Please note: I intended this to be a short piece originally so it rushes right to the cliche awkward bits. However, as I realised there was a lot more to say to develop the plot, they get further apart. I could go back and add some filler, but I've never really liked filler. I'm sure you'll understand. It has been a while since I've written and even longer since I've read a fanfiction.

If you've read the first chapters before, I apologise, but I have made some changes that affect the overall tone and characters, so the entire story needed to be re-uploaded.

Bits and pieces of M rated stuff in Chapters to follow. If you're looking for very long, juicy scenes, this is not the place to be. But I hope you'll stay for the adventure and stilted romance.

[dramatic bow]

Disclaimer: Thank you JK Rowling for giving me my teenage heartthrob and a female role model my own age. I may be a little older now and yet they're still near and dear to me.

Hermione shivered and drew the cloak's hood over her head, a heavy Durmstrang fur that had been abandoned amongst the school's supplies. The blizzard whipped the snow into a spiralled frenzy and she could barely see ahead. The houses, short, square, lined up behind low picket fences, should have seemed quaint. But she knew who lived within.

She halted in the middle of the street. Perhaps she could do this without disturbing him... Perhaps she should turn back. But these were just nerves talking. Pulling the cloak tighter around her frame offered no comfort for the churning in her stomach, nor for the chill that bit through the gaps in the cloak and numbed her fingers. A snap by her ear made her start, but it was only the wind.

Steeling herself, she took a step forward.

"Vultures!" a familiar voice boomed. "Leave." It shook the sky like thunder but Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, just a harmless ward. She had expected to land herself in some sort of deadly trap before she ever reached the front door.

She took another step forward.

"You have not been invited. And... you are not welcome." The voice was tempered this time to sound calm, sinister, and Hermione's hand trembled with cold and fear as she reached for the gate.

A third rumbling insult from the sky was interrupted by a sudden silence. Hermione looked up just as eyes vanished from a peering latch in the front door. A second later it swung open, revealing black robes receding into the shadows.

"Get in!" Snape barked from out of sight. "Unless you'd rather freeze."

She shuffled quickly down the path, pulling the last of her fur cloak into the hall before the door slammed itself shut on the blizzard outside. The warm smell of burning wood and some kind of stew greeted her senses. But from the blinding white, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim glow. Once they did she saw Severus Snape for the first time in years. He wore the same, stiff attire she remembered, buttoned so far up his neck that it almost covered the deep purple gashes that lived there. His features had fleshed out slightly. He seemed in good health but he did not look happy to see her.

Maintaining a steady glare, he removed his outer robes and lay them to one side and reached out a hand. Hermione awkwardly fumbled to wriggle out of the cloak and thanked him for taking it.

"Do tell me," he sneered, setting her cloak down carefully, "why is the newest Hogwarts professor here? Are things so dire that you're now scraping the bottom of the barrel in search of tabloid fiction? Journalists looking for the brought-back hero have long since stopped coming here. There is no more information you could possibly extract from me." Thrown, she opened her mouth and closed it.

Giving her vaguely disgusted glance, he turned and led the way to a small living room, decorated with a few dusty, mismatched armchairs around a fireplace ablaze. What would have been a quaint cottage living room was overwhelmed by books. They filled shelves around the room and formed towers on the floor. He had turned some of those towers of books into tables to rest jars of ingredients on. Snape turned and caught her admiring gaze and sneered. She tried not to salivate. There were books in here she had been dying to get her hands on for years, but that was not why she came.

When he gestured her into the least dusty chair, still warm in the seat, she felt strangely honoured. Her old professor instead settled for the footstool placed directly before her. His limbs looked longer, more prominent when he wasn't shrouded in robes. It was an unfamiliar sight. Age had brought only the odd white hair and extra crease to his brow but otherwise he looked exactly the same as she remembered after the war: harsh, scarred, bitter and thin. She gulped as she realised he was waiting with a cold hard stare for her to stop examining him.

"You have yet to say anything, Granger." She knew it but had trouble to find the words when she felt so intimidated by his presence.

The silence dragged and was filled with the warm rush of flames, whispering and humming beside them. She cleared her throat and tried to put on her most professional voice.

"I have come on behalf of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to offer you the post of Potions Master." Something tightened in his face, as if he had been relaxed before. "The positi-"

"What makes you think I would ever desire to return?" he spat. "I'm no longer indebted to endure that place." She hesitated then resumed her planned speech.

"The position will allow you to resume teaching, with full quarters and access to rare potion supplies. Your original salary will be matched, as well as a fair bonus if you do choose to accept the offer." He bared his teeth. "There are-"

"Quiet!" It was a softly spoken order that had the effect of a shout coming from his lips. Hermione looked into her lap, rendered obedient despite the years since he had taught her. He brought himself forward, locking his fingers together.

"What favour does Minerva want of me in order to offer me that old position? She thinks me as unfit for the role as you yourself no doubt do." Hermione chewed her lip. "Not only has she deigned to offer me a position I never cared for but she sends her little protégée in her place. It is an insult of an offer," he said, standing and looking down on her with disgust. Taking her by surprise, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up. "Get out of my house," he barked, with a shove towards the door.

"Please... Prof- Severus." He froze at the desperation in her voice. After a moment of consideration, he pulled her back gently with raised brows.

"You, Miss Granger?" She inhaled and held her breath, forcing herself to keep her head up. His voice had softened with confusion. "What could you possibly want from me? And in order to stick your neck out for that offer?"

She closed her mouth and looked pointedly at the chair. He followed her gaze and with a begrudging sneer he dropped her wrist and snorted.

"Fine. Take a seat."

"Thank you," she murmured. His expression was entirely new to her. All those familiar meanings of disdain, discontent and pride were written in his face but so too was interest. He sat before her and leaned in to hear her words. For a moment it struck her that in his solitude, he might actually be glad of the company. But she knew better than to believe it.

Her eyes kept falling to the edges of the deep purple scars that cradled his jaw, running out of sight into his collar.

"Would you like me to disrobe so you can see their entirety?"

She blushed violently.

"I didn't mean to stare..."

"You are still staring," he muttered dryly.

She trained her eyes back on her hands, folded in her lap.

"I thought the offer of the job might appeal because it would be an easy role for you to slip back into, a way to adjust to life after the war..."

A muscle in his nose twitched.

"And you thought of this out of the goodness of your heart, I take it? That typical Gryffindor generosity of spirit?"

"I might..." She fidgeted. "I may need your help." It had taken so long for her to say what he clearly already knew. But he was not making things easier.

He sighed and flexed his fingers. Even though he sat away from her, he felt exceedingly close from the way he leaned forward, narrowing the space between them. The fire spat but he didn't even blink. His voice was calm and even like the still depths of the ocean when he spoke.

"You are as insufferable now as you always have been. No more scripted speech. You must lead me right to the truth of the matter, seeing as you lack the delicacy to persuade me into the post."

"I suppose you'd be the one to teach me charm?" It brought the faintest flicker of a smile from him.

"And you're the new Charms professor, isn't that so?"

"Yes."

He appeared to ponder this point. "My colleague, if I were to accept..."

"Yes."

"And," he paused, "since I would be doing you the favour of accepting the position, you'd be gracious enough to, say, complete my more mundane teaching duties?" He leaned back with a smirk. Hermione felt blood drain from her face. As it was, she barely had time to work on this... goal to begin with. Shouldering an extra load of school work would slow things down further. But for the value of his help, it was a price worth paying.

"I will," she said solemnly, "If you will help me create a potion."

"Is that all you want from me? Ha!" The sound of his skeptical laugh rang through the room, startling her. His eyes glittered malevolently and though she knew it meant he was planning a multitude of ways to make her suffer, it also meant he was considering the job.

"It's not that simple."

"So you say."

"I plan to bring Harry and Ron back from the dead."