Chapter 10: A Pair of Pawns

All too soon, classes started up again and the school was once again swarming with students.

Snape, knowing imminent disaster when it stared him in the face, took steps to head it off. The evening before classes resumed, he called Draco Malfoy into his office.

His normal reaction to the boy's presence was somewhere between distaste and a certain bitter amusement... but tonight he was astonished to feel his stomach actually roil with anger at the sight of Lucius' spawn strutting into his office.

Draco draped himself over a chair, uninvited, looked up at him with a mixture of his usual sycophancy and--- was that a hint of a sneer? Turning into his father. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Snape smiled thinly. "That I did, Mister Malfoy, that I did." He got to his feet and came around the desk, leaned against the heavy wood with his arms folded, looking down at little Malfoy... and let the silence build.

He waited until some of the smugness had ebbed out of the boy's countenance, until Draco regarded him with just a trace of the nervousness most students showed in this office. Then he let the smile widen into something more friendly. "I believe you were responsible for your father's choice of a... Christmas present for me?"

It took a moment for Lucius' boy to understand--- clearly the son was not the equal of the father (could he take credit for spoiling the boy? Probably not). Then the light dawned... and Draco smiled, callow imitation of his father's smirk. "Did you... like it, sir?" he asked; almost funny to see the boy striving so hard to talk with him man-to-man, to seem worldly-wise and clever and sly.

"Oh, yes, indeed," he said silkily, leaning forward a tad. "And did your father tell you to what use I intend to put his... present?" Draco's smirk faltered slightly. "No? Then let me enlighten you." He pushed himself up off the desk, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to prowl about Draco's chair with slow thoughtful strides. "This... present... is in a perfect position to be useful to our cause--- I'm sure you understand that?" Conspiratorial smile that the Malfoy-spawn had to look over his shoulder to see. "In fact, if we handle the situation correctly, we can be responsible for the ultimate success of our cause." Speaking obliquely with a brute like Lucius Malfoy's son was difficult--- but it had to be done. One didn't come out and discuss the kind of things that had happened in Lucius Malfoy's dungeon openly. Even if one was the head of Slytherin.

Dear Draco took the bait--- his father would be so disappointed in him. "What--- what are we going to do?" he asked, his eyes alight with a hideous eagerness.

"For now," Snape said gently, "I am going to do what I need to. And you---" he came around so that he and Draco were face-to-face--- "are going to do likewise." He leaned down, resting his hands on the arms of Draco's chair, a posture that could be either intimate or threatening. "Say nothing of this to anyone. Give none of the other teachers a reason to suspect anything, give none of your classmate cause to. In all other respects---" he leaned back again--- "carry on as usual."

The Malfoy-spawn's smile was conspiratorial. "That's just what Father said."

Snape inclined his head slightly--- while inside the tight knot in his stomach relaxed. So, his caution made sense, even within his persona as a Death Eater in good standing. "Very good." He stepped back from Draco's chair. "Have a pleasant evening, young man."

Draco glided to his feet, youthful version of his father. At the door, he paused, the smug smile turned conspiratorial. "You too, sir."

Snape paused only long enough to unlock the door before bearing down on his desk--- and the drawer that held the bottle of Laphroaig. He needed to wash the foul taste out of his mouth.

That was one worry out of the way--- little Draco wouldn't put Hermione in a dangerous position. The last thing she needed was more strain on her nerves.

What she did need, however, was... a friend. What she'd probably needed all along, come to think of it. Someone besides Weasley and Potter, someone trustworthy and as bright as she was... another young woman perhaps.

And the envelope on his desk from dear cousin Claire suggested a solution.

*****

Hermione couldn't fight a slight flicker of apprehension as she, Harry, and Ron walked into the Potions classroom together. It wasn't that she was afraid of seeing Snape, precisely... but seeing him in a classroom, after everything that had happened, trying to be just another student, trying to treat him as just another teacher. To behave normally, when his voice sent warm shivers up and down her spine and settled a warm lump in her belly....

The eighth square. Think of the eighth square.

Right on cue, Ron's hand found hers--- she had to fight the urge to flinch away. "It's okay, Hermione, you'll be fine."

As soon as you let go of me, I will be. But his little gesture did calm her, if not for the reasons he'd hope. At least she could be around Snape without flinching every time he touched her.

They took their seats at their usual table in the back of the room; Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. She usually liked to be near the front of a class, and skulking in the back of his room seemed now like a betrayal.

But she forgot all about that as Draco Malfoy walked into the classroom

Malfoy. She hadn't even thought about him--- stupid, stupid. Surely, he'd know what his father and Snape had done? What was he going to say?

Harry was clearly thinking along the same lines; he leaned over and whispered urgently, "You think Malfoy--- knows?"

She could only nod shakily, vaguely aware that on her other side Ron was muttering threats, only able to watch Malfoy and his cronies--- Dear Merlin, he looks like his father, and felt her stomach roil.

Malfoy looked at her--- one long look, and her heart plummeted at his little knowing smirk. But he only turned, after a moment, and went to sit between his two goons.

Harry stared, and Ron asked, "What's his game, I wonder, the git?"

But Hermione had been doing some quick thinking. "Snape," she whispered. "I don't know how, but Snape must've warned him off me---"

Both boys looked dubious, but didn't have a chance to respond, for at that moment, the object of their discussion himself swept into the classroom.

Despite herself, Hermione felt her heart flip over at the sight of him--- never mind she'd spent last evening in his office, discussing the finer points of magical micro-chemistry--- it was still a shock to see him there, as always... when nothing was the same.

If Snape had any such reaction, he didn't show it--- except perhaps in the slight flicker in his eyes as they passed over her. He glided to the front of the room and started talking about Healing Potions.

After a few minutes, Hermione managed to recover from the shock of being around him and hearing that silky voice in a normal setting, and chided herself for her inattention. Some queen you are! She even managed to get her hand waving in the air as usual, though her voice might have quavered a little when she explained how a Healing Potion could be misused to cause a very nasty form of cancer--- and did those cold dark eyes warm a little with approval? She wasn't sure.

By the time they'd broken up into groups to start preparing their Healing Potions, she was almost back to normal. She joined Neville at the back of the room, firmly quashing the sense of resignation she always felt at, well, letting him ride her coattails.

"Miss Granger." She started at Snape's silky voice, nearly dropped a vial of sea salt as he swooped down upon her. So much for composure. "I think Longbottom's had the advantage of your--- expertise--- long enough," he sneered. "Go sit next to Miss Zabini."

Hermione looked up at him, nervously; the glitter in his eyes gave away nothing.

He's got a reason for it, I'm certain. "Yes, sir." She gathered up her bag and her cauldron. Come to think of it, wasn't Blaise Zabini in her Arithmancy class? You had to have decent scores to stay in that course after your first year of it. And she had wanted a break from Neville....

As Hermione came over, Blaise Zabini looked up: a slim, dark-haired girl with a pale face and sharp silvery eyes. "Hello."

"Hello." Hermione set her things down and began to set up. After a moment, she felt like she should say something. "I hope you don't mind---"

"What mind? It was Professor Snape's idea. Besides---" the silvery eyes got a mischievous glint--- "bet you're better company than Pansy 'the future Mrs. Draco Malfoy' Parkinson."

Hermione stared at her. I guess this must be my year for unexpected bursts of candor from Slytherins. Blaise continued blithely, "And I'll bet you're not sorry not to have to do Longbottom's work for him either." She shrugged, turning back to her cauldron.

"Er---" Well, the other girl had been more than honest about her house; didn't she deserve a little candor in return? "Very much so."

Blaise Zabini looked up at her--- then smiled, a little shyly.

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Hermione noticed that Blaise's measurements were as precise as her own, even to topping off the scoops of powdered comfrey with the same motion: lift, tap, and swipe.

The potion called for Mandrake roots; Hermione amused herself imagining the sullen wrinkled little man-shape under her knife as Lucius Malfoy. It was a great deal of fun dismembering him.

"Who's yours?" The soft uncertain voice made her look up to see Blaise regarding her with interest. They looked awkwardly at each for a moment, then the other girl added hastily, "You'll never guess who mine is."

"Parkinson?" Hermione hazarded, relieved to be distracted from her own Mandrake's alias.

"Close." Blaise's pale skin showed blushes all too well; must be awkward, for a Slytherin.

Hermione couldn't believe the implications. "Not... Malfoy?"

"Exactly!" Blaise caught the look Hermione gave her. "What--- you think because I'm a Slytherin I've got to fall all over myself to Malfoy?"

That was too much like... Severus... for words. "No!" The word slipped out of her mouth before she could think. Hastily, she backpedaled. "I mean... don't you all, though?"

Blaise looked disgusted. "Most of them. It's easier. Unless you know a lot of curses." She bit her lip, as if she thought she'd said too much.

"And you do?" Maybe it was an effect of everything that had happened to her over Christmas, but an implication that once would have horrified her now only intrigued her.

"Among other things." Blaise bit her lip again.

"Like what?" No mistaking the wariness in the other girl's eyes for anything but. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just curious, and there's so much they don't teach us here--- and," she added mischievously, "anything that scares off Malfoy sounds like a good idea to me."

For a moment they looked at each other... then burst into giggles.

"Well," said Blaise when they'd finally managed to stifle their giggles, "it's more a matter of getting a reputation for knowing things, than actually knowing them, if you get my point." She looked sly, suddenly. "And in Slytherin, if you know how to do things without magic, you've won half the battle--- most of the Serpent's Den doesn't think it's possible to do stuff without magic. But half the time, it's not only possible, it's easier." She grinned. "But you'd know that, wouldn't you? You're Muggle-born."

Hermione blinked, started at hearing a Slytherin admit that there was more to life than wizarding. "I don't know---"

"Oh, come on." The mischief was dancing in Blaise's eyes. "Half what we do in Potions isn't that much different from Muggle chemistry, is it?"

Hermione felt her own heart jump with excitement. Someone else interested in the link between science and magic. "No--- I mean, look at what we're doing right now---"

*****

Snape watched as both the girls bent to the parchment, heads together, talking excitedly. Two like minds--- kindred spirits, really. And Merlin knew his cousin's daughter needed some intellectual companionship. So, for that matter, did Hermione.

And Blaise was strega. Queen of witches. A fit companion for a pawn on her journey to the eighth square.

He fought to suppress a smile. My good deed for the century.

*****

Hermione felt a rush of sadness when the class ended; she'd hardly noticed the time passing.

Just like the first night when Snape had her be his assistant. And most of the nights after that.

Blaise, too, was moving rather slowly to gather up her things. The two of them were the last to leave the classroom.

At the door, they both stopped, looking at each other awkwardly. "Uh---

"See you in Arithmancy?" she asked, and the dark-haired girl grinned.

"Or the library. I spend most evenings up there---"

"Avoiding Malfoy?"

"Right in one---" Blaise glanced at the clock. "Better get going---" She didn't have to be a mind-reader to know that Blaise couldn't let herself get caught hanging around with a Gryffindor.

"Right." Blaise ducked out the door... leaving Hermione alone in the Potions classroom. With Professor Snape.

She turned around to find him regarding her, one eyebrow quirking just slightly.

"Thank you," she said, taking a hesitant step forward.

The smile he gave her was one she didn't think anyone else had ever seen. "It was my pleasure." His lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "And you'll notice I didn't give you a detention tonight--- so you and Miss Zabini can spend the evening denuding Madam Pomfrey's shelves of everything remotely related to Muggle 'magic.'"

She felt her own lips lift in response. "Thank you---" Then, hastily, feeling a little bereft, "Can I still---"

The long-suffering look he acquired was tempered with a certain dry humor. "If Potter can roam about the building anytime he likes in that cloak of his, which he only has courtesy of the Headmaster, then you are more than welcome to use yours to visit one of your teachers, I think." He eyes gentled. "Now--- off with you."

Hermione couldn't quite get the smile off her face as she ducked out the door.

*****

At the door to the Slytherin common room, Blaise Zabini put her ruminations aside. You didn't go into the Serpents' Den without all your wits about you.

At least not when you were a Zabini in a Slytherin House infested with a Malfoy.

"Paradise Lost," she said to the hidden door--- now there was an appropriate turn of phrase! Certainly worth the effort she'd had talking the other prefects into using a Muggle-lit quote.

She squared her shoulders as the wall swung open, tipped her head back just enough for confidence, not enough for challenge. Not that she minded sending Malfoy flying a few yards under the pretext of giving a demonstration of curses for the first years, but tonight she needed time to think.

Stepping through the doorway, she reconnoitered quickly--- one sweeping glance told her the important things: Malfoy and his cronies had hogged the best chairs by the fire and Pansy Parkinson--- Circe help us all--- was sitting at Draco's feet.

Fighting the urge to drop a scathing remark in their direction, she headed for the stairs to the girls' dorm. The Teasdale twins, Catlin and Florian, glanced up at her from their accustomed shadowy corner; she traded a look of shared disgust with them at Parkinson's behavior. Catlin glanced meaningfully at the stairs and shot her a hopeful look, but Blaise shook her head minutely. Not that she blamed the Teasdales for lurking in her room--- they were third years and didn't really have anywhere else private and safe to go--- but at the moment she needed to think. And Cat and Flor, fun as they were, weren't conducive to thought.

She continued up the stairs without further delay and reached her bedroom with a mounting feeling of relief that she quickly quashed. Not safe to relax until you were behind a locked door and your own wards.

Which she accomplished quickly enough, and slumped back against the heavily-hexed door to her bedroom with a sigh.

The Slytherin prefects got their pick of rooms; even though she was only in fifth year, she had a better room than most of the Sixth Form. Double bed under the rich green velvet hangings, her own fountain tap and the little Zen garden outside what would have been a window aboveground, and enough bookcases to hold most of her personal library. And, as a prefect, she got to keep it for the next two years. Living in a House that rewarded ambition had its perks.

And having your mum's favorite cousin for Head of House should have... but so far "Cousin" Severus hadn't done much for her. Which, given that she had to survive Malfoy and his cronies, probably wasn't a bad thing. Dear little Draco would undoubtedly have run screaming to his father about nepotism--- meaning, of course, any sort of favoritism that wasn't favoring him. No, she'd decided back in first year that the best thing she and her cousin could do for each other was to ignore their family connection and even each other as much as humanly possible.

Until today. This was the first time in five years that Professor Snape had singled her out in any way at all... and it had been to put her with a Gryffindor Muggle-born who should have been her very own sister. Very interesting.

Blaise pushed herself off the door and headed for the walk-in closet, one of the few amenities that was wasted on her. She preferred to have a small but elegant wardrobe, unlike the Parkinson twit, who bought everything Gladrags put out so long as it cost enough to feed a small family for a week. Blaise's own tastes went to the high end of Madam Malkin's understated brilliance, and a few Muggle designers. There were advantages to being born into a hybrid-fortune family.

Also--- she couldn't suppress a smug smile--- to certain more basic biological inheritances. She stripped off her school robes and studied herself in the mirror. Got the best of both worlds, Blaisie-love, no doubting that. She had her mother's slenderness and pale skin, her father's midnight-black hair and just enough roundness from the Italian side of the family to leave no doubt of her femininity. And Mum swore that one of her Weldon-Rhyst great-grandmothers had been a veela--- which Blaise had to admit was at least remotely possible. The pale skin she shared with her mother was flawless on both faces; they didn't have a bad angle to their bones structure.

The perfect face looking at her in the mirror frowned. Fat lot of good it does me, in bloody Slytherin. Not a male of eligible age in the house she'd want anything to do with, and she could only hope that Malfoy's fanaticism about purity of blood would outweigh the occasional half-conscious leers he kept sending her way, before he remembered himself and turned back to Parkinson.

Huh. Maybe I should see if I can't enlist dear Pansy's help in keeping Draco's roving eyes--- and whatever--- firmly on her.

And maybe, just maybe, there was the possibility of an alliance somewhere else entirely.

Blaise grabbed her dressing gown and headed for the bed--- her favorite thinking spot. The feather mattress cuddled up around her like a hug, the best thing possible for tense nerves, after a hot bath and brandy (the latter of which wasn't supposed to be available to her here. Hmph.) But the bed was almost as good and what it held was better.

She reached under the covered and pulled out an old, much-hugged rag of teddy bear. "Hullo, Pooh." Winnie-ther-Pooh (as Christopher Robin had called him) looked back at her with his faded button eyes; even her mother's best Preservation Charms could only do so much for a stuffed animal that she'd had in her crib.

She smiled sardonically to herself as she remember the other Slytherins' reactions to Pooh Bear. When she'd pulled him out of her trunk the first night at Hogwarts, Parkinson had nearly got a hernia laughing. "You take that to bed with you?"

And Blaise, tutored by her mother in the twin arts of observation and verbal mayhem, had retorted, without batting an eye, "Better than cozying up to a Malfoy, love--- at least this fellow keeps his grubby paws to himself."

Just for spite, she'd brought Pooh to the common room with her for a week running, settling him next to her in her chair while she worked. If nothing else, it had given her a chance to show off the curses she knew. Not to mention that by the end of her first week, some of the third years were asking her for help with their lessons. The privilege of brains. Actually, she hadn't gotten too much hazing about old Pooh. Anyone in Slytherin who'd have a stuffed toy and not hide it had to have something up their sleeve.

Enough gloating about past triumphs, Blaise. She tucked the ragged bear against her chest, curled up on the bed, and settled in for some serious thought.

What was Cousin Severus playing at? She'd watched with interest as he'd given the Granger girl detentions every day for six weeks running--- not that it was unusual for him to abuse the Gryffindors (and quite amusing to watch the logical contortions he put himself through to find a pretext), but he hadn't taken a single point off the House after the first day. Just those detentions.

Almost, she'd begun to think, quite against her will, that Malfoy was right, him and his little girlfriend. Maybe their Head of House really did have other uses for a bright little Gryffindor.

Except that the bright little Gryffindor hadn't shown any sign that she was being abused--- and there wasn't a Gryffindor born who could dissemble that well. And as a Slytherin prefect, Blaise knew how to recognize the signs....

She cut off that line of thought in a hurry. Her parents' money and power and her own status as a prefect should be enough to keep most of the scum at bay. And if all else failed... well, Malfoy did have a nice voice; he'd make a wonderful castrato.

All of which wasn't getting her any closer to resolving this little mystery. She tightened her grip on Pooh, frowning.

Truth to tell, she wouldn't have cared less what her mum's cousin wanted with a Gryffindor--- except that today he'd brought her into the game. Sitting her and Granger together.

Blaise felt a smile twitch her lips in spite of herself. It really had been the nicest class she'd had in a while. Someone to talk to, about something more interesting than marriage and makeup, for goodness' sakes! And Granger shared her enthusiasm for the combination of science and magic--- not really surprising given that she was a Muggle-born, but it wasn't something that Blaise got to talk about much, not living in Slytherin.

"Hmph." Maybe that was it. Occam's Razor and least complex hypothesis. In the course of all those detentions, Snape had somehow found out that Granger was into Muggle-magic--- wait. That could be what the detentions were about in the first place. Cousin Severus was from a hybrid-fortune family too--- not that the Andropolous side would have exactly encouraged Sebastian Snape's dabbling in Muggle investments, but there was no reason Blaise's great-uncle couldn't have passed that interest on to his son. And here at Hogwarts, Cousin Severus would be free to pursue any experiments he wanted to in that line. He must have needed an assistant--- and one who could freely work with Muggle things.

Then why didn't he ask me? She couldn't suppress the sullen twinge. The Zabini family had, after all, made its fortune off the black market trade between Muggles and wizards--- the Prohibition Principle, her father called it, and had made her read up on that period of American history. And her mother snuck the Godfather movies into the house and they giggled about how much her dad did look like Al Pacino. ("Why else would I have married him?" "Besides the money and power, y'mean, Mum?") And there was no question she was as bright as Granger---

Yeah, Zabini, but not as driven. She grinned ruefully to herself. The Lazy Woman Who Couldn't Fail, that was Blaise. Bright enough not to have to work for good marks, and only to exert herself a little for top marks. Which left her plenty of time for more important things--- like money. The Hogwarts curriculum was the best in the wizarding world when it came to magic as such, but in things like high finance it was woefully deficient.

Which meant that a bright little Slyth-witch with a head for numbers had to learn the markets on her own time. Most of her free hours were spent poring over the Gringotts Journal--- biased little pureblood parchment that it was--- and Muggle finance periodicals. To say nothing of the more interesting private papers that a Slytherin could get her hands on if she was clever. Her housemates talked too much about their families' money for her not to do some quick figuring of her own.

And she'd bet anything that Cousin Severus knew it. Maybe that was why he'd asked Granger instead. Too lazy by half, Zabini, and enough on your plate. Come on, he was being nice to you.

And maybe that was why he'd paired her up with Granger. Two bright little witches with interests in common. Likely friends, except they were in rival houses. And maybe--- she couldn't help but grin--- Professor Snape was hoping Hermione would be a good influence on his cousin's lazy offspring.

Yep, Occam's Razor sliced it up that way. All perfectly innocent. Nothing to worry about, love. Dive right in and have a blast with another nerd-witch.

Except that in Slytherin House, Occam's Razor was often only useful for slitting your own wrists.

But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what his game was....

She was interrupted in her ruminations by twin knocks on the door. In more than one sense. "Speak friend and enter."

"Mellon," said two voices, and in a moment, two near-identical heads poked in the door. "Is it all right---" began Catlin---

"---if we come in now---" added her brother---

"We know you're busy---"

"--- but Malfoy was being---"

"---his usual self---"

"---and we couldn't take any more."

Blaise grinned in spite of herself. "How it's possible," she said ruefully, "for a pair of fraternal twins--- boy and girl, to boot--- to look so exactly alike, I'll never know." And indeed they did: both had the same thick silky chestnut brown hair, worn shoulder length and tied back, the same long Roman nose and bright green eyes, the same bone structure--- they were even the same height. Flor was skinny for a boy, and Cat, despite having entered into puberty over the summer, still looked boyish enough under her voluminous Hogwarts robes to pass for her brother's twin. Or he for hers.

The twins grinned at her. "Long practice---" Flor.

"--- plus the hope that we'll confuse someone badly enough---"

"Wouldn't you like to see Malfoy's face---

"--- if he tried to put a hand---"

"---somewhere private on my sister---"

"And got Flor instead?" Catlin chortled wickedly.

"Or Parkinson, for that matter--- she wouldn't like getting another girl---"

"Only she's fixed on Malfoy, the stupid cow---"

"Why anyone would want him---

"Well, not every girl has anything else to recommend her---"

"--- like brains, for instance---"

"But honestly! She's a disgrace to Slyth-witches, wouldn't you say, Blaise?" Catlin looked up at her hopefully.

"I certainly would." Blaise gestured for them to sit, and they did, curling up on the cushions beside the hearth. "Of course," she couldn't resist adding playfully, "she'd say the same about us."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" The twins scoffed in unison. "Why she wouldn't know a disgrace---

"If one walloped her on her rump---"

"Not that that wouldn't be a treat to see---"

"But really, a Death Eater's daughter, calling us a disgrace---"

"Because our family's sensible about money---"

"And just because those inbred idiots can't compete in a wider market---"

"Is no reason to discriminate---"

"Not that there's ever a reason to discriminate, brother---" Catlin looked at him sternly.

"Is there some reason I need to be here for this conversation?" Blaise interrupted mildly.

Cat and Flor looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to her. In unison: "Not really."

Blaise laughed and leaned back on the bed. The Teasdales were some of her favorite people: another hybrid family, but of another sort from the Zabini black-market empire. Without breaking or even bending any laws, the Teasdale clan had managed to hold on simultaneously to a Muggle industrial concern and a thriving business in wizarding equipment. To say nothing of their investments on both sides of the Invisible Curtain (as Blaise's father called it).

And this generation had produced Claudia Teasdale, the last Slytherin Head Girl, former Chudley Cannons Seeker, current Auror--- and Blaise's hero. The twins found this highly amusing, but they nonetheless gave her regular updates on her idol. And she could talk money with them, in pounds as well as Galleons. And Flor wasn't unattractive, not by half--- in two years, when he was eligible for the Slytherin Mating Frenzy....

Blaise cut that line of thought off in a hurry. She set aside Pooh and came over to join them at the hearth.

Catlin glanced from her to the bed. "You had Pooh out---"

"What's up?" Both twins looked at her inquiringly. Though they didn't know how much of a thinking aid the bear was to her, they both understood the value of comfort objects--- both of them had come to the Great all their first day with stuffed basilisks tucked under their arms. A politic choice: there wasn't a Slytherin in the place who'd make fun of that animal.

"Not much... just... thinking."

"What about?" Catlin leaned forward, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Something funny happened in Potions today---" She told them how Snape had put Granger next to her, wincing inwardly at her own most un-Slytherin candor. But, after all, they were bound to hear about it, and it was more to her advantage if they heard it from her.

To say nothing of the fact that they were both sharp as little tacks, even if they were two years her junior. Both Teasdales listened attentively as Blaise finished--- "so I don't know what his game is, much less what my next move should be." Galling thing to admit--- but he was, after all, a teacher.

The twins both frowned, then assumed identical versions of the famous "Thinker" pose, elbow on knee and chin in hand. "Well---" began Cat---

"There could be some funny business---"

"Then why would he pair Granger with---" Catlin frowned at her brother----

"A Slytherin prefect, I know." Florian leaned back. "So it's not---"

"Hanky-panky. Something above-board?"

"He's a Slytherin, Cat, come on---"

"So are we, and so's Claws---" Their eldest sister's school nickname--- "and so's Moody---"

"And they wouldn't be so good at what they did---"

"If they weren't snakes in the grass, I know. But even Slytherins---" Catlin grinned--- "have off days--- and human sides." A flicker like the sudden bursting to life of a lightbulb (Blaise's family integrated Muggle technology and magic, rather seamlessly, in their homes) flashed across Cat's face. "Wait--- you think it could be---"

"Well, they are both a lot like Claws, aren't they?" Florian had clearly caught on to his sister's brainwave--- no surprise there, the Teasdale twins gave every impression of being able to read each other's minds.

"And like him, if Claws was right---" Cat looked over at Blaise. "Look, it's simple--- you and Granger are the brightest stars in your houses---"

"Which is Claudia, and Professor Snape, all over again, and she---"

"Paired off with Bill Weasley, he still comes to the house for holidays---"

"Anyway, Snape's probably just identifying with the pair of you---"

"And remembering Claudia."

"Wait--- your sister was in school with Snape?" This was one thing she hadn't wormed out of them.

"Her first year was his last---"

"And her seventh year was his first as a teacher."

"The alpha and the omega," Blaise said dryly. Then, "You think that's really all it is?" It was reassuring to have the Occam's Razor-cut given the Teasdale stamp of approval--- but they were only third years.

"Of course," said Florian brightly, "He could be planning---"

"For you to sabotage her chances for being Head Girl---" Catlin frowned. "But Flor, he's---"

"I know, that generation can still remember when Slytherin could win the House Cup fair and square."

Cat grinned over at her, with an embarrassed sort of shrug. "Well, that's all we can come up with, at any rate---"

"Sorry we weren't more help---" Florian looked genuinely distressed.

Blaise couldn't help but grin at them. "Nah, you do all right--- was thinking the same think myself." And grinned again as their faces lit up at the implied compliment--- much as hers did when they compared her to their sister. The thought was rather touching.

The clock on the wall chimed. "Blimey---"

"It's nearly dinner---" Catlin got to her feet, dragging Florian along with her. "And we haven't---"

"Hardly started on our homework--- that git Malfoy---"

"Was making such a pest of himself---"

Blaise felt her lip twist with shared distaste. "Well, take your books to dinner and we'll head for the library---" she grinned conspiratorially--- "I all but told Granger I'd meet her there; might do her some good to meet a few more Slyths who aren't Muggle-haters."

Both twins grinned. "Charming Gryffindors---"

"Is a family specialty---" And with that, they swept out the door.

Blaise grinned. One couldn't help feeling better after a chat with the Teasdale twins--- just watching the high-speed ping-pong match they called small talk was enough to make anyone smile. And truth to tell, she wouldn't mind getting their read on Granger. Too bad they weren't in her year.

Because Blaise just couldn't shake the notion that Cousin Severus was Up To Something.

He was, after all, a Slytherin.

A/N: Well, here we are again! More Blaise-and-twins, more Esmé--- and I am ROFL about the Pratchett links! WHHEEEE! That is way too weird, especially given that I don't fancy myself a humorist...

And I would like to announce the winner of the PtQ contest: Lacy aka CloakedStoat.

The edits were, in her words:

1a and 1b)

At the beginning of their conversation in the carriage (Chapter 3: The White King), Snape does not immediately call her "child" but begins with "sweet," -- Herimione's reaction is visibly negative, and he amends to "child" before continuing his initial address.

Later, when he is reflecting on the use of an endearment on her (Chapter 5: A Bishop Alone), he thinks to himself about how she had reacted to "Sweet" just before musing on why he is calling her Child.

2) In Chapter 1: Opening Moves, the notation of the Malfoy home as being located in France -- and corresponding commentary about the French Ministry being less vigilent in the watch for the Dark then is the English.

3) And in Chapter 8: Setting The Trap, the comment that when Prof. Figg had met Crookshanks, not only had she been "most impressed" with Crookshanks, but she had also pronounced him "half Kneazle." (A real wizarding pet to be sure!)

The runner up is Proserpina Lethe, who got all of them but misplaced the "double ref"--- and didn't beat Lacy.

The other contestants: Rosmerta (with one point, for catching the "sweet" change) and Emma (with two, for the new location of Chateau Malfoy--- thanks to vanguard my beta, who wondered why the Malfoys had a Chateau instead of a manor!).

Annotations:

Now that the contest is over, I can properly annotate one of my references. Snape's calling Hermione "sweet" in Ch. 3 is a direct link to C.J. Cherryh's Cyteen--- it's Ari Emory Sr.'s favorite endearment. (Those of you who have read Cyteen will recognize that this is, um, thematic. <GRIN>)

In this chapter:

Things equaling the same thing but not equaling each other is from Robert Heinlein's The Number of the Beast.

Chapter 11: Pawns at Play

Hermione wasn't exactly surprised when Harry and Ron decided to tag along to the library with her. And, frankly, after seeing Malfoy and being reminded forcibly that she'd have to face him day in and day out for the next two terms, she was just as glad to have the support.

"So, what are you looking for, anyway?" Ron asked as they headed down the stairs. "You said you hadn't got that much homework--- more house-elf stuff?"

"Oh---" Until that moment, Hermione hadn't actually thought of a pretext. Stupid, Granger--- not going to help you get to the eighth square! "Just random rummaging--- Blaise Zabini and I were talking about ways to combine science and magic, and I wanted to see if the library had anything on it."

"What, you mean you don't know every book in there by heart?" Ron jibed, but Harry was looking thoughtful.

"A Slytherin--- knowing about Muggle stuff?" He frowning, sending his glasses sliding down his nose.

"Yeah--- there's a couple Slytherin families like that," Ron said, offhand. "Like the Teasdales--- Bill was seeing one of them for a while, dunno what happened with that---" he shrugged.

"But isn't that odd, seeing as how they're all into purity of blood and everything?" Harry clearly felt like he was onto something. "And there's Snape pairing you with one," he continued. "Five years, and he only dumped you with a Slytherin that one time, after that Skeeter cow's article in Witch Weekly--- and then it was Parkinson."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the memory--- then smothered a laugh at her memory of Blaise's description of the other girl. "Not fun---"

"But today, he up and puts you with a Slytherin--- and one who knows about Muggle stuff."

Ron frowned. "That is odd. Sounds like he was trying to be---" he looked dubious--- "nice."

"Oh, for pity's sake---" Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

Apparently she did, as both boys gave her baffled looks. She sighed, resumed walking. "Well, if you can't think of a reason why Snape mightn't want to do me a good turn after this holiday, I'm certainly not going to help you."

The scurrying sound of both boys hurrying to catch up was rather gratifying. Though her pleasure was somewhat dimmed by Ron's next words. "Can't see how you can just up and trust him---"

She opened her mouth to reply, but what would have become a heated--- to say nothing of potentially risky--- argument was forestalled by their arrival at the library doors.

Hermione wasn't in the least surprised--- to say nothing of pleased--- to find Blaise Zabini ensconced at a table in the back. It was a surprise, however, to see that she had two of her housemates with her. Hermione wasn't sure what Ron and Harry were going to make of this--- though she was suddenly very glad of the company. Three Slytherins, two of them unknown quantities, was two too many.

Blaise looked up as they came over--- and the beginnings of a friendly smile faded as she took in Hermione's companions. "'Lo, Granger," she said cheerily enough, but her eyes still lingered cautiously on the boys. Hermione, with a sudden flash of insight, wondered if some Slytherins might not be as wary of Gryffindors as the reverse--- and if some of her housemates might not have given them reason. You didn't want to get on the wrong side of Fred and George Weasley, just to name two....

"Hullo, Zabini," she answered, feeling decidedly awkward. Where friends were concerned, things equal to the same thing were not necessarily equal to each other--- even if she were friends with both Blaise and the boys, it mightn't mean that they could be friends with each other.

She took a look at Blaise's companions: twins, though she couldn't tell if they were boys or girls, and a year or two younger than she. They took in her companions with interested eyes that were rather less wary than Blaise's. Well, they were younger, and not having Malfoy in your year might make you a little friendlier toward other houses.

There was an awkward pause, which Hermione decided to break by keeping up the pretense she'd started with Harry and Ron. "Don't suppose you'd know if there were any books on mixing magic with science around here---"

She got no further than that before the twins' faces lit up. "Oh, you're into that too?" said one.

"Well, there's nothing in the library on it---" the second twin's voice was a little deeper.

"We looked all first year, but honestly---"

"This library is so orthodox---"

"We had to get all our books sent from home---"

"And of course Blaise---" the twin sitting nearest her leaned a little toward the older girl, then away---

"Has a great collection on that sort of thing---"

Hermione looked from one to the other of them, trying not to gape--- or laugh. Definitely the Wimbledon of verbal tennis.

Blaise broke in, the silver eyes twinkling. "These two---" she nodded at the twins--- "are Catlin---" she gestured at the twin farthest from her--- "and Florian Teasdale."

"Er---" Harry was looking from one to the other again, clearly trying to make sense of the names--- at least as much as Hermione was.

"Boy---" said Florian, holding up his hand.

"And girl," Catlin finished, holding hers out to a very surprised Harry, who took it, blinking. The twins grinned up at him in a way that said they planned for that reaction.

"Teasdale?" To everyone's surprise, it was Ron who spoke up--- but then, hadn't he been talking about the Teasdales in the hallway? "You're Claudia Teasdale's sibs, are you?"

The twins exchanged glances. "Yes---" said Florian. "Which makes you---

"Ron Weasley, Bill's brother." Catlin was looking up at him with interest. "And Charlie's, too--- Claws says it's a dead shame---

"That he didn't go on and play Quidditch, but then---"

"She can't really talk---"

"But she played for the Cannons!" Ron was looking very interested indeed now; quite as if he'd forgotten he was talking to Slytherins. There was an empty seat by Catlin and he stepped over to it--- though, to Hermione's surprise, he waited politely for Catlin's nod before plunking himself into the chair. "Best Seeker they ever had---"

"Until that scum of a Beater for the Falmouth Falcons knocked her off her broom, she was!" This was clearly a subject near and dear to Catlin Teasdale's heart.

Florian apparently wasn't as moved by his sister's plight; he grinned as he said, "After which she decided to pursue a career as an Auror--- says it's a sight safer---"

Catlin glared at her brother. "When I'm old enough---"

"If you ever get to play for the house team, with that git Malfoy buying his way---"

"Well, he's two years ahead of us, isn't he?" Catlin turned to her brother. "They'll need a Seeker when he graduates---"

"You're a Seeker?" Now Harry joined the Quidditch-chat.

Catlin looked up at him, blushing slightly. "Er---"

"Don't be shy about it, Cat," her brother egged her on--- then a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Claws knocked Charlie Weasley arse-over-teakettle in a pickup game once, and Bill still took her to the Graduation Ball---"

Hermione turned to Ron in alarm, wondering how he'd take that, but he only chuckled. "Charlie told me about that," he said. "Reckons he should've known better than to play Aussie-rules Quidditch with a Slytherin."

"What's 'Aussie-rules'?" Harry asked, and as one the three Cannons fans turned to him and were off on a description of the finer points of the sport--- the basic philosophy of which was apparently, "If it's not lethal, it's legal"--- before you could say, "Golden Snitch".

Hermione, feeling a little lost, looked up to find Blaise regarding her with rueful amusement. The dark-haired girl gestured with a jerk of her head for Hermione to sit on her other side, turning away from the Quidditch discussion as Hermione came round the table.

"They'll be at it for hours," Blaise said wryly. "They're both on the reserves--- could've been on the first team as Chasers, but Catlin wants to try for Seeker, so her brother's lagging along for fellowship's sake---" Her lips quirked as Hermione felt her own eyes start to glaze over. "All of which I only know because they tell me, in great detail, about the trials and tribulations of being on the Slytherin Quidditch team with a Malfoy in residence." A flicker of something darker crossed Blaise's face. "About like being in the House with him...."

Hermione felt the need to say something. "Never thought I'd see the day when a Slytherin admitted to not liking Malfoy."

Blaise grinned sheepishly, a lock of her long hair falling into her face. She pushed it back behind her ear. "There's more of us than you think--- Teasdales and Malfoys positively loathe one another!" She gestured at the twins. "As Cat and Flor implied, their family's quite heavily into Muggle science--- they've got themselves a factory or six as well as their wizarding businesses." Her grin turned conspiratorial. "My dad's always trying to get them to start developing hybrid technology, but they're too cautious of British law--- damn Fudge anyway."

This was a bit much for Hermione to take in all at once. "So your family's got Muggle interests as well?"

"You could say that." The Slytherin's face took on a dodgy look. "Nothing compared to the Teasdales, though," she added hastily. "We're all wizards, but half of Cat and Flor's sibs went to Muggle schools--- think they've got a brother at Eton."

"Gerald," said Florian, half-turning so that he included himself in both conversations. "And we've got sibs in three of the four Hogwarts houses--- not a Hufflepuff in the bunch," he added with perhaps pardonable pride--- "but other than that, we could have our own little race for the House Cup if we wanted."

"Could anyway," Blaise said snidely. "When's Hufflepuff ever won it?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. For a bit, she'd forgotten that this lot were Slytherins, with all the nastiness that implied, but now the knowledge came back to her full force. "Er---"

Blaise looked back at her, and the unpleasant hardness crumbled from her face. "Meaning no offense," she added hastily, "and Circe knows Diggory was a credit to the House---"

She broke off as Harry looked up suddenly, his face ashen. "What is it?" Catlin asked, surprised.

"Er--- nothing--- you were saying---?" He turned back to her with every evidence of attention; Florian, with a shrug at the older girls, returned to the Quidditch discussion.

Hermione, however, exchanged a quick glance with Ron. She wasn't the only one who'd been having a hard year. Ever since they'd come back a number of people had been making a point of blaming Harry for Cedric Diggory's death. Despite the fact that it was Lord Voldemort's doing, many of their schoolmates felt that Harry had somehow put him in the line of fire. As if they all weren't in harm's way, just being here at Hogwarts, with Voldemort on the rise! Hermione sniffed, didn't realize she'd done so until Blaise looked at her oddly.

"What is it?" The other girl sounded genuinely concerned.

"Oh, nothing much---" Blaise was a fellow prefect, wasn't she? On impulse, Hermione decided to tell her. "Well, some people--- since the Triwizard Tournament and all--- they've been... blaming Harry---"

"For---" Blaise lowered her voice. "For Diggory, you mean?" Hermione nodded. Blaise gave a most unladylike snort, out of place from someone who looked like a porcelain statuette given life. "Rubbish! Now, if Potter'd been a Slytherin---" She grinned slyly. "I mean, there's plenty in the house that would stab somebody in the back for a lot less than a thousand Galleons--- you should see what that lot get up to in the common room at night, and me a prefect, trying to break it up!" She broke off at Hermione's appalled expression. "Er--- sorry." For a second, Blaise looked uncomfortable, then she grinned. "Though I can't imagine having the Weasley twins is what you'd call peaceful, now, is it?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say that she wouldn't class Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with backstabbing, then remembered the Ton-Tongue Toffees and thought better of it. "You could say that."

Blaise grinned, then looked thoughtful. "Got to be rough on Potter, though," she said, making the same sort of conversational right-angle bend that usually left Hermione's friends in the dust when she did it. "And him a prefect and all--- undermines his authority somewhat, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione blinked, startled--- then realized that Blaise was right. Absorbed as she'd been in her friend's emotional response, she hadn't noticed the other. But now that she thought of it, she'd seen the looks he got, the way some of the students didn't move as quickly when he gave a command--- nothing earthshattering, just the simple move-along or break-it-up that all the prefects did. She'd chalked it up to Harry's naturally easygoing manner... but now that Blaise said it, she realized that might just be it. "I never thought of it that way," she said, in response to the questioning look the other girl was giving her (she had been silent a bit, there). "But you're spot-on."

Blaise grinned ruefully. "Trust a Slytherin to see a power- game."

"Too right!" Hermione hadn't thought of that, either. Feeling suddenly shy, she added, "Nice having one for a friend, though."

Blaise, to her vast surprise, actually blushed. "Nice having a Gryffindor mate, too---" Then the grin was back. "Someone to talk Muggle-magic with---" she looked over at the other four, still deep in discussion of the finer points of their favorite game--- "who doesn't talk Quidditch."

Hermione felt herself grinning back. "Speaking of Muggle-magic--- the twins said you had some books---"

"Yes--- there's not too much out there, but you can find things if you know where to look--- Borgin and Burkes usually has something---"

"But that's a Dark Arts shop!" Hermione exclaimed before she could stop herself.

Blaise gave her a Look. "Hermione, according to the existing laws as set down by our dear Minister of Magic---" who evidently was not dear to Blaise, any more than to Hermione and the boys--- "dabbling in mixing magic and science borders on the Dark Arts too."

Hermione rearranged her face into something less horrified--- then a thought struck her. "That's odd."

"What is?"

"Well... I'd got used to thinking of the Dark Arts as something that got used on Muggles by the prejudiced sort of pureblood," she said thoughtfully. "But it sounds like it works the other way too--- the prejudiced sort can call anything involving cooperation between wizards and Muggles 'Dark Arts', too, if they want."

Blaise was grinning at her admiringly. "Too right!" she said. "Why, some of the things I have in my library are perfectly innocent, except they deal with magic as one of the sciences, or several---"

Which set them off on a discussion of reading material that lasted until Madam Pince closed the library.

*****

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione announced that she was going to study for the OWLs. Meeting with the expected resistance from the boys--- "What? They're not for another four months!" exclaimed Ron, as if it were four years--- she gracefully made her exit to her own room... where she congratulated herself on her cleverness.

Not that studying for the OWLs wasn't a very good idea--- but she had a shrewd suspicion that Blaise would be more than happy to be her study partner, most likely a better one than either of the boys. And this was the perfect opportunity to slip down and see Snape.

She pulled on the Concealment Cloak and slipped through the common room to hover by the door, wondering idly if there was any way to get in and out that didn't involve waiting for someone else to open the portrait for her. Maybe if she found a way to bribe the Fat Lady---

She grinned at her own thoughts. Already thinking like a Slytherin, aren't you, Granger? Maybe Blaise'll have some ideas--- At which point the portrait swung open to admit a gaggle of first years, and Hermione gratefully slipped out in their wake.

The door to his classroom was just the slightest bit open, though his office door was closed. She used the Exaudio Charm to whisper in his ear, and a moment later, the door swung open.

Snape was at his desk, apparently grading papers. "Good evening, Miss Granger," he said, getting to his feet as she slid the cloak off her face and began undoing the fastenings. "I trust you and Miss Zabini had a productive evening the library?" The slightest of smiles played around his lips.

She felt herself blushing a little. "Well, not exactly," she said, and at his raised eyebrow added, "But it was interesting." The eyebrow went higher. "She brought the Teasdale twins along with her---"

"Ah." The eyebrow resumed its normal angle, and a slight smile played about the corners of his mouth. "I assume they regaled you with tales of their famous sibling?"

"That they did--- well, actually, they talked Quidditch with Ron and Harry---" the eyebrow went back up. "Er... they took it into their heads to keep me company, ever since Christmas."

"How very chivalric of them." It wasn't quite a sneer. "I suppose it's too much to hope that they've actually joined you in making use of the library for its intended purpose, rather than hovering about you as Crabbe and Goyle do Malfoy?"

Hermione smothered her flinch at that name. "Well, they did help me a bit in researching house-elves---" she smothered a giggle. "I think you quite brought Ron around, what with getting me off house-elf rights."

Again, Snape's lip twitched. "Not that Weasley's good opinion matters in the least to me, but perhaps it will keep him from disrupting class in the future--- or is that too much to hope for?"

"I'm afraid so." She undid the last fastenings on the cloak and he took it from her gently, called up the hat-rack--- which was now moving with some alacrity, having gotten a bit of a workout in the last week--- and hung it up for her. "I don't suppose Miss Weasley accompanied you and your 'honor guard'?"

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. First Ginny takes it as a given that Snape's a double agent, now he's asking after her. What is this? "No--- why do you ask?"

Something flickered in his eyes for a moment, then he shrugged slightly. "In the first place, the young lady had a rather unpleasant experience her first year---" Understating a little, aren't you, sir?--- "and I'd rather hoped that her brother, at least, would have the decency to watch out for her." He half-sneered.

"Usually, I do, but--- well, frankly I wasn't sure how well Ron would take to my meeting up with a Slytherin, and didn't want Ginny in the crossfire." And who are you trying to convince, Granger--- him or yourself? Think about your friends the next time, for goodness' sakes!

Again he smiled slightly. "Funny, that, given that his older brother and Claudia Teasdale were the most prominent couple in their year."

"That's what Ron said---" she did a double-take. "How did you know?"

He chuckled. "Because, child, the eldest Miss Teasdale's last year as a student here was my first year as the Head of Slytherin." The smile widened. "And frankly, I couldn't have managed without her--- she was Head Girl, and had rather something of a gift for winning the confidence of the younger students. And, as you can imagine, the year after Voldemort's downfall was a particularly difficult time to be a Slytherin."

"Yes, I can," Hermione said, the pain in his voice distracting her from the unexpected pang of jealousy she felt at hearing Snape so casually admitting to relying on someone else--- on another woman. "How well did you know her?" she asked, before she could stop herself. "I mean, she is famous," she added lamely.

From the look on Snape's face, he'd seen right through her attempt at dissembling. "Well enough, I suppose," he shrugged. "Her first year as a student was my last--- I spent rather a bit of time keeping her out of harm's way, which was to say Sirius Black's way---" At her surprised look, his lips twisted, his eyes glittering unpleasantly. "Oh yes, child, it hasn't always been poor, honest Gryffindors made sport of by conniving Slytherins--- though I'll confess that with a Malfoy in the house, you have some justice in thinking so." The bitter look in his eyes reminded her forcibly of the night in the Shrieking Shack. "But sometimes, child, it's bullying Gryffindors setting on innocent Slytherins--- Slytherins younger than they, in fact."

"Younger?" The question slipped out before she could stop; she cursed herself. He means Teasdale, silly---

"Yes, younger," he said, ignoring what she'd thought was a faux pas. "Black and his cohorts were in the same year as I was, true enough--- but we weren't the same age."

It took her a moment to sort this out. "You started early then?" She couldn't imagine Sirius and Harry's father having been held back.

Snape smiled slightly. "Yes. My father's idea---to get me away from my mother, I think---" He looked away, a spasm crossing his face; before she could ask, he shook his head. "I'm most likely boring you again--- and certainly keeping you standing here. Come, let's sit down."

He drew her over to the chairs by the fire, his hand resting gently on her shoulder with the same affectionate kindness as he'd shown that first night, the friendliness of teacher to student and nothing more. "So, what did you think of Miss Zabini?"

"She's--- something else." Now that Snape asked, the complexity of her response to her Slytherin year-mate surprised her. "I mean, one moment, it's like we've known each other all our lives, and then the next she says something so--- so--- cold---" Hermione shook her head. "What is she, Severus?" His given name slipped out before she realized it.

He smiled slightly. "She's a Slytherin, Hermione--- a Slytherin from a very dangerous family--- and she's... very powerful in her own right." He paused. "The rest of it is Blaise's story to tell you, and I'll let her do it in her own time--- but Hermione, believe me, I'd not have gone out of my way to throw the two of you together if I didn't believe that you can trust her." He smiled slightly. "One thing I will tell you, however, because it's as much my business as hers, is that her mother's my first cousin." At Hermione's startled look, the smile got wider. "We don't bandy it about, of course--- if I showed any sign of favoring another student over Malfoy, he'd go straight to his father--- and, of course, as a Death Eater in good standing---" he sneered--- "I could hardly be expected to favor a family that dabbles in Muggle technology and society."

"Hardly---" She grinned. "Not even one of your own bloodline?

He shrugged. "Everyone in Slytherin House is related, child--- it's just a matter of degree." He smiled slightly. "There are those who say it's not a proper Slytherin gathering if everyone in the room isn't somehow related to everyone else. Makes marriages difficult, I can tell you."

Hermione looked up at him. "Then why bother looking after your cousin?"

Snape reached out, took Hermione's chin in his hand. "Do you remember what I told you, the first evening you served as my assistant, after you divined that I was a double agent?"

Oh, she remembered. You have an eye for intrigue--- though apparently not the discretion for it... a few months in the hallowed halls of the Serpents' Den would have honed the former and eliminated the latter.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Snape smiled softly. "Blaise Zabini," he said quietly, "has had five years in the Serpents' Den. Learn from her."

Learn from her. The enormity of his machinations struck her then--- she wondered if he'd ever done anything in his adult life that served only one purpose! For a moment she blinked, awed--- then realized, This is what he wants me to learn.

The eighth square.

For a moment, they sat in silence, then Snape spoke, in a completely different, lighter, tone. "And on that note," he said, getting to his feet, "there's someone else I'd like you to meet--- who's dying to meet you." He held out a hand to her.

Hermione took it, mystified. "Where are we going?"

"To my private quarters---" Hastily, he added, "I mean nothing by it; it's simply more convenient to bring you to Esmé than Esmé to you."

Esmé? she wondered, but did not ask.

Snape drew her over to the far wall, pulled out his wand and tapped a complicated sequence on the bricks; a portion of the wall slid back to reveal a long dark passageway. "One of the many side benefits to being Head of Slytherin," he said with a slight smile. "Lumos." The tip of his wand flared with light, and he led her into the tunnel.

The wall slid closed after them, leaving Hermione very glad of the light from his wand and fingering her own with an eye to casting a light spell herself. She controlled herself with an effort, though she did perhaps hold onto his hand with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

After a rather long and winding walk, they came to another dead end; once again, Snape tapped a sequence on the bricks, and the wall slid open.

Snape extinguished his wand's light with a word; before Hermione could protest, he murmured another spell, and a series of soft lights, like the ones near his chess set downstairs, burst into life.

He led her out into his room. "Welcome to my humble abode."

She felt her lips twitch at the sarcasm in his voice--- then her curiosity got the better of her nerves and she stepped forward to have a look around.

It was a perfectly serviceable bedroom--- but, like his office, about as personal as a hotel, except for the wall-to-wall bookshelves covering most of all four walls. Other than that, while the room held all the necessary furniture--- bed, wardrobe, nightstand--- the only things in the room that suggested a permanent occupant were the old, battered armchair and matching ottoman, with an attendant small and overflowing bookcase serving as an end table by the cold fireplace and the large round wicker basket sitting atop what looked like a hotplate on the hearth.

Snape went over to the wicker basket, tapped on it. "Esmé," he said. "I've brought a visitor."

The basket made a rustling noise, and then a large blunt-nosed green head poked itself over the lip. "Eh? Who isssss it?"

Hermione smothered a squeak. The creature looked like a snake--- but she'd never heard of a snake having feathers. And the last time she'd checked, she wasn't a Parselmouth, but she'd understood every word the creature had said.

"This is Hermione Granger," Snape said, beckoning Hermione over to the basket. "Hermione, this is Esmé, my familiar."

Hermione knelt down beside the basket. "Er... pleased to meet you."

It was rather hard to tell with a creature whose face was covered in feathers, but she thought Esmé looked equally pleased. "Ssssso.... thisssss issss the sssstudent I've heard ssssso much about." Hermione looked up at Snape, apprehensively.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, dropped to one knee beside them. "Esmé's trustworthy--- though if I've broken a confidence---"

"No," Hermione said hastily. "After all, I told Crookshanks the whole thing myself." And perhaps--- the thought surprised her, but it felt right--- Severus had been as much in need of a confidante as she had been.

Snape smiled. "Thank you." He turned back to the creature in the basket. "Esmé is a quetxal."

"A quetxal?" She'd never heard of those. "They're not in Fantastic Beasts---"

"That's because no one can figure out if they should be considered beasts or beings," Snape said, then added dryly, "even after almost a decade and a half with this one, I'm not sure myself."

Esmé hissed. "Jusssssst becausssssse we were created and not evolved---"

"The quetxals are another of Great-Aunt Esmeralda's brainwaves," Snape explained sotto voce.

"Well, I think you're quite impressive," said Hermione, wishing to smooth the quetxal's rumpled feathers--- literally; the creature has fluffed up with ire.

"You can fluff up to make a statement, I see, but not to keep warm," Snape commented dryly, reaching out to stroke the quetxal's head. "She's warm-blooded," he explained to Hermione, "but likes to pretend otherwise."

"It isssss cold down here," the quetxal whined, turning her head to Hermione in supplication. "Sssssseverusssss never turns on the fire---"

"Because I don't like having uninvited guests," Snape retorted, and Hermione, thinking of some of the people Snape knew, decided it was a wise precaution. It also made sense of his otherwise bizarre habit of keeping the fire off in his cold dungeon office. "And besides, you have the salamander for company.

"Sssssalamanderssss are sssstupid," Esmé whined.

"But warm."

Hermione watched the byplay in fascination, couldn't help interjecting. "Why don't you bring her up to the teacher's lounge during the day or something? It's warmer up there."

To her vast surprise, Esmé squeaked and ducked down into her basket, then peered up so that only two large green eyes were visible over the lip. "She's shy of people," Snape explained, then added wryly, "despite all evidence to the contrary."

"They make fun of featherssssss," Esmé said, poking her nose up over the lip of the basket. "And I can't ssssssslither properly." She gave Hermione a pathetic looks. "Featherssssss are no good for tractsssssssion."

"Oh!" Hermione reached out to the quetxal. "Poor thing."

Esmé looked up at Severus. "Thissss issss a nisssssse human," she said, as if daring him to contradict her, then turned back to Hermione, flicked her tongue at the outstretched fingers--- then ducked her head under Hermione's hand, for all the world like a cat wanting to be petted.

Hermione stroked the feathery head, surprised at the softness. "Well, I don't think your feathers are silly at all--- they're quite lovely." She was conscious of Snape watching her, a small half-smile playing about his face.

"She's really quite bright," he said quietly. "Human intelligence--- in fact, more of it than some humans I can name." She grinned, remembering his remark about Crabbe and Goyle.

Hermione smiled back. "I can see that."

Esmé, meanwhile, bumped her head up along Hermione's arm--- then, to the latter's surprise, began wrapping herself around the appendage in question, sliding up Hermione's arm to her shoulder, and looping herself down around her body.

"A feather boa!" Hermione laughed--- then, abruptly, caught her breath as the quetxal's great weight began to make itself apparent.

"Esmé!" Snape's voice was stern. "You should ask first."

"Hermione doesssssn't mind--- do you---" Esmé eeled her head around so that she and Hermione were nose-to-nose.

There was nothing for it--- certainly not with Esmé wrapped around her in a friendly death grip--- but to say no. Satisfied, the quetxal craned her neck at Severus. "Read to me?"

Snape actually blushed as it was Hermione's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Her eyesight's not adapted to reading," he explained, "but she's quite curious. So I... read to her."

The image of Severus Snape, with two meters of quetxal curled up in his lap like a feathery throw pillow, reading aloud to her as if she were a child, was rather amusing, but Hermione got control of her twitching lips. "I read aloud to Crookshanks sometimes," she said. "Though I rather doubt he understands as much as Esmé."

Both the quetxal and her person looked pleased. "And now," Snape said, "I think that's quite enough for one night---" he held out his arms for the quetxal--- "before, that is, you crush Miss Granger's spine in an excess of affection." He looked back at Hermione. "She's done it to me a few times, or near enough," he added dryly.

Esmé, with much hissy protesting, eventually slithered her way onto Snape's arm and allowed herself to be dumped into the basket. "You seem to slither well enough on people," Hermione commented, watching the quetxal move. "Is it just the stone floors that are the problem?"

"Mosssstly," Esmé answered. "I can ssssslither on anything that I can grip--- but flat ssssurfassssessss are no good."

"She's got a serpent's musculature," Snape elaborated, tucking a stray coil into the basket as Esmé settled herself, "but those feathers aren't exactly much for gripping."

"No, I can see not," Hermione said absently, a thought starting to form in her mind. She'd have to write home to her parents, and it would take a little explaining--- even if they still had all her old toys... but if she could make it work---

"And now," Snape said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to her, "as I recall, we have work to do--- there's a little matter of the lycanthropy cure to finish?"

"Oh!" Hermione took his hand, let him draw her to her feet. She'd almost forgotten about that.

"And, since we have several hours before curfew--- assuming that you can't get around that little matter--- I suggest we adjourn to the lab and set to work." His tone was crisp, almost brusque--- quintessential Snape, really, from before the night at Malfoy's.

Then the quetxal peeked over the edge of the basket and gave her a wink, and Hermione couldn't suppress a grin. "Yes, sir," she said calmly, returning Esmé's wink before following Snape to the tunnel.

A/N Guess what? There aren't really any notes to this chapter--- except to thank J. Odell for the review stating that chess was/is public domain! <GRIN> Though I should very much like to credit Katherine Neville's The Eight for more chessly fun! And Sweets pointed out that Snape is of course a bishop, because they move diagonally--- i.e., not straight-and-narrow. <GRIN>

And, oh yeah, speaking of chess--- those on Snapefans and WIKTT have already heard this plea but: I need someone who knows something about chess and chess notation to give me inspiration for chapter titles, as my knowledge is being stretched to its limit. And, of course, this means that you will get to see the chapters before the general public does, which I hope is a sufficient inducement! Hecate recommended the Chess Kamikaze site, but live human input from someone who knows the story would be great too!

And, while I'm begging for expert advice: some of you may have noticed <heheh> the presence of a Slytherin Mafia family herein, namely the Zabinis. Now, seeing as how I have wizarding mobsters whose dealings involve the connection between the Muggle and the magical worlds... it seems only right hat they should have enchanted firearms. Anyone who knows about such things, particularly automatic weapons, is hereby invited to drop me a line and proffer advice on types of firearms and charms/curses/hexes/etc. that you think would go well with them. (I realize this makes me sound rather scary... please, it's just that I read a lot of gangster novels and couldn't resist having fun.)

And, for the record: NO, I do NOT automatically associate all Italians with the mob/Mafia/Cosa Nostra, whatever. But Ms. Rowling already gave us a Slytherin with an Italian last name, and the Mafia seemed a natural occupation for said Slythie's family. I do not wish to offend anyone and hope that no one will take this the wrong way. (I have yet to get any nasty notes, but Blaise's family is going to start figuring into all this sooner or later and I want to head off trouble before it starts.)

And, oh, yeah, Riley the moron <: forgot a li'l footnote about Esmé until Strega Brava's latest review: the word "quetxal" is taken from "Quetzalcoatl", the Aztec "feathered serpent" god--- she was actually going to be a "queztalcoatl" but I got tired of typing it. <GRIN> And the quetzal is a real bird, so no joy there. Brownie points to Strega Brava for that one! There is also a feathered serpent in the Oz books, by the name of Quetzal--- thanks, J. Odell, for pointing that one out!

Speaking of Esmé, if I haven't said so already: her name is from a J.D. Salinger story: "For Esmé, With Love And Squalor" (the title may not be exact, I haven't got my "Nine Stories" with me at the moment). I thought love and squalor were perfect references for a Snape-pet. >GRIN<

For this chapter: "pecuniary points" ("peculiar" or otherwise) is a term used in The Beekeeper's Apprentice by Laurie R. King. Probably not a big enough deal to qualify as a "quote" but what the heck.

Also--- did I make Hermione the only prefect staying over during the holidays? If so--- EEK! Need to change it, as Harry is now one.

Wow, for not having author's notes, this chapter turned out to have a lot of them, including a spoiler! :D :D :D

Chapter 12: Pawns in Position

The next day was Saturday, which meant that after breakfast, Hermione headed straight for the library, accompanied by Harry, Ron, and this time, Ginny, who insisted that she wanted to meet the Teasdales. Hermione suspected that the younger girl just didn't want to be left out of whatever Harry was doing, but she held her peace. After all, Ginny wasn't the only one with an awkward personal life.

To no one's surprise, the Teasdale twins and Blaise had set up shop in the same quiet corner; they waved the Gryffindor contingent over as if they'd been friends since first year. Ginny was immediately welcomed into the Quidditch crowd; she was one of Gryffindor's reserve Chasers, and the talk quickly turned to the prospects for next year's teams.

Which left Hermione and Blaise free to talk "shop". As Hermione had expected, Blaise was delighted to be her study partner for the OWLs, though the other girl's attitude surprised her. "Great idea!" she'd said--- then, "Starting early means we won't have to study as hard."

Hermione was surprised at that, coming from someone as bright as they both were--- but, she had to admit, studying for a long time was easier than cramming, despite popular opinion to the contrary.

It turned into a habit, and soon none of the seven of them could imagine a weekend or an evening that wasn't spent as a group in the library. Blaise and Hermione even managed to convince the other five to crack open a book or two in between Quidditch-talk.

Not that the divisions were absolute: some evenings, the Gryffindors found themselves an audience for a heated discussion of "hybrid fortunes" among Blaise and the Teasdales, for whom money was variously a game, a vocation, and an obsession. They knew an incredible amount about exchange rates, investments, and the like, and could spend hours debating the finer pecuniary points involved in navigating Muggle and magical markets.

Of the Gryffindor contingent, Ron was the most enthusiastic listener, forgetting entirely his usual prejudices in favor of asking the Slytherins heaps of questions. His friends were anything but surprised: making money was becoming as much an obsession for Ron as it was for his next-eldest brothers. Within a week, he'd even begun owling his father about the finer points of the laws on the application of magic to Muggle artifacts and trade between the communities. The Slytherins, being Slytherins, were delighted with this turn of events; the Teasdales even started hunting him down between classes to "talk shop"--- though both Blaise and Hermione suspected that Catlin's enjoyment of Ron's company was less than strictly professional.

Hermione noted with no small relief that the reverse seemed to be true as well: Ron's attempts at getting close to her had been replaced with half-sheepish references to the distaff Teasdale twin. Catlin was getting him this book, Catlin said this, Catlin asked him that. It was really quite amusing, especially watching them during the library sessions: always sitting next to each other--- like Ginny and Harry, come to think of it, and Blaise and Florian--- trying not to talk too much to one another and failing miserably.

Blaise, however, seemed a little less sanguine about it, the reason for which she made clear one night the week before Valentine's Day.

"Don't suppose they'll get up their nerve to send valentines to each other," Hermione said amusedly, watching as Catlin nearly fell out of her seat at one of Ron's jokes.

Blaise shrugged, then looked over at her. "Er--- Hermione---"

"Eh?" Hermione had already turned back to the books in front of them; tonight they were foregoing the OWLs in favor of a discussion of alchemy as filtered through particle physics. Hermione was hoping to have something to bring to Snape later that evening.

Blaise, however, clearly had something else on her mind. "You--- don't mind, do you?" she asked. "About Cat and Ron, I mean?"

Hermione looked up, startled. "Mind? Why?"

"Well--- everyone saw, at the Christmas Ball last year, the way you two were---"

"Were what? Fighting like cats and dogs?" Hermione grinned wryly, then sobered, fighting a little flutter of combined guilt and nerves in the pit of her stomach. She'd expected the question of her relationship, or lack thereof, with Ron to come up any time now--- though admittedly not quite like this--- and she'd readied an answer. But it still felt bad to lie to a friend, particularly a new one.

Well, she's a Slytherin, I'm sure she'll understand if she does find out.... "And I imagine you also remember that I went to the dance with Viktor Krum---"

"Be hard to forget," Blaise grinned. "Ticked off most of Slytherin House right royally, as you can surely imagine." She sobered. "Say, whatever happened with you two, anyhow?"

Hermione told her the story of her visit to Viktor's home, and his mother's reaction to finding out that her beloved son had fetched home a Mudblood. "She called you a tramp?" Blaise exclaimed when Hermione had finished, the other girl clearly torn between mirth and outrage.

"Among other things," Hermione admitted wryly. "Didn't seem keen on, er, broadening the gene pool---" Magical eugenics was another favorite topic of the Slytherin contingent, all of whom held that a little new blood was a good thing, though (much to the shock of the Gryffs) they maintained that Muggle-borns should breed only with each other for a generation or so "to make sure the wizarding genes prove out" as Florian and Catlin said (in tandem).

"Guess not--- bloody Durmstrang." Blaise looked at her seriously. "But you're split with him---"

"Yes, but---" Hermione said firmly, then stopped, not exactly sure how to explain--- because what she was feeling wasn't exactly a lie. "Well... how do I put this?" she toyed with her quill as Blaise listened, unexpectedly quiet. "Before... Viktor... yes, I liked Ron quite a bit." She looked over at him, now laughing at the twins' antics. "But, somehow---" She looked back at Blaise. "Let me put it this way: Viktor and I... liked a lot of the same things. He asked me questions about Muggle science--- d'you know, we spent hours trying to figure out the most aerodynamic positions for riding a broomstick? Quidditch was his gift... but he made my gift important too, and not just because he 'liked' me--- because he was really interested. He asked me for help with his schoolwork--- not just using me---" she bit off the words, "like Ron does"--- "he really wanted to learn things, not just pass his classes. And we could talk, just talk, about what we were going to do with our lives--- even though he's a Quidditch star, he said he knew he couldn't do it forever. He wanted to have something else to his credit, he wanted to do some good with his life. We'd talk about politics, the state of the world---" she broke off, shaking her head, surprised to feel tears starting at the corners of her eyes. She hadn't realized how much she missed Viktor--- and until this moment, hadn't realized how much of her reaction to Severus had to do with the ways he reminded her of Viktor. That same seriousness shading into surliness, the deep, implicit sense of ethics, the love of learning. Only Severus was, she suspected, even more like her than Viktor had been.

And I wonder if Severus will ever talk to me that openly? The thought startled her; she hadn't seen him in that light before. Ever see me as anything but a student? A responsibility?

And how do I want him to see me? How do I see him?

She banished that thought quickly, looked over at Blaise, who was regarding her with, rather to Hermione's surprise, understanding. "You see?" she said. "After that, I couldn't... couldn't go back to Ron. He's a friend but... he doesn't--- doesn't like me, not the way Viktor does. He doesn't like what I am for its own sake---" She looked over at Blaise. "Am I making any sense?"

The other girl grinned at her. "Perfect sense." She snorted. "And if you think Weasley's bad, you should try being in Slytherin---"

"With Malfoy? Ugh, no thanks!" Though Hermione spoke lightly, she couldn't suppress an inward shudder at the name.

"Exactly." Blaise lowered her voice, barely moving her lips. "Only male in the house worth a second look is Flor, and I'll have to wait two years for him to come of age---"

Hermione grinned, remembering certain looks she'd seen the Teasdale twin in question giving her friend. "Not if Florian has his druthers."

To her surprise, Blaise actually colored up, looking down. "Er--- so you don't mind, then, if Cat goes after Ron?" she asked hastily, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Not only would I not mind," said Hermione sincerely, "I'd be utterly relieved if he'd take his heart and put it to good use!"

Blaise breathed a sigh of relief. "Well then, that's settled--- if you don't mind, I'll let her know when we go back to the common room. Poor thing's been on tenterhooks, not wanting to step on your toes--- but she'd really love to take after her sister and bring home a Weasley. Especially one who makes her laugh."

"Well, it's fine by me---" Hermione said, a bit taken aback by her friend's callous appraisal. "Though I wouldn't think, "she added with a little asperity, "that the Weasley family would be considered good catches by Slytherin standards."

Blaise snorted. "Draco Malfoy, much as he would like to think otherwise, does not speak for the entire house. Some of us would much rather have partners we like than partners with money--- and besides, Cat'll have enough for two when she comes of age." She lowered her voice still further. "And, look, don't take this the wrong way--- but his dad is head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office--- and he's known to be fond of Muggles and magicking Muggle things. Politically, there's not a better match for a scion of a hybrid-fortune family to make. 'Specially," Blaise added hastily, "since they do get on so nicely." She jerked her chin at the other side of the table, where the couple in question was engaged in a detailed analysis of the Chudley Cannons' starting lineup.

Hermione had to agree. "It's just that Ron is my friend," she cautioned, "and I'd hate to think Cat's playing him."

"Oh, not hardly--- she's a Teasdale, and that lot are practically famous in Slytherin for love-matches, which, let me tell you, is not exactly a House specialty."

"No wonder she's looking for a Gryffindor, then," Hermione teased, and they both laughed. "And, you know, I think you're the only person I know who'd actually use the word 'scion' in a sentence."

"Nonsense," Blaise said seriously. "It's standard Slytherin vocabulary."

The talk of Ron and Cat had taken Hermione's mind off her own tangled emotional life--- but the odd nagging ache came back to her once she was alone in her room, preparing to head down to the dungeons.

Another constant in her life these days was nightly visits to Snape's classroom. Now that she had the Concealment Cloak, it was no longer necessary for Snape to give her detention as a pretext for her presence in the dungeon. All she had to do was find a pretext to retreat to her room, and she was free for the evening--- though as a prefect, she couldn't be gone too often. Not that Harry wasn't glad for the excuse of being "on duty" to avoid his own work, but that didn't make it any better.

Still, she managed a good bit of time down in the dungeons, where they had resumed their efforts to develop a cure for lycanthropy. To her surprise, the rapport they'd had before the holidays had begun to come back--- though there was now an undercurrent of tension, not precisely unpleasant, but certainly distracting, that hadn't been present before. The shock through her bones when his hand brushed hers, a resonance in his voice that could send hot shivers all through her--- something new, though it, too, was becoming familiar. She could delude herself that it was nothing more than a standard crush on a teacher, something harmless and perfectly natural. And having Blaise as a friend somehow helped to normalize things--- maybe because Blaise and the Teasdales were Slyths, and so it didn't seem strange to like their Head of House; maybe because Blaise was the girl friend she'd wanted so much that first morning--- and not just a female friend, but someone as bright as she was, so that she wasn't dependent on Snape for her intellectual companionship; maybe because she doubted that Blaise, as brilliant as she was, would find anything strange in looking to a teacher for companionship. No, the evenings with Snape were starting to feel almost normal.

Except that tonight had brought forward all the little nuances, all the things she didn't want to think about or hope for. The fact that she wasn't just Snape's student and he wasn't just her teacher. The fact that he'd made her his partner. The fact that she was on course for the eighth square.

And she didn't need Snape to tell her that a queen wouldn't wait to take action once she saw the need for it.

Fortunately, she had the perfect excuse--- two of them, in fact. So, with the parcel from her parents tucked under her arm, she headed down to the dungeons.

The door was open a crack, and she slithered inside to find Snape already bent over the cauldron in the back of the room. She threw back her hood, cleared her throat--- and had the admittedly petty satisfaction of seeing him start just a little. Immature of her, but she did like to see him lose his composure a bit. It made him more human.

He recovered in a heartbeat, straightened and looked round at her, nodding slightly toward the still-open door. She wormed a hand out of the cloak and pushed the door to; there was a Muffling Hex on the room that prevented any sound form escaping. Which was a good thing, given the tendency of botched potions to go "bang"--- and also made the classroom a perfect place for private meetings.

"Good evening," he said dryly, as she unfastened the cloak. "Is there a particular reason for your dramatic entrance, or---" He broke off as the bundle tucked under her arm was revealed. "And what, may I ask, is that?"

"It's for Esmé---" She blushed slightly; now that she actually had to explain it to someone (especially him), her idea seemed a bit silly. "I was thinking about how she couldn't slither properly, with her feathers--- and I had an idea---"

She set the package down on the nearest table and opened it, revealing---

"Roller skates?" Snape lifted one of the toys--- little more than a wheeled platform with straps--- out of the box. There were, counting this one's mate, three others as well; Hermione's parents had saved more of her old things than she'd thought.

Hermione blushed. "I wasn't sure if---"

"No, no---" Snape said hastily, though he was still regarding the skate with something approaching bemusement. "It's actually a good notion---" He looked up at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Though how in the world I'm going to explain a roller-skating quetxal to the rest of the school---"

"I don't know," Hermione said playfully, "it's not as if you're in the habit of explaining yourself to anyone anyway."

Snape shot her a dirty look, though with a marked absence of his trademark venom. "True enough." He set the skate with its mate and lifted the box. "Shall we see what Esmé thinks?"

As they entered Snape's chambers, Esmé poked her head up from her basket. "Sssssseverusssss?"

"And Hermione," Snape confirmed, then added, "Say thank you, Esmé--- Hermione's brought you a gift."

"'Thank you, Esssssmé,'" the quetxal dutifully parroted, then did a double take. "A presssssent? For me?"

"Yes, for you." Hermione took the box from Severus, brought it over to the hearth, where Esmé was regarding her keenly. "These should help you get around, if we can figure out how to attach them---" she pulled out the skates.

Esmé hissed, and Hermione drew back in alarm--- the next moment, she had a coil of quetxal wrapped around her neck in what was unmistakably a hug. "Thank you, Hermione," she said, much more sincerely. "Thessssse are wonderful---" She looped around Hermione's neck to peer into the box, then looked around at Severus. "But how will we fit them?"

After several tries, they managed to get the skates fastened onto Esmé's torso at regular intervals, hampered by the slickness of the feathers and Esmé's need for air. It was only when Hermione thought of the Sticking Charm used on Quaffles that they were able to get the skates to stay put. "And that will let her slither loose when she wants to," Hermione said with satisfaction as the quetxal began, most awkwardly, to slide about the room.

"Ingenious," Snape said quietly, standing beside her. "Whatever made you think of it?"

She grinned. "I've been hearing a lot of Quidditch-talk lately--- between the Teasdales and my housemates... well, let's just say Blaise and I are glad of each other's company, or we'd hear nothing but--- and neither one of us has much patience for it."

"I though you liked Quidditch." It was the closest he'd come to mentioning Viktor since the first night, but Hermione jumped at the opening.

"Viktor could talk about other things--- and he appreciated what I was good at." She nerved herself, stepped a little closer to Snape. "I don't know how to say this--- but you... remind me of him." She felt herself flush, and added wryly, "Or perhaps he reminded me of you--- I knew you first---"

"No, you didn't." He turned to her, serious now. "You didn't--- child, I hardly let you know me until this year."

She flushed deeper, at his words and at the endearment. Does he really think of me as a child? Well, maybe that was her own fault. "Are you sorry you did?"

"That depends." A spasm flickered over his face. "If keeping my respect for your abilities hidden had kept you out of Lucius Malfoy's hands, I'd rather you still thought of me as a callous and biased fiend."

I wouldn't. The words formed in her mind--- but she couldn't bring herself to say them, couldn't even reason if they were true. So she looked away, in silence, cursing her own weakness.

There was a moment's pause, then he spoke again. "Speaking of Dark wizards," he added dryly, "I had promised to teach you something more of the Dark Arts than you're learning from Professor Figg--- and I don't think that sharing my great-aunt's working notes fulfills that promise---" his eyes glinted, teasingly--- "no matter what you've determined for yourself about her ethics."

"What about the lycanthropy cure?" In the background, she noticed that Esmé was starting to get the hang of roller skates, wiggling her body like a sidewinder.

"It can wait." His lip twisted--- but something in his eyes gentled the expression. "You're more important to me than Remus Lupin."

She felt a deep thrill go through her at his words, looked up into his eyes.

This--- the warmth, the invitation, not to his body but to his mind--- was more than she'd bargained for. One thing to imagine a casual closeness, even a bonding, with him--- another to be faced with the reality. And she suspected that Severus Snape was incapable of anything casual. She caught her breath, forced a grin. "I should hope so," she said lightly, "considering that he's probably somewhere below Lucius Malfoy on your list of least favorite people---"

"No, actually, Lucius is second only to James Potter on that roster," Snape said, the dry humor in his tone shading to bitterness. "Even Sirius Black's not that far down."

"Harry's father?" The question slipped from Hermione's lips before she could stop herself. "Why him--- I'd have thought Sirius at least---"

Snape opened his mouth, his expression dark--- then, abruptly, snapped his lips together and looked away. "Someday, child," he said quietly, "I'll tell you. When this is over, perhaps."

Hermione looked up at him, hurt. "Why---"

"Because it's a very long story, and even I have to admit that it's likely to sound rather self-pitying." His lip quirked upward into something like a smile. "But come now--- haven't you ever wished that your housemates would value your intellectual prowess as much as they do Potter's skill with a broomstick?"

Hermione blushed, because there had been any number of times when she'd thought just that. And at least half the reason she'd loved Viktor was because he rated her learning as at least equal with his flying.

Snape nodded knowingly. "And before you met Blaise Zabini," he pressed, "how many people your age did you know who understood you? Did you really feel that Potter and Weasley were your friends--- or that you were theirs?"

Tougher question... but she had to admit that she'd wondered more than once if Ron and Harry actually liked her, as opposed to finding her quick mind useful.

Again, Snape nodded. "I think, then, that you have an idea of how I felt about Potter senior---"

At that moment, there was a loud crash, as Esmé careened headlong into the hearth. "Well," Snape said ruefully, staring down at the tangle of feathers and wheels protesting feebly at his feet, "I think she's starting to get the hang of roller skates."

They untied Esmé from the square knot into which she'd woven herself and got her back on her wheels. "I think I am ssssssstarting to ssssee how to move with thessssse," the quetxal proclaimed triumphantly. "Sssssee?" And she proceeded to demonstrate.

Esmé's motion wasn't exactly a slither, nor exactly a caterpillar-like wriggle--- it was a twisting motion that somehow managed to mimic, most uncannily, human roller-skating. And she was getting the hang of it--- as long as she didn't try to turn too quickly. Which, unfortunately, she did quite often.

The rest of the evening was spent watching Esmé practice--- and disentangling her when, as she often did, she took a header. "It's all right," said Hermione bracingly at one point as she unwove Esmé from the square knot she'd made of herself. "You're getting the hang of roller skating much faster than I did--- I never was very athletic."

She caught Snape's eye, and he smiled, ever so slightly--- a real smile, though, more with the eyes than the lips.

Well, the evening hadn't been in the least wasted then. And Esmé did like her skates.