December 3rd

Dear Hermione,

I would like to be able to say that Miss Patil has faded into the faceless mass of empty headed female students who have passed through the doors of my classroom over the years.

Unfortunately, both she and her companion, Miss Brown, have forever imprinted themselves on my memory by inflicting experiences upon me that, even now, I shudder to remember.

My desire to renew my acquaintance with Miss Patil - especially in a context that validates her particular brand of vacuous inanity - is extremely low.

I fail to see why I should be concerned with what appears to be a somewhat straightforward, if appallingly punctuated, business proposition to yourself. Whether or not you ally yourself commercially with this - publication - must be a matter for you - I was not aware that my thoughts were relevant in any way.

Severus.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Parvati,

What a surprise to hear from you after all this time. I do remember that you wanted to go into fashion. Congratulations on getting what you wanted and congratulations as well on becoming the editor of Ms Magic Magazine. I've seen it on sale just about everywhere I've been.

I don't know what to say to your offer about making those cosmetics again. I'll be honest and say that I haven't really given them much thought since leaving school. I don't get as much free time as a lecturer as people often think, you know.

I know you want an answer as soon as possible, but it's not quite that simple. You probably didn't realise it at the time, but I didn't make them entirely on my own - I had some help from someone else. My partner actually came up with a lot of the ideas for what we made, so I really need to get in touch and see what the position is. I wouldn't feel happy using someone else's work without their permission - I think you must remember me well enough to understand that!

Also I'm out of practice in making that sort of thing now, and if I agree I want to be certain that I've got everything right. Again, I'm sure that doesn't surprise you!

I know you're anxious for a reply, but I really do have to wait to hear from my partner and then I'd like some time to think about it.

How soon do you need a reply?

Yours sincerely,

Hermione Granger.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Severus,

I thought I made myself clear in my last letter - I didn't exactly make those cosmetics alone. In fact, for the majority of the time I didn't make them at all. If I do accept this offer, at the very least I'm going to need to check some of the exact compositions with you. I haven't kept up with making the ones that I don't regularly use, and I'm sure I've forgotten a lot of the recipes.

What I haven't forgotten is that the money you made went into my Gringott's vault, not yours. I don't intend to profit at your expense a second time. I know you'll say that's very Gryffindor of me, but in this case I'll treat that as a compliment.

So, yes, your thoughts are very relevant to this.

Best wishes,

Hermione.

P.S. I'd forgotten that Parvati and Lavender waxed your legs. Was it really that traumatic?

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione, dearest!

I've just been biting my nails waiting for your reply!

Still the same old Hermie I see! Worrying about getting every little thing just absolutely right and perfect! That's why I just know that this project would go so well with us working together - your attention to detail and my grasp of the bigger picture!

And what's this about a partner? We all thought it was just you, because we all knew how much you liked doing extra work for no reason! Although, I admit you did have the sense to get paid for it that one time! And who is this mysterious partner? Actually, I bet I can guess!

It was Ron and Harry wasn't it?! I'm right aren't I?! After all, they were really the only people you hung about with weren't they? I expect the boys didn't want people to think they were girly - it would have really spoiled their macho Quidditch images to be seen messing about with face creams! It wouldn't have looked that great when they made their applications to be Aurors either!

Well, you can tell them that their secret's safe with me! And if they don't want it to be safe, then we can maybe do something with marketing! Triple M and Harry Potter! It would be amazing!

Don't worry about a thing, Hermie! If you come in on this you can pick your team - and you have my personal guarantee on that! Tell "your partner (!)" that they're welcome aboard and that I just can't wait to get started on this!

Got a board meeting on the fifth, so I really want to have something to show to them. If I don't make the deadline the project may need to be shelved indefinitely, so I'm reaching out to you here, Hermie! Tell me you're in!

Waiting to hear from you!

Parvati.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Hermione,

I am not yet so senile that I have forgotten the small manufacturing enterprise that took place in your final year at school. Still less do I need to be reminded of it twice.

I also refuse to believe that you do not remember every single detail of the processes employed. If this is, in fact, so, then I need to immediately inform Professor McGonagall that her beloved former star pupil has suffered her first recorded memory lapse, thus shattering that lady's unshakeable belief in your academic infallibility. I need not add that imparting these tidings will give me no small amount of personal satisfaction.

If you intend to proceed with this arrangement with Miss Patil - and if you propose to pester me with technical queries - then I suppose that I might be prepared to take on some form of consultancy role. I stress that this is purely to ensure that those parts of the process that were developed by myself are accurately reproduced. I have no intention of becoming the wizarding world's second Gilderoy Lockhart.

For future reference, I would prefer not to enter into any discussion of my personal grooming experiences at the hands of Misses Patil and Brown.

Severus.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Severus,

I'm very happy to hear that, if I decide to go ahead, you're prepared to take on a consultancy role. You'll be even happier to hear that Parvati has promised me that I can "pick my own team" and moreover, that my "partner" is welcome aboard. Mind you, I think I should warn you that she thinks that "partner" is another word for "Harry and Ron". Do you wish me to enlighten her?

I've thought about this quite a bit, and I think that I'd like to accept her offer. I haven't done any serious potion brewing for a while, and it would make a nice change from trying to explain to people why the fact that you can fix it afterwards doesn't make it right to break it in the first place.

What sort of input do you see yourself having in this? I don't think you need worry about becoming the next GL. The first one wasn't exactly a howling success.

Best,

Hermione.

P.S. I didn't enclose Parvati's letter this time. I thought it wasn't fair to the owl to make it carry the extra weight of all those exclamation marks.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Hermione,

Words cannot express my joy at the prospect of being part of any team that involves women's fashions and mistaken identity. Soon we shall be able to conduct a French Farce.

I have been considering my role in this putative project further. If, as seems likely, I shall be called upon to answer frequent questions regarding method and materials it would seem more sensible for me to be fully involved. The most efficient way of achieving this is some kind of joint venture.

Assuming this is acceptable to you, it follows that it will be necessary to disclose my identity to Miss Patil. I refuse to leave it to two Gryffindors to conduct commercial negotiations that will have a direct impact on myself.

I also suggest that we devise a plausible explanation for my involvement in the first place. I suspect that Miss Patil is not ready to hear the truth and I am certainly not ready for her to know it.

I commend you for your concern for owl welfare. My own nerves are grateful to be a collateral beneficiary.

Severus.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Parvati,

I have now heard back from my partner.

You will be happy to know that we are interested in taking part in your project. Perhaps you could suggest a date to meet up and discuss the details.

Yours sincerely,

Hermione

P.S. It's not a big issue, but I don't think that anyone calls me Hermie. I don't really see myself as a "Hermie" sort of person.

XXXXXXXXXX

Darling!

What fabulous news! I can't wait to take this to the board! I don't suppose you have any samples that I could have - just to show them what they're getting! Owl me what you can a.s.a.p! Triple M will pay!

Why don't we meet after the board meeting - say 2.30 p.m. on 5th? My offices? I'd say let's do lunch, but these meetings will run on! You can't imagine how tedious it is sometimes! And they say this job is all about glamour!

I can't tell you how excited I am about this!

See you on 5th! Just come to the front desk and tell them you're there to see me!

Parvati

XXXXXXXXXX

Dear Severus,

Of course it's "acceptable" to me to be involved in a joint venture with you. And thank you for your kind offer of help, both with the manufacture and the commercial negotiations - I know there was a kind offer of help in there somewhere.

I've heard back from Parvati. She wants to meet with us on 5th December at her offices to discuss things. Will that be convenient for you?

I haven't actually told her that my partner is you. I couldn't quite work out a good way of putting it down on paper. So I thought that maybe we could meet up before the meeting and decide what exactly we are going to tell her.

Best wishes,

Hermione

P.S. Naturally, I know that you won't get any pleasure out of the look on Parvati's face when you walk into her office without warning. Let alone any sense of revenge.

December 4th

Snape pushed aside a stack of homework and correspondence on his desk , grimacing at the note from Dumbledore to announce a Staff vs Old Boys Quidditch match shortly before the end of term. A few sheets of paper fluttered to the ground as he moved them. As he picked them up, he recognised Hermione's handwriting - they were his most recent correspondence.

The exchange of letters had been unsettling; in the end he had given in and agreed. It was obvious that Hermione wasn't keen to take no for an answer, and Slytherins were nothing if not pragmatic. It would take longer to convince her that he wouldn't help than it would to simply help her. No matter how loath he was to admit this even to himself, curiosity had also played some part in his decision - not any curiosity to do with Ms Patil, unsurprisingly. The pink paper had told him all he needed to know about how she had developed since leaving school.

No, his curiosity had all to do with Hermione; the handful of letters they had exchanged over the years suggested she had done what most of her classmates were incapable of, and had matured. He had occasionally wondered who the adult Hermione would be, and how they would interact. That - more than anything - had ensured his eventual capitulation. He wondered who he would be, in her presence, now.

He had known from the first letter that he would agree, that she would not take 'no' for an answer at this point, and had worded his letters to ensure that she did not. It would have been uncharacteristic of him to agree too soon though, and Severus Snape was never - almost never - uncharacteristic. It would deprive too many people of their basic security. The sun rose and set; objects were subject to gravity; and he was unpleasant and brusque. It was the natural order of things.

He viewed the forthcoming meeting with Ms Patil with some foreboding; being coerced into things by her was not something he was inclined to repeat too willingly. The last time he had submitted to her entreaties was an event he would rather forget but which was burned into his memory with the force of a reverse-Obliviate: if he could convert the way in which that memory was stored into a charm, he could make a fortune from students cramming knowledge prior to OWLs and NEWTs. Or perhaps not; he thought the memory was almost certainly connected to pain, and it was questionable how much students would be willing to endure for exam results.

Patil hadn't known it was Snape that she was cajoling at the time - still didn't know, for that matter, and there was no way in hell that she was ever going to know. If Hermione hadn't already got a story composed, he would provide her with one to cover the reasons for his involvement. Any story but the truth. He had absolutely no intention of ever letting Parvati Patil become aware of the fact that she had waxed the legs of the dread Potions Professor in her final year at Hogwarts.

The memory was the stuff of nightmares; not the pain particularly - despite what one might imagine, Crucio still outranked it; if not for that, the Death Eaters would have been stonewalled by witches everywhere. It was the sheer ... girlishness of the occasion. There wasn't another word for it, otherwise he would have used it. It had been scant consolation that Hermione was no more enamoured of the "girl's night in", and her doubling up with laughter on realising what he had gone through had been even less consolation. The conversation - for want of a better word - between Lavender Brown and Patil had been excruciating. Boys, more boys, and makeup tips. If it had been his life alone, he would have told them in no uncertain terms who they were dealing with, and hang the bloody consequences. The only reason he had held his tongue was a disinclination to see Hermione become sport for Voldemort; some small measure of respect for Dumbledore's wishes figured in the calculations somewhere, but not particularly highly.

Snape stared out of the window, pulling himself back from memories of a decade ago to stare unseeing into the night sky. Snow had fallen at last in the Highlands, reflecting the near-full moon. The grounds and lake that spread out from the foot of the cliffs which housed the Hogwarts dungeons glittered with the cold, sparkling against the black sky.

Skincare and cosmetics. If that wasn't definitive proof of the existence of irony, Snape wasn't certain what would constitute such proof. Lockhart would be proud of him - if the fool was capable of recollecting anything of his existence.

Snape grimaced - laughter, no matter how scornful, was more than he was prepared to countenance at the moment. He looked down at the table that made up his desk, at the papers scattered across it, wincing at the flash of pink not quite obscured. Somewhere in there... long fingers searched, pushing aside one stack of papers in search of something buried by time and end of term marking.

At last he found what he was looking for; a bundle of parchment an inch thick, covered in the near-illegible scrawled shorthand that he used for his private notes. A pity that the work was incomplete - this would have been the best opportunity he could have been given to release this into the public domain without risk of having his name attached to it.

Not quite skincare, or cosmetics, but still perhaps of interest to Ms Patil. Maybe he could finish it soon... Snape leafed through the notes, checking to see where he had got to with his research, to see whether "finishing it soon" was a remotely realistic idea. The short heading said nothing more than 'Project Hermione' - gross sentimentality, but the notes were almost ten years old in places. He had started work on this as a distraction once he had regained his body: it was something to remember the person he had come to know, and he had intended it as a thank-you, if it had ever been finished. Thank you for returning his body intact and his classes on schedule; for keeping his secrets and for too many other things that he was unwilling to name.

Months of dealing with Muggle mopping-up every four weeks had him searching for a way to deal with the issue that wouldn't offend Hermione's concerns about interrupting her cycle. There was very little research in the wizarding world on the long-term use of potions and charms to stem the flow, as it were. It had taken some time to find Muggle research on the same problems, to determine the problems that had concerned Hermione. None of the side-effects, the consequences, had been anything that couldn't be dealt with by a half-competent mediwitch but, all the same, Snape could see why Hermione might not be entirely convinced about the long-term advisability of such things.

So he had set about devising a potion that would deal with the problem tidily, without the side-effects. But time, and classes, and extracurricular activities involving Voldemort, meant that spare time was something rare for many years and, somehow, now that it was quieter, other things had filled up that spare time without Snape ever remembering to continue the research. Now though - well, he had the time. The Christmas vacation was coming up, and with it something akin to spare time for a while.

Snape glanced at the small tower of books that constituted his 'unread' pile; it could wait. If it was essential, he had already read it. What was in that pile was interesting, but not urgent - and possibly not even interesting, although he wouldn't know until he started to read.

He got up from the table, stretching slightly as muscles protested that he had sat still for too long. He picked up the mug of cold coffee from the desk, together with his notes, and wandered through into the private laboratory housed in his suite of rooms. He left the research propped on a small stand near the long lab table, to remind himself that this was his vacation project. He flicked through the pages again, making a mental note of the supplies he would need to order from Hogsmeade - or Diagon Alley, in some cases - to continue the research. Most of the ingredients he had to hand, and he preferred to work with readily available items wherever possible: it was rather pointless to try and produce something with a mass-market potential that could only be made from the rarest of ingredients. Nonetheless, it was nearly the end of term and stocks inevitably ran low. He added a mental note to check the classroom stocks as well and re-order those at the same time. Students brought a certain amount of potions ingredients with them at the start of term but, nonetheless, the school still needed an adequate supply for classes and for preparations for the infirmary.

Back in his room, Snape glanced at the clock and debated whether to have more coffee. The pot was barely warm on the stove; the fire was dying slowly into glowing embers. He took that as a signal that he should try and get some sleep.

December 5th

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.

XXXXXXXXXX

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 Voldemort 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-caffeinating 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 official 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 than 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. Successfully.

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 tabletop 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?"

Snape 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 silence 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.

Pulling on her own coat, she followed Snape out of the coffee shop.