Hermione opens the door to the small Wizarding Café and smiles at the Witch at the counter.

“Susan, I haven’t seen you for ages. How are you?” she asks, enveloping the girl in a rare embrace.

Susan smiles. “I’m fine. Saving up enough money to buy my own apartment so I have this job that I come to after training.” She and Hermione had never been close but after five years of making your own way, any connection to Hogwarts is welcome. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Hermione answers but she is betrayed by the deep circles under her eyes and the frizzy, dry hair tied back in a rough ponytail. “Definitely ready for a peaceful read and a cup of coffee though.”

“Coming right up,” Susan says, moving to work behind the perculator. “You’ll be sitting outside? It’s such a lovely day.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Hermione says looking around at the simply decorated walls. “Through this door?” She goes outside, skin drinking in the warm sun. She is alone out there, free from her job and the stresses of her family. Artie is with Ron this week and Hermione is rather enjoying the freedom. It’s not that she doesn’t love the little bundle of brown curls and freckles, but sometimes it’s just too much and Ron is a perfect father to him.

It’s a pity he wasn’t such a perfect husband, she thinks irritably. She pushes that thought out of her mind and reaches into her case for her well-worn copy of A Handmaid’s Tale.

It’s the first time in ages that she hasn’t read something work-related and it pleases her. Susan brings out her coffee and she relishes in the warm milky taste.

She hears a snort behind her. “Miss Granger, immersed in a book as usual, I see.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Mister Snape.” She inclines her head. It feels so odd to call him that, but she refuses to call him ‘Professor’. She is no longer inferior to him. “I wouldn’t have thought that a café such as this would be to your taste.”

“And what is my taste precisely?” he asks sharply. She ignores him, but uses this time to examine him. The years since Voldemort’s demise have been good to him. He looks less tired, the bags under his eyes have all but gone and his skin is healthier. However, he still has the same yellowed teeth and has not yet discovered shampoo.

“When you’ve finished staring at me…” he says, before settling down at another table and pulling out a folder of parchments. She turns back to her book and finishes her coffee, realising that he can still make her feel humiliated.

After a time, she begins to get annoyed at his periodic snorts of derision. “Do you mind?” she says, turning around and glaring at him. “Some of us are trying to read.”

Snape sneers at her. “What? Mills and Boons? One of your thousands of text books?” He turns back to what are clearly essays.

“Actually, Margaret Atwood,” Hermione says, acid on her tongue. “You would be marking first year papers, wouldn’t you?”

He smirks. “How well you know me, Miss Granger. And you would know very well why I was snorting if you had read some of them yourself.”

“Alright,” Hermione says, cold anger building up inside of her. “Show me one.” He stands up and she remembers why he was such a forbidding figure at Hogwarts. He is extremely tall. She feels a little afraid. However, he simply passes her an essay.

She reads it silently, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “Does no one ever teach these students basic essay-writing skills?” she demands after several minutes.

Snape’s eyes narrow. “I’d never really thought of that,” he admits. She almost sees his lip quirk.

Hermione slams her coffee cup down on the table and picks up her belongings.

*

She is sitting at the same table next week. It is cooler and she pulls her dark robes around her. She has a copy of Jane Eyre, which she is reading avidly.

“Miss Granger,” he says, nodding his head curtly.

“Mister Snape,” she says. She continues reading.

After a time, she feels him gazing over at her. His black eyes are amused and tolerant, for the first time since she’s seen him. She feels herself going pink as he stares at her blatantly. “Still reading Muggle authors, I see.”

“They are infinitely superior to Wizarding authors and you know it,” she retorts. “Charlotte Bronte is a genius.”

His lip curls. “In general, I would agree. However, Jane Eyre is nothing but sentimental rubbish with little plot, romance or character development.”

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Hermione says, glaring at him. “There is passion in this novel that few other books I’ve read can sustain. The characters are interesting and, besides, you’re so void of romantic feelings yourself that you wouldn’t notice unresolved sexual tension if it danced in front of you offering you sexual favours.” She blushes.

“I read Jane Eyre under the misapprehension that it was one of the great romances of its time. Jane was a boring character. For God’s sake, Miss Granger, she still called Rochester ‘sir’ when the were engaged and, despite her love for him, she went to visit her cousins in what resulted in the most boring eight chapters I have ever read. I had to prop my eyes open to continue reading.”

“Much like I felt in your Potions classes, Mister Snape,” Hermione answers. This is so patently untrue that she blushes again. Pushing her half-drunk cup of coffee to the side, she leaves the café.

*

The next week, Artie is with her but Hermione goes to the café anyway. She doesn’t know why. She listens to his childish prattle about how his Daddy took him to work with him and his Daddy made him a giant card-house out of Exploding Snap cards. She wipes chocolate cake crumbs off his face. Finally, worn out from his day at pre-school, he goes to sleep, eyes crinkled and checks flushed.

He is there again. “Miss Granger.”

“Mister Snape,” she replies, watching Artie’s little chest rise and fall with his heavy breathing.

“Yours?” he asks, gesturing at Artie. He seems incredulous.

“Yes,” Hermione says, taking a sip of her cappuccino. “His name is Artie.”

Snape is not interested, she can tell, but today he sits at her table. “Who’s his father?”

“Ron.” Hermione’s mouth tightens.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” Snape says. He appears to be disappointed in her, though she cannot think why.

“No, Miss Granger, like you’ve said. We divorced last year.” Why am I telling him this, she asks herself. He doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He does not sound sorry.

“Don’t be. He’s a better father than he was a husband.” Artie stirs and looks at this unfamiliar, forbidding person.

“Hello,” he says. Hermione watches, waiting for him to be cruelly rebuffed and to come whimpering to her. She glares at Snape.

Snape smiles blandly back. “Hello,” he says gravely to Artie. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Artie.”

“Artie, this is Mister Snape,” Hermione tells him.

“Are you Mummy’s boyfriend, Mister Snake?” Artie asks Snape.

Snape looks amused. Hermione sinks down in her seat, cringing. Then, she picks Artie up. “We’d better go. Good bye, Professor.” She winces. “Sorry, Mister Snape.”

She leaves to the sound of Snape’s laughter.

*

Hermione lies awake that night. Artie had put ideas in her head that she would never normally have dreamed of. Did she find Snape attractive?

She doesn’t think of the lank hair or the hooked nose. She sees a tall, wiry body encased in black robes. She sees a man who treated her son like a human. She hears his snort as he reads the appalling essays. And most of all, she sees black, glittering eyes that laugh at her as if they are mocking her, but that also stare at her with interest, as though she had said something enlightening.

She wouldn’t go back next week. She’d find some other café.

*

The trips to the café become routine, although nothing is said about it. She takes care not to let Artie come with her again. Snape doesn’t mention the incident, although sometimes she thinks he must be laughing at her.

Whoever gets there first orders their coffees – a cappuccino for Hermione and a flat white for Snape. She learns that Snape is cruel and sarcastic in his argument and that she must back up what she says. She learns that he has a keen sense of humour and is ready to laugh at her whenever she does something stupid. She always embarrasses herself.

Sometimes he brings essays or newspaper articles to discuss with her and once, a potion to help with her sleeping. She thanks him but he rebuffs it. He doesn’t know how to accept thanks, she realises. So she thanks him in her own small ways. One week she brings him a novel to borrow, the next a painting that Artie did for him.

“Artie likes you,” she says honestly. “He keeps wanting to know when he can meet the Snake-man again.”

“Why don’t you bring him again?” Snape asks. “Not that I’ve been particularly missing him, although,” he remarks dryly, “I should thank him for this stunning work of art.”

Hermione smiles. “Well, I decided it would be best to keep him away after the humiliating first incident…” Her laughter sounds hollow. She has been growing increasingly attracted to him as the weeks go by.

Snape doesn’t say anything for a while. In a swift moment, he has pulled his chair out and stood up. “Good bye, Miss Granger.”

“See you next week,” she says jokily. It is greeted with cool silence and his turned back.

She stands there, blinking. She knows he will not come next week.

*

After several weeks of drinking coffee alone, Hermione gives up. He was not going to come. She feels like she had lost something.

“Our entire relationship comprised of him making biting acerbic remarks and me being made a fool of,” she tells herself sternly. “Pull yourself together, Hermione.”

She showers when she arrives home from work, and leaves Artie playing with his Lego in the front lounge. She can hear Artie jabbering away and knows he is safe. The roar of the hot shower blocks out all noise and she feels peaceful, if a little melancholy.

She wraps a towel around herself and wanders into the lounge. Snape is sitting in a chair, Artie on his lap. “What are doing here?” she asks, acutely aware that she is wearing nothing but a very short towel.

“Artie answered the door,” Snape says. “He said his Mummy was in the shower but that I could talk to him.”

“Mummy,” Artie says excitedly. “The Snake-man likes you.”

“You’ve been unloading your problems on a three year old?” Hermione says, but her body tenses and her heart thumps painfully. “Artie,” she says. “Can Mummy go into the other room and talk to the Snake-man alone?”

Artie nods and goes back to building his castle.

Snape follows her into the dining room. Hermione feels like she should put some clothes on, but also feels that if she leaves now, any chances she may have had will be gone.

“Okay, talk.” She crosses her arms, as much because she is embarrassed as because she wants to hold her towel up.

Snape looks down at her. He scares her. “Was it a terrible, humiliating thing to have me thought of as your boyfriend?” he says. His voice is low and she shivers.

“No…I mean…yes…I…” Hermione trails off. She is flustered and hates the way he looks at her when she cannot formulate a coherent sentence.

“So articulate. I can see why you make an outstanding politician.” Snape smirks.

“Shut up,” Hermione says, determined not to look like a fool. “I said that because, yes, I was embarrassed that I was attracted to you because you clearly didn’t feel the same way.” If he didn’t feel the same way, why is he standing here, her brain asks her. “Anyway,” Hermione says, plowing on. “I’ve really missed you these past few weeks. Our coffee together had become the high point of my week, even though all that happened was that you made a fool of me.”

“I made a fool of you?” Snape says, eyebrow arching. “And there was I thinking that I have never felt so attracted to anyone because they were turning me on intellectually. It certainly wasn’t a physical attraction,” he says. Hermione is reminded, once again, that she is still standing there in just a towel.

“You’re no oil painting yourself,” Hermione replies indignantly. However, before she can say anything more, Snape leans forward and kisses her. She closes her eyes and presses into him, the heat from his body combining with hers. She is aware of a smooth hand caressing her almost bare back and feels herself tingling all over. “This towel is going to fall off soon,” she whispers into his ear.

“I know,” he says, smirking. “We should find somewhere more comfortable.”

Hermione laughs hoarsely. “My son is in the next room.” She is finding it painfully hard to breathe. He kisses her neck and she gives a small moan.

Then, her towel falls down. “Crap!” She scrambles on the floor, trying to retain an element of dignity. Snape’s eyes dance. “Don’t laugh.” Again, she feels like an idiot around him.

Snape looks at her thin body, poorly covered by her little towel. He sees the flush in her cheeks and the irresistible curve of her neck and the dark lines under her eyes. “I’ll go now,” he murmurs, kissing her one more time. “Good bye, Miss Granger.”

She smiles. “Good bye, Mister Snape.”

*

She orders a cappuccino and a flat white. Then, she goes outside. The wind is biting and, in thin summer robes, she has dressed inappropriately - again. She smiles at the memory of yesterday evening.

She feels him behind her. “Severus,” she says, without turning around.

She can feel his eyes assessing her. “Hermione.”

They sit, enjoying the silence for a while. Then, Snape smiles. “You know,” he says reflectively. “I liked the outfit you were wearing yesterday much better.”