The downpour that had greeted the beginning of the month had ceased by the time that Hermione Granger stepped off the London train at Paddington Station. However, the capital was still functioning in a perpetual twilight that suggested that the sun had abandoned the struggle for supremacy that day. At ten o'clock in the morning, the station concourse was bustling with the first of the day's Christmas shoppers, flowing purposefully towards the Underground, occasionally eddying around small outcrops of luggage and waiting travellers.

Hermione extricated herself from the general movement, and stood for a moment, shivering in the wind that whistled through the cavernous space. All the trendy renovation in the world could not disguise the fact that this was, basically, a large marshalling yard, with bookshops and 50 ways to take your coffee.

Of course, she could have spared herself this by apparating directly into the Ministry of Magic, but that hadn't appealed to her. It was too quick, too direct. For this meeting she needed time; time to prepare, to turn the situation over in her mind, looking at all the angles until she was as confident of her theoretical model as she could be.

She had suggested to Snape that they meet prior to the - what? Business meeting? Confrontation? Of course, she and Snape needed to agree the story. But underlying that was a strong desire to adjust to seeing him again in relative privacy. She remembered Parvati all too well - the Patil Emotional Trauma Detection Skills were second to none - and Hermione's initial reaction to Snape did not call for interested spectators.

She briefly considered some further procrastination in the shape of a large latte, and then decided against. Instead, she headed for the main station entrance, intending to walk to the meeting place. Unappealing as the day was, the exercise and quasi-fresh air would settle her nerves.

She hoped.

**********

It was, she thought some time later, entirely unreasonable that the wretched man should still be able to generate such ambiguous and, above all, unsettling feelings within her.

The choice of meeting place - a branch of one of London's ubiquitous coffee shops, within easy reach of the offices of Ms Magic Magazine - stemmed from the same impulse that had led her to take the train and avoid the Ministry of Magic. Hermione Granger by no means registered as high on the public radar as Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore, but her role in the fall of Voldemore was not unknown.

Oxford, of course, was comfortable enough. Academic self-absorption took a remarkably similar form in the Muggle and magical worlds; everything that was not directly relevant to the individual's field of study was simply irrelevant - celebrity included - and she lived her life there in peace and quiet. Outside Oxford, however, there was a better than average chance that she would be recognised. And, it had to be said, there were enough former pupils of Hogwarts out in wizarding society for Severus Snape to be not exactly anonymous either - albeit, perhaps, for a different reason.

If Hermione Granger, heroine, were seen to be meeting with Severus Snape, bastard, and on a school day no less, the rumours would be halfway to Beauxbatons in no time.

Today she didn't feel like ignoring the covert glances and the whispered remarks. She wanted to be unknown. She sipped at her black coffee, espresso topped with hot water in a half-hearted attempt to avoid completely over-caffinating of her system. She briefly thought about food, but any good effects of the walk from Paddington had long since worn off, and her stomach was too unsettled to eat. So she drank coffee, watched the clock and tried not to wonder if Snape would even bother to turn up.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

She was expecting it, but still had to bite back a startled yelp. He had come up silently behind her. Same old Snape, she thought. Never one to miss an entrance. And why was she suddenly "Miss Granger"?

"Good morning, Professor Snape," she said without turning, giving his full title a slight ironic edge.

There was a movement of air beside her and Severus Snape moved into her field of vision.

He really was the same old Severus, she realised with a jolt in the pit of her stomach that she chose to call "surprise". Still tall, thin and dishevelled, but wearing his muggle clothes - she could see a black sweater underneath his leather jacket. She knew that it would be cashmere.

"You found it all right then?" she asked, before her brain had time to intervene.

He just looked at her. She pulled a face.

"I know. It was a stupid question."

"Yes," he agreed. "It was."

Definitely the same old Severus. She decided to try for a more intelligent question. Or, at least, a less plainly inane one.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Snape inclined his head slightly, leaving the impression of a half-started formal bow.

"I'll get it."

He stalked away from her, and she turned to ask if he had any muggle money, but caught herself in time. It was highly unlikely that he would have put on the right clothes and then brought the wrong money. She, of all people, knew that attention to detail had kept Snape alive this long. And her pride didn't want to ask two stupid questions in as many minutes.

She watched him move to the counter. She hadn't actually seen Snape in person since the end of Voldemort and the consequential offical fallout and she noticed now how his jeans fitted snugly over his hips; he showed no signs of having put on weight over the years. Now, he was studying the variations on a theme of coffee as intently as if they were new and potentially deadly potions ingredients. She could read his concentration, even from here - his shoulders raised slightly, head thrust forward, enhancing his predatory air.

A quick glance away showed that a couple of girls at a nearby table were checking him out as well. Hermione smothered a grin, and debated telling Snape when he returned.

Maybe not, she concluded. Ugly and unkempt as he undoubtedly was by any objective standard, Snape had never truly understood that his air of self-belief and arrogance made him a compelling personality. He would be unlikely to welcome the observation.

And she wasn't certain whether they were still on terms that would let her tease him like that.

No, he would expect her to be focussed and professional. Why would he want to reopen an experience that was purely grounded in situational stress and adolescent hormones? Ten years was a long time. A person could move on a long way in a decade.

Although, the voice at the back of her head pointed out, determined to have its say before being shut down entirely, if Snape had moved on a very long way, one of her other correspondents would surely have told her.

By the time she had decided this, Snape had returned and was settling himself down opposite her. He shrugged his jacket off over the back of the chair, and stared at his coffee with familiar distaste.

"There appears to be nothing for sale here that has a passing acquaintance with a nutrient. I even harbour some reservations about the water."

Despite the comment, Hermione noticed that he had actually bought what looked like a double espresso. He sipped and his scowl deepened.

"Burnt," he said in disgust.

"Yes, well, I didn't say this place was good. I said we would be unlikely to be recognised here."

Snape's expression didn't change, but his silence seemed to concede the point.

Now that they had come to the focussed and businesslike moment, Hermione found herself at a loss to begin. She knew better then to expect any help from Snape - silence was his friend. More, it was his favourite weapon. Which meant that she was taken aback when he spoke.

"I trust that the dreaming spires of Amergin are not so soporific as to distract you from your vocation to teach the wizarding world to use its powers only for good."

His tone strangely nettled her, and a combination of nerves and rather precarious emotional equilibrium made her react.

"There's more to ethics that that," she said, before she realised that he was baiting her. Sucessfully.

Snape looked amused.

"I see you haven't yet overcome the Gryffindor tendency to speak before you think. It's just as well that I agreed to come to this meeting."

The fact that he had wrongfooted her didn't improve her temper. She examined the table top willing her irritation spike to subside. Snape equably continued to drink coffee.

"So," she asked, finally, "what are we going to tell Parvati? I don't think the truth would be a particularly good idea, do you?"

"I think that the truth would be a catastrophically bad idea." Snape paused to think. His face took on a slightly abstracted air. "I seem to remember," he continued slowly, "that I told Mr Potter and Mr Weasley I - you - were doing some kind of extra potions project. Perhaps that was the source of these preparations?"

It was Hermione's turn to look amused. Not to mention sceptical.

"Are you honestly telling me that you would have assigned the study of hair and beauty products as an extracurricular project?"

Sanpe steepled his fingers. Then he smiled unexpectedly, briefly; his teeth were no worse than they had been ten years ago, although they didn't look much better either.

"You know," he said, "I rather think that I might."

Her disbelief must have been obvious, because his face took on a mocking expression and he leaned back in his chair.

"Think about it objectively," he said in his best classroom manner. "At the beginning of your final year, in my eyes, you were, as you always had been, an irritating little know-it-all."

Interest and the beginnings of analysis had begun to operate now, and Hermione didn't respond to this blatant provocation. Besides, she hadn't missed the ambiguity of the statement.

"Go on," she said neutrally. Something flickered in his eyes and was gone.

"Not only a know-it-all but a worshipper in the cult of pure academia. How you looked down on those who cared nothing for knowledge for its own sake but just learned enough to benefit themselves."

Hermione had already opened her mouth to protest the unfairness of this when she suddenly came up against the memory of an evening in the Gryffindor Common Room and a dismissal of the Weasley twins; they only knew enough to make their tricks - nothing important. She shut her mouth again. Snape waited a moment and added, "remember we are discussing my hypothetical point of view."

Was that an apology?

Before she could deconstruct the sentence he had moved on.

"If you had approached me with a view to undertaking a potions project, no doubt anticipating some technically advanced and complex work, and someone, say the headmaster, had forced me to agree to your request ...."

She suddenly saw where he was heading.

"... you would have given me a project on beauty products, knowing that I would think it beneath me, but I couldn't back down after having made such a fuss. And especially not being a Gryffindor."

"Precisely."

It really was good, she had to admit that. Snape was evidently waiting for her reaction.

"It's very Slytherin," she said, dryly.

He looked smug.

She thought for a moment.

"So, in revenge, I began selling the products?"

"I would imagine so."

"Weren't you angry?"

"I didn't find out until after you had left. None of my Slytherins would admit to having dealings with you and I pay no attention to other houses."

Hermione was now beginning to enjoy this.

"And when you did find out?"

"I sent you a letter threatening to sue you if you tried to make any more profit out of my work."

"Because, of course, the work of the student belongs to the teacher."

"Of course."

"That's not fair."

"I'm not a fair person."

"So when Parvati's offer came in I was forced to write to you because I'm living in penury and desperately need the money. I didn't tell her everything at first because I was ashamed of having been so shamelessly exploited."

"Indeed."

"She'll swallow every word."

"Good."

There was another slience as Hermione ran through the scenario in her head, checking for logical flaws. As she did so, Snape's opening comments came back to her.

"Severus," she said, staring into her empty mug. "Was I really that bad as a teenager?"

She was expecting a caustic answer, but instead he looked away and then stood up abruptly.

"Isn't it time we got this meeting over and done with?"

Hermione stifled a sigh. That was almost certainly a 'yes'. Yet, it had seemed like understanding was flowing between them just like - no, not like anything.