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

Regarding Time Travel
Eight

Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, Hermione allowed Snape –no, Jamie—to lead her into the Great Hall. They walked between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables to the Head Table, and once there, Hermione allowed her husband –no, Snape—to pull out her chair for her, thanking him quietly as she sat down. She did her best not act surprised when, after seating himself beside her, he took her napkin from her plate and set it in her lap.

"Thank you, Jamie," she said, softly.

"You're very welcome," he replied, "my darling, Mrs. Palmer."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the form of address, but did not comment on it. She chose, instead, to turn her attentions to the person who sat on her right and bid them a good evening. She was slightly surprised to see that it was Minerva McGonagall who sat in the chair next to her and watched her with a very expectant look upon her face.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, smiling at her and hoping that this was what the woman was after.

"Please," Minerva replied, smiling back. Hermione noticed that it was a genuine smile, and not one of the tight lipped facsimiles she had received earlier. "Do call me Minerva."

"Then you must call me Hermione," she replied quickly and was only slightly puzzled by Minerva's abrupt change in demeanor. She supposed the Transfigurations professor might have spoken to the Headmaster regarding she and Snape's sudden appearance, for Dumbledore was always able to put her at ease on almost every point.

Soup appeared in the bowls before them, and Hermione, suddenly feeling quite hungry, turned away from her friend, picked up her spoon, and dug in.

"You have a very attentive husband," Minerva said softly beside her. "It's nice to see two people so very obviously in love."

"Oh," Hermione said, the smile on her face faltering slightly. "Well, we do love each other."

"He simply adores you," Minerva went on.

"Oh?" Hermione said, looking down at her soup to hide the blush on her cheeks and any of the truths she feared her gaze might reveal.

"Oh yes," Minerva continued. "The way he speaks to you. His manner toward you. Why he's nothing short of positively enamored with you, my dear." She paused to chuckle. "It's just so lovely to see a couple so very much in love."

Hermione looked back up at her and offered the strongest smile she could. She then looked out at the student tables for a few moments, hoping that this would cause Minerva to pursue another line of conversation.

Her eyes drifted over the tables when her eyes suddenly landed on a boy –well, a young man, really—who sat slouching in his chair, his black hair, which he wore to his shoulders, acting as a curtain and almost completely hiding his face. There was enough left exposed, though, that Hermione could see his expression. He was frowning, scowling into his soup. He looked so sad, and Hermione could not stop the oddly sweet but aching feeling that suddenly blossomed in her chest at the sight of his familiar face.

"Oh," she sighed, "oh dear."

"Are you all right, my darling?" Snape hissed from beside her. Hermione felt his hand grasp her thigh and squeeze tightly.

She gasped, ripping her eyes from his younger form to stare into the dark eyes of his adult form. The ache grew stronger as she looked into his eyes. Because his eyes…oh, his eyes were still the same.

And inexplicably, Hermione felt herself leaning forward slightly toward Snape, her gaze locked on his eyes.

"Hermione!" he snapped in a tone full of surprise, causing her to realize that her face had been drifting closer and closer to his and, oh God. Oh God, she'd meant to kiss him.

Oh, God.

"I'm sorry, Jamie," she said, turning to look down at her soup as a flaming blush sprang up on her cheeks. "I was just feeling a little light headed."

Snape removed his hand from her thigh. "Then maybe you should eat something. You've hardly had anything to eat today."

"Yes," Hermione said, resolving to keep her eyes on her soup for the rest of the meal.

She nearly succeeded and spent most of the meal with her eyes on her food, of the table, or her lap. She didn't look up once at the students. At least, not until they started rising in clumps and packs, leaving the Great Hall for their common rooms, the library, or dark corners in which they could snog until curfew.

She looked up at the student tables when the room had mostly emptied. She'd tried her best not to glance at the Slytherin table, but, for some reason, she hadn't been able to stop herself from doing it once more. He sat there still, the sad expression seemingly etched on his face, and pushed his spoon around in his dessert plate.

The lovely aching feeling suddenly bubbled up in her chest once more, making her gasp. Both Snape and Minerva looked at her quickly, but Hermione looked neither in the eye.

"Well," she said as she pushed her chair away from the table, throwing her napkin atop her dessert plate. "I really must go. I'm quite knackered and I wanted to get a bit of research done in the laboratory before I went to bed, so I'm off."

She smiled quickly at Snape and bid McGonagall good night, before scurrying away from the Head Table. She did not, however, look again to the Slytherin table as she made her way out of the hall, for she knew far too well what she would see there.

Hermione had just finished checking the supply cabinet for all of the ingredients listed in the recipe when the door to the lab burst open. She hadn't been able to help but gasp in surprise as she turned around quickly, her hand on her chest, to see who had come into the room so forcefully.

Snape, unsurprisingly enough, stood just inside the doorway, glaring at her. "You are not, under any circumstances, to look at me that way again, Miss Granger."

She stared at him questioningly and hoped her expression was innocent enough. "Pardon?"

"I saw you," he said, "during dinner. I saw that your eyes kept wandering to Slytherin table. I saw the way you looked at me. I was not…am not…was not some sort of puppy dog that you can take up in your arms and cuddle and care for until I become the loving little dog you always knew I could be. I am a human being. I was a human being, I meanoh, bollocks!"

He gave a frustrated growl as he stood from his chair and raked a hand through his short, wavy, perfect hair. "Don't treat me as a project Miss Granger. I am not a pet you can take home to save. Remember that."

Hermione opened her mouth to say that she didn't do that sort of thing when she realized that she most certainly did. Why that was exactly what she'd done with Crookshanks. Surly, disagreeable, and caustic though the cat was, she had brought him home. She had loved him, loved him within an inch of his life. And even though he was still the same terrible cat he'd been the day she got him, she knew that he loved her back.

She closed her mouth and blinked as her gaze refocused on Snape's face. It was still beautiful; it still wasn't him. Giving him a small smile that she knew did not reach her eyes, she said, "Yes, Professor."

She let him stare at her for a few moments, his eyes narrowed and his gaze cautious, before she lifted Michelson's notes and waved them in the air. "We've all of the ingredients," she said, giving him another insincere smile. "We can start brewing now, if you like."

Sighing, Snape leaned against the counter that was closest to him. "Miss Granger, I don't think you understand me."

Hermione frowned, but said nothing. She was fairly surprised when he gulped, but listened when he continued to speak.

"I do not want your pity. My teenaged self does not want your pity. So please endeavor to keep your pity for our miserable existences to yourself." She noted that his voice sounded tired.

"It's not pity," she said, knowing that she probably shouldn't even discuss this with him. She might easily reveal too much of herself and her feelings to him. "It's concern. I am concerned about your well being." She paused, taking a deep breath. "You looked so sad in there, Professor, and it was an expression that, well, that I've seen on you as an adult."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "And?" he hissed. "What is it to you?"

"N...nothing," she stammered, knowing quite well as the word left her mouth that it was a lie.

He watched her silently for a few moments before he spoke again. "We will begin brewing Monday evening, after classes," he said, his voice sounding very stiff. It was as though he were deliberately keeping it free of emotion. "I am far too tired at the moment to do it."

"I understand," Hermione said gently. "Let's go back to our rooms."

Snape cast her a piercing gaze and studied her silently again for a few moments. "Yes," he said eventually, "let's."

Hermione gave him a tight smile as he rounded on his heel and stalked out of the lab. She followed him quickly, making sure to snuff out the candles in the lab and close the door behind her.

She was surprised to see Snape waiting for her at the doorway that led out of the classroom and into the hallway. He seemed to read the surprise on her face. "It would not do," he said, "for husband and wife to be seen walking down a hallway but not with one another."

"Right," Hermione said as she joined him at the doorway. She was nothing short of shocked when he took her hand in his own and pulled her out into the hallway.

She tried not to think about the way the feeling of his hand, large and cool around hers, caused that feeling to stir up in her chest. She tried not to think about how right it felt to let him lead her back to their rooms. How nice it was to touch him and to feel his skin against hers.

And in her effort not to think, Hermione glanced at one of the students they passed. He was a sullen looking young man and was as tall as the man she walked beside. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, his nose was large and beaky, and his eyes were sharp, a glittering black color. He looked at her, and his was expression suspicious.

Hermione couldn't stop the shy smile that spread across her face at that familiar look. Nor could she stop the sense of longing that coiled in the pit of her stomach nor the way the ache seemed to grow stronger at the sight of him.

She felt her arm being jerked, her attention following the movement.

"Come along, wife," Snape hissed from beside her.

Hermione did not dare glance up at him. She couldn't look him in the eye. Not just yet. She was too confused, too befuddled by her feelings for the man who stood beside her and the young man who had just walked past her.

When they came to their rooms, Snape muttered the password quickly. Pulling her hand from his grasp, Hermione brushed past him, opening the door and running inside, across their common room to the door to her bedroom. She slipped inside, and quickly shut and warded the door behind her.

Hermione leaned back against the door for a few moments, waiting until her breathing evened out before throwing herself on top of her bed and burying her face in her pillow. She sighed and inhaled the scent of the clean sheets. It reminded her of her childhood.

But, she realized as she turned on to her back and stared at the ceiling, her childhood had been long ago. She was an adult, now. And it was all right to have adult feelings. It was all right that she was experiencing these feelings. Feelings, she supposed, that were of love and desire. Even if they were for Severus Snape.

Because that was the truth, and she could recognize it now. She had feelings for Severus Snape. Strong feelings, actually. And she needed to get a hold of them so that she could put an end to this silly behavior. For although Hermione was not sure of much at the moment, she was quite certain that no matter how much she might come to care for Snape, no matter how deep or true of a love she might develop for him, her feelings would always be unrequited.

After taking a long bath and changing into her transfigured nightie, Hermione decided that she could do with a warm cup of tea before she went to sleep. However, there was the serious problem of the only fireplace and, accordingly, floo connection to the kitchen being in the common room. And it was quite likely that this was where Snape was probably sitting and reading.

But Hermione needed that tea. She needed the tea more than she needed to avoid seeing Snape because her nerves were completely frazzled. So, mustering up the last dredges of her Gryffindor courage, Hermione padded across her bedroom, pulled open her door, and stepped out into the living room.

She supposed the best course of action would be to ignore Snape, and she did so, pretending she could not see him seated in one of the leather chairs from the corner of her eye. Walking purposefully over to the hearth, she reached up and pulled a handful of powder from the urn that rested atop the mantle. She tossed it into the flames and called out, "Kitchens!"

Within seconds, the long eared, long snouted face of a particularly ugly house elf appeared in the flames. "Oh, Mistress Palmer! How can Minky help Mistress Palmer?"

Hermione bent over so that she could look the elf in the eye. "I'd like some tea, please. Chamomile, if you have it."

"Straight away, Mistress!" Minky exclaimed. "Straight away!"

"Thank you," Hermione said, standing straight when the elf's head disappeared. She turned around to look at the table where a large cup of tea and a small plate of chocolate biscuits had already appeared.

Very pleased with the speedy service of the elves, Hermione traipsed over to the table, sitting down. She took a sip of the warm tea and sighed. It was precisely what she had needed.

However, the sudden snort that erupted from Snape at that moment was exactly what she did not need.

"Yes?" she asked, turning her head so that she might look at him. She only noticed now that the potion had worn off and that he looked very much like himself. Accordingly, all of the feelings that she had experienced when she'd seen his younger self quickly overwhelmed her, stronger and more forceful than ever before. Now that she'd taken him in fully, she could see that he was wearing the grey nightshirt Harry had once told her the house elves distributed to all male guests. Hermione could not help but note the muscular, hairy, pale legs that were crossed at the knee that poked out from beneath the hem of the shirt which rose up past his knees ever-so-slightly.

"You very nearly exposed yourself when you were stooping before the fire, Miss Granger," he said, sneering at her.

She blushed. "Well, I am wearing knickers."

"Yes, I know," he continued. "That is a lovely shade of lilac."

Hermione's eyes widened as her cheeks reddened further. She turned her gaze to her plate of biscuits and concentrated very hard on paying no attention to the man sitting a few feet away.

In fact, she was concentrating so hard on the plate that she did not even notice when he crossed the room. Nor did she notice when took up the seat beside her until he reached out one of his pale, long fingered hands and plucked one of the biscuits from the plate.

Hermione looked up at him and scowled. He merely raised an eyebrow as he took a bite of the cookie. "Something wrong, Miss Granger?"

"Those are my biscuits," she said.

"Really?" he asked, the eyebrow rising higher. "Have you a certificate of ownership? A license? A title or a deed? Something that can prove that these are exclusively your biscuits?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I am not in the mood, Snape."

"That's funny, Granger," he said, taking another bite, "because the way you were waving your arse in front of me suggested otherwise."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. She tried her best to come up with a retort, but all she could do was gawk at him, open mouthed and wide eyed.

He smirked. "Ah, so I'm onto something then?" He leaned forward so that his long, beaky nose came very close to her own. His voice was low and gentle, and much to her dismay, caused Hermione's stomach to shiver in a way that was not at all unpleasant. "Is that why you look at me that way when we pass me in the halls? Is that the source of your preoccupation at dinner and why you nearly snogged me in front of the entire school? Are you harboring some misguided school girl fancy, Hermione?"

"Don't call me that," she hissed, rather hurt by the way he spoke about her feelings for him and rather put off that she had been so transparent.

"Call you what?" Snape asked, a perplexed expression crossing his face as he leaned away from her slightly.

"You called me by my first name," she said as she stood from her seat. "You cannot be a total prat and then go on to call me by my first name." She picked up her tea cup and crossed the room to her bedroom doorway.

Once there, she opened the door, and stepped just inside the room, pausing to look back at Snape and survey him with her gaze. She was rather pleased with how puzzled by her reaction he appeared to be. "Pleasant dreams, Professor," she said, smirking at him just before shutting the bedroom door behind her with a loud, resolute snap.

Note: Thanks so much for reading! And thanks to those who have reviewed! More to come soon.