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Parents' Evening

She appeared outside the school gates clutching her battered briefcase in one hand and a slight stitch in her side with the other. She'd had one hell of a day at work. She'd been puked on three times, had to skip lunch to see an emergency patient, and her boss had insisted on them having what he liked to call a "progress report." In reality, it was a session in which he told her she was screwing up and she simply nodded her head whenever he made a suggestion. She never implemented them, of course, if she did, they'd end up with no trainee healers at all. The meeting had dragged on and she'd barely escaped on time, dashing to the Attending Healers' lounge to change out of her robes and then rushing to the staff apparition point. She'd originally planned to be out in time to grab some dinner in the Great Hall but Chief Willikins' "progress report" had put paid to that idea.

She made it up to the castle in a few minutes, signed herself in at the long-since-abandoned registration desk and made her way down to the dungeons. They were less creepy than she remembered them being during her school days; all the sconces crackled merrily with fire and enchanted windows had been placed every few metres, displaying a lovely view of the darkening grounds. It was amazing that such a small thing could make such a huge difference.

She arrived at the Potions classroom about five minutes late. Odd, she could hear chattering going on inside the room. That seemed rather out of the ordinary. She pushed the door open and snuck into the classroom, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

"Ah," Snape's voiced carried across the room, cutting through the mindless chatter, "so nice of you to join us, Mrs Weasley." Hermione didn't correct him. "Now that we're all here, I suggest we start." She slipped into a free seat and clasped her hands on top of the desk, giving her ex-professor her full attention. "Welcome to Parents' Evening. As you've no doubt seen at dinner, all of the new first years appear to be getting along just fine. Everyone here has had a child sorted into Slytherin House and, as I am Head of Slytherin, we will have a welcome session here before moving up to the Great Hall where you will meet all of your children's teachers one on one. Does anyone have any questions about the structure of the evening?"

Hermione was shocked to see that some people already had their hands raised. What could they possibly have misunderstood at this point?

"Yes, Mrs …?"

"Braithwaite," replied a startlingly attractive woman, all blue eyes and blonde curls.

"Emily's mother?" She nodded. "What can I do for you, Mrs Braithwaite?"

"I was wondering why the Parents' Evening is in place. We never had them when I was at school here."

"Well, that's quite simple. The Ministry wishes for parents to have a greater insight into the goings on at Hogwarts; they wish for the school to be more transparent. Parents' Evening seemed like the best way to accomplish that." Hermione could hear the disdain dripping from every word. It was clear to her that he thought this whole evening ridiculous. "Any more questions?" he asked, not bothering to check if he'd addressed Emily's mother's concerns to her satisfaction.

No one raised a hand.

"We'll move on then. As I'm sure you're aware," the way he said those five words suggested to Hermione that he seriously doubted they were, "Slytherin House has a long tradition of ambition and commends students for making social connections early on in life." Hermione found it puzzling that her son had been sorted into Slytherin at all, if she was being honest, she'd always had him pegged as a Hufflepuff. Perhaps Hugo had some secret ambition hidden beneath the quiet, sensitive surface she knew. "Though the house has had a less than stellar reputation in the past, I want to assure you that every care is taken to ensure that your precious offspring grow up to be well-rounded and productive members of society. We have ten girls and seven boys in this year's crop of new students."

A hand shot into the air, Snape looked like he was considering ignoring it. He nodded for them to speak. "Is that a large group? It sounds large," said a rotund balding man with a walrus moustache, Hermione couldn't help but think of Horace Slughorn.

"It is not. Since the war, our numbers have been increasing steadily each year. Slytherin's current first years make up twenty-two percent of the total group. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tend to get the most students." She could hear the sneer in his voice. He was about to continue when another person raised their hand. "Yes?"

"Speaking of the war, weren't you a Death Eater? I remember reading about you in the Prophet. How can you expect us to trust you with our children?" The speaker's voice was quickly drowned in a sea of objections and 'see here's.

Snape didn't seem to care. He just stood quietly at the front of the classroom, arms folded, and waited for the noise to subside. Hermione used the time to really look at him. For a man nearing sixty, he was looking good. His hair was still long but neat and shot through with silver. The crease between his dark eyebrows was as deep as ever but was now accompanied by laughter lines around his eyes and mouth. And he didn't seem as pale as he had during her school days, he was clearly getting some sun. In a bid to appear as muggle-friendly as possible, many of the teachers wore muggle clothing instead of the traditional robes. The white button-down and well-cut, black slacks were definitely working for him. He looked downright relaxed and, dare she say, attractive? She wasn't quite sure where that thought had come from but she couldn't deny it: Professor Snape was looking yummy.

"I assume you also read that I was completely acquitted of any wrong-doing?" he asked once the hubbub died down. Hermione noticed the way his voice slowly moved over words, caressing each one in turn. It was rougher than it had been at school, less silken. But she supposed an enormous snake tearing through your vocal cords would do that. They all mumbled almost-apologies, apparently appeased, and some of them even had the decency to look ashamed.

"As I was saying," he raised an eyebrow, almost daring someone to interrupt him (she had to admit that she was tempted, just to see what he would do), "your children have a structured day for the most part. Mealtimes and classes make up the majority of the day and first, second, and third-year students have a supervised homework session after dinner each evening. After that, they are free to do as they wish until their curfew at eight PM. I personally make sure that everyone is in bed and lights are out at nine thirty."

"Isn't nine thirty a little harsh?" Mrs Braithwaite asked.

"Your children are growing and exhausting themselves both magically and physically on a daily basis. They need far more sleep as they acclimatise to using magic every day," Snape said matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't you agree, Healer Weasley?" She jumped a little, it wasn't like Severus Snape to ask for help.

"Absolutely," she said with a smile, "the early teens are a difficult and tiring time for witches and wizards. The structure provided by Hogwarts means that they don't over-exert themselves. We've had far fewer cases of magical exhaustion at the hospital since the bedtime policy was introduced."

"But what about fun?" a concerned father asked. "When do they have time to blow off steam."

"We have these things, Mr …?"

"Turpin."

"We have these things, Mr Turpin, called weekends." Snape had moved from subtly to blatant sarcasm. "The children have two days out of every seven off. I'm sure you'll agree that is a perfectly adequate allocation of time for 'blowing off steam'." Mr Turpin didn't respond. "Now, before we head upstairs, let me assure you that I am here to make sure your children achieve the best they possibly can whilst they're in Hogwarts and will make sure that they are prepared for life outside of the castle. Do any of you have any more questions? No? Then please proceed to the Great Hall, refreshments will be provided whilst you wait for your allotted appointment times."

Everyone stood up to leave in a rush reminiscent of the end of her Potions classes all those years ago. She waited for the majority of them to leave, not planning on getting caught up in the crowd, wanting to talk to the (apparently yummy) professor. "Do you mind if I walk with you, Professor?" she asked, the honorific feeling weird.

"I'm hardly your teacher anymore, Mrs Weasley, you needn't use the title."

"And I'm not Mrs Weasley anymore." She thought she saw his mouth quirk at that. "I'm guessing you don't keep up with the Prophet? They dragged my name through the mud after the divorce."

"I can't say that I do, I tend to get my news through the grapevine nowadays." They left the classroom, she noticed him ward the door wandlessly behind them, and headed up to the Entrance Hall.

"What should I call you then?"

"Severus will do, Ms Granger."

"Okay, Severus," Hermione said with a smile, "I'd prefer it if you'd call me Hermione, Ms Granger makes me feel like I'm back at school."

"Technically, you are," he said with a smirk. She giggled at that, a horribly girlish laugh that she'd thought she'd left behind a long time ago.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your latest adaptation for Wolfsbane. We were excited to trial it at the hospital. How you managed to come up with a formula that is both cheaper, less brewing intensive, and more effective than the original completely baffles me. It's made such a huge difference in quality of life for so many of our regulars." This all came out very quickly, in a bit of a fangirl gush if she was being honest.

"I appreciate that, Hermione." Damn, he sounded good saying her name. It was so nice to have someone say the whole thing instead of shortening it or running the last syllables together. "Although I have to admit that the research was rather selfishly motivated." He shuddered a little. She guessed werewolves were still a sensitive topic.

"Are you working on anything at the moment?"

"I am, actually, I've decided to tackle dragon pox."

"Oh, that's perfect. We've seen a drastic rise in geriatric cases over the last ten years. The most we can do is make them comfortable. It's one thing to get it as a child but it's knocking the older generation down like flies."

"Exactly," he said, his voice holding an edge of excitement. "It shocks me that nobody's looked into curing it properly. The basic treatment has been around for hundreds of years, of course, but it's not enough."

"D' you think that … no, I'm sure you don't have time. Ignore me," she mumbled.

"Do I think that what?"

"Never mind, silly idea."

"It never hurts to ask, Hermione, when have I ever stopped you asking a question?" She had to admit that he had a point there, though he had often ridiculed them as students, he'd never stopped them from asking questions.

"D'you think that I could take a look at your research some time? I'd be interested to see how you go about it. I don't get much time to research myself, I'd like to feel connected to that aspect of magic once again." She glanced at him, he looked pleased.

"That would be agreeable," he said, formal as ever. "Would this weekend suit you?"

"I'm on shift on Saturday but I can do Sunday, would that work?" She tried to keep the excitement from her voice but didn't quite manage it.

"Join me for breakfast first? I imagine most of the staff would be happy to see the return of their Golden Girl."

She ignored the jibe. "Breakfast sounds perfect, I've not had a decent home-cooked meal since the kids left."

"And why is that? A lack of children is no excuse for neglecting yourself."

"It's not a case of neglecting myself, it's more a matter of being a garbage cook. Rosie's a real whiz in the kitchen."

"Stop the presses, it appears Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, is bad at something."

"Oh, hush. There's got to be something you're no good at."

"Not to my knowledge," he replied haughtily.

"We'll just have to see about that."

"Bring it on." She laughed again.

They arrived at the Great Hall far too quickly for her liking. He nodded to her and marched off to his assigned table, a neat sign proclaiming "Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, Order of Merlin (1st Class)." She snorted at the sign, what on Earth did an Order of Merlin have to do with his teaching ability? She looked around the hall and spotted titles and awards listed on many of the teachers' signs. It was probably part of some Ministry initiative or other, she knew most of her professors would be embarrassed by the whole affair.

Most of the teachers she talked to were happy to give her an update on Rosie as well as on how Hugo was settling in. Rosie was generally seen as a competent student but a bit of a troublemaker. She'd spent far too much time with her Uncle George. Hugo was quieter, never drew attention to himself. He seemed to be doing well in Charms and Astronomy, his History teacher (who was thankfully alive) said he had a real flair for the subject, but he was struggling in Herbology and Transfiguration. Minerva said he didn't seem willing to put much force into his spells and Neville thought that he might be a little afraid of hurting the plants but was sure he'd get over it in time. It was almost nine o'clock when she finally sat down at Severus's table.

"Okay," she said, sighing as she stretched her neck out, "what's the damage?"

"Damage? That's an unusual way to refer to your children's progress."

"And yet, somehow I imagine that it's accurate," she said with a tired smile. "Would you mind catching me up on Rosie as well, she never writes."

"Rose is a very competent brewer but spends an alarming portion of her time in detention. She runs her mouth and pulls pranks, some of them are quite frankly too dangerous to happen in a potions lab."

"That's my Rosie, she's barely two months into the year and her detention count is already in the double digits. I really hope she's also inherited the twins' entrepreneurial spirit as well as their talent for mischief."

"I have to say that it's a relief that Potter decided to keep that blasted map of his to himself, we have enough trouble with your tangle of children as it is." And she was laughing again, managing to contain the shrill giggles this time.

"And Hugo? How's he settling in? He was devasted that he was sorted into a different house to Lily."

"I have to admit that he's a quiet child, a little shy but he seems to be making friends within the house, though he hasn't branched far from Slytherin yet," Severus said with a shrug.

"And his potions?"

"Luckily, he takes after you. He might actually be a better brewer than you were at that age. His written work isn't quite up to your standards but he has an intuitive grasp of the subject already," Severus looked almost approving as he said this.

"Oh, that's so great to hear. Is he having any other problems?"

"He gets up incredibly early to shower, I think he might be a bit bathroom shy. Merlin knows I can sympathise. I could never get used to the communal showers." He looked disgusted.

"They weren't so bad when I was younger but I was a bit of a late bloomer. My dormmates would tease me rotten for my lack of chest." It was only for a moment, but Hermione saw his gaze drift to her, thankfully no longer flat, chest as she said this. Interesting.

"I'm sure he'll get over it in time," Severus said, very diplomatically for someone who'd been checking her out moments before.

"I'm sure." She hesitated for a moment. "Are you done for the evening?"

"You're the last, yes."

"Would you mind letting me in to see Hugo, just for a quick hello, I didn't manage to make it here for the dinner." If she wasn't very much mistaken, he looked a little disappointed.

"Of course, I need to go down soon anyway to make sure they're all in bed." He stood and she followed suit. "You can use my office if you like, it would probably be best for Hugo if he didn't have his mummy barging into the common room," he said as they left the Great Hall. She laughed, he certainly had a point.

"Lead on, McDuff!" she said, getting a chuckle of his in return.

He left her in his office and went to fetch Hugo. The room was just as creepy as it had always been. The same indistinct shapes floated in pickling fluid and his desk was as meticulously tidy as it had been on the odd occasion she'd had to be in his office. She opened the door at the timid knock and Hugo practically flew into her arms, locking her in a bear hug. He was getting tall, almost of a height with her now. They chatted quietly for about five minutes, Hugo filling her in on what he'd been up to and she told him about the particularly gruesome cases that had come into the hospital that week. They always squicked him out but he insisted she tell him about them anyway.

There was a gentle knock at the door and Severus appeared. "Bedtime, Mr Weasley. You have five minutes until lights out."

Hermione kissed her son on the top of his curly, red head and Hugo hugged her tight around her middle. "I'll write later this week, Poppet." The tops of his ears tinged with pink at the nickname.

"Good night, Mummy."

"Sleep well, sweet dreams."

And he was gone, careful to give Severus a wide birth as he disappeared through the office door.

Severus was leant against the wall, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and the buttons at his throat undone. He looked relaxed, more so than she had ever seen him before.

"Thanks," she said. "He'd have been gutted if he'd missed me."

"You're very welcome, Hermione." Lord, he really did say her name well, she could hear every letter in that gravelly voice.

"I'll see you on Sunday then?" She was annoyed at how hopeful her voice sounded.

"Yes, see you then."

Leaving the castle, she found she was already eagerly anticipating the weekend.

Severus Snape was not a man usually given to nerves so he was at a bit of a loss trying to identify what was happening to him as the week melted into the weekend. He was almost giddy with excitement by Saturday evening but decided that was far too undignified and settled for politely expectant instead. Talking to Hermione Granger, thorn in his side and nuisance in his ear for her entire school career, had been surprisingly pleasant. It was rare he could have anything approaching an intelligent conversation about potions and she'd genuinely seemed interested in his experimental process. Of course, it didn't hurt that she was looking gorgeous. The last time he'd seen her properly she'd been a half-starved teenager, now she was all curves, golden skin, and riotous hair. Adulthood clearly suited her.

When Sunday morning arrived, he performed his usual ablutions with utmost care. His cheeks were smooth, his hair gathered into a ponytail. He settled on black jeans and a slate grey shirt, hesitating before rolling the sleeves up. He hated the scarred patch of skin on his left forearm, the outline of the Dark Mark stark white against his slightly darker skin. He checked himself over in his (thankfully silent) mirror, one hand coming up to his neck and tracing the jagged scar there. It was far more visible with this hair tied back but, he supposed, she already knew it was there. She'd been there when it'd happened, her quick action was why he wasn't dead.

He'd been taking an antivenom potion for most of the last year of the Dark Lord's life, he'd seen too many people killed by her jaws to take the threat Nagini posed lightly. Hermione had banished two bottles into his hand as she followed Potter out of the Shrieking Shack. That one small act had been enough to save his life. Adrenaline pumping he'd doused the wound in the dittany, knocked back the blood replenisher, and settled in to wait. His recovery in St. Mungo's had been extensive, the speech therapy he'd required in particular had been a trial. But recover he did.

His reflection was as good as it was going to get and so he made his way up to the Entrance Hall to wait for Hermione. He sank onto one of the stone benches, wishing they'd set an actual time instead of just "breakfast," and fixed his eyes on the overly enormous front doors of the castle. He felt like a teenager waiting for his Hogsmeade date to arrive. She just wants to check out my potions, he thought, this isn't a date. Though he definitely wanted it to be.

As it happened, he didn't have to wait long at all. At precisely eight thirty, the small hatch door swung open and Hermione's silhouette appeared, backlit by the dazzling early morning sun.

"Severus!" she said with a wave, looking genuinely excited to see him.

"Hermione, welcome," he walked over to her, unsure how to greet her. A handshake felt most natural, so he went with that and extended a hand out to her. She shook it, her smaller hand cool against his warm one. "You're right on time for breakfast." What a stupid thing to say, he thought, she's lived in this castle, she knows what time breakfast is on a Sunday.

"I forgot to ask for a specific time so I just figured I'd go with what it used to be. I'm glad to see it hasn't changed." Maybe it wasn't such a stupid thing to say after all.

They made their way into the Great Hall in silence, students were just beginning to show up and Severus found himself at a loss of what to say. Damn nerves. With relief, he spotted Minerva already in her spot at the staff table, his lack of conversation would be covered by the elderly witch's enthusiasm. In a fit of gallantry, he pulled out the chair next to Minerva only for Hermione to miss the gesture entirely and take the seat next to the one he was offering. Minerva let out a snort, he supposed it would have been too much to ask for Gryffindor's Head of House to miss his blunder.

"Hermione, dear, how are you? We didn't get to talk much at Parents' Evening. I felt like I was running behind the whole night."

"I'm alright I suppose, Minerva. I'm so busy at work that I feel like it's all I do. Though I suppose you both know what that's like," she said as she poured herself a coffee. "Do you ever manage to leave the castle during term time?"

"Hardly," the older witch sighed. "Though Severus seems to get out more than I do."

"Oh, really?" Hermione turned towards him, eyebrows questioning.

"Only by necessity," he replied as he forked some bacon onto buttered bread, covering it liberally with brown sauce.

"How so?

"I prefer to harvest the more temperamental potions ingredients myself, it requires field trips."

"If you want something done right, do it yourself," Hermione said with a smile.

"Precisely."

"I wish I had the opportunity to get what I need for work myself, some of the supplies we're forced to use are worthless." Her brow creased in annoyance. "I had to give someone three doses of Pepper Up the other day to get even a wisp of steam going. What are we paying these people for if they can't produce a basic potion any fourth year could brew?"

"Well, not all fourth years," Severus said with a smirk. "I have a couple of abysmal potioneers in the current class. Don't know a pestle from a mortar." She laughed at that and he felt himself crack a smile in response. "Why don't you brew them yourself?"

"There simply aren't enough hours in a day! The trainee healers need their hands holding every step of the way. It's a little pathetic really. I hate to say that anything good came of the war, but we learned to be self-sufficient. The level of self-reliance in trainees has tailed off gradually since then. It's clear as day that this year's recruits have never had to face anything more taxing than their NEWTs. Part of me thinks we should raise the application age, taking people green from Hogwarts just isn't working. Most of them can't even boil an egg never mind seal a laceration on their own!" She was breathing hard after this outburst, chest heaving beneath her sweater.

"It's been the same with new teachers," Minerva chimed in, saving him from having to respond in his distracted state. "If they didn't experience the war, they just don't get the way we do things here. They don't understand why we have interhouse quidditch teams or why we play muggle sports, why we offer both wizarding and muggle-style uniforms. You would not believe the difficulty I had in getting Gibbens, the new charms teacher, to understand why we make Parents' Evening open to muggle parents as well as wizarding ones." She heaved a long-suffering sigh. "He'll not last. And then I'll be the one that has to look for his replacement."

They stayed on this topic of conversation whilst they finished their breakfast, Septima Vector occasionally adding her two knuts from further down the table. Rose Weasley waved briefly to her mother when she came down for her breakfast, face wrinkled in confusion at seeing her, and Hugo came all the way up to the staff table to give Hermione a hug and a kiss before going back to his dormmates and the inevitable teasing.

"Shall we get to it, then?" Hermione asked once her plate was clean and she'd drained her mug. Severus had stuck with tea, he'd never been able to stomach coffee.

"Let's."

He led her down into the dungeons, through his office and into his lab. It had been a stipulation of him returning to teach. He'd always had to put up with using an empty dungeon classroom for his brewing and research and it had been very inconvenient. He was proud of the environment he had built: ingredients were stored behind stasis barriers, he had two tall work stations topped with white marble, his equipment was kept in specially designed cabinets, and a large whiteboard lined one wall. He'd insisted on this; a blackboard wasn't worth the trouble it caused in chalk dust.

"Wow!" Hermione exclaimed as he showed her in. "This is great! I bet you don't even miss the outside world when you're in here."

"I really don't," he said with what he hoped was a modest shrug. "I actually had to install a ward that goes off when someone is at my office door. Technically, I can hear if someone knocks but I tend to get so absorbed that I don't notice it."

"I get that. If I'm reading, I'll ignore anyone." She clapped her hands together. "Right! Where do we start."

"I go mostly theoretical to begin with." He tapped the whiteboard and his notes from last weekend appeared on the board. "So, as I'm sure you're aware, dragon pox is a magi-viral disease that can infect anyone but only tends to be lethal in those over eighty or so." Hermione nodded as he said this. "So far, treating the symptoms has proven effective in younger people but does not help older wizards and witches. It becomes deadly when the lungs become infected and the cells begin to combust. So far, we've been unable to treat this combustion and older people fail to regenerate their lungs fast enough to recover, hence the fatalities."

"That's how I understand it, yes."

"In the past, people have tried using regenerative agents to regrow lung cells but this almost always fails because of the strain it places on the patient's magic. Just like Skelegro is useless in most geriatric cases."

"So what approach are you taking?"

"I think that the best bet is to create something that will oust the virus from the host cells and then seal the cells against future invasion." It was, if he were being honest, a pretty brilliant theory.

"And that same sealant could be used as a vaccine as well, to get to people before they are infected!"

"Ideally, though the ingredients I've been looking at are pretty pricey and difficult to harvest on such a large scale." Hermione looked thoughtful.

"Have you considered trying to formulate something that boosts antibody production, instead?"

"It crossed my mind. Unfortunately, magi-viruses are particularly resistant and I haven't been able to devise a formula for boosting antibody production enough to combat the virus effectively."

"I see." She tapped a finger against her lip, her other handing grasping her elbow. "What's next then?"

"I'll work on the expelling portion of the potion to begin with. I've been using the last few weeks to put together a list of likely ingredients. Ideally, I need to check them arithmantically before I devise the best way to brew. It always takes me longer than I'd like," he said with a frustrated frown.

"Well, I can absolutely help with that! I got an O in my NEWT, I'm sure I can manage ingredient interactions," she said, before looking slightly embarrassed that she'd brought up her NEWT result like that.

"I have to confess I'd hoped you would, today would be rather boring for you if you hadn't." He handed her a few lists. "We need to check each combination of ingredients for efficacy and synergy."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to make one selection and test it before making another?"

"I haven't really had time for any involved arithmancy since term began. I did have time for scrawling down ingredients, however." She nodded and he was almost relieved that she seemed to have run out of questions for now. Almost.

He showed her his stash of square-ruled notebooks and biros and they set to work. He flicked on the wireless with a wave of his wand and delicate strains of Tchaikovsky filled the air. She didn't seem to object to (or even notice) the classical music, so he settled into his equations, bullying his brain into focusing. He found arithmancy hard enough without the added distraction of a gorgeous and intelligent woman who wanted to work with him. It's not a date, he thought, it's not a date.

It was several hours and a working lunch of sandwiches later when he was startled out of his work by a shrill whoop. "This one's the one, Severus!" She was already up from her seat and coming to show him. In her excitement, she slammed the paper down in front of him and engulfed him in a hug. Though rather lovely and warm, it was a decidedly awkward embrace; he was facing the wrong way, had one arm trapped and the other patted her gently on the back. She withdrew after a few beats, her face radiant with a beaming smile. He picked up the paper and smiled to himself.

"I haven't seen synergy calculations with this high a yield in years!" he couldn't keep the excitement from his voice. He looked down the list: the poppy seeds would be no problem, the Rothschild's Slipper orchid and the gelidium longipes might be tricky but he could get them, the dragon scale was interesting (though he'd hoped to avoid the more expensive ingredients), but the gytrash sweat would be a pain. Apothecaries rarely carried sweat, it was far too temperamental, and even if they did they wouldn't have it from a gytrash.

"Some of those ingredients look particularly tricky to get a hold of," she said with a small frown. She looked like she was about to say something else but seemed to think better of it.

"Tricky," he said to fill the void that had formed, "but not impossible." Would she want to? he thought. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to help me harvest the ingredients? Maybe next weekend?" he said more nervously then he'd like.

"Oh, I'd love to, Severus!" She frowned, "I'm on call next weekend."

"I have Wednesday afternoons off, are you free then?"

"I am," she said with a smile.

"We could meet at the Leaky Cauldron and get some lunch before we go?" He thought he might be pushing his luck. "If you want to, that is."

"I'd love that. Twelve thirty?"

"That works for me."

"Okay, it's a date!" He could feel himself blushing at her phrasing but if she noticed, she didn't let on. She glanced at the clock above his whiteboards. "Gosh, how the time has flown! I have to go, I'm afraid. I agreed to be at my mum's for dinner tonight."

"Would you like me to walk you out?" he asked.

"That's okay, I know the way," she said with a wink. "I'll see you on Wednesday." She gave him a light, one-armed hug he barely had time to return and a quick kiss on the cheek. Definitely better than a handshake.

"See you then!" he called as she disappeared through the door to his office.

He had grading to do if he was going to have the time to escape with Hermione on Wednesday.

Dear Hermione,

I thought it would be prudent to mention that you should wear suitable outdoor clothing on our harvesting trip.

Very best,

SS

Dear Severus,

Oh, really? The thought hadn't crossed my mind. Do you mean to say that an LBD and sling backs aren't appropriate for tracking down dangerous animals? I had no idea.

Very Best,

HG

Hermione,

What on Earth is an LBD?

SS

P.S. Your tone is not appreciated.

S-

Little. Black. Dress.

-H

P.S. Good!

S-

Seriously though, how are we going to track them?

-H

H-

Are you telling me that there is something Hermione Granger – Gryffindor Princess, Brains of the Golden Trio, and Insufferable Know-It-All – doesn't know? How disappointing.

-S

S-

Uncalled for! It's not like any of those titles (accurate though they may be) are self-appointed! I only took Care of Magical Creatures to OWL. I don't know how to look after anything bigger than a crup.

H-

H-

You're absolutely correct. I apologise.

-S

P.S. If you get to the Leaky Cauldron early, please order me the fish and chips.

P.P.S. And a Dandelion and Burdock.

The pub was crowded when she arrived (clad in activity trousers, a fleece, and sturdy dragonhide boots, thank you very much) but she managed to snag a table in the corner. She ordered two identical meals with the pimply youth Tom had hired to help out around the bar and settled in to wait. It had been an age since she'd been this excited about anything that didn't involve her kids. Working with Severus had breathed new life into her.

He arrived as the food did, wearing an all-black version of her own outfit, and she stood up to greet him. She brazenly kissed his cheek and was pleased when he kissed hers in return. She couldn't quite believe that something so chaste could thrill her in the way it did.

"This looks delicious," he said, flopping into a chair.

"I ordered it myself and everything." He laughed and she felt heat rising in her cheeks. She definitely wanted to hear more of that laugh.

"Ordering from a menu really is a lost art, you should be so proud to have mastered it at such a tender age." She'd hated it as a student but she'd recently discovered a new-found love for his sarcasm.

"Tender? Hardly. I'll have you know I'm thirty-eight," she said with a pout.

He shook his head. "The problem with teaching for such an extended period is that you're constantly provided with benchmarks for how old you are."

"Oh, hush, you're not that old. If you want to feel young, surely all you have to do is look at Minerva." He chuckled again.

They dug into their steaming fish and chips. Severus practically drowned his chips in vinegar.

"Do you want some more chips to go with that vinegar?" she asked with a laugh.

"You may think it funny, but condiments are pretty much the only thing I can taste properly nowadays. Ever since that thrice-damned snake had a go at me, my sense of taste has been wildly reduced."

"That's awful!" she gasped. "I can't imagine anything worse."

"You've lived through a war and work in a hospital, but you can't imagine anything worse than not being able to taste chips? I think your imagination may be broken," he said wryly.

She tried to look offended for a moment but couldn't quite manage it and burst into giggles instead.

They finished their superb lunch chatting about the dragon pox cure, speculating as to the most efficacious brewing methods and sequences. Hermione was convinced these aspects should be divined arithmantically but was beginning to realise that Severus avoided using magimathematics whenever possible and preferred to rely on what he called his "gut." When he'd said that, she'd made an odd connection between him and one of her favourite television Special Agents but decided not to comment.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, he held out a hand to her. "Are you okay with side along apparition?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she said, slipping her hand into his, revelling over the rasp of his rough fingers as they brushed against hers.

He twisted them into thin air and, after a moment of uncomfortable pressure, they reappeared in a glade. Willow trees surrounded them, their leaves drooping lazily in the gentle breeze and trailing through the surface of a crystalline pond, leaving ripples in their wake.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Nottinghamshire," he responded, not elaborating.

"And what are we here for?" she tried again.

"The gytrash sweat."

"You thought that chasing after giant, spectral dogs would be a good way for me to lose my ingredient-harvesting virginity?"

"Yes," he said with a smirk. "Besides, gytrash are only spectral during certain phases of the moon. They should be perfectly solid at this time of the month."

She stored the information away as she did with all new knowledge. "So, what's the plan?"

"There's a cave not far from here that I know they particularly like. We go in, wake them up, stun one, and chase off the rest."

"Oh, is that all?"

"You're not scared, are you?" he challenged.

"As if. I faced down a cerberus when I was twelve."

He winced. "That blasted dog nearly took my leg off. "

"Yeh, I know. Your limping had Harry suspicious for months."

"I'm glad to know it wasn't all in vain, then."

He led them up a rocky incline and she had to focus on her footing instead of talking. He didn't seem to have any such problem.

"Now, when it comes to extracting the sweat, we can use a basic syphoning charm on the sweat glands behind its forelegs. It's the same spell you would use to take a blood sample."

They reached a wide cave mouth yawning from the side of the incline. Just as he'd said, there were a group of enormous white dogs sleeping inside.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She drew her wand from the holster beneath her sleeve and nodded. Severus slashed his wand through the air, the gesture looking wholly unnatural accompanied by his muggle clothing. A large bang shook the rocks beneath her feet and bright, multicoloured flashes of light nearly blinded her.

A cacophony of barking filled the air as a horrifying creature emerged from the cave. It stood easily as high as a shire horse and was built like a greyhound. Its matted fur had been rubbed or torn away in patches and bloody saliva hung like stalagmites from yellowing canines the size of Hermione's forearm.

She almost squealed as it rushed towards her. It passed her by but she had no time to gather herself before two more followed it.

"Stupefy!" Severus yelled, pointing his wand at the fourth one to emerge. Hermione joined her casting to his and the beast collapsed with a thud, skidding partway down the shale that lined the slope.

Hermione checked the cave to make sure that they were all gone; her pounding heart slowed as her wand illuminated an empty chamber.

"Right!" Severus said, dusting off his hands as though they hadn't used wands to fell the beast. "Would you like to do the honours?" He fished some large crystal vials from his rucksack and Hermione used the syphoning charm to fill them with clear liquid. Severus sealed them carefully and tucked them safely away.

"Okay, I'm going to wake it up. It'll be groggy so we'll have plenty of time to disapparate," Severus said, words brimming with confidence. Famous last words. "Enervate."

Predictably (for everyone not named Severus Snape), the beast jumped to its feet immediately and its paw made a wild slash at Severus's midriff. In the split second between the gytrash's attack and Severus falling to his knees, Hermione got off a well-placed impedimenta and caught hold of Severus's arm, apparating them to safety.

He awoke in what could only be described as a library. And yet, he was definitely in a bed. The mattress was firm but comfortable beneath him and the duvet was soft against his naked torso. Wait … naked torso?

He sat bolt upright, wincing at the pain in his side.

"Don't worry, Severus. You're okay," Hermione said from her seat on the bed next to him, a book open on her lap.

"What happened?" he asked, feeling groggy.

"You were mauled by a giant dog. I rescued you and nursed you back to health," she said sounding particularly altruistic.

"Well, you are a healer. It would have been a dick move to not too."

She helped him scoot up into a sitting position and he was relieved to see that he was still wearing his trousers. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his stomach.

"It's a dittany and murtlap wrap. It'll help prevent any residual pain and minimise scarring. The gytrash left a pretty jagged wound. Hugo will love to hear all about it."

"Don't you dare tell my students about this," he said, only half-joking.

"I'll tell my son whatever I please."

"Fine!" he huffed. "Just please don't tell Rose. She'll make me a laughing stock."

A frown ghosted her lips, he might have missed it if he hadn't been concentrating so thoroughly on her lovely face. "Rose won't want to hear it anyway. Not if it comes from me." Her voice sounded thick and heavy, as though she was suffering a sudden head cold.

"Why?" he asked, curious despite himself. He found himself wanting to know this woman. Beyond working with her. Even beyond fancying her. He saw a kindred spirit in Hermione Granger.

"The divorce," she said, waving her hand vaguely toward the rest of the house. "She blames me for it. And she's not wrong, either. I'm the one who broke up our family."

"I'm sure it's more complicated than that," he said, floundering to find something else appropriate to say.

"I mean, of course, it is." She let her head fall back against the headboard and Severus found himself unable to take his eyes off her long, slender neck. "Things had been terrible for ages. We were always either fighting or not talking to each other. He never gave me room to feel like his equal, only grudging shuffling over to let me sit at his feet. Metaphorical feet, mind. I moved into this room over a year ago. He yelled that I spend so much time in my library I might as well live in it, so I bought a bed. He didn't even say anything about it.

"We did manage to keep the kids out of it for the most part. I just regret that it ended up seeming so sudden for them. Rosie took it particularly badly, I would have done as well at her age."

"What was the last straw?" Severus asked, curious. He had missed all the gossip that surely circulated through the Prophet.

"Hugo's sorting. Ron went ballistic when Hugo wrote to tell us he'd been sorted into Slytherin. He said that Weasleys have been sorted into Gryffindor for centuries. That I should be ashamed to have birthed a son that ended up in such an evil and disgusting house. I told him he was being ridiculous but he kept banging on and on about it. Eventually, I was so angry that I told him if he couldn't treat our son with love and respect, he wasn't welcome in my house. I kicked him out and had his stuff packed off to Harry's. I was okay with him treating me like crap, but I'll be damned if he ever lets my kids think that they are less than they are."

Her hazel eyes were bright with anger and her cheeks flushed.

"I'm protective of my Slytherins, I can't even begin to imagine what I would do if it was my child being treated like that." He was getting irritated just thinking about it.

"And, of course, the Daily Prophet came to Ron's defence." She pitched her voice higher, mocking, "How dare she kick a man out of his own home?" She let out a huff of air, sending a few wisps of loose hair into a frenzy. "Never mind that it's my bloody house. My grandparents left it to me. His name isn't even on the deed! But they managed to turn that around too. They turned me into the villain for not adding him to it; I imagine he conveniently forgot to mention that he refused to apply for the muggle documents that would allow him to be recognised in the legal proceedings!

"So, between my poisonous ex-husband and that pile of rags masquerading as a newspaper, Rosie hates me. She's declared she's going to the Burrow for Christmas and won't come home."

She slumped, apparently out of fuel for her fire.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just dumped all that on you. I guess I haven't really had the opportunity to talk about it."

"I don't mind being dumped on," Severus replied, slipping an arm over her shoulder. Hermione turned into him and rested her head against his collar bone.

"Oh, really?" she asked, voice sceptical.

"Well," he conceded, "I don't mind you dumping on me."

He felt her mouth curl into a smile.

"D'you know what, Severus Snape?" She sat up to look him in eyes.

"What?"

"I think I've been waiting my whole life for someone like you," she said matter-of-factly.

"How could you possibly know that so soon?" he asked. He wanted desperately to believe her. He'd not been this happy in such a long time.

"I've known you since I was eleven," she reminded him. "And I've had more fun this last week than I have in years and I don't think I've ever felt so comfortable being myself before. You get me, and I think that I might just get you too."

"What are you saying?" He knew he sounded obtuse but he had to hear her say it.

"I think we should date, don't you?"

Instead of responding, he cupped her chin in his free hand and found her lips with his own.

Severus had thought fireworks were reserved for novels.

How wrong he was.

THE END