Previously: This was his moment—far sooner than he'd anticipated. He could cast Legilimens, force information about his probable death from her mind. Instead, he sat there as Granger leaned forward and brushed a barely-there kiss over his cheek. A friendly kiss. Something Charity would do. Nothing more.

"Thanks for the duel," she said. "And for letting me vent and have a break from being Heather for a few minutes."

With that, she refastened the necklace, smiled at him through the glamour, and left.

Chapter Eleven: Heliotrope

12 July 1987

Hermione fell out of the Pensieve laughing. Bald Bella was quite possibly the best thing she'd ever seen. She was half tempted to send Draco Malfoy flowers once she returned to her own time. If she didn't kick his arse for possibly sending her to 1987 in the first place. Wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, she sank down on one of Dumbledore's overstuffed floral print sofas.

"Dear me," Dumbledore said with one of his twinkling smiles. "I'm not sure I've ever seen Severus make someone laugh like that. You two are getting on, then?"

"Err, I guess so. We definitely get on far better now than we did in my time, but that's not saying much."

"As you were one of his students in your time, I can't say I'm surprised. I wonder if—"

His voice trailed off as a ghostly, glowing white shape leapt through the wall and landed in the centre of the room. It was a deer—a hind, almost as big as Ginny's horse Patronus. Inching towards Dumbledore, the hind studied Hermione for a beat before opening her mouth and speaking one word in a familiar baritone.

"No."

Dumbledore chuckled as the Patronus dissolved. "I suppose Severus decided my request wasn't worth wasting the parchment to respond." A nibble of a rich tea biscuit left a scattering of crumbs in his long beard. "Or he was feeling dramatic. Perhaps a little of both. I sent an owl to him not long before you arrived. It concerns you as well, but I thought Severus would be the more difficult one to convince."

"Oh?" Hermione said absently, still staring at the spot where the Patronus had been.

Harry had said Snape's Patronus was a doe—multiple times. Ron had used that word as well, leading Hermione to picture something smaller than the hind. Then again, did she really expect Ron and Harry to be able to correctly identify different species of deer? She knew better than that. Lily Potter's Patronus being a hind made more sense, if it was actually the mate to James's stag.

She hadn't viewed Snape's memories for herself. Harry had been quite adamant about only showing as many people as was required to obtain a full, presumably posthumous pardon for their erstwhile teacher. Hermione hadn't had the heart to tell him that Snape probably wouldn't appreciate the discretion, given that Harry had shouted out Snape's most closely guarded secret to a battlefield full of people.

Harry had told her some of what he'd seen, though. Among those memories he'd described had been that moment in Dumbledore's office. Once she'd taken over the position of Potions professor, Hermione had spent several slow classes trying to picture Snape declaring his unwavering love for his long-lost friend with a shout of Expecto Patronum. Always, he'd said. After so many years. That sort of devotion was difficult to imagine.

"I thought the two of you could lead a Defence Club at Hogwarts next year," Dumbledore said.

Fawkes made a clicking noise and nudged Hermione's arm with his beak. As she ran her fingers over his warm feathers, she released a pent up breath. Being around the phoenix was soothing—like curling up next to a fire on a rainy November day. She'd never had much cause to be in his presence when she was a student. Back then, she'd mostly found his beady-eyed stares unsettling. Had he recognised her?

"A Defence Club sounds like a great idea," she said. She would latch onto anything that would give Tonks and others the slightest advantage. "I don't mind leading it on my own if you can't convince Professor Snape to help. Or we could ask one of the other professors. I've seen firsthand how skilled—"

"Oh, Severus will come around. He always does."

24 July 1987

The scene that greeted Severus in Charity's narrow kitchen was one of utter chaos. Batter-coated bowls cluttered the sink. Flour dusted the worktop. Something that looked like strawberry jam had created bizarre graffiti on one of the chipped cupboard doors. And at the centre of the sugary destruction, Granger and Charity giggled over their attempts to repair what might have once been a cake.

"Hi," Charity said, flashing him a grin over her shoulder. "You'll have to excuse the mess. Heather thought I should expand my repertoire beyond various things on toast, so we made a Victoria sponge. Though I'm still not convinced it wouldn't go well on toast."

"A nutritious choice," Severus said. Their creation had a river of buttercream and jam flowing from between two lumpy, misshapen layers. It looked like it had more in common with a dish sponge than a sponge cake. The only thing that seemed right about it was the smell: sweet vanilla and tart strawberries.

Severus had seen Charity brew before. She was passable—not at all sloppy. Granger was neat and precise and had the potential to be brilliant. He would wonder how two reasonably skilled brewers were such messy bakers if his own few and far between experiments in the kitchen hadn't led him to the conclusion that Potions talent did not necessarily translate to cooking talent.

"I have something for you," Granger said. From the jam-painted cupboard, she produced a bottle of violently yellow potion. "It might come in handy when you're teaching."

Before Severus could so much as guess at even one of the ingredients of the potion, Charity piped up with the answer.

"If you drink it, your voice will go all high-pitched and you'll be able to make a screeching noise that is only audible to teenagers. We hid behind Mrs Cooper's hedge and tested on those kids who are always loitering outside the corner shop. It was brilliant. You have to try it, mate. It only lasts for about a minute, though. Heather said it'd be a shame to alter your voice any longer than that."

"Did she?" Severus asked, suppressing a smirk at the way Granger tried to covertly glare at Charity.

"Mhm," Charity said around a mouthful of buttercream. "Hey, we're going on a picnic. Do you want to come along?"

"Eating your cooking outdoors, on the ground? Thank you, no."

"We were going to pick up some packaged sandwiches," Granger said. "Charity wanted to look around Algie's garden—"

Severus agreed to accompany them as soon as the location was revealed. If he ate, however, it would be either in a chair or standing up. He saw no point in getting his food closer to ants and dirt by lounging on a blanket. No amount of magical hybrid plants were worth behaving as if tables had never been invented.

Armed with egg and cress sandwiches, the cake, a thermos of tea, and some limp greenery trying to pass itself off as a salad, the three of them arrived at Algie's garden. A small boy with round cheeks who looked about the same age as Draco was there, playing by the entrance. Alice and Frank Longbottom's son.

Granger greeted him by name. Neville Longbottom wasn't one of her many dead, Severus guessed. Her smile for him was too easy, too bright for that.

Tugging on Granger's arm, the boy stood on his tiptoes to whisper to her in a voice that was easily overheard. "Your friend looks scary."

Good. Severus wasn't losing his touch.

Granger and Charity both laughed, but it was Charity who answered first.

"He is, mate, believe me."

"Don't listen to her, Neville," Granger said. "Here, we brought cake. Do you want some?"

Opening the picnic basket, Granger cut him a thick slice of the lopsided monstrosity. Severus would have to have a word with Dumbledore about her potentially endangering children.

"Ah!" a man with a bushy grey beard said as he approached the group. "Is this the Potions Master? Right, come along, then. I suppose you'd better see the exploding snapdragons."

Severus opted to take along his share of the tea. If he was lucky, the food would be gone by the time he returned.

Algie's garden was more than worth the price of eating on the ground, it turned out. Severus could have lost himself in research among the trailing vines and swaying trees for years. For every plant he recognised, there were several more that were Algie's inventions. Neville must have been born with a greater than average sense of self preservation, if he frequently played among so many poisonous, dangerous plants without getting himself killed. That would be a refreshing change in the classroom.

By the time Severus returned to the picnickers, he discovered Granger on her own, stretched out on a tartan blanket.

"Charity went to catch toads with Neville," she said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. When Severus conjured a chair, she shook her head almost fondly.

"I wonder whether Undetectable Expansion Charms have any negative effects on soil," he said. "Drainage, nutrients… Hmm."

Leaning back to rest on her elbows, Granger grinned at him. "Did your wander with Algie inspire you to make some more ambitious plans for your garden?"

"And for Charity's garden, yes."

"Of course. I don't suppose I can convince you to help with the Defence Club in exchange for adding to your garden, can I?"

"No."

"Shame. You'd probably have much more success when the time comes to teach them the Patronus Charm."

"Because I'm so well known for being happy?"

"Because I've always struggled with that particular spell."

"Have you, indeed?"

"Well, only that one."

"And flight of any sort."

"Hey, now. Are you compiling a list of my shortcomings?"

Yet more proof that she had not been sorted into Slytherin.

"Of course I am," Severus said.

With a laughing roll of her eyes, she gave one of his legs a light shove. As Granger and Severus lapsed into silence, Charity and Neville ran back and forth in pursuit of what seemed to be an escape artist of a toad.

"Algie nearly stepped on one of the toads the other day," Granger said. "He was so annoyed by them always getting underfoot that he cast a charm to make them avoid humans. Do you reckon I should tell those two?"

Severus barked out a laugh. "Absolutely not."

"That's what I thought."

Across the garden, Charity caught Severus chuckling at Granger's words. Charity's shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath as she offered up the most unconvincing smile he'd ever seen on her face.

What was wrong with her?

Notes: I can't remember who wrote the post I saw on tumblr about does vs hinds in the UK, or I'd give them credit here. I thought I had it bookmarked, but apparently not. The male counterpart of a hind is a stag (red deer or sika deer), while the male counterpart of a doe is a buck (muntjac deer, roe deer, fallow deer, or Chinese water deer). I had no idea about any of this before I saw the post on tumblr. I got all of the information about different UK deer species on the British Deer Society's website.

EDIT: Thank you to duj, who pointed me in the direction of Whitehound's post about the doe vs hind question (which is, I think, what I saw quoted on tumblr).

Thank you again for all of the reviews, follows, and favourites. xx