song.

After about an hour, Severus was pleasantly drunk. He laid down his guitar carefully, aware enough to know that he'd better stop playing now. He didn't want to have food thrown at him.

One last sickle was tossed his way, and he glanced up to thank his last listener. He froze, greeted by curious soft brown eyes.

"Er, hullo. Thanks," he muttered, shyly pocketing the silver coin. Most of the tips he'd received had come from the older customers and he was wholly unprepared for the sweet smile that was bestowed upon him.

"You're welcome," the girl said brightly. Her wild curls fell clung at her face and she brushed them away impatiently. "You look familiar. Are you related to Severus Snape by any chance?"

Bugger. He'd forgotten to find the year.

"Ah, distantly. The name sounds familiar. My name's Rus." Oh, clever, Severus. He was regretting those Firewhiskeys now. "What's yours?"

"Hermione." Another brilliant smile. "You're quite good, by the way. At singing, that is. Where'd you learn it?"

"Taught myself," he mumbled, fighting off a blush, though he was too drunk to have much success.

"Oh, you must be talented, then," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. He liked that she didn't try to inject false enthusiasm in her voice—she was pleasantly objective. And he was still pleasantly drunk.

"I've many talents, my dear," he bragged in an admirable imitation of James Potter. Bugger, he'd never done that before. It worked though; Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink. Ruddy James Potter.

"Oh, really?" she asked dubiously but with an amused, indulgent smile.

"Mmm," he hummed and smirked roguishly. He'd never see the witch again, anyway, and she seemed like decent company. "Care for a demonstration?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Let's see it, then," she replied with the hint of a challenge in her voice.

Severus pulled out his wand with a devilish grin and cast the Muffliato charm.

Bewildered, Hermione glanced around them. "What did you do?"

He leaned back cockily in his chair and cleared his throat. "My, that fellow next to us has a rather large wand, hasn't he? Do you reckon he's compensating for something?"

Her eyes widened in alarm and she swivelled to apologize to the man he'd just insulted, only for her eyes to narrow calculatingly when the wizard didn't react.

"It's a spell I designed," Severus explained, pleased with himself. "Muffles our conversation so people around us can't eavesdrop."

"Brilliant," Hermione breathed. "You made it all by yourself?"

"I did say I had many talents," he replied smugly as he basked in her admiration. He could well appreciate a witch with an eye for the academic.

She paused thoughtfully. "Could you teach it to me?"

It was Severus's turn to eye her calculatingly. He'd been fairly confident in performing the spell since no one had arrested him for Apparating underage yet—he had a theory that it was because his present self was over age, but there was no way to casually confirm that with her. On the other hand, there was no doubt that Hermione was underage.

"I won't try it here," she grumbled, disgruntled that he hadn't acquiesced immediately. "I just want you to show it to me."

"How old are you, anyway?" he asked demandingly.

"Sixteen," came her petulant reply. "It's only one more year."

It was silly, really, but after the day he'd had so far, he was willing to grant her request if she'd tolerate him for just a while longer.

He pretended to deliberate a few seconds more. "Fine. Let's get a room from Tom—I don't want anyone else to see."

"It's really quite easy. All you've got to do is twist like this and say the incantation," Severus explained as he enacted the wand movement.

"Seems simple enough," Hermione thought out loud. "Why did you come up with this spell in particular?"

He shrugged. "It was useful in school—I'm sure you can come up with reasons why. But my original plan had been to use it at home."

"Up to no good?" she teased.

He'd certainly been in Tobias' opinion. His lips quirked bitterly. "You could say that."

Hermione's light smile faded. "No, you seem like a nice guy—even if you're a little unsteady on your feet right now." The gentle teasing smile returned.

He snorted. "I'm still able to use my wand, thank you. My father didn't much like magic, or music, or anything other than alcohol, really. I thought it'd be clever to come up with a way to avoid him without a silencing spell, which he would find suspicious if he couldn't hear anything. The walls in my house are rather thin."

"I'm sorry." Her doe eyes shone with sincere concern. "Should you be drinking right now, though, all things considered?"

"Probably not," he acknowledged. "But I figure I'm allowed to just once." He didn't mention the repeated visits to his local pub.

"And why's that?" she questioned in a gentle reprimand.

"My parents used to be happy. Disgustingly happy. I was unplanned. Now, my father's an abusive alcoholic who's never once treated me like a son. What do you think the catalyst was?"

She didn't take long to catch on. "Don't be ridiculous! Anything could've happened that you don't know about. Whatever the reason, it certainly isn't your fault. Circumstances change, Rus. Is that why you ran away?"

Merlin, but she didn't beat around the bush. Of course, he hadn't technically ran away. "Sort of. I'll have to go back eventually, anyway."

"You could always send me an owl whenever things get bad again," Hermione offered uncertainly.

Had anyone extended him that kind of comfort before? He didn't think so. Severus yearned for it, but knew it was impossible.

"Dad doesn't like magic, remember?" And I'm from the past. He smiled sadly. "Thanks anyway."

"I'd like to get to know you better, though," she insisted.

"Shouldn't you go back to whoever you came here with?" Severus asked quietly, causing her to frown. He'd hurt her. He wished he could take it back.

"Mum and Dad are Muggles—they're waiting outside. I wanted to buy a few things in Diagon Alley." Her voice wasn't as warm as before.

"They support you?" He knew he sounded dubious.

Life returned to her expression, cheeks flushing passionately. "Of course! Not all Muggles are utter twats like your father!"

He studied her well used robes, her clean black shoes, her pretty blue jeans—her delicate wrists, the hint of her mesmerizing collarbones, and her expressive brown eyes. No, not all Muggles were unwelcome if this was the result. He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Forgive me. It's sometimes hard to remember."

The spark in her eyes softened. "Well, perhaps you ought to find better Muggles," came her haughty reply, injecting a touch of levity into the conversation.

"Perhaps." Severus smiled. "It's been an honour meeting you, Hermione."

"Granger. Hermione Granger. Please, feel free to contact me anytime. Really."

He couldn't bring himself to voice false promises. "Thank you. I'm afraid I must go, though—I fear it's time to sleep off the alcohol."

"Good luck," she laughed, and gathered her belongings.

He walked her to the door with a heavy heart. "Bye," he murmured so as not to reveal the emotion that had swelled in him. He'd been wrung through the past and the future with nothing much to show for it but bitter revelations and empty arms.

Before he could wallow further in self-pity, Hermione stood on her toes and gently pressed her lips to his cheek. His heart skipped a beat at the sweetness of her kiss.

"Bye," she whispered against his skin, and was gone.

Perhaps he'd gained something from his escapades after all. Now all he had to do was figure out how to return to his own bloody time.

Squaring his shoulders resolutely, Severus grabbed his guitar, watch, and wand, and set out the door, only to stop abruptly. Twinkling blue eyes in a kind, wizened face greeted him on the other side.

"Ah, dear boy, I volunteered to investigate a case of suspicious underage magic. I do believe we've much to discuss," Dumbledore said cheerily, and Severus knew he'd be alright.