Hermione fumed quietly as she waited in the queue at Gringotts, changed Muggle money Severus had given her for gold, and paid to lease a small vault from the goblins, registering her new wand as proof of identity.

She had calmed down slightly by the time she had spent two and a half hours in the Ministry's patents department, filling in paperwork using a deliberately hurried and untidy hand.

As lunchtime approached and she concluded her negotiations at Slug and Jiggers, a wicked smile graced her lips. Harry had just missed his last real chance to catch up with her.

---

She could have taken lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, but she chose a different destination. Turning on the spot, she Apparated to the landing outside Severus's Edinburgh flat.

She followed the faint sounds to their source in the attic. She stood silently as he stirred a tiny cauldron, waiting until the changes in the room's echoes alerted him to her presence. He held out his hand behind his back, finger raised. "Fifteen minutes," he whispered, as if his Potion were so volatile even a careless word might debase it.

"I'll put the kettle on," Hermione replied equally softly before retreating.

---

When Hermione heard Severus's footfalls on the attic stairs, she'd tossed a green salad in some Caesar dressing and was pan-frying some diced chicken in Cajun spices to accompany it.

Severus stopped dead as she turned to watch him approach.

"What?"

He simply shook his head, unable to put into words how in that moment she was to him the epitome of the eternal triptych; the mother he barely remembered before his father had taken her happiness and her youth, the daughter who would never be, and beneath the layers of subterfuge, the mannerisms that made her unmistakably his Hermione.

---

Hermione frowned and tossed her head, turning back to her cooking, emptying the spicy chicken morsels on top of the salad and mixing it all one last time before she split it into two portions and set one down on either side of Severus's small dining table.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, both concentrating on eating their meal before the chicken could grow cold.

Severus was the first to push his plate to one side. "Thank you," he said.

Hermione gave a small smile. "You paid for it. I just threw it together."

"How long can you stay?"

---

Hermione gave an enticing smile, even if Severus found its presence on his mother's lips somewhat disconcerting. "How long do you want?" Her smile grew as she watched amusement, desire, longing and even a hint of exasperation flit over his face.

"We both know that choice isn't mine to make... or yours," he finally announced.

Hermione gave a single nod. "I know. I'm doing the first round of visits to the Apothecaries, giving out the free samples, but I thought it'd be better not to pay calls during lunch hours."

"You should stay until at least three," Severus agreed smugly.

---

He rose to his feet, clearing their dishes and pulling a bottle from the wine rack.

"Elf-made?" Hermione asked.

"Of course. Now, how did you give your escort the slip?" He made the cork Levitate smoothly from the bottle and poured two glasses of ruby wine. "Had I known you would visit, I would have allowed it to breathe," he apologised, "but I think it will suffice, nonetheless."

Hermione temporarily forgot to answer as she took her glass, watching Severus.

Savouring the wine's bouquet, he partook of his first sip, rolling it around his mouth to stimulate every taste bud.

---

Hermione speculated fleetingly whether the image of him savouring the fruits of another chalice came from her over-stimulated imagination, or if it were some heretofore unsuspected power of thought projection he was practising on her.

"Breathe, dear one," he suggested, "and discard those parts of your disguise as can easily be renewed."

The breath was ragged, and she gulped a mouthful of the expensive wine to steady her nerves before she set down her glass and fumbled in the pocket of her skirts for her lens case. "I can't redo the Transfiguration accurately. I haven't developed the photographs."

"I can."

---

"Severus?" she asked, at once aroused and uneasy with the intensity of his regard, as he seemed to assess her appearance.

"It will do."

"What will do?"

He picked up his glass and the wine bottle and beckoned her to follow him into the bedroom, where he opened the wardrobe door and gestured to its full-length mirror.

"What, Severus?" Hermione asked impatiently from the doorway.

He flicked his wand at the window to no perceptible effect. "Come here... Please," he added, overcoming her hesitation. He positioned her in front of him, letting her eyes lock with those of his reflection.

---

Without looking away, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Some would say this hair is beautiful," he whispered as he swept the tresses to one side and made them spill over her right breast. "But, in my dreams, it is lighter and wilder."

He lowered the zip he had exposed. His fingers skimmed her shoulder and ghosted over the stained skin at her neckline. "My fantasy has ivory skin," he continued as he pushed the fabric downward, exposing paler flesh. "She dresses not in witch's robes, but jeans so tight I ache to caress her curves."

---

"The eyes I see when I lie alone and touch myself are the colour of burnt caramel. As clearly as I see your reflection in the mirror, I see you. Do you understand exactly what I'm telling you?" he whispered.

Hermione couldn't form words. She barely managed to set her glass down next to his on a chest of drawers. She was certain that she achieved nothing so controlled as an actual charm, but when all the buttons on every piece of clothing Severus was wearing scattered to the four corners of the room he took that as her assent.