For some reason, snow always made Hermione feel better.

She had, of course, long outgrown the childish romance of it; she was more than aware of the adult mundanities of cold and wet, chills and falls, and the inevitable disruptions and delays of living in a country that seemed to regard truly seasonable weather as an affront to its national dignity. All that being said, she still sat fascinated as the layer of white settled over the land, covering the dirt and the mud and the imperfections, burying deep the detritus of living and leaving a blank canvas upon which it might be possible to write anything.

She snorted at her fanciful thoughts.

It would take more than the weather and some pretty landscaping to deal with her current problem. Which could be delineated in two words: Peregrine Queroz.

Having spared him little or no serious thought over the past weeks, the conversations with Minerva and Snape now virtually guaranteed him a private box in the auditorium of her mind. Whilst she had been prepared to attribute Snape's remarks to - well, him being Snape, more or less - to have it confirmed by Minerva had been a nasty shock. Or at least it had been once she had metabolised the last of Minerva's whisky and her full range of mental faculties came back into play.

She had been grateful for Snape's silence in the lab for once; at least he hadn't interrupted the shifting spectrum of hungover introspection which had occupied the better part of the last two days. In fact, he himself had seemed a little - fragile - today. She had wondered why, but had decided that an enquiry would not be well received.

She sighed.

There was no help for it; she was going to have to face him sometime.

Hermione Granger might be clueless when it came to her own relationships, but she was not dishonest. Once her attention had been drawn to things she was not one to play games.

Which meant that Queroz would need to be set straight on a few things.

In the end, she had the opportunity sooner than she expected. Although the greater part of the student body had left for the holidays, the few residents of the castle were all gathering in the Great Hall for dinner. The weather was bad enough to discourage Hagrid from venturing further than was absolutely necessary.

Snape was already sitting in his place at the table when she entered. He still looked out of sorts, she thought - which was consistent with his demeanour all day - but he appeared considerably less fragile than he had first thing. He was now hunched in his chair and was staring at his plate as if it contained hazardous material. He didn't acknowledge Hermione as she made her way past, and to the empty chair, situated, as always, next to Queroz.

She felt her heart sink. Having sat next to him for nearly two weeks without a tremor, she was now afflicted by dreadful butterflies.

Queroz sniled his usual welcoming smile, and stood to draw her chair back for her. Hermione didn't dare look in either Minerva or Snape's direction, although she suspected the latter would suppressed any reaction even if a hippgriff had come rampaging unexpectedly through the Hall.

"Good evening, Hermione," he said, his soft, slightly accented voice gentle. "Isn't it a dreadful evening."

She nodded, moving uncomfortably in her chair under the pretence of getting settled.

"Fortunately the house-elves have prepared something warm for us." On cue a bowl of thick stew appeared in front of her. Hermione wished she currently had the appetite for it. Queroz looked at her quizically for a moment. "Are you feeling well, Hermione? You haven't taken a chill working in the dungeons for so long?'

She rallied herself.

"No, I'm fine. Just a little - tired, That's all."

He smiled.

"You need an evening off," he said. "You're working too hard." He paused. "There's too much snow to go out, and it's too cold to go back to the dungeons. Why don't you come up to my rooms, you can see the plates and I could make some good coffee for you."

Oh hell, she thought. This was the moment, It wasn't how she had planned it. Insofar as there were plans as such. It had been more a speculation heavily overlaid with pious hope. It had certainly not involved being in a public place, much less dinner in the Great Hall with just about everyone present who possibly could be.

She put down her fork, not that she had truly begun to use it anyway.

"Peregrine," she began carefully, "you know that I like you very much and I really would be interested in seeing the printing plates, but - um," she hesitated and then decided simply to plough on. There was little to be gained in trying for delicacy in this sort of situation. It was like trying to tactfully remove sticking plaster. She took a deep breath. "You should know that I'm not really interested in a relationship at the moment. It isn't you - you're a very nice person, but I have to be honest with you. I think you want something from me that I'm not able to give."

There. It was said.

Queroz was silent for a while.

"Hermione, my dear," he said eventually. "I won't say that I wasn't interested in getting to know you better. You are a fascinating and beautiful young woman. But what you have said isn't really a surprise to me. I have always known that although you were talking to me, your heart was looking elsewhere. I sincerely wich it could have been different." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "You are still welcome to see my etchings whenever you wish if they would interest you. Now, if you will excuse me."

He stood gracefully and left the Hall, leaving a small amount of stew in the base of the bowl.

Hermione let out a breath.

Damn, she thought viciously. Why couldn't I have fallen for him? He's good looking, he's charming and attentive, he worries that I might be ill or that I'm working too hard and even after I dump him he manages to be sweet and civilised and poetical about it. He's everything that any woman could want. So how come I don't? Hell, even he thinks that there's someone else, and he's only known me for five minutes.

The fact that he was right and that that was something else that she had to deal with was not improving her mood right now.

**********

Things had come to a pretty pass, thought Hermione, when the appearence of Parvati Patil was regarded as any kind of a reprieve.

She had just left the Great Hall and was on her way back to her rooms when Ms Magic herself appeared, clearly perturbed in pink. Her cloak was as vivid as ever, but was looking decidedly the worse for the weather. She was pale, and her glossy black hair was escaping from whatever charms were supposed to be holding it immaculate.

Hermione did a double take.

"Parvati, what on earth are you doing here? We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

Parvati self-consciously straightened her cloak.

"Well," she said, with a slightly brittle cheeriness, "tomorrow's the big day isn't it. When I get my line delivered." Hermione tried not to bristle at the emphasis on 'my'. "I thought I'd pop up here a bit early and check that everything's on track."

She seemed to be recovering her poise very quickly, and Hermione wondered if she'd imagined the bedraggled air that she had first seen.

Parvati was getting into her stride.

"I've got a room in the darlingest little inn in Hogsmeade, but I've had to walk from the edge of the school grounds. Honestly, I do think that Albus is a bit silly keeping the wards up all this time after You-Know-Who has gone." She waved a hand. "So, everything is fine is it?"

Hermione was irritated, both by the suggestion that she might not have kept to her deadline and by the fact that her evening had been interrupted.

"Yes, everything is on track, Parvati. Why don't you go back to Hogsmeade and tomorrow we'll have everything boxed and labelled for you."

It was not proximity to Queroz that had had an effect on her, she thought.

"But now that I'm here, couldn't I just have a quick sneak preview.

Afterwards, Hermione thought that she agreed as much to avoid a continuance of the wheedling little-girl tone, than anything else. Wearily, she led Parvati towards the dungeons.

Arriving there, she was surprised to find the wards lowered, and even more surprised to find Snape inside, apparently working on something. He looked even less thrilled to see Parvati than Hermione had been.

"Parvati came to see how we were getting on," she explained lamely.

Snape simply glared. Parvati, however, was staring at Snape, eyes wide with surprise. Visibly recovering, she moved closer to him and looked into the contents of his cauldron.

"Ooh," she said girlishly, "is that for me?"

"No," said Snape shortly and reached out a hand to pick up a pestle containing something ground to powder.

Parvati eyed him for a moment longer. To distract her Hermione fetched the first box of samples. Parvati picked her way through them, unscrewing here, sniffing there, poking a finger into a neatly-labelled jar every now and then. Although she was asking questions, it seemed to Hermione that her attention was was closely focussed on Snape.

Hermione set her jaw in annoyance. What was so bloody fascinating about him to Parvati anyway?

Parvati put the last jar down with a murmur of approval and sidled back to where Snape was still working.

"So, Professor," she said sweetly, "won't you explain what you're doing? It looks fascinating."

Hermione could feel the muscles tighten at the back of her neck. She began to replace the jars and bottles very noisily.

"Then it's a pity that your fascination didn't begin earlier, Miss Patil. When you were at school and in class, for example. There is little prospect of you now comprehending the process." Snape didn't even look at her.

Parvati's eyes glittered.

"Have you been testing any of these potions as you go along, Professor?"

"They've all been fully tested," he replied without expression.

"I thought so," she purred. "It shows, you know. You're so clever. I would never have thought of a range for wizards."

Parvati laid a hand on Snape's arm. Hermione could have sworn that he froze in shock.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Professor."

And planting a light kiss on his cheek she was gone. She didn't bother to acknowledge Hermione.

The tightness at the back of Hermione's head had now met with the tightness at the front and both were now developing into a full blown headache. Irrational fury almost left her unable to speak.