The first time in too many bloody years that he was on the receiving end (any end, come to that) of a kiss, and it had to be from Parvati Patil. Ms Pink. Pinker than pink. What in the name of ... Snape couldn't think. Still horror-struck by the previous evening's events, and dreading this morning when she would turn up in the laboratory again.

He hadn't slept - unusual these days, even if he slept less than most people would consider appropriate. Instead, he had tried to sublimate confusion and irritation and complete bafflement in work, burying himself in the laboratory with candles and starlight to refine and complete the last of the production samples in the men's range.

The evening had even begun with some promise - Hermione had clearly finally taken the point, if Queroz's behaviour at dinner had been anything to go by. The dregs of the Dumbledore-induced hangover had still been hovering at the edge of his consciousness at the start of the meal but the scrape of chair legs against stone and the abrupt exit of Queroz from the hall had cleared his head surprisingly efficiently. Hermione had been staring into the stew remaining in her bowl as though it held the answers to ... well, to something. Fulcanelli's Fourth Law of Alchemy, perhaps.

He had, briefly, debated moving over to talk to her but something held him back - the public setting, certainly, but more than that. He rather thought that she would see any words from him as gloating, underlining the fact that she hadn't understood what Queroz had intended. He was well-enough aware of his shortcomings not to fool himself that he could pull off the "well-intended" tone of voice that might have been his only hope of succeeding in not making her either more upset or furiously angry.

Snape interrupted his thoughts now for a moment, breaking off the constant repeating of last night in his mind, to concentrate on the final preparations of the general-purpose moisturiser that he had been completing. The off-white cream, shot through with small flecks of purple, was almost solid in the bowl and required some effort to smooth through with the spatula. Eventually he stopped, a soft sigh of tiredness and strain punctuating the moment; the consistency and texture the cream was finally adequate for his purposes. He pulled a wry smile - it was perfect, which was what he considered to be adequate for his purposes.

He stared into the bowl a little longer, until the white and purple began to mingle in his unfocussed sight, thinking of nothing and enjoying the respite. Then, abruptly, he ran a finger through the cream, scooping a small amount up from the bowl. He frowned, wondering ...

A few steps brought him to his bathroom and to the mirror there. He was still frowning as he examined his reflection closely; he couldn't recall the last time he'd actually bothered to look at his face, other than in the abstract when he shaved. Then, all he looked at were the angles and planes, checking that he'd accomplished the task, rather than specifically examining the reflection. Now, he looked. After a minute or so he simply shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. He smoothed the cream onto his face rather than waste the product, working it into the skin and watching the reflection again. He had thought that, perhaps, the products had done something to his face - something that might have made Ms Patil behave quite so strangely last night. Something that might account for the odd comments from McGonagall and, now he thought about it, from Queroz a few days ago.

But the face that stared back from the mirror was the same one that always faced him. Perhaps his skin and hair were less of a mess than usual; the endless testing of moisturisers and conditioners and cleansers and shaving balms was bound to have had some effect, after all. But that was all - the face itself was unchanged, still long and unprepossessing. Snape turned from the mirror in digust. He was wasting time; Ms Pink had no doubt simply had too much to drink last night, or something similar.

When he stepped back into the laboratory, Hermione had arrived. She glanced up from her own last-minute details, a line-up of bottles and pots in front of her.

"Good morning."

Their voices echoed in the chill air at the same time, and similar small smiles tugged at their faces as they acknowledged the quiet amusement in the moment. Hermione settled back to work and Snape crossed to the stove; it was past time for coffee this morning.

The familiar routine was soothing, filling the base of the pot with water, scooping coffee into the holder and fitting the parts of the pot together. He sat the pot on the stove and returned to his bench, intent on finishing the labels needed for his own line-up of bottles and pots.

The scent of coffee and the coughing of the pot interrupted him shortly afterwards; he placed a steaming mug in front of Hermione and stood beside her for a moment. She murmured her thanks without stopping her work, filling and tapping off the few remaining empty bottles in front of her.

When the last one was full and labelled she yawned and stretched, arching backward and brushing against him as she did so. She started and looked round and up at him; Snape hadn't moved and she stared up at him for a moment or two. To his unshown pleasure, she didn't immediately pull her stool forwards away from him. Instead, she picked up the coffee mug and took a sip, holding it in both hands - probably trying to warm hands cramped with cold and meticulous work.

"After all this - I'm almost surprised we've finished on time. There were points I didn't think we'd make it, that we would have a pink howling dervish in the laboratory today screaming ruin and trauma."

"Don't insult dervishes," replied Snape drily.

"Let me guess, some of your relatives are dervishes?" The grin was there in full bloom in the tone of her voice even if she had somewhere in the last ten years managed to master the art of the poker face.

"What gave it away?" His tone was drier still and now she did grin; laughed in fact, and smiled up at him. Oh, he'd missed this.

He was about to say something - later, he couldn't remember what, although he had an idea of the general substance of what was in his mind at the time - when the door opened and the pink dervish herself whirled into the room.

"Darlings! Severus, you've done it! Oh, these are exquisite - tell me all about them!"

Parvati Patil and her exclamation marks had wrapped themselves around Snape, barely acknowledging Hermione who, in turn, stood to one side. Poker face gone, she was definitely grinning at his discomfiture this morning.

The morning seemed endless, even though it could not have taken more than a couple of hours to satisfy Ms Patil's questions and deflect her gushing. She left, at long, long, last, with a box full of the potions and the accompanying notes and recipes for mass production. Snape could almost hear her voice still ringing in his ears and shuddered at the recollection of her sotto voice invitation to dinner, lunch, whatever, next time he was in London.

The door from the school slammed shut at last.

"I thought she was married?"

He thought he'd simply thought the question, but Hermione answered. "Some people don't let details like that get in the way."

"I do."

Hermione nodded absently, thoughts elsewhere. No doubt she was anxious to get back to London herself, with Christmas in a couple of days. Her family, if no-one else, would be expecting her, of course. Snape drew in a short breath and talked himself out of asking her whether she would stay. There was no sense in inviting rejection, after all.

"I suppose you'll be leaving now that - that - is out of the way?"

He waited for an answer, his question echoing in the hallway where they stood.

"Um - well, I hadn't ..." Hermione's voice trailed off as though the answer were more complex than a simple "yes".

"Ah, Hermione, Severus. How nice to see you both here - have you seen off Ms Patil successfully?" Snape quirked a small smile against his better judgement; the headmaster's phrasing was rather nicely ambiguous. Which, to be fair, was probably a useful assessment of the headmaster himself.

Dumbledore took amused silence for an affirmative and chuckled.

"Good, good. Now, Hermione, I'm glad I caught you - I understand that your parents are away at the moment?" He paused, then continued at Hermione's startled nod. Snape raised an eyebrow - surely she couldn't be surprised at the headmaster knowing her family's whereabouts?

"Excellent - then perhaps you would do us the honour of staying at Hogwarts this Christmas? It might not be same as home but I'm sure we can find something to entertain you." Snape was uncomfortably aware that Dumbledore's gaze had shifted from Hermione to himself, and almost missed Hermione's pleased acceptance. He didn't, however, miss her glance at him as she accepted.