Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

AN: Many thanks to my beta laiksmarei for her wonderful work on this piece.

What kind of person, Hermione thought as she lay flat on her back in her bed, staring at the ceiling like it was Snape's arse, takes a grown woman to Madam Puddifoot's?

Percy fucking Weasley.

Gods, if there ever was a date that required large amounts of alcohol in order to be tolerated, it was the one she had just gone on; so of course, her companion had chosen the one place in the whole of wizarding England that did not serve alcohol. It served hot chocolate and tea and rained confetti down upon its poor customers, but there was nary a bottle of vodka to be seen. There was nothing entertaining to look at while Percy talked and talked about recent goings-on in his department, most of which seemed to revolve around him solving very complicated problems but never getting a promotion or raise. She had been ready to suffocate him with the pink doilies by nine-thirty, except that the damned things were too lacy for that to work.

And then, when they'd stepped back out into the cold night and she'd tried every excuse she knew of to get away from him, he'd kissed her. Or, at least, he had puckered his lips up tighter than his arse and pressed them against hers for about ten seconds while she stood frozen with horror. How on earth had Penelope Clearwater gone out with this man for two years? Did they have a non-kissing relationship? When he finally, finally, pulled his mouth off of hers, they'd stood for several seconds in utter silence.

"Well, Hermione," he'd said, "I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid this just isn't going to work out in the long run." With that, he'd offered to escort her back to the castle, a fate she'd narrowly escaped by telling him that Hagrid had asked her to drop by sometime to say hello. The rapid look of disgust that passed over Percy's face right before he bid her goodnight told her everything she ever needed to know about him. It made sense, at a certain level; she could not imagine anyone more different from this stuck-up, pompous arse in front of her than big, uncouth Hagrid. She'd given him the curtest and least sincere "Good evening" that ever crossed her lips and then fled before he could change his mind. Thank goodness the storm had cleared away; she had not been forced to walk back in the rain.

And now here she was, alone once again on Valentine's night.

There was only one thing to do, really, that might make her forget her loneliness for a little while. It wasn't as if she didn't do it most nights, but tonight it seemed like she needed it more than ever, that guilty pleasure of hers. Pushing herself off the bed, she shed the clingy dress robes she'd worn on her date, hanging them back in the wardrobe before pulling open the top drawer and pulling out a short silk nightie. The material caressed her skin like a lover as she slid it over her head and tugged it down her body; she couldn't help running her hands over her body once it was on so she could hear and feel it against her skin. The chilly air in her room made her nipples tighten a bit, and when the fabric slid over them, she could not help but sigh a little.

After she had removed her makeup and braided her hair to tame its bushiness somewhat, Hermione slid between the cotton sheets of her bed and settled back against the pillows; the torches around the room died with a flick of her wand. After a quick "Lumos," she tucked her wand into a loop of curtain rope that was wrapped around the bedpost, allowing the light to fall over her head and chest. There was a routine to this activity; everything set so she could get the maximum amount of enjoyment out of it.

With a small smile of anticipation, she opened the drawer in her nightstand and pulled out, first, a box of Honeydukes chocolates, and second, a copy of Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn.

When the magical world was getting you down, there was nothing like a Muggle fantasy novel to cheer you up.

Selecting a dark truffle, Hermione found her bookmark and, after taking a slow, sensuous bite and allowing the rich flavor to travel over her tongue, began to read.

"'Do you know who I am?' the unicorn asked.

'Very well, you're a fishmonger! You are my everything, you are my sunshine, you are old and grey and full of sleep...'"

Hermione read and ate until about eleven, when her eyes started to drift closed, at which point she turned off her wand, put the book and the chocolates away, and fell asleep.

Well, there it was. The first day done. He smiled to himself as he watched the clock tick closer and closer to midnight.

They thought it was over, poor things.

The fun was just beginning.

He was sure they'd thank him for it later, at the wedding, possibly. One must go through hell in order to achieve heaven, or something like that.

The clock struck midnight, and while no pumpkins turned into carriages, a careful observer might have noticed a slight shiver in the air around Severus Snape and Hermione Granger: they vanished for the smallest fraction of a second and reappeared in completely different positions. A dark truffle reappeared in Hermione's box of chocolates; in Severus' liquor cabinet, a half-empty bottle of wine was suddenly completely full.

A rumble of thunder washed over Hogwarts. He grinned outright, patted the little Time-Turner affectionately, and went to bed. Tomorrow was, for some people, another day, and he had things to do.

Severus wrapped himself around the young woman beside him, knowing that they wouldn't escape.

Not again. Severus groaned and rolled over to bury his face in a pillow, cursing Thor, Zeus, and any other god of thunder and storms in existence. Was it so hard to let him sleep until a decent hour of the morning? And would it be so hard for Morpheus to find a dream that involved booming noises without Voldemort being involved? He was used to having serial dreams, but he didn't particularly like watching a cannonball fly towards him while he tried to cover Hermione with his body; if he had the dream again, he would be forced to find some Dreamless Sleep potion if he was to get any rest.

Thunder rolled again, defying his efforts to burrow into the downy pillow and find peace and a few more minutes of sleep. Severus sat up with a growl and glared at the ceiling before rolling out of bed and moving to the loo. He didn't bother to look at the clock; whatever he saw there would serve only to depress him, he was sure.

I must be assigned the most prudish house-elf in the entire school, he thought a few minutes later, standing under a stream of hot water as he remembered the frantic squeak the creature had made when he entered. One would think the little buggers would figure out that he slept nude and prepare themselves to occasionally be faced with more of the Potions master than they might have wanted to see. All the yelping and vanishing really wasn't necessary. It wasn't as though Severus cared what they saw.

Besides, the elves were notorious gossip-mongers; if, somehow, word got around to, say, Hermione, about the approximate size of certain portions of his anatomy, well, it probably wouldn't hurt his chances with her.

His own general attractiveness was not something Severus was particularly confident about, but plain old length and width were hard to deny.

Hunger, he was finding, was also hard to deny, as he sat in the Great Hall and waited for breakfast to show up. It was one thing for the house-elves to serve late on a holiday, but they had no excuse today and he was growing steadily more irritated. The food got there right before Flitwick did, and Severus used a full mouth as an excuse not to say anything to the little man. He focused on eating as quickly as he could without making himself look like a glutton.

When he looked up from his plate, Hermione and Pomona had both arrived; the latter was rubbing at the side of her nose with her napkin with a rueful smile. Hermione inspected the older witch's face and nodded, lips moving in what was probably an assurance of cleanliness, before returning to her own breakfast.

"Severus? Could I speak to you for half a minute, please?"

What now? Severus stared at the headmaster, frowning as he stood and walked up the table to his seat. Was the man intending to deliver every message he had for Severus during breakfast? Did a hidden sadist lurk within the diminutive headmaster?

Taking a sip of tea and placing the cup down on the table, Flitwick turned to Severus and clasped his small hands together. "As you may recall, Severus, the Ministry has arranged for a member of its office to come and speak to the staff about a few issues regarding funding and government-introduced syllabi..."

"Again? Was it not covered thoroughly enough yesterday?" Severus snapped, crossing his arms and glaring down at Flitwick's puzzled face.

"Yesterday, Severus? There was no such meeting yesterday. Mr. Weasley is scheduled to come in today, after classes get out."

"Headmaster, with all due respect, I'm really not in the mood for pranks." What Severus wasn't saying was that Flitwick was not usually given to playing pranks on his staff, even on April First, and that Severus was not appreciative of this new direction in his boss's personality.

If he had decided to take on the Weasley twins' hobby, Flitwick was looking to be promising: his look of innocent bewilderment was quite convincing.

"No pranks, Severus, I assure you. Just a meeting in the staffroom after the last bell rings." Eyeing him with a hint of condescending apprehension, Flitwick added, "Have another cup of coffee, Severus."

Severus put as much sarcasm into his reply as he could without sounding completely insubordinate.

"Yes, sir."

Whirling around so he could make his way back to his chair, he saw that carrying out the order would be, for the moment, impossible. Trelawney had already commandeered his mug and was staring into it.

Do people never bloody learn? He had no patience for the old bat's nonsense. Whipping out his wand, he snarled, "Accio cup!" and watched as it was torn from her hands and carried to him. Already walking towards his seat, he caught the flying cup mid-stride and didn't even acknowledge Trelawney as he sat down.

"Severus, I saw... I saw a woman, Severus...." She was fluttering behind him, her bangles clanking as she waved her arms through the air for dramatic effect.

"Sybil," he said, not looking back at her as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, "the prediction was utter bollocks yesterday. It continues to be so. Do stop making a fool of yourself by predicting that I will fall in love with you, because I would sooner fall in love with the Giant Squid." He heard the faintest of gasps from Pomona, and all movement behind him ceased. As he stood and exited, coffee in hand, he thought he heard the beginning of bereaved sniffs from Trelawney, and he definitely got a couple nasty looks from those who had overheard his comment. Trelawney's eccentricities were not enjoyed by any on the staff, but the kinder among them were sympathetic towards her sensitive disposition.

But he thought he saw a smirk on Hermione's lips as he passed.

Hermione was accustomed to students forgetting things they had learned the day before; many of her pupils had sieves for memories, and she usually tried to be patient with them, at least if they were trying.

But never before had an entire class denied any knowledge of what they had covered the previous day. Normally, she would have accused them of playing a prank on her, but as she inspected the puzzled faces before her, it became apparent that they firmly believed what they were saying. Besides, half of them were Hufflepuffs, so lying en masse was out of the question.

"So, according to you all, yesterday we simply went over the theories and techniques of Summoning and Banishing, and today is supposed to be dedicated to practicing those spells?"

Collective nod.

Hermione sighed and put her hands on her hips. There were no vacant gazes that would indicate Confunding or memory charms, nothing out of the ordinary besides the fact that they all seemed to have forgotten the previous day's lesson. But Hermione was not given to disbelieving that which she knew to be true; she very clearly remembered Brevely's mishaps and her subsequent misfortune. Yesterday had happened.

Unless she was the one who was Confunded. It was incredibly unlikely...who could have done it?...but right now it was looking more and more plausible.

Well, she might as well let them practice while she did a bit of reading about the Confundus Hex, and she could rearrange the syllabus later depending on which side turned out to be in error.

"Very well. The cushions are in that cabinet over there..." she pointed across the room, to a beat-up wardrobe near the door,"...as are the crates. Set up the crates against that wall, line up opposite, and practice. If you have a question, just ask; I'll be back in a minute."

Leaving them to set up, she quickly slipped through the door to her quarters and headed for the huge bookcase that stood along one wall. Rows and rows of leather bindings met her eyes, and a smile tugged at her lips. She couldn't help but caress the spines as she searched for the book she needed, feeling the many different textures: embossed, dragonhide, plain leather, worn, stamped... The one she pulled out was battered black leather, with peeling gold lettering on the front that read. Taking the Confusion out of Confunding. Despite the terrible title, it was actually a very informative book.

When she returned to the classroom, she found Brevely standing looking sheepishly up at the chandelier. She knew without looking that his pink pillow would be up there, and she sent it back to him without a thought.

The same pillow crashed into the back of her book several minutes later.

Something was very wrong.

She was very quiet all through her next classes, not mentioning that her students gave the same speeches and made the same mistakes as they had the previous day. The same students were snogging in the corridors as she walked slowly to lunch, her mind whirling. Happenings that would be dismissed by Muggles as coincidence or déjà vu were generally taken seriously by wizards, or at least by wizards who wanted to take full advantage of their long life span, and Hermione was no exception. One or two odd occurrences were perfectly normal at Hogwarts, but her morning surpassed the normal oddities. Even at Hogwarts, it was not normal for one's morning to be repeated verbatim, especially when no else seemed to be aware of it.

It was a testament to how absorbed in thought she was that she forgot about the trick stair. Down she tumbled.

But this time she did not collide with Snape and end up in a not-unpleasant heap on the floor with him.

This time, he moved out of the way, and she landed on the floor by herself. It hurt.

As she lay on the cold stones, trying to get her breath back, his sneering voice came to her.

"What's your excuse for tripping today, Hermione? Fondly reminiscing about your date with Percy?"

"Oh, yes, that's it," she gasped, sitting up to glare at him. "Can't stop thinking about those horn-rimmed glasses. Nothing gets me hot like being bored out of my mind." She didn't bother waiting for him to help her up, as it would entail being on the floor for the foreseeable future. As she started to brush herself off, a light went off in her head and she snapped her gaze to Severus, whose face bore a look of similar sudden enlightenment.

"You remember--"

"It's happening to you--"

They stopped and stared at each other for a moment. He spoke first.

"So, I take it that you, too, have had an alarmingly familiar morning?"

"Yes. I thought I was going mad for a while, but then it all started adding up; you have no idea how wonderful it was to hear you mention that date. I mean, it was a terrible date, but at least you remember yesterday happening...I'll just shut up now," she added, seeing a very familiar scowl appear on his face and realizing that she was babbling.

"You should say that more often," he said, crossing his arms and regarding her with a smirk as she narrowed her eyes. The smirk faded, and he continued, "However, I believe we should discuss this situation, preferably somewhere private."

"My classroom is just upstairs," she offered; at his nod, she turned and preceded him up the stairs, being extra-careful not to hit the trick step. He waited as she unlocked the door, though once it was open he brushed past her like she was a house-elf, striding into the room with his usual domineering attitude.

When she turned back from closing and locking the door, she found him leaning against the edge of her desk, one finger tracing the contours of his mouth. Willing herself not to focus on that damned finger, Hermione opted to sit on the student desk right in front of him, crossing her legs and wrapping her arms around her knee. The height of the desk meant that she was at, if not eye level, then at least chin level with the tall man. And she was damned if she was going to sit at the desk like some student serving detention.

"Well?" she said, quirking her eyebrows up slightly. "You wanted to discuss this, Severus."

"I was merely waiting for you to get comfortable," he said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Thank you, I am. Now..."

"For some reason as yet unbeknownst to us, the day of February fourteenth is being replayed. From what I've seen, and what you mentioned, we are the only two people who realize this is occurring and have any memories of yesterday. Events that happened yesterday take the same course unless we do something to change them. We need to find out how this is being done, how to stop it, and who to kill afterwards."

She chuckled at his last words, surprised that he had made a joke, though with Severus, it might not be in jest. His eyebrow arched at her laughter and he said, "If someone did something that might require me to go on multiple dates with Percy Weasley, I know I would want to kill them."

Hermione felt her eyes go wide with horror. "Oh, Merlin, no..."

He smirked and continued. "Of course, we have been able to change events, so perhaps you will be spared."

"But to what extent can they change?" she wondered aloud. "I mean, I tripped over that damn staircase today, but it was for different reasons. Maybe certain things are destined to happen, no matter what we do to prevent them."

"That is not a pleasant thought." At her inquiring glance, he reluctantly added, "Due to a clumsy student, I spent a rather unpleasant hour in the hospital wing yesterday. I have no desire to repeat the experience."

"It wasn't worse than my date. Trust me."

He snorted and stood up, glancing at the clock on her desk. "Lunch is almost over. Might I recommend that we meet again at the end of the day to debrief? That is, if one of us is not otherwise occupied?" She nodded curtly, and he swept out the door without so much as a word.

Bloody hell. She was going to be spending a lot of time with Severus. No reputation to worry about, no essays that actually had to be graded... Aside from being bored out of her mind every day, there were some distinct advantages to this phenomenon. Of course, she wanted to stop it, but she was fully prepared to take advantage of it while it lasted.

Well, at least now I know I'm not in my personal hell. She wouldn't be here. Being forced to repeat Valentine's Day for perpetuity would probably be a significant portion of his personal hell, but no way would hell include a perfect excuse to spend lots of time with Hermione.

And so what if someone saw them and was suspicious? By the next day, said person wouldn't even remember what they had seen. No consequences, except for anything he might say or do to Hermione; he essentially had a ticket to do whatever he wished. It didn't matter if he graded essays or even bothered to show up to class: he got a clean slate every morning.

This situation kept looking better and better the more he thought about it. He was seriously considering not going to his afternoon classes; after all, he reasoned, pausing in his walking, if he avoided the class, he would not get potion spilled on him, and therefore would not be forced to go to the Hospital Wing.

Of course, it would make his students happy if he didn't show up, but he didn't really care.

He was halfway to the kitchens, intending to make up for his missed lunch, when he ran into Filius.

"Severus! Don't you have classes to be at?"

So much for that plan. He had a sinking feeling that if he tired to get out of classes any other way, he would be thwarted. Additionally, he suspected that Hermione would trip on that stair every day, they would somehow be forced to listen to Percy's speech every day, and somehow (this though made him grit his teeth) she would end up going on a date with the red-headed imbecile.

No, this might not be his personal hell, but it was starting to look like purgatory.

He avoided the Blister-Cure Brew that day, but only because a scorpion that was supposed to be dead, well, wasn't. Clutching his swelling, burning hand, he half-ran to the hospital wing, watching with horrified interest as streaks of sickly green began emanating from the sting. Of course, he had no antivenin, as he hardly expected to get stung by an ingredient that was supposed to be dead.

Sure enough, when he arrived at the Hospital Wing, Poppy was bending over the same curtained-off bed; third down on the left.

"Now, this is going to be a bit odd. Your skin will start to feel a bit numb in about half an hour, which means it's working. There will be another dose in an hour. I understand it's hard, but do try not to... do anything."

Merlin. Being there was even worse the second time around because he knew exactly what was happening in that bed and he knew exactly what Poppy was going to try to do to him. And, if the events of the day were anything to go by, it would be futile to try to avoid either.

Resigned, he sank onto the bed, holding out his wounded arm and muttering "Scorpion sting," when Poppy inquired as to the nature of his injury. He responded to her with grunts and nods, hoping to deter her from making another pass at him.

It didn't work. The same lewd comment was made, with the same lascivious tone, and Severus left the second Poppy did, not wanting to endure another round of listening to the students fornicating. He managed to escape while they were still in the gasping, giggling phase.

As an experiment, he tried going to back to his quarters instead of to the staffroom.

Five minutes later he was headed back the other way, with a very chatty Professor Sinistra at his side expostulating on the wonders of some new algorithm. Severus had a feeling that if he'd jumped off a tower, Madam Hooch would have swooped by on a broom, caught him, and delivered him through the staffroom window.

He had left the Hospital Wing earlier than the other day, but his detour ensured that he got to the staffroom at the same time as the previous day...that is, right before Hermione. She did not look happy at all, not that he could blame her; her evening was likely to contain a surplus of Percy Weasley. Of course, any Percy Weasley was a surplus.

And knowing that Hermione was not looking forward to her evening with Percy made Severus, if not happy, then a bit less miserable; it was not even his usual delight at the misfortune of others, but rather the knowledge that at least Weasley wasn't competition.

Percy's speech had been gnaw-your-own-ear-off dull the day before, but hearing it again brought the agony to new heights. Severus spent the time staring in what he was sure was an unnerving way at Percy's freckled forehead and was rewarded each time the young man nervously brushed his fringe forward to conceal it. After the question-and-answer session (Percy asked if there were questions and was answered with silence), Severus stood and waited for Hermione to leave, which she did with remarkable alacrity. He caught up to her in the corridor, and when they paused around a corner, Hermione glanced over shoulder to see if the redhead was following.

"I don't see him," she said, carefully peering around the corner. "Maybe if we avoid something fair and square, we get off...oh, shit!" She nearly collided with Severus' chest as she jerked her head back around the edge of the wall, but it was too late.

"Hermione! Hold up a second, please!" The crisp, tight, tones of Percy's voice echoed down the hall, loud enough that she couldn't possibly plead ignorance.

"He's got Flitwick and Sinistra with him!" Hermione hissed, wringing her hands as the trio of footsteps neared, and then hastily putting on a neutral, curious face as the three came around the corner. Neither Flitwick nor Sinistra looked particularly happy with their present companion; Percy, of course, was oblivious to their dislike.

"Hermione!" he repeated, smiling broadly and extending a hand. "It's been far too long since I've last been able to talk to you. Why don't you join us for a drink down at the Three Broomsticks tonight? And it's on the Ministry," he added in the same sort of conspiratorial tone that any other man would recommend a brothel to his friend.

"Yes, Hermione, do. And you as well, Severus, if you wish." Flitwick looked at Hermione, and then Severus, with something akin to manic pleading in his eyes. As Headmaster, he was required to show a modicum of hospitable tolerance towards even the most obnoxious of Ministry officials, unless they were being truly unreasonable.

"That's very kind of you, really," Hermione said, her voice edging into the borders of shrillness as she held up her hands in polite protest, "but--"

Sinistra cut her off with a chuckle. "Come, come, a lovely young woman such as yourself should not be sitting in her room on Valentine's Day." The older witch reached out and took Hermione's hand. "Just for a few drinks, my dear, and then we'll let you go home and snog your book collection silly." Severus smirked as Hermione bristled, but nevertheless, she was dragged away by the trio, with one last, pleading look at him over her shoulder.

Severus returned to his rooms and spent the night in much the same way as he had the previous night (or, at least, the previous iteration of the current night. Or something like that), except that he only had two glasses of wine instead of half the bottle. Around eleven-thirty, as he was settling down in his favorite armchair with a book, hair still damp from the shower, there came three very firm knocks upon his door.

There was really only one person it could be. As he stood and made his way to the door, he rapidly tried to empty his mind of the last thoughts it held of said person (She is not naked and tied to the bed. She is not naked... damn!) with only moderate success. At least most of his blood was still in his head when he opened the door to find a very irate and slightly tipsy Hermione standing in the corridor.

"You bastard! You left me to be taken by those three!" She could not have sounded more venomously accusing had he allowed a pyromaniac with a matchbox near her books. "Percy cornered me in the pub and talked at me for ten minutes without a break before I could plead essays to grade and leave!"

"I'll knock you unconscious next time, how about that?" he shot back. "If I did, though, the Weasley boy would probably accompany you to the hospital wing and place cool compresses on your forehead until you woke up. Some things are doomed to happen today, I fear. Trust me when I say you do not suffer alone."

She glared at him for another second, and then her shoulders slumped, and she gave a sigh of deepest unhappiness.

"How long can we do this? I'll go mad if this keeps up, I really will."

"I concur." Regarding her for a minute, he stepped back, gestured to his sitting room and said, "Come in and we can discuss the matter."

"Oh. Er... all right. Thanks." Was that a blush on her cheeks as she passed him or just the glow of alcohol? Alcohol, old man. Definitely. Probably, anyway. He followed her, allowing himself a brief moment to stare with greatest longing and enormous appreciation at her plump, round arse, before tearing his eyes away and heading for the liquor cabinet.

He poured a glass of firewhisky and turned back to find her seated comfortably in the chair he had just vacated, legs primly crossed and eyebrows raised in expectant reproach. Scowling, he reached for a second tumbler and measured out a few fingers of the volatile liquid, which he handed to her on his way to the couch.

Sitting down, he watched as she took a deep gulp of the liquor, coughing a little when the fiery aftertaste hit. As she wiped her watering eyes and looked back at him, he calmly knocked his glass back and only had to clear his throat a little at the end, smirking a little at her pursed lips.

"Well, I expect you've had more practice," she said, lifting her chin defiantly and jerking it at his empty glass.

Touché. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Can we get to the matter at hand?" She nodded.

For a few minutes they reviewed the happenings of the day, comparing them to the day before: Hermione tripping, Severus getting hurt, the staff meeting, the date.

"Is there any way we can make one or more of those completely impossible?" Hermione asked, sipping thoughtfully at another glass of firewhisky. "Say if I walked down a different corridor, or if you stayed away from the desks in your class?"

"Unlikely," he said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Whatever geas or curse we're under would persevere...you might trip over something else, or a student would spill his potion sample over me as he turned it in. Even if we barricaded ourselves in our rooms all day and pleaded illness, it would find a way, though it might be a bit easier to control."

"Well, we're just one big bloody ray of sunshine, aren't we?"

"An excess of sunshine burns."

That startled a bark of laughter out of her, though she sobered quickly and stared at the fire. He knew what she was thinking: how long would this go on? And how long could they stand it?

"Well," she said softly, looking back at him with the slightest of quirks in her lips, "I suggest we get drunk, because I'm out of ideas."

The clock on the mantle chimed midnight as she raised her glass in a bleak toast to him. They sipped quietly, both sinking for a moment into their own thoughts. Severus was just about to ask if she wanted more alcohol when the room...no, the entire plane of existence, every molecule in his body...twitched. For the briefest moment he felt as though he were being yanked in a hundred different directions, like he was on a rack that clamped onto every piece of his body and pulled.

And then he knew no more.