By the time she opened window number seventeen of her advent calendar, Hermione was actually beginning to believe that it would be possible to meet Parvati's deadline. The departure of the students had lessened not only the distractions, but also the sense of tension in the dungeons. Today had been - well, the only word for it was "pleasant". The warm, relaxed feeling of the previous afternoon had unexpectedly spilled over, and the day had been happily productive. And she had even been able to indulge in the luxury of leaving a little early to return to her rooms and change before dinner; hitherto, in the absence of a special occasion, dinner had simply served to punctuate one long lab session.

Changing for dinner necessarily entailed a shower - and a perfect opportunity to test the latest shampoo (bladderwrack extract and rosemary oil), conditioner (chamomile and orange flower) and cleanser (palmarosa, neroli, lemon, frankincense and Dead Sea Salt). It then led on to sorting out her laundry for the House Elves and - earlier today than usual - opening the door of the advent calendar. After that came clean, if not very elaborate robes, and giving her hair a thorough brush.

Although she habitually wore her hair tied back, it was still long and bushy, which meant that "a thorough brush" was a considerable undertaking. Taking an armful she swept it all over to one side and then divided off a small section, working with firm, even strokes from the ends up to the roots. The rhythm of it was soothing, allowing her mind to drift for perhaps the first time since she had arrived at the school nine days ago. In the helter-skelter of Quidditch matches, Balls and reunions, not to mention the worry of the impending deadline, it seemed as if she had been there longer. Certainly she felt curiously unsettled; far more so than she had been expecting even allowing for the fact that ten years had passed.

She sectioned off another piece of hair.

Maybe it was the fact that nothing seemed to have changed that much; that dislocating feeling that if she turned around without thinking Neville Longbottom would be lying on the floor with Draco Malfoy and his coterie laughing in the background. Neville Longbottom .... She started on the next section of hair. Neville Longbottom who had been single-handedly responsible for the most unnerving experience of her school career. And, if she was honest, probably the one with the longest lasting effect.

Recollections came, unbidden; moments of terror and frustration, moments of desperation, and moments like today where two people worked in quiet harmony, the almost physical pleasure of understanding without needing to be told. Recollections of hands, cutting, knife blade coming down in time with the brushstrokes, hair parted by hands not her own, stroking and holding....

She tugged abruptly at a tangle.

Well, she added, the experience with the longest lasting effect on me, at least if you count ongoing adolescent daydreams. It didn't appear to have had the slightest long-term effects on the other participant. Not, of course, that that was bothering her; it was more than reasonable to expect that he wouldn't want that referred to.

She moved on to the next section, pulling with more than usual vigour.

Yes, of course, it was reasonable. But courtesy might have dictated some acknowledgment that they were more than casual acquaintances. Not that one would expect courtesy from Snape, naturally. But still.

Her throat was tight and tears were stinging the back of her eyes. She put down her hairbrush and blinked angrily at the mirror. It was wholly illogical to be upset over the predictable - expected, even - behaviour of someone who had no particular reason to behave differently. It had to be a reaction to the strangeness of the situation, to the varied resonances of days past. Yes, that was what it was. Adrenaline coupled with fatigue and stress. Once the cosmetics were delivered she would feel better.

"This is ridiculous," she said aloud, taking a deep breath. "There's absolutely no reason why he should affect me in any way."

"If you say so, dear," remarked the mirror.

Hermione jumped, and then glared at the glass. She picked up the brush and returned to work.

It was ridiculous. And there was no reason why he should affect her. No reason why the memories of old understandings and old warmth and old touches should be any more that that; memories.

She came to the end of her ritual, and shook her hair. It fluffed out, crackling around her head from the friction of the hairbrush. She put down the brush and sighed. Maybe the memories were best left buried, but there was no denying that they had worked well together for the last couple of days. Perhaps they could end up friends. Of a sort.

**********

Dinner begain promisingly enough. When she arrived in the Great Hall there was a spare chair next to Queroz - as there usually was, she wryly admitted - but for once this chair was also next to Snape, which meant that, for about the first time since she arrived, she was seated between Snape and Queroz. Not that this was a cue for a flow of witty banter from Snape; he ate his dinner in as much of a silence as if she had been sitting at the other end of the table. Perhaps it was just her imagination that the silence was less hostile that on previous nights.

Queroz, on the other hand, was his habitual charming self, ensuring that her glass was full, that she was happy with her meal and asking about her day in the lab. She had merely told him that she and Snape were working on a project together; she hadn't felt up to telling him that the project was a cosmetics line for a woman's magazine. There would be far too many explanations involved.

Over the course of the evenings, Queroz had got out of her that she was a lecturer in ethics, but that she retained an interest in potions and the history of magic in general. He had, no doubt, got the received standard version of her history from the other teachers, Minerva McGonagall in particular, who had always been poor at concealing her sense of satisfaction at the heavy Gryffindor bias in the defeat of Voldemort.

The meal finished and silver coffee pots began to appear on the table, together with tisanes and a novelty teapot in the shape of Hagrid's Hut, which appeared in front of Dumbledore. Hermione was expecting Snape to simply leave the moment he was able, but instead he reached for a pot and poured himself a cup of coffee and then, to her surprise, moved slightly towards her with a half gesture. She pushed her cup towards him, and he filled it.

"Thank you," she said softly and then added, "I thought you preferred your own coffee though."

"I do," he said shortly. "However, tonight I decided to remain in the Hall and suffer the House Elves' dismal attempts."

Small plates of sweetmeats were now appearing in front of the diners. Hermione pushed one towards Snape.

"Perhaps a petit four will make it more acceptable."

His face twisted.

"I doubt it," he said. "The addition of copious quantities of sugar in any form rarely improves coffee."

He fell silent again, and Hermione was left to speculate what had prompted him to stay. her speculations did not get very far before they were interrupted by Queroz on her other side.

"Hermione, might I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

For some reason, Queroz appeared to have difficulty phrasing his request. He looked down for a moment and then directly at her, with a strange seriousness.

"Hermione, I know you are interested in all things magical. I was wondering ... that is to say, I have some etchings and I wondered if you would be interested in seeing them one evening."

She blinked.

"Etchings?" she echoed, in disbelief.

Beside her, it sounded very much like Snape was choking on his coffee.

"You are joking, aren't you?" she said after a moment.

Queroz looked confused.

"Why no. Whilst I was travelling last summer I happened to pick up a very fine set of the plates used in Norton's Ordinall of Alchimiy. I thought you might be interested in seeing them."

Hermione had to pause another moment to be sure that he wasn't joking and then she relaxed.

"I'd love to see them," she said warmly. "I'm sorry, I thought for a moment you meant ..." Queroz was looking at her faintly quizzically, "well, it doesn't matter what I thought you meant. I'd love to see the plates."

He looked relieved.

"And perhaps, afterwards, we could have some dinner, maybe? Here, or somewhere in Hogsmeade? Whatever you wish."

Still rapt in the idea of seventeenth century alchemical engravings, Hermione missed a knowing look passing between Minerva McGonagall and Ermengarde Sprout.

"That sounds lovely," she said, "thank you."

"When would be convenient for you?"

Hermione thought.

"I'm pretty busy in the lab for the next few days, and I'm having supper with Minerva the day after tomorrow." She turned to Snape, who was breathing normally again, but scowling at an innocent petit four. "Severus, are we likely to need to work into the evenings over the next couple of days?"

"Why ask me?" he snarled. "I can't imagine you'll let a small matter of a previous commitment get in the way of your social life. Do as you please."

He viciously pushed his chair away from the table and stalked out of the Hall. Hermione was startled by his sudden change of mood and uncomfortably aware that Queroz was waiting for an answer.

"Um," she said indecisively, still looking in the direction that Snape had taken.

"Don't let him bother you," said Queroz gently. "I'm told he's always a vicious bastard."

"Not always," she said absently, "sometimes he's quite tolerable."

"If you say so." Queroz sounded frankly sceptical.

"Look," she said, making a decision. "This project only has another four days to run. After that I won't be so distracted. Suppose we leave it until then?"