Disclaimer: Still no ownership for meeee. Sorry Severus.

A/N: I love you all. I really, really do. I'm having so much fun with this, I hope you all are, too. A reminder: Hermione is a character in Shakespeare's 'The Winter's Tale'. And Snape is a muggle name, taken from a village near Hadrian's Wall. This explains something further down in this chapter.

Still getting to know the new laptop, so in case you see any errors just blame it on that, eh?

Chapter 4: Hard Headed Woman

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.

Simon and Garfunkel

.

Severus was used to many things; he knew pain as intimately as a lover, he knew alcohol like a relative that he saw a few times a week and, after five years on the Irish coast, he was certainly used to peace and quiet. As was usual for where he lived, it was raining heavily, the familiar drumming of the water on the roof calming his mind so easily that he was sitting in front of the fire with his feet up and a tumbler of whiskey on the coffee table while his oven worked on baking the fish he'd shoved in earlier. He was reading the new issue of Potions Quarterly, a red pen in hand as he scribbled his thoughts, comments and blatant insults in response to various articles. It was a regular ritual for Friday nights - in a one fingered salute to the dead Dark Lord, he spent it doing whatever the hell he wanted, as opposed to attending Malfoy Manor for some ridiculous event, or writhing on the floor in front of the snake faced pillock while red eyes watched his every jerk of discomfort.

But Severus was not, in general, used to company. He still met with Conan and Maebh once a week, and Minerva and Poppy were known to stay for a few days during each school break, but for the life of him he could not remember the last time he had jumped out of his chair so fast that it tipped over at the sound of a high, feminine voice bellowing curses into the wind just outside his front gate.

"What the bloody buggering fuck is going on?!"

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

Severus quickly finished his drink and grabbed his wand, casting a shielding spell over his head for the rain and ran out his front door, then swore and stumbled back in to shove his feet into black rain boots.

The curses and oaths continued in an impressive stream; at any other time, he would have stopped to appreciate the talent that was spilling out of the mouth of Miss Granger, but when she let loose with an alliteration that made his cock twitch in fear, he hurtled outside with his wand casting a bright light towards the gate.

"Granger?" he shouted out into the storm, catching sight of a woman knee deep in mud. Gods, he winced, it's all buggered up now.

"Well, shit a sideways sodding brick!" she shrieked, her arms waving like a fishwife at the market. "Of course it's Granger! What on earth is going on?! You sent me a portkey! A portkey to mud!"

Torn between laughing and cringing, Severus jogged closer, unable to hide his smirk as he took in the sight of her, drenched like a drowned rat. The sky was darkening too quickly for him to see her face properly, and the rain had caused her normally wild hair to fall in slick strands around her face, but she looked well enough. It wasn't his fault that the girl hadn't checked what the pen was before touching it, after all.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," he said with a rueful chuckle. "I was under the impression that you would actually know that I sent you a portkey. Must I remind you of the value of constant vigilance?"

"Your constant vigilance can go and sod off!" she said vehemently, the shaking of her voice betraying her chattering teeth. "Well?" she demanded, spreading her arms again before settling them on her hips.

"Well what?"

"Are you jesting, Professor Snape? Get me out of this bloody mud!"

"Oh. Right!" Severus blanched and shoved his wand in her general direction until she was able to move her legs enough to push through the slosh with an unpleasant sucking sound as the mud moved around her sodden robes. He really, really should have just replied to her letter.

She reached him quickly, brown eyes gleaming in the darkness as her lips pressed firmly together. He could still barely see her, but it'd been so long since he was faced with a furious witch that he had to stop himself from taking a step back and raising his wand. That was nothing compared to the immediate discomfort he felt as soon as a flash of lightning above their heads illuminated the woman in front of him. She was most certainly not the eighteen year old that nursed him in his nightmares. Why had he even expected that it'd be easy for him and Hermione would show up as the girl he remembered, so young that she barely drew his notice?

Oh, gods... There was not a smidgen of her that even remotely reminded him of the girl she'd been. Everything screamed woman, from her long legs to the curve of her waist and the heavy breasts that were heaving with her gasping breaths. Even her face seemed more mature, lined in a pleasing way that softened her features, the faint newly permanent crease between her brows giving physical evidence to her intellectual pursuits. Forty six years old, and he had been rendered speechless by a woman twenty years his junior.

Shite.

Severus hurried to grab a hold of his sensibility and reached out to take her arm and pull her through his wards, mentally filing away her little sound of surprise as the cottage loomed out of the darkness like a beacon, then berated himself for filing it in the first place. Without a word he led them at a run down the lane and around the front of his home, then stumbled across the threshold and turned to grimace apologetically as he took in the sight of her standing in his well lit sitting room. It was second nature to arrange his face into his usual frown as he stuck his wand at her clothes and silently dried everything, including her hair that shot out around her face in wild, frizzy curls.

Student, student, student! he chanted while attempting to glower but failing miserably.

She was still staring at him, breathing heavily but now her mouth held a curious smile to it and her laugh lined eyes were darting around the interior of the cottage, the gentleness of her gaze almost caressing the floor to ceiling bookshelves that left space enough for the fire place.

Should he greet her? Say good evening, perhaps? Apologise for his overestimating her self control to not touch something before she'd investigated it? Pretend that he hadn't found her stuck in the mud and looking like a banshee? What the fuck does one say when one is confronted by an ex-student who has morphed into a siren and is standing in one's sitting room expecting to be... what, exactly?

But his nerves soon began to uncoil when she shrugged and her cheeks lit up with a blush, making all the breath he was holding exhale in a gush. She was already too comfortable in his presence, as if they were friends. He could lay claim to four friends that were still alive, and none of them looked like this. He wished for his long hair again to hide his face but that couldn't be helped and so he resorted to directing a scowl to her crumpled robes.

And then she laughed. A tinkling, chiming laugh that fell into his parted lips and wormed its way into his stomach then back up towards his heart; the unfamiliar and unwelcome burst of affection that he sensed within him pushing him to bark out a gruff order for her to sit and, "Would you stop your incessant laughter, Granger, and tell me how you want your tea?"

"Milk with two and a half sugars please," was her lilting reply that sent him straight to the kitchen so he could lean his palms on the bench away from her line of sight and close his eyes before he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off what was more than likely inevitable because how the fuck had he not made a jibe at 'two and a half sugars'?

Oh fuck, fuck, fucking fuck... she was completely captivating.

~0~

Oh, gods. This was not the relaxing Friday evening that she'd planned. Hermione looked down at her robes and openly cringed while the Professor busied himself in the kitchen with making tea; it must have been the alcohol. Latching onto that thought to comfort her (for surely she was not so far gone that she couldn't have known it was a bloody portkey!) she eased out of the now dry robes and folded them over the back of the wingback chair. Her stiff jeans (denim never held up well against drying spells) and oversized jumper would have to do.

Snape took a long time making the tea - to give her space to calm down, no doubt. Why had she even laughed in the first place? Stifling a groan of mortification, she sunk down into the chair and turned her face to the fire, hoping the flames would give him the impression that her cheeks were blazing from the heat and not because she was a woman that had fallen knee deep into the mud in front of a man was so attractive that it made her rub her thighs together.

Bugger it all!

Right from the moment he'd run out into the rain, her perceptions of the man had been plucked out of her mind, rearranged into a very pleasurable package, and returned with enough of an entrance to leave her nervous and shy. He was sinfully good looking - not in the conventional sense, that would never really be the case for Severus Snape - but in a way that made him arresting rather than commonly handsome. He was the same, and yet different; his hair was shorter though still long enough to cover his ears, and there were a few new grey strands to stand out against the sea of black ink. And there was a beard, too - nothing like the untidy, fist length nests that were common in Diagon Alley these days, but just enough to lightly cover his chin and neck, the kind that would gently scratch a cheek or teasingly graze a breast. He was still slim and a head or two taller than her, still had the same nose, but he was no longer gaunt and sallow looking. He looked healthy. And, fuck, healthy had never looked so good.

The realisation that she was attracted to him was utterly unwelcome. He'd obviously found amusement in the way she'd arrived, and his genuine smirk was a sight for sore eyes, but he'd donned his usual scowl as soon as she'd walked in the door. He'd dried her off with a cursory flick of his wand, then looked so affronted by being in the same room with her after all of these years that Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Really, what else could she have done? She'd looked absolutely ridiculous in her wet robes, and despite his worn and comfortable looking grey jumper and jeans, he was as polished as ever. She'd regret it in the morning, but by then she'd be home and able to safely blame Ginny and Lavender for coming up with Friday afternoon drinks in the first place. At least she had enough sense to sober up immediately - the Professor had always had that effect on his students, and it seemed that six years later, he still did.

"Your tea, Miss Granger." His smooth, deep voice startled her out of her thoughts and when she blinked, it was to find him sitting in the other chair across from her with a tray on the coffee table between them. He wasn't looking at her, instead he was directing his gaze to the preparation of her steaming cup and Hermione allowed herself the indulgence of watching his long, slim fingers gracefully pouring and stirring.

"Thank you, sir," she replied shyly when he handed the cup and saucer over, cringing when he pursed his lips. Snape's disapproval was so commonplace that it felt easier to smile politely - the persona of the teacher she could handle. The man? Perhaps not.

"I am not your teacher any longer, Granger."

Well, there goes that.

"No," she agreed with a small nod. "Sorry. I don't have anything else to call you - Mister seems too formal, Professor is obviously not suitable. What would you prefer that I do use, sir?"

She regretted the question immediately when a single eyebrow arched and the black eyes below it shone with... what? Surely not amusement? Whatever it was, it was delectable. He shrugged minutely. "You are able to come up with something, I'm sure."

Wetting her lips, Hermione reached for a biscuit and looked away just long enough to persuade herself that she was a student again and in detention, or something infinitely easier to deal with than in Snape's sitting room at the ends of the earth.

Perking up, she turned back to him with a puzzled look. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Ah," he sounded out and leaned back in his chair with a smirk. Much better, Hermione thought - he was obviously more comfortable when she took the guise of questioning know-it-all. "You didn't recognise the area?"

"It's pouring down rain," she shot back flatly. "And, regretfully, I was not given much notice."

"Did you require... notice?" Suddenly he was leaning forward and resting his elbows on denim clad knees - the waters were instantly more dangerous when his mouth twitched with well disguised mirth. Hermione swallowed audibly.

"No. Not at all. I'm quite comfortable with being wrenched away from Friday drinks unawares. Oh! Sorry sir, just a moment." She shifted in her seat and pulled her wand out of her back pocket, before watching her otter scamper off to tell Ginny that she was safe. Thankfully, her friend had enough tact to only send her eagle flying through with a "Never doubted you, Professor Snape. You'll take care of our Hermione. Oh, and Aunty Hermy - don't forget the meeting location that was suggested previously."

The owl faded away with a mischievous grin and Hermione kept her face carefully blank, taking a page out of his book and shrugging innocently when he shot her questioning glance about the off hand remark. There was no chance in hell that she was going to admit what that referred to.

"Well," she said briskly, cutting into the awkward silence, "thank you for inviting me here."

"I was under the impression that you are here against your will," he replied dryly, watching her with interest when she waved a hand in the air.

"No, no. It was my mistake. I was taken unawares - I can recognise an invitation. Next time I'll just be more cautious when opening any mail coming from... wherever we are."

He leaned even further forward, eyebrow cocked again. "Next time, Miss Granger?"

Ohh, there better be a bloody next time! "Figure of speech."

"Right." Snape took a long sip of tea and nibbled on a corner of a chocolate biscuit. "What brings you here? Apart from the portkey," he added sarcastically, imitating her with a wave of his hand. She smiled, letting out a short snort of laughter and settled back in the chair.

"It's been years, sir. I wanted to... touch base with you. See how you are, get stuck in the mud. Eat a few biccies and make mindless chitchat over our histories since the last time we saw each other. I admit to being curious - I wasn't even sure that you were alive until a year ago."

"Mindless chitchat?" he echoed with a sour note to his voice. "After six years, you get in touch with me for 'a few biccies and mindless chitchat'?"

Six years ago Hermione would have nodded meekly and gone on her way, but bugger it all, she had her own flat, her own shop - Merlin's balls, she even had an employee. With a sniff, she straightened her spine and took another sip of tea.

"I'm not your student anymore, sir, and there's no need to be such an arse not even ten minutes into our evening!" She almost lost her nerve when his eyes widened as if he was about to flare up, yet all he did was grace her with a low chuckle and a nod of his head.

"Then stop calling me 'sir'."

"What?"

"If you're not my student, stop calling me sir. You're acting like a third year and it's ruddy confusing."

"Why?" she stared at him incredulously, spreading her hands then huffing when he scowled again.

"We're both six years out of Hogwarts, Granger. Lose the monikers."

"Hermione," she corrected automatically, grinning when he frowned.

"Pardon?"

"If we're six years out of Hogwarts, then you can call me by my name. I do have one. Her-mi-o-ne."

"I know what your name is," he said gruffly. A soft chime interrupted whatever was about to come out of his mouth next and he held up a hand with a slight grin. "My apologies - give me a moment."

The abrupt change from disgruntled professor to host was nigh on seamless; Hermione nodded bemusedly, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen. There was the unmistakeable sound of an oven door being opened, and the small sitting room was filled for a moment with a beautiful, richly spiced scent before the door closed again and Snape walked back to his chair, casting a quick rune to reset his timer. The fire was still burning in the hearth, casting a golden light over the books that must have numbered in their thousands - it was clear that he had enlarged the bookcases, and whether or not there were more rooms with their wall to wall books remained to be seen.

"Are you warm enough?" His steady enquiry was directed at how she was watching the fire, but it set the nerves to curl around in her belly again and she smiled, then allowed it to widen into a grin when he glowered as if he didn't mean to be thoughtful at all.

"Very warm, thank you."

His gaze stayed on her, unnervingly so, until he seemed satisfied with her answer and gestured at her tea cup, encouraging her to continue. When she did, he spoke again, "We are in Ireland. County Galway, to be exact."

The inner swot reared its bushy head and she looked around the inside of the cottage with renewed interest, as if she could see the coastal Irish county from within the walls. "I've never visited Ireland," she confessed eagerly. "This is all very lovely. You've made a nice home for yourself, sir."

Snape crossed his legs at the knee and his first genuine smirk of the evening tilted his lips at the corner. "I have. Thank you. But, Miss Granger, if I may ask - why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you never been to Ireland? It's only an Apparation away."

Before she could rein herself in, she was laughing and surprising herself at the realisation that she was sitting in Professor Snape's living room on the Irish coast, already having one of the most enjoyable evenings she'd had for years. He didn't laugh - she definitely didn't expect him to - but it was more than evident that he, too, seemed to be not having such a terrible time of it.

"I haven't had the time," she said, unconsciously turning her head with a sideways smile under her lashes. "Really, when did I have the time?" she protested, affronted by his silence. His head was cocked to the side, black eyes examining her face intently while he drunk his tea. It was a strange thing to be the object of his scrutiny - it was the same look that he used to give the bubbling concoctions of his students and yet there was no animosity, no malice, only guarded interest. Hermione returned his gaze with as much courage as she could muster, finally caving when he took another bite of the chocolate biscuit, obviously well used to waiting for women who'd lost their tongues.

"Between Hogwarts and the War," she began hesitantly, now looking at her feet instead of the man across from her, "there was no time for such things. And when the War ended, I wasn't... well, I wasn't particularly interested in travelling, bar going to Australia for my parents. And I ended up liking it so much that I stayed. I completed my Masters there, you know," she said with a proud smile, both at her education and the surprise that flitted across his features.

"In which field?" he asked, biting down a short grin. "I didn't know that anyone from your year had furthered their education, save Draco and Longbottom of course."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers over her knees, making a show of arching her own eyebrow. "Potions."

The drop of his jaw for all of one second rewarded her actions, and he let out a bark of laughter, downing the rest of his tea in a quick gulp. "I had no idea. Congratulations, Miss Granger. I am glad that after all of those years of - how did your year mates classify my classes? Ah; all those years of 'living in hell', you rose above such things and studied a respectable field. I admit to assuming you would follow the other minions and head into Auror training."

"Oh, please," she said immediately, batting a hand at the coffee table. "Auror training? Surely you know me better than that, sir?"

His smile was short and boasting, before he nodded sagely. "I had my suspicions that you might follow a different path. I am glad that you have. But..." he trailed off, and Hermione twisted her lips at the familiar look of dark humour on his face, "I have not seen anything of yours published. Surely the educational standards in Australia are not so different to here? I am quite sure that anyone with a Mastery in Potions is still required to present a thesis, and contribute regularly to improving our field."

His tone was far from biting; there was no hiding that his interest was piqued by the field she had chosen. Hermione took the offered bait with both hands and smirked. "Do you have any issues of Potions Quarterly lying around?"

Eyes narrowed, he stood and walked over to a small dining table tucked into the corner of the room, then bent over one of the chairs as he searched, giving her an unobstructed view of a rather appetizing looking backside. Allowing herself a moment to ogle, Hermione looked innocently at her tea when he returned with five of the most recent publications.

"Well?" he looked at her with a challenging smirk and didn't even blink when she snatched each issue and thumbed through the pages, looking for the titles that she'd recognise anywhere.

"Ha!" she exclaimed with a gurgle of laughter, then reached over to plonk all of them into his lap, complete with dog ears. She watched him nervously as he flicked through the pages - there was nothing that even hinted at what he thought of her articles, focused largely on dreams and theories to better the Arithmantic equations used for healing potions. Her favourite was the last article, where she had bemoaned the state of the community's lack of understanding around Muggle scientific fields, specifically psychology and how beneficial the subject could be in terms of creating better potions for those affected by the recent War. Snape reread the article with renewed interest, and it satisfied her youthful (and rather irrational) desire to please him when she noticed that his comments in red ink were few and far between.

"This is you?" he asked when he had finished; his expression was unreadable.

"It is," she confirmed with a beaming grin.

"Your name..."

"Oh - don't tell me that you didn't put two and two together? Perdita Glover," she said, adding weight to the fake name with a laugh. "Perdita is the daughter of Hermione, and Glover is as Muggle as Granger."

When he shook his head with a smooth laugh, it pushed her to move her chair around the coffee table until they were beside each other. Ignoring his nonplussed expression, she reached over and skimmed the contents page, before conjuring another pen and marking four articles submitted in the issues by the name of Hadrian Prince. His answering laugh was like the guffaw of a much younger man, and he turned to her with a wolfish grin.

"Was I so obvious?"

"Only to a swot," she replied easily. "And I was looking for you intentionally, so it was easier."

Her unintended implication that he had not discovered her real identity in the Potions community was received with a thoughtful nod. In another lifetime, he would have stared at her with cold black eyes until she bowed down, but the Professor simply shook his head. It was expected that he would submit articles under a different name; the man desired privacy after all. It sat well with Hermione that he seemed to understand her own desires for the same thing.

"Minerva told me you were all as well as could be expected," he admitted. "I did not ask beyond that; I did not think it was my place to pry."

She exhaled with a sigh and patted his arm, ignoring the way the muscles underneath her hand jumped in response to the unexpected touch. "You could have. I wouldn't have minded. I said you were being an arse earlier, but you're in good company with me," she said with a small smile. "Disregarding all of the social graces that you'd no doubt prefer we adhere to, I'll confess to using Australia the way you've been using Ireland. Although you're infinitely better at it than I was."

"Better at what, Miss Granger?"

"Better at living," she said, gesturing around to the comfort of the room. "I only lasted a few years - when my parents wanted to return, I came back a few months after they did. I wanted to try doing it alone but I'm afraid I didn't have the backbone."

Snape rolled his eyes and gathered up the cups, settling them back on the tea tray and walking with them over to the kitchen. A flick of his wand sent them into the sink and they were being gently washed within seconds. He wandered back into the room, though not after Hermione noticed how he looked at the oven with a pensive expression, as if he was holding an internal debate. In the end, he sat down again and said, "It's easier to be alone when you're used to it. But I digress; this is my home now, and I am loathe to give it up. I am far too selfish to return."

His bare honesty left her reeling and she stared at him until he cleared his throat, evidently uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," she said immediately, and, taking her Gryffindor bravery in hand, changed the subject. "How did you find this place? When did you come? Did you stay in England for long? I'm embarrassed to say that I left straight after your trial and whenever I asked Harry, he just said that you hadn't stayed in touch."

The oven chimed again, interrupting her tirade. Snape snorted a laugh and made his way back into the kitchen to turn off the appliance. Whatever he took out of the oven seemed near divine, and Hermione stood and smoothed down her jumper, wondering if he was expecting company.

"I'm sorry," she called out again, until he came into view. He stood at the kitchen bench, watching her calmly and waiting for the rest of her words. "I'm intruding, I know. I'll head home, perhaps we can-"

"Miss Granger," he said flatly, both eyebrows raised and mouth quirking with a smile. A movement of his hands showed that he held two plates. "You may join me, if you like. Your questions require more than just tea to accompany them." A jerk of his head had her noticing the wine that appeared on the kitchen table, and she smiled widely.

Hermione did not know what she was doing, nor what his intentions were, but when she noticed a flash of expectation in his eyes, she nodded, flushing with pleasure when he grinned, obviously pleased with her decision.

"All right, then. I would like that, Severus."

Both registered her use of his name for the first time, and again his expression was unreadable, though there was no chance that Hermione's nervous smile escaped his notice. She found that she did not even want it to.