The wind still bit through Hogsmeade station, and through the clothes of anyone foolish enough to stand on the platform; Snape wondered, not for the first time, why he had decided to come down to meet the train this evening. Certainly Hermione wouldn't be expecting him to do so, and the weather was miserable enough to discourage any such actions. The carriages, and the thestrals, were on hand to ferry passengers to the school when necessary, so he could not claim that his presence was necessary even to avoid Hermione having to walk alone up to school this evening.

Thankfully for his sanity, though, Snape could legitimately claim that he had needed a walk this evening and that this was as reasonable a destination as any. The third-years were being rather more than usually idiotic with the onset of the Christmas season and this afternoon's class had made more than the habitual level of errors; he had spent a not inconsiderable time simply fire-fighting. Literally. Once the lesson was over, and the addle-pated generation dispatched, he had followed them out of the classroom and then taken himself on out into the school grounds. On evenings like this, a walk around the lake was his usual method of de-stressing, but the squid had recently taken to playing games - another one infected by Christmas, if such a thing was possible - and Snape was not inclined to receive another dunking. The first had been uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing. December was not a reasonable month in which to have to be subjected to such things - although, he thought idly, watching a railway light turn red, there really was no month in which it would be reasonable.

A light in the distance grew brighter; the train was a half-mile or so away down the track and pulling closer. A minute or so later, steam billowed across the platform and enveloped Snape; he stepped forward a little to avoid the cloud and waited as shapes and forms descended from the train. A surprising number of people left at the station; Snape's unspoken curiosity was answered by the parcels they carried. Diagon Alley had undoubtedly made some profits today.

Hermione was one of the last to alight from the train; she carried no parcels and only one small bag - the benefits, no doubt, of perfection of the Reductio spell. Snape moved forwards again, to intercept her, as she walked towards the exit.

"Hermione? Miss Granger-" he corrected himself rapidly. She turned, startled by his voice.

"Professor?"

He hurried on before she could ask what he was doing. "I had ... business in Hogsmeade this afternoon, Miss Granger. This seemed the quickest route back to school in time for dinner. Shall we go?"

Hermione nodded. "Good evening, Professor," she added to the nod, and followed him as he swept through the station hall into the roadway outside. One carriage waited still, and they climbed into it, arranging themselves on opposite sides.

The ride back to Hogwarts was quiet; a stilted attempt at conversation had died almost before it began. Snape thought Hermione seemed tired, and knew that he definitely was tired. Too tired to make silly small talk - he would never be so inclined, in fact, and rather wondered why it was even crossing his mind now - he settled himself into his seat and concentrated instead on a particular problem he had encountered in some research a short while ago.

A short while later he realised, with a start, that they had arrived at the school. Hermione had cleared her throat to get his attention - perhaps more than once, by the odd expression on her face - and opened the door onto the steps leading up into the school. He gestured for her to proceed him, and followed her down from the carriage and then, a step behind, up into the school entrance.

His earlier thought that she looked tired was confirmed by her hastily-covered yawn and a slightly gravelled request for the location of her rooms. "Up all night, Miss Granger?" he drawled, baiting her slightly. If she had been up all night, he would lay odds that she had been working rather than carousing, but she was being entirely too quiet. A little prod to the ego would not go amiss, particularly if she planned to attend dinner this evening.

He got a baleful glare, but no more, for his trouble; he was about to point her in the direction of Gryffindor's guest quarters when McGonagall saved him the words. He wondered afterwards what it was that had taken her so long to arrive and rescue her former protégée from his clutches. Hermione smothered another yawn before they had rounded the corner of the corridor.

Later, under the storm-laden night sky of the dining hall, Snape scowled at his plate; the stew and vegetables were unexceptional, the din from the students was unearthly and his dinner companion was unbearable. Unfortunately, the man had done the unthinkable and survived more than one year as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; Snape had been hoping with more vigour than usual that Peregine Queroz would be dispatched from the post as all the others had been, either by fate or by design.

The man was everything that Snape was not, that Snape tried very assiduously not to be. And, at the moment, he was apparently entirely taken up with Hermione - not that she was sitting near them; it was far too early in her visit for McGonagall to have relinquished her company, and she was sitting between Minerva and Dumbledore, clearly catching up with the gossip and news, if the liveliness of the conversation that he could not quite hear was any guide. Queroz was not even trying to hide the fact that he was attempting to listen in on the conversation; it was scant consolation that he had not yet asked Snape for any information about Hermione - he had, instead, got what little he could from Madam Hooch. Snape had had to cough once or twice, to disguise amusement at the terse replies she had given - Hermione's prowess at Quidditch was not quite the stuff of legend. Queroz had turned, with a quizzical look, after one cough. Snape had glared back at him; he had taken too much time and effort to discourage the conversation of the man to attract it now. Thereafter, he kept his amusement to himself, beyond even a cough.

As Hermione rose to leave the table - earlier than usual, she was definitely tired - Queroz rose as well and subtly moved to intercept her; Snape could not hear the words, but the intent was unmistakeable. Hermione smiled at the conversation, and Snape's perpetual scowl deepened; she was here to work, not to be distracted by the local idiot. On cue, Hagrid entered the hall and Hermione tore herself away from Queroz to greet him. Uncertain which was the worse option, Snape stole away from the table quietly, leaving by the small door behind High Table which led away from the noise and confusion and into the quietly damp corridors of the dungeons.

Next morning, a brilliantly lit day with the low winter sun tinting the Highlands heather golden, a pot of coffee was gurgling quietly on the stove in Snape's rooms when a double rap on the door disturbed the peace. He recognised the knock, for all that he had not heard it in a decade, and not on that door. Reluctant simply to call for her to enter, he crossed the room, dodging a stack of books balanced rather precariously near an armchair, and opened the heavy oak door.

Hermione stood in the corridor, clutching a dog-eared pile of papers and looking oddly nervous. "Miss Granger," he said by way of greeting, holding the door open to admit her. She walked through the door, looking around the room, a strange expression on her face. Snape supposed he would look much the same if he were to be invited to the Head Girl's room - an extremely unlikely event. He waved Hermione to a seat by the fire; she settled down, dropping the papers on to the floor beside her.

"Coffee?" he enquired. She nodded; he recalled, without wanting to recall, that she was no more communicative before caffeine than he was. He handed her a mug full of coffee; she took it and turned the mug around, apparently re-familiarising herself with it before taking a sip. As the steam drifted upwards, she closed her eyes and smiled.

When she opened her eyes and looked at him, the smile disappeared and she sighed gently. Not, despite everything, a response he enjoyed creating.

Hermione reached for the papers and held them out to him as she settled the mug on the arm of the chair, precariously balanced.

"These are the recipes I have," she said, ticking them off on her fingers as she launched into the conversation. "A couple of cleansers - yarrow and chamomile - the yarrow and comfrey moisturiser, the rosemary and cedar conditioner and the elderflower bath foam. I don't think you passed on all of the recipes at the end; there wasn't really enough time between then and NEWTS for me to need more. I assume you have more - this can't be all that you made."

"No, Miss Granger, that's not exactly an exhaustive list. Here, take this -" he strode over to a shelf and selected a book from it, "it'll give you some ideas to go on. I have classes today, and you have time, so you can start the process. There's a small - you know where my private laboratory is." He caught himself as he spoke, mentally admonishing himself for walking on eggshells in conversation now. There was no point in pretending that they had no past beyond student and teacher, although he was equally unprepared to acknowledge it directly. To pretend that she did not know that he had a private lab was, frankly, silly - and he preferred not to tend towards the silly, where he could avoid it.

Hermione nodded, glancing towards the door that led to the labs. "Just one thing," she said. He raised an eyebrow in enquiry. "Test subjects?" she asked. He frowned and she added, "we'll need to test the new recipes, surely?"

"I have every confidence in your ability to produce a safe concoction, Miss Granger," he said drily. It would hardly tax the abilities of a first year, let alone someone with her grades.

"It's not the safety I'm concerned with, Professor, it's the efficacy," came the equally dry response. "We need to know that it works, not just that it's safe. I suppose we can test them on ourselves - see what the results are. Thank you for the coffee."