Author's Note Okay, I know, I've been slacking. My sincerest apologies. I became entangled in a project of hemp necklaces and listening to The Green Mile on CD. Anyway, this is the fourth and by far the most emotionally charged chapter to date. I hope you enjoy it. Unfortunately I must admit that I don't know anything about English history and I couldn't tell you if it was ever one of King George V's belief that historical monuments should be preserved or not. However, I doubt that he regularly awarded stipends to individual villages for such purposes. But it does make for a good story, doesn't it? Also, I hope the story isn't too much like the original (and far better) tale by D.H. Lawrence. I realize that it's fluff, and for that I'm almost sorry. But it's good fluff. It's tasteful fluff. If you had to read fluff, wouldn't you choose this fluff? Alright, enough with my rambling. Go on and read now, kiddies. Enjoy. Peace.

"Severus," she said, looking up from her work in the dining room to cast an almost smile at him as he wandered up the lane, the bottom half of him obscured by the closed bottom half of the dutch door. "You'll never believe what happened. Come in. I shall make you some tea."

Smiling almost so minutely that only he could tell, Severus reached inside and undid the latch on the door, allowing it to swing open and admit him. Penny, upon hearing the scrape of the latch, skittered toward the door, the sound of her nails scraping against the tile as she leapt out into the not- so-balmy autumn sunshine.

Severus stepped out of her way so as to avoid her hitting his leg and removed his cap, straightening his long black hair and pushing it behind his ear. His head tilted downward, he allowed his eyes to rise to greet the image of her as she bustled around the place with a homemade broom.

"Sit down, sit down," she told him, pulling a chair out from the table. He was so caught off guard by her energy that he did as he was told immediately. His mother had trained him well and he had learned quickly that when a woman is acting unpredictably it was best to do as she asked without hesitation. He crossed his legs and placed his cap upon his knee and watched her, silently.

As soon as she realized that she was under observation she stopped completely all action and turned to look at him. "What," she asked, sounding indignantly amused.

"Well I'm waiting for the continuance of this story. You told me that I wouldn't believe what had happened but, as yet, I am still waiting to hear what happened before I can decide whether or not to believe it."

"Gaw, aren't you a cheeky one today? Oh, blast I forgot the tea. Hold on just a moment," she said, standing her broom in the corner nearest her and hurrying into the kitchen.

"It's really not necessary," he called after her. "I'd really rather hear the rest of the story. The suspense, I fear, is eating at me."

"Patience, my friend, is a virtue," she called from down the hallway, "and besides, good news always sounds better over a nice cup of tea."

He decided not to argue with her any longer. He knew she always did as she pleased anyway. And he knew that she knew that he really had been hoping that she would offer him a cuppa.

It wasn't five minutes before she returned, the same tea service she had used the other morning in hand and full of all the makings of a fantastic and unnecessary cream tea. She sat down, poured him a cup, poured herself a cup, and leaned back in her chair, brushing strands of ashy blonde hair out of her face. Little beads of perspiration were popping up around her brow, as they had the day he had seen her at the grave, and he felt an unexplainable and uninvited flutter in the pit of his stomach. She sighed wearily, but happily, and smiled at him from across the table as he smeared some strawberry jam and clotted cream on one of the buttermilk scones.

"Well," he asked.

"I had a caller this morning."

"Yes?"

"Indeed. I believe you knew him. Went to school with him in the north. Micah Night. The banker's son. Seems he turned out to be a banker as well."

"You don't say."

"I do. He took his father's position at the bank and he came to see me this afternoon."

"Good news, I hope."

"Indeed it was. He had with him a substantial amount of money that he said had been paid to him by our very own King George. And can you guess what it was for?"

"I don't believe I could in a million years. Tell me."

"For this very farm," she told him, punctuating her words by tapping her finger with each one upon her dining table. She hadn't yet touched her tea and it seemed improbable that she had brought out the scones with any intention of eating one herself.

"No," he gasped, hoping that he wasn't sounding too terribly false. "Why, pray tell, would King George send Micah Night money for your farm?"

"Well he didn't send it just for this farm. He sent it as a grant in order to preserve and beautify natural historical landmarks around the village. And several other villages in the country. Can you believe it?"

"I daresay I can't," he answered, biting into his scone and reeling in shock at its tastiness. "Is this jam homemade?"

"Aye. But the farm, Severus! The money! I won't have to move!"

"I know, I know. It's excellent news isn't it? Where on earth did you get this cream?"

"Severus Snape! I never thought that you would value a snack more highly than one of your childhood friends who just found her way out of distress and certain doom. Honestly," she said, faking disgust as she crossed her arms across her chest and looked just as she had at age twelve, pouting because she couldn't take his attention away from the latest chemistry book.

"You're right, Rhiannon. I'm sorry. Please accept my sincerest apology."

She thought about it for a moment before, no longer able to hide her inevitable and striking smile, she allowed it to burst through onto her face and answered, "Fine. Accepted."

"Fantastic. May I take a few of these home with me?"

"Gaw!" She plucked a towel that had been resting across her shoulder and flung it at him with a falsely irritated laugh. "You cheeky little thing. A lot of nerve you have."

He dodged the towel just in time for it to catch Penny on the head, who had come running in to see what all the commotion was about. The quick movement had caused the tea service to rattle and Severus to emit an almost frustrated and heavily surprised grunt as he had nimbly moved to avoid it.

"So, does this mean that you'll be staying around the village a while then?"

"Aye, indeed. Forever, I suppose." She turned her attention out the door at the landscape rolling out around the house with a wistful stare and a contented, faraway smile. "I suppose I'll have to be on the look out for gold digging men who want to suddenly start up a relationship with me for my money."

"Aye," Severus answered, his mood darkening as the subject turned to other men. He couldn't describe the feeling that welled up in his chest and throat, but if he had been conscious of it he would have classified it as a jealousy.

"Perhaps I'll never marry," she went on, still sounding far away in thought. "That way I'll never have to worry about making the same mistake that my father has."

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure that's the answer. After all, a young woman like yourself . . . with so many years ahead of her . . . well, you know . . ."

Rhiannon was broken away from her daydream by the sudden confusion and stuttering consternation of her usually well composed companion. She looked at him, daring to gaze right into his face as he was staring at his cap and pulling little stray pieces of tweed from it. She noticed that his usually almost translucent skin was becoming a bright shade of beige and that the blush went from his forehead to his ears. This, in turn, caused her to blush, and she looked back down at the dining table and began tracing the pattern of the wood with her index finger again.

"You say that as if you are several years my senior."

"I am," he answered morosely.

"Only five," she told him. "If a woman my age should be considering marriage, how is it that a man your age hasn't taken a wife yet? Are there no women at that school where you teach?"

"No suitable ones."

This quieted Rhiannon for a moment. She didn't know exactly what he was saying and couldn't be sure if the innuendo that she felt was so present was really there or merely a figment of her overactive imagination.

"Surely there must be someone there who-"

"No." He cut her off completely with that one simple answer.

"Well, there's no one suitable here for me either. All the men in this town were friends with one of my brothers or the other. I've been unfortunate enough to see the true side of them all when they've been here drinking and I don't think I'd want any of them as friends let alone lovers."

The sound of her voice, the image of her lips forming the word "lover" was almost too much for Severus. He gazed back down at his cap and began picking at it furiously, pretending to straighten his hair so that he could let it lay against the side of his face, hiding his ever deepening blush.

At this point Rhiannon leaned forward and took a sip of the tea that she had poured so long ago without so much as a spoon of sugar or a dot of honey.

"You don't take any sweetener," he observed.

"No. Never much cared for it. I always liked the bitterness of a good cup of tea."

"You like your tea just as you are, then."

She looked up at him, indignant. "You mean to say that I'm bitter."

"No. Not at all. I mean to say that you are perfect just as you are. Without any help from artificial and unnatural agents."

This stopped her entirely. She had no idea how to respond to a statement such as that, let alone one from the man she had been entranced with since the age of twelve. She opened and closed her mouth, searching for words and finding none, looking like a fish out of water, gasping for air.

"I don't . . . I mean . . . well, thank you," she managed to spit out before taking another sip of tea in order to give her mouth something else to focus on aside from trying to think of how one responds to such a thing. She had always been the quiet sister. The obedient daughter. Staying home to take care of her family in the absence of her mother. She had rarely gone out unless it was to market or trim her mother's grave. Or to church. Other than that she had been given no social upbringing besides the one she learned on her own listening to her brothers and father with their friends in the dining room, drinking their scotch and roaring like animals.

Severus smiled, first at her and then down at his cap, and the blush began to fade from his face. However, it was only beginning to creep into hers. He finished off what tea was in his cup and stood, scraping his chair legs against the tile and replacing his cap. She watched him walk to the door, stop, seeming to contemplate something, and then turn to face her.

"I look forward to a long vacation at home," he told her, tipping his cap to her and turning to take his leave. She watched him walk all the way down the lane, a new bounce somehow acquired to his step. And a new bounce in her heart to match.