Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your patience with this update! I know it's late. Spring has finally come to the Alaskan town where I live, and it's been pretty hard to sit down at a computer when there are mountains to climb and glaciers to admire. This coming week is supposed to be rainy, though, so I expect I will be inside writing away!

38

Hermione ached from head to foot, her bruised, bloodied, filthy body dragging with every movement. It was barely past eleven, and yet in the past twelve hours she had fought in a battle, been arrested by the Ministry and forced into marriage, attended an Order meeting with members consisting of multiple worlds, generations, and, in Severus Snape's case, multiple versions of the same person, and now she was somehow supposed to trick the rings that not even Dumbledore had been able to fool, or else resign herself to returning to her own world without seeing this war through to the end.

Severus, determined to help, had sat down at the small table in her tent and promptly passed out with his head on his arms. Hermione knew she was in serious danger of joining him.

"Here," Snape said, setting a goblet down in front of her. She recognized it as Pepper-Up. The potion wasn't necessarily intended to aid in avoiding sleep, but she had a feeling she'd be wide awake once she had steam pouring out of her ears.

"Thanks," she said, downing it in one go. Snape had swallowed a gobletful as well, and his greasy, filthy hair looked even worse than usual with steam clinging to the lank strands.

Snape glanced at his younger self, then at the lower bunk, where Harry and Ginny had (accidentally, she suspected) fallen asleep. Even Dobby was snoring slightly from the couch. They had been working on the rings for hours with no success, and even the excitement and horror of the day hadn't been enough to keep any of them awake.

But Hermione couldn't fall asleep. She had until roughly three o'clock tomorrow afternoon to either fool the rings, or get herself out of this world (or, at the very least, this country).

And fooling the rings was what it would take. They had established all too quickly that destroying the rings was not an option. The enchantments that protected the rings and bound them to the Ministry's tracking system were immensely complex and, in Hermione's grudging opinion, flawless. Any attempt to tamper with any aspect of the rings' connection to the Ministry would result in their location's immediate transmittal to the Auror Division. The tracking system itself could not be undone. The Ministry of Magic had full authority over the British Isles, and its magic extended to every speck of dirt and drop of water contained within those bounds. That magic was rarely used to its fullest potential; there were few wizards alive who even understood its nature, and none of those could act without the Wizengamot's approval.

Unfortunately, the Wizengamot had given that approval. Even more unfortunately, Augustus Rookwood was one of those few wizards.

"The magic can only be used," Dumbledore had explained earlier, "when Britain itself is threatened. Because the marriage law has identified the declining magical population as a threat to Wizarding Britain's survival, the Ministry was permitted to tap into the vast power of Britain itself to maintain control over all those affected by the law. Only the Ministry can end that link."

Though Hermione was by no means innocent to the Ministry's corruption and power-hunger, it still astonished her the lengths to which its leaders would go to undermine the freedom of their own people. She had grown up thinking of the United Kingdom as an advanced nation, and yet its Wizarding counterpart was nothing short of fascist. How had wizards tolerated it for so long?

But then, what was the alternative? If the Ministry did not maintain total control over the magical British population, what was to stop wizards and witches from simply ignoring the International Statute of Secrecy and exposing them all to the inevitable, world-ending war that would follow?

There had to be a better way. In her own world, Kingsley had managed to return the Ministry to a benevolent dictatorship, at least, but even that was not enough. His successor could be a fool or a tyrant or a monster. The systems that gave the Ministry power were still as much in place in her own world as in this one. Fixing the problem by electing one good ruler would not fix anything at all once that ruler was replaced or deposed.

But how -

Hermione shook herself. Now was not the time. She could contemplate political philosophy after she had evaded the political weapon she had wrapped around her finger.

Dismantling the tracking spell was impossible. Destroying the rings was impossible. Other possibilities had presented themselves and proven just as untenable. If they fled the country and removed the rings there, the Aurors would not be notified, but the second they returned to British soil, with or without the rings, the Aurors would know where they were. If they fled to Hermione's world and removed the rings there, the Aurors would not be notified, but the second they returned to this world's British soil, with or without the rings, the Aurors would know where they were. Applying for immunity through the Auror Division as Savage had done was not possible; only fully trained Aurors' petitions were granted, and even then not in every case. There was no escape from fulfilling the requirements of the rings. If the Ministry was not certain their marriage was compliant with the law, she and Severus would be hunted down and shut away in Azkaban.

As far as Hermione could tell, there was really only one option, and she had no idea how to go about it.

She drained the Pepper-Up, wincing at the sharp taste and the wet tickling sensation of steam gushing out of her ears. Even matted with dirt and blood, her hair was probably frizzing wildly. She resisted the urge to stick her fingers in her ears to try to stop the uncomfortable sensation.

Sure enough, though, she was wide awake.

Snape had seated himself across from her again, his black eyes glassy with weariness but more alert than they had been a few minutes ago. She had been too tired, until this very moment, to register how incredible it was that he was here, and how awkward things should be between them.

He seemed to sense the change in her mood. Rather than immediately resuming his examination of the complex enchantments binding the ring on her finger, he sat back and surveyed her, his presence no less compelling for all that he looked extraordinarily out of place in her tent.

"Thank you for coming," she said. She couldn't remember if she had already said it.

"You should not have followed Potter by yourself," he replied.

She nodded. She had very much regretted that. "It was habit, I suppose."

"A very dangerous habit."

She nodded again, then said, after a moment, "I don't really regret it now. I did at first, but…" She couldn't stop her gaze from drifting to his sleeping younger self.

Snape arched his eyebrows, and she blushed.

"I only mean… He didn't deserve to be in Azkaban."

Snape snorted. "Unlike me."

"That's not what I meant," Hermione said, gently chiding. "We helped him, by coming here. Who knows how long he would have been locked up?"

"Your arrival was very fortunate for him," Snape agreed slowly.

"And even if they had let him out, they would have married him to a stranger."

"I do not doubt that he finds you preferable," Snape said, in such a pointed tone that she felt her stomach flip.

"Of course he does," she said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the insinuation. "I'm not a stranger."

Snape hesitated, then said, "I was surprised to hear that you preferred him to Black."

She snorted. Some Pepper-Up steam blasted out of her nose. "Don't be silly."

"Is it silly?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Of course it's silly!" she snapped, ruffled. "Sirius is irresponsible and manipulative and completely unstable! Not to mention," she drew herself up, staring him down, "a bully. I had my doubts about him before, but seeing him here, with his friends - with Severus -" She faltered abruptly, remembering that he hadn't given her permission to use his first name, not even for his younger self.

But he did not look angry. Indeed, he had a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Indeed," he said quietly.

She felt her face burning, but refused to look away. "Why on earth would you think I would prefer him?"

Snape shrugged. "He is handsome, wealthy, popular -"

Hermione resisted the urge to make the same gagging sound Ginny always made about Harry's fans. "And you thought I would care about that?"

"In all honesty, I had never given the matter a moment's thought before today. The romantic preferences of a student were hardly my concern."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Except when Witch Weekly wrote about them."

He narrowed his eyes right back. "If you did not wish your love triangle to become public knowledge, you should not have been reading about it in my class."

"There was no love triangle!" she huffed indignantly.

She could tell from his smirk that he already knew that.

"Honestly," she muttered.

His smirk widened. "Then, of course, there was the matter of Lockhart -"

"I was thirteen!" she exclaimed, outraged. "And if you didn't care about my preferences, then how did you even know?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Lockhart made sure to show every member of staff the Valentine's Day cards he received from students. As I recall, yours included a thirty-six-inch essay extolling his virtues."

Hermione buried her face in her hands, mortified.

"Take heart, Miss Granger. Miss Brown sent him a golden necklace with an enormous pink heart pendant."

Hermione made a disgusted face. "To think I was as silly as Lavender."

Snape arched his brows. "Not for the last time, I believe."

Hermione sighed. "No. Not for the last time." She shook her head. "I wish I could go back and erase all of that, you know."

Snape gave her a small smile, only slightly mocking. "So do we all."

Hermione sighed again. "It was all so meaningless, really."

"Meaningless?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Empty." She gave him a rueful smile. "I've never been a romantic. My parents are. Their first kiss was with each other, you know. They had never wanted anyone else. They just knew. When I compare that with all of the little meaningless things I felt and did, it all just seems so… messy."

If Snape was uncomfortable with the subject, he didn't show it. "That is not unusual, I think."

"It's not how you felt," she said, with certainty.

"No," he said, with a slight sneer. "But I am not sure I would wish my feelings on anyone. And they may be as messy as yours, in the end."

She considered that. She supposed traveling to an alternate reality twenty years in the past and seeing the girl he had always loved on her wedding day would be messy, to say the least.

"You are a practical woman," Snape said. "You are analytical and organized, and you favor logic, as a rule. It is not surprising that emotions would be difficult for you. They are chaotic by nature."

Hermione frowned at that. "I understand other people's emotions just fine."

"Because you can analyze them from a distance," he said. "You do not have that advantage when it comes to your own." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Naturally, you would have preferred to set a solid romantic goal, pursue it in an organized and immaculately planned fashion, no doubt with the aid of a checklist and schedule for every important milestone, then, upon achievement of said goal, you would have wished for clear and preferably positive feedback -"

"I don't want people to grade my romantic achievements!" Hermione exclaimed, outraged.

"No?"

Hermione flushed, then muttered, "Ron did say the kiss was 'outstanding.' But I didn't ask him to!"

Snape laughed. It lasted for only a moment, but Hermione found herself grinning despite herself, and his wicked smile almost made her hide her face again.

"I daresay he anticipated that particular romantic need."

Hermione scowled. "He was just making fun of me."

"Hmm. Perhaps." His eyes were still glittering with amusement. "My point, Miss Granger, is that emotions cannot be confined to a calendar or planner. You cannot expect your romances to unfold in the same carefully reasoned manner as your essays."

"I know that," she said grumpily.

"But you wish you could," he supplied.

"No," she countered, pleased to defy him. "I wish I could turn all the logic off. You have no idea how distracting it is to kiss someone and spend the whole time analyzing the pros and cons of the relationship, or wondering if they've brushed their teeth or why they didn't shave or if your tongue is in the right place."

Snape grimaced. Hermione grimaced, too, remembering her first awkward kiss with Krum.

"No," Snape said. "That is not something I have ever experienced."

"Your kisses are normal?" Hermione asked, a little jealously.

Snape gave her a sharp look. "You forget who I am, Miss Granger."

She jumped a little. "Right. Er, sorry, sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her, then said, "Do you really think I have ever kissed anyone?"

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth. How could she have been so stupid?

But then… was it stupid? Lily had died so long ago… "Never?" she asked tentatively.

Snape looked like he was struggling to decide whether he regretted revealing so much. "I loved Lily," he said finally.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes, and hastily blinked them away. She didn't think he would appreciate what would almost certainly appear to be pity. "That's… very honorable."

Snape snorted. "It had nothing to do with honor. I loved her. No one else ever compared."

Hermione flinched at that, and she knew he saw it.

"You are concerned my younger self may feel the same way?" he asked bluntly.

"No," Hermione said, knowing as she did that it was a lie, though she couldn't have explained to herself why. At Snape's look, she bit her lip and admitted, "Maybe."

"How… unexpected."

Hermione couldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Although your friends did not seem to think so," Snape said slowly, glancing at Harry and Ginny where they lay asleep on the bed. "Indeed, they seemed convinced that you would attempt to marry me."

Hermione fought another grimace, trying not to imagine how he had reacted to that. She could tell, from the way he said it, that it had been bothering him for hours, and that he had been searching for an opportunity to casually slip it into their conversation ever since the subject of romance had been raised.

"Ron started it," Hermione said, exasperated. "He's convinced we're secretly dating."

"Why?"

Hermione considered that. She had never really wondered why; she had always just dismissed it as Ron being Ron. "Mostly I think he's jealous," she said finally. "Because I spend more time with you than with him these days. And because I'm willing to… well, to build something with you, even after everything you did, when I don't want to build anything with him."

Snape's eyes never left her face. "And what is it you are willing to build with me?"

Hermione hesitated, then said honestly, "A friendship, I hope."

His expression didn't change even a fraction, which might have made her nervous, if it hadn't been so obvious he was deliberately controlling it. "Why?"

Hermione looked at him in some surprise. "Why do I want to be your friend? Or why am I willing to?"

"Both," he said, with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

"I want to be your friend," she said after a moment, "because you're brilliant and fascinating and I enjoy our conversations. You can be a bit intimidating," she admitted, "and I think it would be a long time before we could properly trust each other, but you're the only person I know who really challenges me intellectually, and you're probably also the only person who would never bore me with Quidditch talk."

Though it was clear Snape was still attempting to control his expression, he evidently couldn't resist a small sneer at that.

"You're also one of the few people who hasn't tried to push me into deciding what to do with my life now that the war - our war - is over. Everyone else has been quick to tell me about all my opportunities, but I think you might be the only one that understands that none of those opportunities are really right for me." She hesitated. "I still haven't decided what I want to do, and you're the only person who seems to think that's more a sign of prudence than failure."

Snape's lip curled bitterly. "At nineteen, I took the Dark Mark. I would never advise anyone to decide the course of their entire lives at that age."

"No," Hermione said. "You're the only one who seems to understand just how much there still is to know about the world."

She hesitated. She was well aware that everything she had said so far could have applied just as easily to a mentor as to a friend, and yet she did want to be his friend. "I enjoy spending time with you," she said slowly. "Not only because you're brilliant. I can be myself around you in ways I can't around Harry and Ron. And you've become… dear to me, I suppose. Your quirks and your moods and your ridiculously dramatic insults. To an extent, I still think of you as my teacher, but the more time we've spent together, the more I think of you as just… a person. A person I would like to have in my life."

Snape's face was still mostly impassive, but she could see something unsettled in his eyes.

"And I'm willing to be your friend," she added, remembering the second question, "because I think it would be good for both of us."

"Would it?" he asked, frowning at her.

She knew she was being terribly presumptuous, but she said firmly, "Yes."

"Hmm." Snape surveyed her for a moment, then said abruptly, "Your friends seemed to be under the impression that I have been harboring some secret intent to seduce you. Is that your impression as well?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "They said that to you?" she squeaked.

Snape nodded, somewhat angrily. "They seemed shockingly undisturbed by the prospect."

Hermione pressed a palm to her forehead. "Oh, Harry." She looked at Snape. "I am so sorry. How rude of them." And mortifying, she thought, but she suspected it didn't need to be said; her cheeks were no doubt scarlet.

"You did not answer my question."

Hermione thought back. Is that your impression as well? Snape had asked. "No," she said, calming slightly. "Of course not."

Some of the tension left his face. An expression of supreme discomfort passed over it, and he said jerkily, "I assure you, I have never had any intention of the kind."

"I know that," she said, uncomfortable on his behalf. She realized suddenly what he might think, after everything she had said, and especially after her marrying his younger self. "I've never had that intention toward you either."

He sneered, both bitter and relieved. "I told them it was absurd."

"It's not absurd," Hermione said. "It's just not how I feel."

Snape gave her a dangerous look. "And how, exactly, is it not absurd? I am twenty years your senior, I have been your professor since you were eleven, I have been in love with another woman since long before you were born, and I am, in any case, ugly."

She rolled her eyes on the last word. "You're not ugly. Greyback was ugly. Riddle is ugly. You're… unconventional."

Snape snorted. "In other words, I am not quite as unappealing as monsters."

Hermione huffed in annoyance. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"Do I?"

"You're not handsome," she said bluntly, astonished by her daring and yet suspecting that he needed her to be honest. "But your features aren't unpleasant. You have beautiful eyes. You have a very expressive mouth. And you remember what Neville said about your eyebrow -"

"That it gave him nightmares?" Snape said, arching the brow in question.

"Well, yes," Hermione said. "But I'm sure you could use it to, er, other effect."

She could almost imagine a tinge of pink in Snape's cheeks.

"You have very dramatic cheekbones. And a strong jaw, like Frank said. And while your nose might not be pretty, it certainly has character. And it fits with your other features. If you had a nice, small nose, your face wouldn't have the same intensity. You're very striking, you know. Especially," she scowled, "when you take proper care of your hair."

He gave the frizzy, filthy mess on her head a pointed glance.

"I know," she said. "But I could make it look good, if I wanted to. And I don't go around claiming I'm ugly just because I don't put in the effort."

Snape frowned. "I think it could universally be agreed upon that your face is not remotely comparable to mine, Miss Granger."

Hermione shrugged. "They're just faces, anyway. What does it matter? Ron isn't handsome, and I liked him."

"I am still not convinced that was not the result of serious head trauma."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Snape seemed to take a moment to savor the insult before continuing, "Very well. I accept that you claim not to find me physically repulsive. It does not negate the other facts that render any idea of a romantic attachment on your part absurd."

It must really be bothering him, Hermione thought, for him to be clinging so tenaciously to the subject. "I don't think the age difference is as important," she said, shrugging. "Or it wouldn't be, if I hadn't known you since I was eleven. Age alone isn't an indicator of maturity, though. Or do you think the Sirius Black of our world was more mature than me?"

Snape hesitated, lip curled, then conceded with a jerk of his head. "Point taken. Although I hope you never harbored a crush on him."

"After a year of thinking he was going to murder us all, and then listening to him boast about trying to murder you? No."

"I am relieved to hear it."

"I understand why you think it would be absurd for me to have feelings for you," Hermione said. "I can only imagine how disturbing it would be for you - you watched me grow up. But from my perspective, you've always been the same, while I've changed. It wouldn't be absurd if the way I saw you changed, too. You went from being the vaguely terrifying, impossible-to-please teacher to the complex, deeply determined man whose bravery and sheer nerve kept hundreds of students alive during the war, at enormous personal cost. I can't look at you and just see the professor who used to call me a 'know-it-all.' I've seen too many other sides of you now."

"So now I am a hero," he sneered.

"No. I still remember that comment about my teeth, you know."

That gave him pause. "Not very heroic, was it?"

"No." Hermione frowned. "And, as I said, I don't feel that way about you, but it doesn't have anything to do with your age or the fact that you were my teacher. It's - well, it's your complete emotional unavailability, to be honest."

Snape snorted. "Never have I been more grateful for it than now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not like it would matter if I liked you," she said. "Obviously nothing would ever happen."

"I would just be another Lockhart?"

"I like to think I've grown up a little since then," Hermione said, sniffing.

Snape's eyes glittered again. "I suppose my younger self has not become quite so emotionally stunted."

Hermione flushed, but said, "Not quite, no."

Snape looked amused. Hermione shook her head at him. "He's just as much in love with Lily as you are."

"I doubt that," he said immediately.

Hermione was caught off guard. "But - why?"

"Because," he said simply, "he met you."

Severus's heart was beating so fast and so loudly it seemed impossible that his older self and Hermione hadn't noticed it. He was grateful his filthy hair had fallen forward in his sleep to cover his face. Though he had managed to keep his breathing even (barely), he didn't think the flush in his cheeks could have possibly gone unnoticed. As it was, the desire to curl up and hide was so strong he was afraid his muscles were going to start spasming with the effort it took to resist.

He had, of course, heard everything.

He had awoken to the sharp scent of Pepper-Up. He had been tired enough that he had never even considered lifting his head. His body ached so badly it reminded him of those months in Azkaban, when broken bones and infections had kept him in a perpetual state of pain. At Dobby's insistence, he had tried to eat when they had first returned to the tent, but he had thrown everything up again before passing out, and as he had groggily regained consciousness to the overpowering scent of Pepper-Up, he had heard his stomach churning.

Evidently, Hermione and his older self had not heard it. Moreover, they seemed to be convinced he had gone deaf in his sleep. In growing incredulity, he had listened as they had proceeded to have what might have been the most personal conversation he had ever overheard.

Listening to Hermione discuss her prior romantic attachments filled him with an uncomfortable, almost angry feeling. It was unfair of him, and completely irrational, but he couldn't help wondering just how many boys she had kissed. Had her head been full of thoughts on whether or not he had brushed his teeth or shaved when they had kissed at the Ministry? Obviously her tongue had not been involved then, so at least she hadn't been worried about that…

But why did he even care? The kiss at the Ministry had been a farce, and he had found it as repulsive as she no doubt had. To compare it to a kiss she had willingly sought out and enjoyed was as disgusting as the marriage law itself.

Then again, by the sounds of it, she hadn't much enjoyed any of her previous kisses, either.

That probably shouldn't have pleased him, but it did.

Of course, then his older self had to go and admit, freely, that he had never kissed anyone at all. Severus knew Hermione had probably suspected that of him already, but the idea of her hearing that even at thirty-nine he would still be so pitifully in love with Lily that he had never even considered anyone else made his insides squirm. Would she even believe the excuse? After all, he doubted women had been lining up to date his older self. Even if he had wanted to move on from Lily, would any other woman have taken him?

Hermione probably knew as well as he did that his older self could have begged on hands and knees and never gotten more than a sneer or a mocking giggle in response to his ugly face.

But Hermione… didn't think he was ugly.

He felt the same doubt, the same conviction that she was lying out of kindness, that he knew his older self felt. But Hermione was so calm, so matter-of-fact in her presentation, that Severus almost found himself doubting his doubt.

And he remembered, suddenly, the way he had looked in the Mirror of Erised - still himself in every way, and yet not ugly, not detestable, simply… himself.

He felt a sort of painful fluttering in his chest at the idea that Hermione could see that, too.

It wasn't that he fancied her. He had only known her for a week. But there was a familiarity between them that he had never shared with anyone, not even Lily. Though he and Lily had been friends, she had always been so high above him that he had sometimes felt more of an abject gratitude for her than any sense of equality in their companionship.

He felt no abject gratitude for Hermione, though she had done more for him than Lily ever had. He was grateful, but he was also her equal. And yet he would never have said that Lily was in any way higher than her.

But how was it possible, that Hermione could be Lily's equal, and yet Severus could also be hers?

Severus's friendship with Hermione was as different from his friendship with Lily as night and day, and yet he could not, in the midst of his eavesdropping, silence his thoughts long enough to actually define the difference.

He was too busy listening to Hermione accuse his older self of an evidently unattractive level of emotional unavailability.

One which, according to his older self, Severus himself did not share.

"He's just as much in love with Lily as you are," Hermione said.

Severus felt a twist in his stomach, but whether it was at her words or the wistfulness in her tone, he wasn't sure. His older self, damn him, answered easily (and accurately), "I doubt that."

"But - why?" Hermione was obviously shocked.

"Because," his traitorous older self said, "he met you."

Severus twitched, or perhaps it was simply the long-anticipated muscle spasm. He froze, certain the other two had noticed, but the conversation continued unabated.

"He doesn't like me that way," Hermione said, sounding doubtful.

"Whether he likes you or not is irrelevant," Severus's older self said. "You have demonstrated to him that Lily is not the only worthwhile human being on the planet. I suspect the effect was profound."

Severus scowled into his arms. His older self was right, of course, but why the hell couldn't he keep his self-analysis to his own self?

Hermione sounded like she was not quite ready to accept the man's explanation. "I'm sure he already knew that."

"I assure you, he did not."

"But then what makes you so sure he does now?"

His older self snorted. "Correct me if I am mistaken, but he stayed with you during the battle, did he not?"

"Yes. But of course he wasn't just going to leave me!"

"He would have, if you had meant nothing to him."

"Well, of course I mean something to him, we've been living together for a week!"

"There is no 'of course' about it," the older Severus said. "I shared a dorm with five other Slytherins for seven years. Do you think I would have hesitated to abandon them to certain death if it had meant saving Lily?"

"That's different," Hermione said, though she sounded less sure.

"It is not different. I cared for no one but Lily until well into my twenties, and even then my attachments were only professional. Do you think my younger self's attachment to you is professional?"

Severus could practically feel Hermione's blush radiating outward. "No. We're friends."

"That is a rare and precious thing, to me."

Quietly, Hermione said, "To me, too."

"Perhaps. But you have never dedicated your entire soul to one person."

"No," Hermione said slowly, then, with obvious hesitation, she added, "and I'm not entirely sure that's healthy."

The older Severus snorted. "It most certainly is not. I am immeasurably relieved that you have spared my younger self from such a fate."

Severus could hear the uncertainty in her tone. "Do you really think I did?"

"Yes. Whatever happens between you, I am certain he will be a better, healthier man for having known you. Who knows? He may even have a chance at happiness."

"You could be happy."

"Unlikely, Miss Granger."

She made some kind of exasperated noise. Severus felt like kicking his older self under the table. He sounded like such an old, cranky bore.

"Happiness doesn't just happen by accident," Hermione said. "You have to work hard for it."

"I suppose you prepare for it with schedules and to-do lists."

"I do," she said, unabashed. "It's very helpful."

"You are absurd."

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."

"How am I absurd?"

"For one thing," Harry said groggily from the bed, "you're arguing with Hermione. For another, shouldn't you two be working?"

The table jerked beneath Severus as someone (probably Hermione) gave a guilty start. He took that as his queue to feign awakening.

"What time is it?" he asked, blinking in the candlelight.

"After midnight," Hermione said, looking guilty and embarrassed. "We just - er - took a little break."

She was fairly red in the face. Severus caught Harry's eye across the tent, wondering just how much the other boy had heard. But Harry simply dropped his messy head of hair back down on the pillow and slumped into the mattress, with no indication whatsoever that he had heard anything to unsettle him.

Then again, according to Severus's older self, Harry wasn't even unsettled by the idea of Hermione ending up with a man twice her age. Maybe a young otherworldly version of the same man didn't seem out of the question, either.

The older Severus drew out his wand and pointed it at Hermione's ring.

"Let us resume."