Disclaimer: the usual. Poor me. No owning of these two.

A/N: As promised, here's a longer chapter to really kick things off. If you recognise anything said by the verbally gifted Ginny, you can thank Absolutely Fabulous. And if you don't know what that is, then I'll be sorely tempted to chuck an Imperius on you and direct you to youtube. Go on, darlings, go and witness the beauty that is Ab Fab.

As an Aussie, I say gumboots. Brits say wellies, I think. No idea what Americans say – so, diplomatically, I've gone with rain boots. Just thought I'd pass on that vital piece of info.

One thing that's been running through my mind is grammar, of all things. I grew up (am rather ancient compared to some of the younglings 'round here) writing Severus' but it seems that Severus's is more common these days. So I shall go with Severus', even though it makes my eye twitch each time I write it. That's how much I love you all. On that note, I much prefer to use Severus over Snape. That's just like Hermione going "Hi Potter, how are you?" – a bit off, eh? So, Severus it is. Plus I like how it rolls off the tongue. Say it with me.

Editing to add - Severus' it is! Ha! Old style education prevails, thank you my friends! Phew. I shall adjust this chapter.

Some fun notes:

Bushmills – Irish whiskey. Standing Hampton – erection.

Chapter 2: Conversations

She's somewhere in the city with a glass of wine in her hands
This great big city with a lowdown sorry man
Paul Kelly

.

2005 – County Galway, Ireland

Every Sunday, Severus' hulk of a landlord, Conan, would stop by in the early afternoon with a bottle of Bushmills tucked under his arm. Conan was a widower, with three children and had one grandchild so far that Severus often noticed stomping around in muddy puddles. Severus was still a man that favoured spending time either on his own or with only a small amount of people if he could help it, but Conan's weekly visits had come to be a welcome addition to his very relaxed routine.

Weekdays saw Severus rising early and pulling on rain boots before trudging around the paddocks on his side of Conan's farm, counting the animals and checking the fences. He always took various vials with him, having developed the habit of making potions for the larger animals; if someone had asked him twenty years ago whether he thought he'd ever be tipping blue liquid to ease labour pains down a horse's throat, he'd have gladly told them to sod off. And yet, he had found himself doing such a thing at least twelve times over the years. Not to mention the cows.

It was therapeutic – the animals could not talk and so they could not complain (although Severus had indeed begun to discern the various sounds made by the beasts, they were immeasurably better than some of the words that came out of student's mouths in the Hospital wing of Hogwarts). And he could work to his heart's content, and never have to be bothered by hovering superiors inspecting his work.

That was not to say that Conan was not the type to inspect his work; in fact it was only due to Severus' own ethics that he hadn't Obliviated the man yet. He was far too curious. The younger man could certainly understand that, given there had been such a drastic reduction in the amount of dead livestock since the Potions Master had taken up residence in the old cottage – and far be it from him to lie outright. After so many years of biding his tongue, Severus was eager to tell Conan only a slightly adjusted version of the truth; that he was talented with brewing natural little concoctions for himself and a distant relative of his was a veterinarian (codswallop, that was) which was how he'd learnt to apply his remedies on certain types of livestock.

Conan seemed to realise that the story was mostly a load of shite, as the burly grey haired man had cocked an eyebrow that almost reached the mop of curls on top of his head. But Severus' judgement of his landlord's character had been proved right when the man simply shrugged and clapped him on the back, then said he'd charge him less each month in exchange for some extra help around the farm. It was certainly no hardship to accept such an arrangement; thanks to his upbringing, Severus' pockets were tighter than the lid on a bottle of Guinness, but it was more than that. It meant that at forty five, Severus had two things to his name – a home (his written lease said that he was free to stay until he carked it, in those exact words) and a (with the term applied loosely) occupation.

In the afternoons and evenings, he had the luxury of dividing his time between walks through the village (sometimes even Galway city if he was feeling particularly adventurous), potion making and reading. He still brewed for Hogwarts, having developed a spell that meant he only had to flick his wand and the vials would be sitting on Minerva's desk or Poppy's store room, but it was no small thing to dive into new research and apply his own recipes to animals rather than humans. And Severus was never one to back down from a challenge, not when it was dressed up in the Irish countryside that still left his eyes fit to bust when he walked out of his front door each morning.

This Sunday was no different – he'd cooked himself up a roast for lunch and was already sitting in front of his home, half enveloped by the canvas of the folding blue deckchair. Conan thought he dragged them out on Sundays for their comfort, but truth be told Severus transfigured them each week from old pot plants that had died years before he crossed the threshold. The temperamental Irish weather meant that, more often than not, the chairs were bypassed in favour of the wingbacks in front of the fire out of the almost constant rain, but this particular afternoon was heralded by blue skies and a light wind; he didn't even need to wear his coat over his grey woollen jumper. Not all habits were as easily discarded, though, as his black rain boots were stuffed into old dark blue jeans in case of a last minute shower.

After sharing the obligatory greeting and dancing around each other (Conan pretended that he had a pretext for visiting, Severus pretended that he preferred to be on his own), the two men settled back down into the chairs, facing the sea and nursing a tumbler each. Severus was feeling slightly miffed by the older man's politeness, something that was very out of character. It usually only took one sip of whiskey before his landlord was off on a tangent with words that would make a prison inmate blush to his bollocks, but for once he was staring resolutely towards the water and thinking very hard about the conversation he was about to have. It took all of Severus' considerable restraint not to dive into his mind and have a look at whatever had the man all riled up, but the words soon came tumbling out anyway and were enough to have him choke on the burning liquor that was halfway down his throat.

"What?" he spluttered, wiping his mouth and trying to brush off the mix of indignation and embarrassment that was currently working its way through his stomach.

"I said," Conan began again, coughing to cover his own trepidation at even raising the subject, "that you ought t' think about findin' yourself a girl one of these days."

"A girl? How old do you think I am?"

"Don't give me that, son. I'm tellin' you now, at your age, if you don't start soon then you'll be up shite creek without a paddle. You'll be like me!"

Severus rolled his eyes and downed the rest of the whiskey. "I won't be. You have a family – I have no intention of having such a thing."

"Gobshite!" Conan hurled back, though he didn't pause in refilling the younger man's glass. "It's just what you need – you're too lonely up here. A little one lookin' like you and callin' ya 'Da' is just what you need. Plus a Ma for it, a good woman will set you straight. Don't look at me like that!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus exhaled in a forceful breath. Conan was the closest thing he had to a friend – perhaps he really was a friend, but that didn't mean that he wished to have a conversation like this when he had barely managed to even get aroused for the last five years because of the dreams that had haunted him. Nightmares of dying each night with only a student to comfort him were not conducive to waking up with a standing Hampton.

"It is the last thing I need. I cannot think of anything worse than a 'little one' that takes after me. It'd be a fucking disaster," he said eventually; he meant every single word.

It wasn't that he didn't like children – it would surprise almost every student that'd passed through the ostentatious doors of Hogwarts, but Severus did not actually mind teaching. He enjoyed the odd spark of interest on a child's face, and he could really be hard pressed to describe something more enjoyable than teaching N.E.W.T. level potions. What he was averse to, however, was passing on the Snape genes to any child unlucky enough to be born of his seed. He was telling the truth when he said it would be a fucking disaster and he had no desire to put that on any innocent child. While he may have had a pleasant past five years in Ireland, he would be a fool to think that the name of Severus Snape would be thought of in a good light – any child of his would have the same stigma attached to him and would more than likely suffer the same bullying that he did.

"Oh, feck off then," Conan grumbled, and then abruptly changed tactics. "Tell me then, son – how long's it been since you've… you know…"

"Since I've what?" Severus managed to spit out, torn between howling with laughter and storming off in a snit.

"Since you've… you've… oh, feck it all," the man threw his hands up. "Since you've been with a woman!"

Howling with laughter won out and for the first time in years, Severus laughed until he had tears on his cheeks. It only set him off more when Conan finished his drink and stormed off, bellowing some of his favourite curses into the wind. This was familiar ground – not the asking about sex, of course, but the arguments and angry leave takings. Despite the swearing and far too personal topic of conversation, the two would be drinking again next Sunday with nothing to show for their earlier row.

And if Severus noticed that Conan began to bring his eldest daughter around, a divorced woman in her late thirties with short blonde hair and soft curves that triggered something (only a something, try as he might Severus couldn't even make himself conjure up more than a flicker of interest) in him, then neither tenant nor landlord said a word. If anything, it simply pushed him to try and be as polite as possible, even if his heart wasn't wholly in it – by now he knew the value of good company and found a light enjoyment in the father-daughter banter. Conan made a point of saying one evening after Maebh had left that he did not wish for anything to occur between the two, because Severus would make a terrible son in law and his daughter was far above the younger man's deserts (he had the strange impression that Conan was jesting, but Severus preferred to take the words at face value) but that it wouldn't hurt the wizard to at least talk to a woman for once.

They continued on in this way for four more weeks; father, daughter, and Severus sharing Sunday afternoon drinks, until Conan began leaving earlier with half hearted excuses about this and that, and Severus was left alone to try and make conversation.

Maebh was a pretty woman, he supposed… another man might even have said that she was beautiful. Her blue eyes followed him and she had laugh lines around her mouth that came with a sense of humour that did pique his interest more than once. And Severus had a pleasant time with her, even if he couldn't help but feel that something was missing… not that he would say anything. It could have been because she was a Muggle, although since the War ended, he wasn't the type of man to even blink at such a relationship. It was more than likely that any problem with their chemistry was on his behalf, as any idiot would be able to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman – it seemed that he was just, as usual, the exception to that rule. Although he didn't have the heart to deny himself the pleasure of her company – she was a quiet yet happy woman, and he became used to her presence. He didn't consider her anything more than a friend, but it was no small thing that his social circle had doubled.

It went on that way for more weeks than he cared to count, until two things happened on the same afternoon. The first was that Maebh kissed his cheek shyly when she left, an act that left him staring at the ground like a second year then touching the skin that her lips had touched after she'd gone, wondering why he wasn't reacting to it.

But then his skin had tingled – but it wasn't due to Maebh's kiss.

Severus darted inside as soon as the woman was out of his sight, and honed in on the bodily reaction that was his wards alerting him that someone was attempting to 'visit' (never mind that he never had visitors) his old house in Spinner's End. That alone wasn't enough to send him straight back to the bottle of whiskey and his canvas chair; but the alert that it was Hermione Granger was enough to have him almost wishing for a smoke again.

He lasted like that for three days, alternating between craving a cigarette and pacing, wondering what he should do with the newfound knowledge that the woman he'd dreamt about for five years had suddenly come back into his life. Well, not quite come into – she'd knocked on the door, so to speak, and it was up to him whether or not anything would eventuate further. He had absolutely no desire to see her, nor strike up any form of friendship or companionship with the girl who had dropped off the face of the earth (or rather, England) years ago, but there was the underlying hope that perhaps he could finally get rid of the dreams that were becoming more of a nuisance than anything else.

He wanted peace and quiet, and he wanted to leave the war behind. With that in mind, four days after knowing that Hermione was back in England and seemingly wishing to speak with him, he scowled and headed to his desk in the sitting room, quill and parchment at the ready as he tried to decide what on earth to write.

~0~

Cokeworth

Hermione didn't quite know what she wanted to get out of visiting Spinner's End. It was clear from the outset, however, that nothing was to come of it. The wards of the house were almost as complex as the work that had been done on Hogwarts, once it had been safely renovated. But there were subtle differences – where Hogwarts was warded yet still gave off a welcoming (if strong) reception, Spinner's End was quite the opposite.

She didn't know how long it'd been since Snape had set foot on his own doorstep, but the neighbourhood wasn't as bad as she'd been led to expect. The houses all looked the same and there was a distinct smell coming from the nearby dirty river – there was no charm about the drab industrial uniformity, to be sure, but Hermione had taken a wrong turn in London the other day and Cokeworth was, in her view, preferable to some of the areas she'd had to drive through.

That being said, Hermione had lost the naivety that had carried her through her final years at Hogwarts, and she was no fool – front doors could hide all manner of things and the place was too quiet for her liking. She didn't pity Snape for having a house (not a home – a house) in such an area, nor did she feel any change to her curiosity surrounding the man, for it was clear to all that the Professor would have despised being pitied for such a thing as his hometown. Why else would he bother to ward the place to look as if it had been abandoned?

It obviously hadn't been, even if the man had never returned. It didn't escape her notice that others might simply take one look at the house and walk away, as the first layer of spells was designed to encourage, but if Hermione was anything at all, then she was an inquisitive woman. Wherever Severus Snape had gone, he'd still managed to set enough spells that there was no grime on the window panes of the front door, and, unlike other houses, the exterior was lighter somehow, as if he'd charmed it to take on a little less of the dust from the factories.

Hermione walked around the house set on the corner, staring up at the dark coloured bricks. The curtains were shut and the impression given by the wards was unmistakeable – no one was home, no one would be home, but it was owned and any intruder should be damn well aware that their bollocks would be hexed off if they even attempted to override the magic protecting it.

Speaking her last thought out loud in a low, silky voice, Hermione had to snort with wry laughter. Why had she even entertained the idea that coming to Spinner's End would reveal something about Professor Snape? All it had done was notify him that she'd visited (of that, she had no doubt at all) and she got back into her car and drove off, none the wiser.

~0~

London

A week later, Hermione was stretched over one of the soft, comfortable couches inside number 12 Grimmauld Place. The smell of scrambled eggs hung around the sitting room and James was sitting on the floor near her feet, his chubby little hands reaching for the plush book that she was levitating just out of reach.

"Keep at it, Hermione," Ginny called from the kitchen, her high thin voice accompanied by the whistle of the kettle. "You're doing a fine job. Perfect."

Hermione looked at the not-quite toddler and arched an eyebrow. "A fine job, eh James? Do you think so?"

On cue, James squeaked and clapped his hands together, leaving his unofficial Aunt to smile with easy happiness.

"You really are doing a good job with him. You're a natural," Ginny said as she breezed into the room, her swollen stomach preceding her and a tea tray following mid-air behind her. Hermione stuck her tongue out at James when Ginny turned around to sit, then fixed her friend with an innocent grin.

"Me? A natural? You were just berating me only yesterday for being single!"

Ginny waved a hand in the air and shrugged before handing her a cup of tea. "Not berating you, darling, there's a difference between loving advice and berating."

"Does your mother know that your idea of loving advice is that you'll slip a love potion into the drink of the next passably handsome man that you happen to come across?"

"Ha!" Ginny winked, bending to gather James up and into her lap. "That's what you need, though! You never did tell me what you got up to in Australia… I've heard only good things about the fine male specimens down under."

Choking on her still too hot tea, Hermione covered her mouth and tried to tone down a very ungraceful squawk of laughter. She failed miserably.

"Ginny!"

"What?" her friend said with a miffed look. "I'm married, not blind."

"No, certainly not blind," Hermione replied with a smirk. "In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you don't even need those sunglasses you wear outside. I don't think you're short sighted at all. I think you just want to have a good old perve!"

"You're a miserable little turnip, Aunty Hermy," Ginny shot back as she settled James back on the floor with the penguin from Tasmania. "You wouldn't know a 'perve' if it smacked you and sent you A over T."

"A over T? Oh –" Hermione's voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "Have we forgotten silencing charms, Ginny dearest?" Whipping out her wand, she cast a quick spell. "You were saying?"

Both women were giggling into their teas, revelling in the chance to talk properly for the first time since Hermione had arrived a week ago. It had coincided with some rare days off for Harry, and the conversations had been very tame compared to what was in store for the older witch now that Ginny had free rein to speak as she wished.

"Arse over tits," the redhead said with a nod of her head, eyeing James to be sure the silencing charm was still in place. "Exactly right. Really, Hermione, you need to let loose! Those years in Australia have been very good for you, anyone can see that-"

"Wait, what? Good how? I was miserable for at least one of those years, you know," Hermione said with a sniff, remembering how difficult it had been not to lose heart when it had taken so long to find her parents. It should have placated her, to know that her memory spell worked so well, but it was more than difficult to deal with at the time.

"Well, you look better for it," Ginny said decisively. "You do! You've got a tan, and your hair's lighter. You look… exotic! Yes, that's it. Exotic."

"Exotic?" Hermione repeated and looked down at her normal outfit of jeans and a jumper then curled her lip in such a solid imitation of Professor Snape that Ginny blinked and needed a moment to recover.

"Exotic – yes! Like a rare bird. Or an insect."

"Like a rare insect? I look like an insect?"

"No!" Ginny scolded in between gulps of her tea. "No, not at all… a good insect, if you wanted to be an insect of course, but my point was that you are looking well. Snape certainly won't be complaining," she added with a sly grin, causing Hermione to spit out her mouthful of tea.

"What? What are you going on about?" she said finally after she'd managed to wipe all of the tea off her chin. "I'm not bloody seeing Professor Snape anytime soon, so don't you go getting any ideas!"

"Do you think you can fool me, Hermione? Really? After all of this time, you think you can fool me? You've got your teeth into something, and I'll bet that there're no other eligible wizards that live in Cokeworth."

"Oh, bugger off Ginny!" Hermione grumbled with a scowl. Surely she wasn't that obvious? Not that it even was about that – Merlin, she hadn't seen the man for over five years! Was it so strange that she would want to have a simple conversation with the man to ascertain that he was well after his suffering in the Shack and then the ridiculous trial afterwards? "I went for research purposes! The man despises me!"

Hermione added her last words with a triumphant nod. There, that should do it; Harry had let the subject drop immediately after she'd reminded him of the Professor's colourful teaching methods, though it seemed that Ginny wasn't about to let that stop her. She should have known better, especially after catching a glimpse of an old clipping from the Daily Prophet that listed Severus Snape as one of the top five eligible bachelors in all of Wizarding Europe. Obviously the writer had never even met the man, not that he was around to be met. Harry reckoned that they had met him somewhere along the line – it was the perfect revenge for a disgruntled ex student.

"Research purposes? Is that what they're calling it now?" Ginny rolled her eyes, then leaned over with a mischievous smirk on her thin pink lips. "If we're researching, then let's have Severus read our source material – in that silky, velvety voice… whispering it into our ears…"

"Stop! Gods, stop!" Hermione clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head. "No. No! You're bloody bonkers, Ginny Potter!"

A tapping at the window had both women whipping around in their seats, jumping off the couch in surprise as they took in the unfamiliar owl staring at them sedately from the perch.

"Who do you know that owns a black owl, Ginny?" asked Hermione curiously, already edging over to the window. "They're one in a million."

Ginny shrugged again and shot her a puzzled look that changed to a smirk that wouldn't have been out of place on Rita Skeeter as she carefully took the letter from the regal looking bird and put a small bowl of treats on the windowsill; it was obvious that the bird was required to wait for a reply.

"I think you're asking the wrong person," Ginny said slowly and slid the envelope over the coffee table to Hermione's waiting hands. "It's for you."

"For me?" Hermione took another look at the mysterious owl then stared down at the back of the envelope. She usually prided herself on being a level headed woman, somewhat easily distracted but sensible most of the time. Never would she have picked herself out as a person to have the wind knocked out of them by the sight of her name written in a very familiar and very identifiable black spidery hand on the front of the thin cover.

"It's from him," she said breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes away from the envelope. "Oh, God – Ginny he knows I've been to Spinner's End!"

"Of course he does!" Ginny hissed impatiently. "Just open it, for Merlin's sake. Put me out of my misery!"

"How did he even know where to find me?"

"You say that as if he had any other options. For all he knows, your parents are still in Australia," Ginny said matter-of-factly with her hands spread. Well, that was true enough.

Swearing under her breath, Hermione slid her finger under the seal and pulled out a single small square of parchment, then almost immediately let it drop back down to the coffee table as the sudden onset of sheer embarrassment and intrigue flooded through her. It was only moments before she snatched it up again though, and read it a second time – and then a third, and a fourth, when it was yanked out of her hands by a very impatient Weasley.

Ginny was the picture of smugness when she whistled between her teeth and pressed her lips together with a very self-satisfied look. Hermione knew that her visit to Spinner's End would come up somehow, but she had been content with thinking it'd be years before she saw Severus Snape again. Apparently not.

'Something to say, Miss Granger?

SS.'