Disclaimer: The characters, settings, etc. of the Harry Potter series are not mine. I just play with them.

Regarding Time Travel
Seven

They breakfasted together in the common room of their chambers. Hermione had already seated herself at their dining table and had begun to munch on her fresh fruit when Snape emerged from his bedroom, fully dressed and fully transformed into Mr. Jamie Palmer.

She found it slightly odd when he seated himself across from her at the small circular table and poured himself a cup of tea, to be looking into the face of a complete stranger. She knew he was the same man she had known for a very large chunk of her life, but at the same time he wasn't.

"Why are you gawking now?" he asked, his tone sounding impatient.

"You're you," she said, "but you don't look like you."

He snorted as he poured a bit of milk into his tea. "A very astute observation, Miss Granger." A small smirk formed on his face. "Or shall I call you Mrs. Palmer?" He raised his eyes to look into hers. "Which do you prefer, wife?"

Hermione shrugged. "You could call me by my first name. That is what husbands and wives do." She didn't know why this suggestion would make her blush, but it did.

"My parents," Snape began as he picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet from the breakfast tray, "always referred to each other as Lord and Mistress Snape."

Hermione frowned, watching him as he unfolded the paper and began to read. "My parents call each other by their first names."

"Your parents are muggles," he replied from behind the paper.

"And?" she asked.

"And," he said, bending the paper slightly so that he could peer over it at her, "the way of muggles is not the way of purebloods."

"Well, lucky for you I'm not a pureblood," Hermione retorted.

Snape snorted, but said nothing as he straightened the paper and went back to his reading.

Hermione sighed and picked up a grape, popping it into her mouth quickly. Of course she had to end up married to the most disagreeable bastard on the planet. Even if they weren't really married. And even if, honestly, she didn't find him all that disagreeable. She knew from past experience that he could be worse. As of late, he was just occasionally slightly infuriating.

Hermione stuck another grape in her mouth and frowned. Why was she thinking this way? Was she ill? First there was the fixation with the water on his chest and now this terribly odd train of thought.

She slapped a hand to her forehead to check her temperature a bit too enthusiastically than she had intended. "Oh!" she murmured, causing Snape to bend down the corner of his paper to glance at her quickly. She scowled at him and he resumed his reading without saying a word.

While her forehead was warm, it wasn't excessive. Maybe it was just the roaring fire that had to be kept going to keep the dungeons warm. And maybe it was these high necked, oppressive black teaching robes that the House Elves had selected for her to wear.

She'd had half a mind that morning to transfigure them into something with a bit more color and a bit of a lower neckline when she'd pulled them out of the wardrobe. But she'd realized that she was supposed to be a teacher's assistant now. This, in turn, made her into a sort of professional, and it would be best to look like one, even if she did just look like a female version of her husband.

Of Snape! Damn it all, what was wrong with her that she couldn't get it straight! She looked like a female version of Severus bloody Snape who was certainly not her husband and certainly not attractive when he looked like himself and not some pretty-boy façade!

She sighed and bit off a piece of the melon slice on her plate. It was quite good.

"Miss Granger," Snape said abruptly, folding the paper and setting it onto the table before him. "I have no idea whatsoever as to what in heaven's name is going on in your head, but I suggest you resolve whatever little problem it is that you have quickly before I hex you into silence!"

"I didn't say anything," she frowned.

"No," he said, "you did not. But all of the sighing and squeaking is just as annoying as if you'd decided to take it upon yourself to lecture me on the uses of moon stone in potions making! Now, would you please desist in all of that noise making?"

"If you stop making enough noise to wake the dead when you shower in the morning!" Hermione retorted.

"I do not make noise!" he said, but she didn't miss the slight flush that arose on his cheeks.

"Oh no," she scoffed. "Oh no, you're quiet as a mouse, stumbling around and cursing. Quiet as a church mouse."

Snape gave her the Evil Glare of Death, but he said nothing. Hermione watched him as he silently picked up his paper, unfolded it, and went back to reading.

Well, Hermione thought as she took another bite of the melon, perhaps she could count that as a victory.

-

Hermione sat before the desk of the Potions Master and looked at the wall that stood behind it. It was covered by certificates of recognition, awards for outstanding contributions to the field, and displayed prominently in the middle of the wall was a diploma awarded to one, Mr. Thomas Dabny.

Thomas Dabny, Hermione quickly discovered, was a short, rotund man whose stride was plagued by a distinct waddle. Thomas Dabny dressed in all purple, wore his silver hair short and slicked back, and adorned his face with both a grey handlebar moustache and a large grin.

"You must be Mrs. Palmer!" he exclaimed as he entered the office.

"Yes," Hermione said as she stood from the seat she'd taken to greet him. "But please call me Hermione," she said as she shook his hand warmly.

"Certainly!" he said. "You must call me Thomas. Please, take a seat."

She smiled at him and resumed her seat in the chair she had vacated. He waddled over to his chair behind the desk and sat down quickly. "So!" he began. "Italy, eh? What part?"

"A small village outside of Venice," Hermione supplied automatically and was surprised at how smoothly it flowed from her mouth. "We taught, of course, at the Venetian School of Magic. Our residence was just outside of the city, though."

Thomas shook his head and gave a wistful sigh. "To live in Venice!" he said. "To work in Venice, no less. You and your husband are very lucky, Mrs. Palmer. That is one opportunity I will never have."

Hermione grinned at him. "I never dreamed I'd end up there, but life has a way of sending you where it will."

He smiled back. "Too true, Hermione. Too true. Now, I suppose you'd like to know a bit about the work you'll be doing with me?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "please."

Dabny offered her another grin. "I will ask you to help me create the potions in demonstrations for the students. Well, truthfully, I will probably have you make the potions while I lecture about them. Will this be problematic?"

"No, sir," Hermione replied, confident that she would be able to brew any of the potions that the professor might teach.

"Good, good," he said, lifting a long scroll from the desk. "This is the syllabus," he said, handing it over to her. "I've included, there at the bottom, your weekly schedule. You'll see our first class on Monday morning is Advanced Potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin houses."

Hermione gulped but hoped he didn't notice. "And that is with, erm, seventh years?"

"Yes, that's right," he replied. "This," he said as he handed her yet another scroll, "is a copy of my lesson plans for this week. I expect you to come to class fully prepared and well versed in what we will be teaching each day. I do plan to hand over the lectures to you on occasion in order to give you some more practice lecturing." He paused to chuckle gently. "It never does to let the wheels of the carriage rust, I always say."

Hermione smiled at him. "Yes, sir."

"So," he went on, "Albus said something about your desiring a lab for an experimental potion you've been working on."

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied, sitting up a little straighter. "If you happen to have a spare lab and it wouldn't be too much trouble, it would be most helpful if I could use it."

"Certainly!" Thomas said, grinning as he suddenly stood from his seat. "Just come this way!"

Hermione also stood from her chair and followed the rotund little man as he waddled to the door to his offices, into the classroom. She trailed behind him as he crossed the classroom over to one of the various unmarked doors on the other side of the room. In her childhood, Hermione had always supposed these to be storage closets, though she really hadn't given the doors more than a passing thought. She'd been far too busy paying attention to the lectures.

"You can use this one here," Dabny said, stopping in front of the door that was furthest to the right and closest to the front of the room. "It has the best stocked supply cabinet of the lot. The password is 'dayfly.'"

Hermione nodded in response, quickly absorbing all of the information. "Right," she said, "thank you."

"Not a problem," Thomas replied, grinning at her. "Well, Mrs. Palmer, I do think that's all. If you'd excuse me, I have some essays to mark. I will see you on Monday morning."

"Yes," Hermione said, "Yes, of course."

Dabny nodded once before turning and waddling his back across the classroom, re-entering his office, and shutting the door behind him.

Hermione turned back to the door and stared at it for a few second. "Dayfly," she said, crisply and clearly. It was punctuated by the sound of a latch moving, and when Hermione tried the door, it opened easily.

She stepped inside the room, coughing on the dust the movement of the door stirred up. She coughed again, before pulling out her wand and quickly muttering, "Scourgify." She was pleased to see the dust vanish quickly, the marble countertops lining the room gleaming in their newfound cleanliness.

She crossed the small room to the corner where the supply cabinet was kept. She opened it and peered inside. It looked as though it contained all of the ingredients she would need to once again try to recreate Michelson's return potion. She would have to bring the notes with her though and recheck the stores before she could be sure.

Deciding there was no time like the present, Hermione closed the storage cabinet and left the lab. Closing the door behind her as she stepped into the classroom, she heard the door lock itself automatically. She walked across the room to the doorway, exiting into the dungeon hallway.

She walked the approximate six meters that took her to the door of her own chambers. Hermione muttered the password quickly, opening the door and stepping inside.

She was quite unprepared for the sight that greeted her.

"Ah!" Snape exclaimed from where he sat in one of the high backed leather chairs. Hermione watched him place his tea cup on the coffee table that rested before him as he stood from the chair. "Darling, you've come back," he said as he crossed the room to where she stood by the doorway.

"Yes," she said as he took her in his arms and dropped a chaste kiss on the side of her mouth. She tried not to squeak in shock at the feel of his lips very near, if not quite against, hers. She tried not to give into the urge to grab the back of his head when he pulled away to bring him back for more. But, as she was displeased to discover, it was very difficult to accomplish.

"I'm glad to see you," he said, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the chairs before the fire, where tea was laid out. "You must get better acquainted with our new colleague."

Hermione fixed a grin on her face as he pushed her to stand before the other, occupied, leather chair.

"Darling," he said, "this is Minerva McGonagall. She teaches Transfiguration."

A younger, but just as stern looking, version of her former professor and friend rose from the chair, extending her hand to Hermione. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Palmer."

"You also," Hermione replied, shaking her hand. "Transfiguration?" she asked.

"Yes," Minerva said, resuming her seat.

"How interesting," Hermione said, turning to look about for a seat to take as Snape sat in the chair he had just vacated.

"Yes," Minerva said once more as she conjured a chair from nothing to rest beside Snape's. "Quite useful as well."

"Er," Hermione said as she settled herself into the newly made chair before turning her attentions back to McGonagall. "Quite."

"Mr. Palmer tells me that you taught Potions in Venice," Minerva said, taking a sip of her tea.

"Oh yes," Hermione replied, nodding quickly. "Yes, I did."

"And are acting as Professor Dabny's assistant this term?" Minerva prompted.

"Right," Hermione said. "Right, yes. Um, Jamie," she said as she turned to look at Snape. "What sort of tea is this?"

"Darjeeling, darling," Snape replied, giving her an easy smile.

"Oh, lovely," said Hermione, reaching out to lift the teapot and pour herself a cup. She distracted herself with this task for a few moments and was quite happy when Snape began conversing with McGonagall.

"So, how are the quidditch teams here?" he asked. Hermione was amazed at his conversational tone, the easiness with which he made small talk.

It was very un-Snapelike.

"Well," Minerva began, "I do think Gryffindor house has a fabulous team. Though, I am rather biased since I am the head of that house."

"Oh," Snape said, nodding and smiling again. Hermione took a sip of her tea in order to hide her frown. Why was he so good at this? Why was he able to adapt to the situation with no problems whatsoever?

"We have a fabulous chaser, James Potter," Minerva went on. "I do think he could go professional, you know. He's just so talented."

"Really?" Snape asked, and Hermione was very pleased to see the hand that was not holding his teacup clench into a tight fist. "How wonderful for him. I thoroughly enjoyed quidditch as a boy, but I'm afraid I was never quite that talented."

"How's the team of Slytherin house?" Hermione asked abruptly, turning her attention to McGonagall. "Are our neighbors' team as talented as yours?"

Hermione, for some reason, took a great amount pleasure in watching her friend bristle at this question. It was just terribly amusing the way Minerva would get so worked up over a silly sport. She had never tired of watching she and Snape bicker over games when she was a student.

"They're a talented team," Minerva said stiffly. "They've a beater, Severus Snape, who is quite good. Really the only one of theirs that is worth watching."

"Really?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows and turning to look at Snape. "We'll have to watch him then, won't we Jamie?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Yes, darling. I suppose we will."

"I do enjoy watching quidditch," Hermione said, looking back to McGonagall. "But I'm afraid I was never one for playing the game. Honestly, you'd be hard pressed to even get me on a broomstick, let alone convince to take my hands off the handle in order to catch and toss quaffles around."

Minerva gave her a tight lipped smile. "I know precisely what you mean, Mrs. Palmer. Quidditch is a very dangerous and frightening sport."

"Indeed," Hermione said, smiling back at her before bringing her teacup to her mouth to take another sip.

The trio fell into an awkward silence then, and Hermione wracked her brain for something to talk about while occupying her mouth by taking sip after sip of tea.

"Well," Minerva said suddenly, setting her teacup onto the coffee table. "It was nice meeting the both of you, but I have papers I must have marked for Monday and lesson plans to make." She stood from her seat, and Snape and Hermione quickly followed suite. "I will see the two of you around the castle, I imagine," she said, giving them another tight smile.

Snape nodded, grinning at McGonagall while Hermione said, "Yes, yes, of course."

McGonagall nodded, telling the pair good bye, before allowing Snape to see her out of the rooms.

When he shut the door behind her, he turned and glared at Hermione. "We'll have to watch him, will we?"

Hermione smiled, even though she knew he was angry and even though she knew it was a bad idea. And, predictably, Snape appeared to grow angrier.

"That, Miss Granger, was a very ridiculous and dangerous thing to say! Couldn't you have said something like that about Potter or anyone besides me? Did you have to draw attention to the fact that you might possibly have a specific interest in me!" he roared.

Hermione flinched slightly at his volume. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"You will be," he said, as he turned to stalk towards his bedroom, "when I'm found out and killed. And you're left on your own to find a way back to the future. That is, of course, if they don't kill you."

He passed out of their common room and into his bedroom, but did not shut the door. Hermione took this as reason enough to continue the conversation, and followed after him.

"Professor," she said when she entered his bedroom, surprised with the sight of him unbuttoning his robes.

"What?" he snarled, not looking at her.

"I, erm, I think Minerva is suspicious of us," Hermione said. "I think she might not completely believe our story."

"Oh?" Snape said, turning to look at her as he jerked open the buttons of his robes, slowly revealing the white shirt that lay beneath. "Whatever gave you that idea, my darling Mrs. Palmer?"

Hermione frowned. "Her behavior. She wasn't very kind."

"Indeed," Snape said, finally having undone the buttons to his robes. Hermione said nothing as he pulled it off his shoulders and tossed it onto the bed. "Though, I do not think she is any more suspicious of us than she would be any other person who'd appeared in the middle of term looking for a position as a teaching assistant."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly. "I see."

"Congratulations," Snape replied as he sat down at the end of the bed. "Is there something more?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not really." She paused, biting on her bottom lip and trying to think of the correct way to phrase her next sentence. "You did really well back there, Professor. It was really convincing, the kiss and the endearments and everything."

"I was not a spy for nothing, Miss Granger," he said softly, glancing away from her. "Besides," he continued, "sometimes it's rather, ah, nice to play pretend, don't you think?"

Hermione felt her cheeks grow heated as she shrugged.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Snape said, standing up and returning his gaze to her, "I'd like to take a nap before dinner, and unless you plan on joining me, I'd like it if you'd leave my room."

"Sorry," she said, quickly, backing up and turning around. She practically ran towards the door, snapping it closed it behind her as she scurried back into the common room.

She heaved a great sigh as she leaned back against the door. It was abnormal, in her opinion, that listening to him simply speak about playing pretend was enough to make her stomach and heart flutter spasmodically.

-
Note: Thanks for reading! And many, many thanks to those of you who have been kind enough to review. I appreciate it!