Chapter 13: Pawns' Court

It was a good thing she had the image of the roller-skating snake to smile about; the next evening was nowhere near as pleasant.

Hermione was in her room, preparing for her usual escape to Snape's office, when there was a knock on her door.

Hastily, she stuffed the Concealment Cloak under the bedcovers. "Speak friend and enter!" It had amused her no end to discover that she and Blaise used the same Locking Charm for their doors.

"Mellon." And with that, Ron came in.

"Hey, Ron."

"Hey." He looked distinctly ill-at-ease. "Hermione, there's something I wanted to ask you---"

Oh, Merlin. Please don't let him ask me out. "Sure Ron, you can ask me anything," she said in what she hoped was a neutral tone. "That's what friends are for." And let's hope that gives the dear boy a bit of a hint.

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Er, thanks.... Well, er--- you know Valentine's Day is coming up---"

Oh, no. Please, Whoever's listening, NO. "Kind of hard to miss, what with all the little firsties giggling in the halls and all."

"Yeah." More feet-shuffling; his face was as red as his hair. "Well, what I wanted to ask is--- d'you... would it upset you if... if I got Catlin Teasdale a valentine?"

Hermione stared at him in shock. This was not what she'd expected at all. For a moment, she couldn't draw breath to frame a reply.

Ron, being Ron, took her silence in the worst possible way. "Oh--- I mean, if you don't want me to---"

That little remark was quite enough to snap her out of her trance. "Why on earth wouldn't I want you to?" she enthused. "Cat's a lovely girl, the two of you have all the same interests--- I've noticed how much fun you have together in the library---"

"Well, it's not like--- I mean, I haven't really known her all that long or anything," Ron qualified quickly. "It's just that--- well, you said it, she's really something else---" He broke off hastily. "You mean, you really don't mind?"

"Why would I?" she asked again, deliberately.

"Well, I mean--- you and I--- we've always--- and there was Mum sending you a sweater and all---"

"And you thought I'd be hurt." Hermione sat down, patted the bed beside her. He sat--- she was relieved to notice, at a respectful distance. "Listen, Ron, it's not like that for me, never was." Which wasn't precisely true... but the half-crush she'd had on him wasn't anything like the warm affectionate honesty she and Viktor had shared--- to say nothing of her... experience with Snape. And knowing the difference, she couldn't say otherwise. Not to mention how much it would hurt Ron if she did.

He blinked, looking surprised, and maybe just the tiniest bit hurt. Well, at least he had Catlin--- and, thank you, Merlin, he'd found her before he "lost" Hermione. "But I thought---"

She shook her head. "No." This next part was going to be hard to explain; she was grateful that Blaise had already helped her to sort out some of it. "Last year, with Viktor---" Ron's face darkened a little--- "that was the first time I'd ever really, well, thought about someone... that way." She felt her face flush, and was very glad she wasn't going to have to tell him about Snape any time soon.

Ron scowled. "Right, the Quidditch star--- bet he'd had a hundred other girls---" He looked up at her, spitefully. "Was he--- any good?"

Coming from someone who came here to tell me about another girl he fancies, your jealousy's a wee bit out of place, my lad. Hermione, however, contented herself with raising an eyebrow. "For your information, he was. As far as we went." Which wasn't anywhere near as far as it might have been; even a healthy eighteen-year-old male has his limits, and Viktor had been most disillusioned on the subject of "groupies."

"And that was?"

"Between me and him. As whatever you and Catlin get up to will be between the two of you."

Now it was Ron's turn to blush. "I don't--- I mean--- Hermione, if you said the word---" he burst out, and Hermione bit off a curse--- the very same one Snape had used the night of the Dark Revel.

"But I'm not going to," she told him gently. "Ron, even if it hadn't been for Viktor--- especially if it hadn't been for Viktor--- well, what happened over the holidays...." she looked up at him. "It's going to be a very long time before I even want to think about being with someone, even just to hold hands. It's far more than I can handle right now." Which wasn't strictly true, given how she felt about Snape--- but telling Ron that would be a Very Bad Idea.

Ron looked mulish. "I'd wait."

This from someone who clearly isn't waiting, given that you're planning on sending Cat Teasdale a Valentine. "You shouldn't have to--- especially not when there's someone you like who likes you right back---"

Ron looked up at her eagerly. "You mean she does? Really--- how do you---" He flushed again, looking down. "I mean---"

She was starting to think Ron didn't know what he meant: trapped between an "old flame" and a new infatuation, he was apparently trying to have his cake and eat it too. Oh, but wouldn't Viktor have a field day with that? To say nothing of Snape's reaction.... "Blaise told me--- wanted to know, for Cat's sake, if the poor thing had a chance."

"What'd you tell her?" Ron was clearly torn between two types of apprehension.

Hermione grinned mischievously. "I told her go for it."

The poor boy's face was a study in mixed emotions. "Oh, I--- er--- well--- thank you," he finished lamely.

"You're welcome." She got to her feet. "And now, if you don't mind, I really do have a bit of studying to do---"

"What--- oh, sure, no problems---" He got to his feet and loped off toward the door, then turned. "Hermione--- thanks."

"No problem." She settled back on the bed as if planning to read. "G'night, Ron."

"G'night." And he was out the door.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. One problem out of the way--- from everything Blaise had told her, she knew she could repose her trust in Catlin to get what the Slytherin wanted. And Cat wanted Ron.

As she wormed the cloak out from its makeshift hiding place, she couldn't help but contrast Ron's stammering with Severus' deep silky voice, so sure and certain, even when he was troubled.

Severus... whatever his faults, and they were legion... knew what he was doing. She liked that. She wanted that for herself.

And--- her mother's voice came back to her--- love needed respect if it were ever going to grow.

*****

Valentine's Day, as it happened, fell on a Thursday this year, which meant that Hermione was spared being in Potions on the day-of. That would have been a nightmare.

As it was, she could enjoy the mayhem in peace. It started at breakfast, with a series of silly pranks perpetrated by the Weasley twins on their sweethearts, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. At least the objects of their affections seemed to enjoy them. Hermione was certain she wouldn't have appreciated getting flowers that squirted her with perfume or a huge squashy heart that flew around singing bawdy little ditties at her--- or, at least it did until Snape set a Silencing Hex on it (much to Angelina's outrage) and docked twenty points from Gryffindor. Hermione privately agreed with his taste.

Harry and Ginny, on the other hand, were behaving, in Hermione's opinion, with perfect taste. Though neither of them had said anything overt, they sat very close to each other at breakfast, not speaking or looking at each other, but both sporting shy smiles that suggested a certain understanding had been reached.

So it was a shock even to her when Snape also took twenty points from them--- for "unseemly public behavior", as he put it. Several of her housemates grumbled, Ginny's eyes welled up with tears, and Hermione shot him a startled glance, which he of course ignored. For the first time, Hermione regretted their agreement that she would not pay him a visit tonight--- in case any of her housemates needed a prefectly shoulder to cry on following a possible disappointment. Or at least, that was the excuse they'd concocted--- Hermione, however, suspected that he found the whole notion of having anything to do with her on Valentine's Day as awkward as she did. Which meant that she wouldn't have a chance to ask him what this was all about until tomorrow at the soonest. And poor Ginny looked heartbroken.

"Don't worry," Hermione whispered to her younger friend, leaning over to pat her hand. "Your behavior was perfectly correct---"

"Yeah, don't let Snape get to you," Ron said offhandedly, though he was shooting nervous glances in the direction of the Slytherin table. "He's probably just out of sorts because no one would ever give him a Valentine."

Hermione was too busy trying to hide her own blushes to notice that Ginny, too, looked embarrassed.

*****

Hermione's first class of the day was Arithmancy, which had always been her favorite, and was doubly so now because she got to see Blaise. The other girl waved her into what were now "their" seats at the front of the class. "Anything of interest?" she asked.

The Slytherin grinned and pulled out a roll of parchment edged in gilt. "Florian," she whispered under the desk. "I didn't get him anything--- I mean, I'm of age and a prefect, that's practically abuse of power---"

"What, a Slytherin, not reveling in power-tripping?" Hermione teased. Slytherin's bad qualities had become something of a joke among their little group.

To her surprise, Blaise stayed sober. "Not about this, hon'. Bed-games and head-games shouldn't ought to mix, not with a friend." She grinned again. "Anyway, I hadn't got him anything, so he said I'd just have to buy him a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks this weekend." The staff had apparently given into the inevitable and allowed the student body loose for the weekend after Valentine's Day, which meant that there would likely be a lot of couples at the Three Broomsticks. Hermione wondered if Catlin and Ron would go there.

"Oh, fun!" Hermione returned the grin. "Apparently Florian's not intimidated by an older woman---"

"Not in the slightest---" They heard Professor Vector's footsteps in the hall, and Blaise added hastily, "What about Ron and Cat? She didn't get anything---"

"Bet he's waiting until tonight, in the library--- didn't want the whole school to see him giving a Slyth a valentine---"

"Probably wise, given the way Snape was acting---" Before Blaise could finish, Professor Vector entered the room, and both girls turned their minds to Arithmancy.

Which wasn't hard for either of them; it was, after all, their favorite class. Both of them, having compared notes, had decided that Professor Vector was, bar none, the smartest witch they'd ever met--- and the nicest.

Themba Vector was a short, shapely witch from the Ivory Coast; she favored colorful, exotic-looking robes from her homeland and spoke with a noticeable French accent. Hermione had picked up a bit of French during a trip to France several summers ago with her family, and nothing delighted Professor Vector more than to have Hermione greet her with a slightly accented, "Bonjour, Professeur!" when they passed in the halls. (The rest of the world, naturally, considered this a form of sucking up, with the exception of Blaise, who picked up the habit immediately.)

But then, Professor Vector was one of the most cheerful people Hermione knew, always smiling--- except in the presence of Sibyl Trelawney, which in Hermione's opinion only showed her excellent taste. It probably had something to do with the fact that Arithmancy was the very opposite of the kind of phony "Divination" that Trelawney taught.

Arithmancy was the only call at Hogwarts where Muggle sciences were regularly invoked--- Snape, of course, never admitted to the rest of the world his own interest in Muggle chemistry and physics, and the rest of the professors would have been either shocked or bewildered at the very notion. But Professor Vector had announced from the outset that Arithmancy had a lot of common points with a very advanced branch of Muggle mathematics known as chaos theory, and that they would all do well to study it--- "though of course, since we do have magic on our side, we'll find the going a bit easier than the Muggles do."

This little speech, given their very first Arithmancy class in third year, had had the effect of driving out all the dunderheads--- and all the Slytherins but Blaise, whose continued presence had surprised Hermione at the time. The class was just the two of them and a handful of Ravenclaws--- though the Teasdales were taking it in the third year group.

Hermione was grateful for that; the small, highly focused group suited her perfectly. And Arithmancy was fascinating.

Like Trelawney's Divination, Arithmancy focused on predicting the future--- but there the resemblance ended. Rather than stating with certainty a given "future", Arithmancers attempted to graph the chains of events that would lead to different outcomes, and estimate the probabilities of each. It was a combination of math, history, and social science, and Hermione and Blaise, with their far-ranging minds capable of making complex connections among ideas, were fish in water.

For their first two years, they had focused on "closed systems"--- sequences of cause and effect which followed logically from ordered patterns either in nature or human relationships. This year, however, they were finally getting into "real" Arithmancy, starting with something that both Professor Vector and the Muggle theorists called "the butterfly effect": a butterfly flapping its wings in Tokyo could change the weather in London.

Now that Blaise and Hermione were friends, they'd found the class even more fun. Blaise, with her fascination with Muggle and wizarding economics and commerce, had a real genius for the social aspects of the class, while Hermione's drive and organization made it easier for her to sort out the complicated chains of events, particularly the "chaotic" ones they were studying now. And both girls had a head for and love of numbers which made the brute work of doing calculations a snap. They could get lost in it for hours.

They left the class five minutes late, still talking excitedly about the lesson--- much to the delight of Professor Vector, who had had to shoo them out to make certain they got to their next classes on time. Neither of them thought again about valentines until that evening in the library.

They had the place almost entirely to themselves; nearly everyone else was off somewhere being romantic (or whatever). There were a few scattered loners hunched over books who glared at the Gryffindors as they trooped to the table in the back. Hermione spotted Cho Chang at a table in the corner, looking depressed, and couldn't help but wince. Poor Cho never had got over losing Cedric....

Unbidden, the thought of the risks that Severus took as a spy came to her mind, and it was only with an effort that she pushed them back. If she were to be a queen, she'd have to face it, and face it with strength; but the very notion hurt.

He's a survivor, she told herself. He survived the last Reign of Terror, he got you out of Lucius Malfoy's hands--- he can take care of himself.

He can.

She brought herself back to the present as they reached "their" table, with the Slytherin contingent already settled in. She and Blaise exchanged not-quite-grins as Cat's face lit up when she saw Ron--- who, for his part, seemed to be trying not to blush.

They sat down as usual, but instead of their usual animated conversation, they found themselves trading desultory remarks. It was almost, Hermione thought ruefully, as if they were all waiting for something.

It was very awkward, and Hermione found her gaze drifting more and more often to Cho's table. The other girl had a bunch of books out, but she didn't appear to be working; once, Hermione caught her looking at them with a very strange expression. Cho looked away, though, before she could make out what it was.

She forced herself back to the conversation at hand, where Florian was telling the rest of the group about Blaise's promise, to the latter's half joking embarrassment. "---so I told her she'd just have to take me to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow for a butterbeer."

"Oh, c'mon, love," Blaise laughed. "I could hardly put on you like that---"

"Say, though, you've got a good idea there, brother," Catlin said thoughtfully--- in a way that made Hermione think that she and her brother had worked something out between them. "Cadging a butterbeer from someone who didn't get you a valentine." She shot Ron a teasing look. "So pony up, Weasley."

"Hey, you didn't get me one!" Ron protested.

"Oh yes I did!" Catlin reached into her bag and pulled out a roll of parchment. "Here you go, mate--- with love and kisses, in keeping with the day." She made outrageous smooching noises at him, and he went red as his hair.

He unrolled the scroll, read it, and went even redder. Beside Hermione, Blaise was nearly convulsed with silent laughter.

"Hey, let's have a look," Harry teased, trying to lean over Ron's shoulder.

"Geroff!!" Ron hastily rolled up the scroll and tucked it in his bag.

Catlin, meanwhile, grinned at him smugly. "There--- you owe me a butterbeer, I think."

"Not on your life!" Still leaning over his bag, he drew out a scroll of his own, tossed it at her. "All paid up, Teasdale."

Catlin blushed a very pretty shade of mauve as she read the scroll, then tucked it away. "Well, then, I guess we are even."

"No reason you can't stop by the Three Broomsticks anyway," Ginny put in helpfully. "We are." She looked over at Harry, blushing ever so slightly.

Harry grinned. "Along with the rest of the school, I'd bet--- poor Rosmerta's going to have her hands full."

"Yeah, all those kissy couples getting tiddly on butterbeer---" Blaise chortled, then looked over at Hermione. "Fancy joining us, mate? You can be the voice of reason---"

Hermione's stomach gave a lurch. She'd hoped to have most of the weekend in the dungeon with Snape. "Actually, no--- somehow, the thought of being a third, or rather---" she gave the group a wry look--- "a seventh wheel doesn't hold much appeal."

Harry looked worried. "C'mon, Hermione---" he grinned. "We promise not to get too sappy---"

"You'd better not, not with my sister!" Ron growled, and mimed a threatening punch at him--- until Florian tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Careful, mate," the younger boy said cheerfully. "What goes around, comes around--- and that's my sister's hand you're trying to hold there." He looked pointedly under the table.

"Oy, you---" Catlin gave him a playful shove, which started a verbal scuffle.

Under cover of which Blaise whispered to Hermione, "You okay? I mean, we don't want to leave you out---"

"I don't feel left out--- just wish Viktor was here." It wasn't exactly a lie--- because she wasn't quite sure what she wanted with Severus. Especially after the way he'd treated Ginny and Harry this morning. "And---" Quick mental calculation: it was safe to tell Blaise a little of the truth--- but the scuffle was dying down as Madam Pince bore down on them. "Look, we'll talk in Potions tomorrow--- got something I want to tell you, and the others don't need to know."

Blaise looked at her, startled, then a look of wicked delight that only a Slytherin could have spread over her face. "Ooh, a secret! You're on!"

At which point, Madam Pince interrupted their fun and games, putting an end to both discussions.

When the library closed, the group of them was last to leave. Once again, Hermione couldn't help but notice the odd look at the look Cho gave them as she walked past on her way to the door.

*****

In Potions class the next day, Hermione slid into her usual seat beside Blaise--- Snape had made them partners for the rest of the term, "so that Longbottom will stop depending on your intellect, Miss Granger--- though I suppose it is too much to hope that he will develop some of his own," which made Potions a very convenient place for the girls to talk.

In fact, Potions was rapidly shaping up to be one of Hermione's favorite classes. Blaise was an excellent partner--- and proved to have a twisted sense of fun. Their second day into the class, she'd managed to arrange it so that Malfoy, acting on backhanded hints from the two of them, put his potion together all wrong. In fact, Blaise took every opportunity to torment him--- and now that she was friends with Gryffindors, she'd convinced Harry and Ron to take the blame for some of her wilder schemes. The boys enjoyed watching Malfoy fall so much that they didn't even mind losing House points for it. "Besides, Snape'll blame us anyway," Harry said philosophically.

He was right--- but Hermione couldn't help but have misgivings. Malfoy, after all, knew. And she didn't want to get on his bad side.

On the other hand, she suspected they could always spin it to their advantage. After all, if Harry and Ron didn't mind losing House points, maybe Draco would be inclined to be philosophical about the random acts of violence Blaise perpetrated, in return for Gryffindor losing points for it. When she'd put that notion to Blaise, the other girl had been all for it, so they had a cover up in place.

She'd worried about Snape's reaction--- but after the first class where Blaise had pulled a prank of that sort, he'd had them stay after. "Don't think for a minute that I'm not aware of your little subterfuge, Miss Zabini," he'd said in an undertone. "Ten points for Slytherin."

Blaise had explained it to an astonished Hermione at the library that evening. "It's sneaky," she said, "and it does damage to Gryffindors while letting me pursue a personal vendetta. By a Slytherin's lights, it's perfect."

Hermione could only hope it stayed that way.

Even when they weren't pranking Malfoy, Potions was fun--- fun the way Arithmancy was fun, with Blaise to bat ideas back and forth with. Even if Snape did give all the credit for their best efforts to Blaise, she knew he knew they were partners.

Today, though, she couldn't help but feel a little unsettled at the way Snape's gaze lingered unpleasantly on Harry. Not that he didn't usually scowl at her friend--- but this was worse than usual.

Fortunately, Blaise distracted her from what would have become an unpleasant train of thought. "You said you had something to tell me," she whispered, as they started laying out the ingredients for a Restoration Potion.

"Eh--- oh, yeah." Hermione remembered her brainwave of last night. "About why I'm staying behind from Hogsmeade--- it's got to do with Snape." She lowered her voice. "Remember last term, when he kept giving me detentions?"

Unless she was mistaken, Blaise was regarding her with much more than casual interest. "Yeah?"

"Well--- he was working on a cure for lycanthropy, and he needed a second pair of hands. And," she embroidered quickly, "it needed to be someone who wouldn't mind helping outcasts---"

"And somebody smart---" Blaise was grinning. "Oh, that's perfect!" She gripped Hermione's hand under the table. "I'd been wondering about that--- ever since he put us together at the beginning of term---"

"He said he owed you and me both one," Hermione improvised. "You because you're his cousin, me for all the detentions--- reckoned we'd get on splendidly."

"Score one for Cousin Severus," Blaise grinned. "And it explains why he didn't ask me to help him--- not that I've anything against werewolves, mind, and Lupin was my favorite professor, I never did forgive Malfoy for threatening to write to his father when Cousin Severus told the lot of us at breakfast---" but you didn't think to blame "Cousin Severus", did you, love? Hermione thought wryly--- "but really, that's not my line." She flushed. "After I found out you were into hybrid magi-Muggle stuff, I reckoned it was something to do with that---"

"And you wished he'd singled you out?" Hermione hazarded. Blaise nodded, then grinned.

"Figured he hadn't 'cause you're the orderly one--- I'm lazy." Hermione had to grin back--- Blaise could get better grades with less effort than anyone else in the school. "And I've got my other projects---" Meaning her financial studies, which Hermione was coming to share. Blaise gave her a searching look. "But that doesn't explain why you're staying back from Hogsmeade this term."

"Oh yes it does." This was a the perfect opening, and Hermione grabbed it with both hands. "We're still working on the potion--- haven't found a cure yet---"

"Then why isn't he giving you detentions anymore?"

"Thought it was looking a little funny, him calling me down here so often." She gave her friend a meaningful look.

"I'll say--- though Cousin Severus doesn't strike me as the type." Blaise looked at her keenly. "So how're you managing it?"

"He's loaned me a Concealment Cloak---" there, she was covered if anyone found her with it--- "says I have to have it back to him in perfect condition the minute we get a working cure---"

"I should think so," Blaise said. "Those things cost a couple of thousand Galleons, easy."

Hermione blanched; she hadn't known it was quite that bad. "Well, anyway, I've been coming down here after the library closes--- telling the others I need to study for the OWLs, or work on homework, or that I just want to read for a while. They're used to it."

"Expect so." Blaise grinned. "Wow, this is really neat! Working on something like that--- you'll probably get an Order of Merlin out of it---" She looked frankly envious.

Hermione snorted. "Doubt that; Snape'll get all the credit. I'm just a lowly student assistant."

Blaise looked somewhat mollified, and Hermione had to suppress a grin: what else could you expect when you had a Slytherin for a best friend? Blaise wouldn't stab her in the back, she was sure of it--- but she wouldn't like it if Hermione beat her too handily at anything, either. "Well, I'm sure you'll get an Award for Special Services to the School, at least." This notion sat better with her. "Dumbledore's not like Fudge--- he gives credit where it's due."

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered about Blaise's feelings toward the Minister of Magic--- but just then, Snape called the class together to test their potions, and she didn't have a chance to ask.

A/N: The concept of "strega" as used here is a gestalt of Anne Bishop's "Witch" in her Black Jewels trilogy and the title character in Andrew Vachss' Strega. I shall say no more lest I spoil something. >GRIN< The notions about the gender biases and attitudes of the various Houses come from Sphinx's "Why Slytherins Are Sexier". Olivia Clemens is the name of one of Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's wonderful vampires--- the one mentioned here isn't supposed to be the same, but I like to think she's a descendent of that family, named for her illustrious ancestress. >GRIN< My ideas of Roman women came from the cultural notes in the back of C.J. Cherryh's Legions of Hell; Ms. Cherryh got her M.A. in classics from Johns Hopkins, I'll take her word for it! >GRIN< The pocket watch and the pearl necklace as family legacies were inspired by the novel and movie To Kill a Mockingbird. (Harper Lee, duh!) The altruism/self-interest theory of "doing business" is in several places in Robert Heinlein's novels about Lazarus Long; I think Time Enough For Love is one where it shows up, but there might be others.

Catch-up citations (I'm forgetful, but didn't want anyone to miss these):

Ch. 2: Lucius' calling Severus a "mechanical contrivance" was inspired by Henry II's description of Geoffrey in The Lion in Winter: "He's not flesh and blood, he's a device, he's wheels and gears!" (This may be a little off--- don't have the movie with me.) Again, not an exact quote, but did want to mark the inspiration.

Ch. 7: "I'm in a state of dishabille!" is something that I've heard people use in jest in conversation, but it's also a line from the play "... And Miss Riordan Drinks A Little." This is another thing that I can't get my hands on, so can't find the author-citation; I'll keep looking and get back to you.

Oh, and, for the record: I like to go back and edit, esp. while ff.net is eating itself, mutter-grumble, so do please keep checking the old chapters. I put in little chops and changes here and there, mostly relating to plot-points which will be later introduced, hint-hint! >GRIN<

And just for the record, once again, if anybody sees anything in here that they've seen elsewhere, pray tell! So far I've had no problems with this--- the only citations anyone caught were either things that I haven't read/seen anyway (Prachett, Oz, and the Burgess Meredith movie) or public-domain-y things like Aztec myths (which I'd meant to cite anyway, duh, Riley--- and which Madam Rosmerta also knew, so brownies to her!)

Chapter 14: Pawns and Queens

"Hermione, come on!" Ron wheedled.

It was the next morning at breakfast, and this was about the fourteenth time he'd asked. Harry rolled his eyes, then exchanged a sympathetic look with Hermione.

"Ron, I really don't want to, all right?" Hermione looked quite flustered, Harry thought.

"Look, if it's me and Catlin that's got you bothered---"

Harry rolled his eyes again. "Ron, she's already said---" He really wished Ron would leave her alone. Anyone with any sense would realize that the last thing Hermione wanted after what she'd been through was a relationship--- but apparently that category excluded Ron.

Ginny, sitting between him and Ron, made an impatient noise; a second later, Ron winced as his little sister kicked him under the table. "Give it a rest, will you?" Ron glared at them both.

Hermione set her glass down on the table with a sharp snick. "You want to know what I'm doing today?" she asked. Ron blinked; Harry regarded her curiously. "I'm going to work on the lycanthropy cure with Professor Snape again."

Harry blinked. This was definitely not what he'd expected. "But I thought--- you haven't been---"

"Oh, yes I have," Hermione answered. "That's what I've been doing all the times I've been up in my room studying--- going over notes on our experiments, basically. And this weekend is a perfect time to do some more lab work."

Ron looked confused. "Lab?"

"Laboratory--- as in, some more experiments," Hermione explained impatiently. Harry, though, couldn't help but notice that her use of Muggle science terms had increased in the past few weeks--- ever since they'd started hanging around with the Slytherins, in fact. Funny to think of a bunch of Slytherins encouraging Muggle-speak, but then again, Blaise and the Teasdales weren't your ordinary Slytherins. He wouldn't half-mind going up against Catlin in Quidditch--- be nice to have a game against Slytherin where the other Seeker played fair---

His reverie was interrupted by Ron's harsh voice, cracking on the high notes. "That--- that--- he's making you work, on a weekend, after--- after everything---"

Harry reflected that it was a good thing they were at the far end of the table, away from everyone else. Actually, he'd noticed the rest of the Gryffindors giving them a bit more space than usual, lately... but at the moment, he was glad of it; the very last thing Hermione needed was to have her recent past blatted about the Great Hall.

"Ron!" Ginny kicked him again, harder, and he glared at her. "There's nothing wrong with---"

Now the other three stared at her in surprise; why was Ginny taking up for Snape? She didn't join in their usual Snape-bashing, but she'd never stuck up for him either.

Hermione was the first to recover. "Professor Snape is giving me the best possible assistance, thank you very much," she said icily. "Getting back to work and doing something useful--- something to help a good friend of ours, Ron, might I point out--- is about the best thing I could do."

"Yeah, well," Ron muttered.

"So let up on her, will you?" Ginny told him.

Hermione flashed her a grateful smile, then got to her feet. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs." and she swept off.

Ron stared after her. "She's changed," he grumbled.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "What'd you expect, after---" he lowered his voice an extra few notches--- "Malfoy got at her?"

"It's not just that," Ron said sullenly, folding his arms over his chest and slouching into his chair. "First Krum--- you saw how she was at the ball last year---"

"I thought she looked pretty," Ginny piped up. "And happy." She shot Ron a look. "So what's wrong, then?"

"Well, she didn't seem like herself, that's all--- all prim and floaty and---"

"Grown-up," Harry supplied. "Look, in the first place--- so she grew up a little? We're kids, Ron, we're supposed to grow up---"

"And in the second place, Viktor's out of her life, thanks to his mum and her prejudices," Ginny reminded her brother, then grinned. "Not unlike how Mum felt about Claudia Teasdale, to hear Bill tell it." She looked at Ron. "So, what're you getting at?"

"Well, last year it was Krum, this year it's Snape," Ron scowled. "He's changed her--- look at how she swept out of here, like she was Queen of the World or something. And the way she looks at people, like she's sizing them up---" He frowned. "It's.... I mean, with what happened to her, you'd expect she'd, you know, curl up or something. Be quiet, need... need someone to look after her---"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "So you'd rather she be scared and upset all the time, instead of--- of--- well, getting on with her life and learning to be strong again?"

"Well, no, but---" Ron spluttered to a halt helplessly.

"Besides," Ginny said tartly, surprising Harry, "she's got someone to look after her--- Professor Snape. He's a grown-up, he was a---" she lowered her voice to a breath--- "a Death Eater--- he can look after her a lot better than you can."

Harry stared at her, in shock; out of the corner of his eye he could see that Ron was doing the same. "How did you know he was a Death Eater?" he asked, at the same time Ron said, "What d'you mean, he could protect her---"

Ginny looked a little flustered--- then her chin came up. "Look, you remember my first year, when--- when Tom Riddle took me over, with his diary?"

"Not like we'd forget, is it?" Ron said dryly.

"Well, after that--- after Mum and Dad went home--- I started having... nightmares." Ginny flushed, but her head stayed up. "I was down in the hospital wing for the last couple of days of the term." She looked around at them, challengingly. "And you know who finally got me over them? Snape.

"How?" Harry asked. Ginny had never told him this story; there was a lot more to the spunky little redhead than he'd thought, apparently.

"He came down one night while I was--- well, not sleeping--- and talked to me---"

"Snape--- talked to you? And that got rid of your nightmares?" Clearly, Ron couldn't believe his ears.

Ginny giggled. "Sounds odd, doesn't it? That's what I thought at the time." She sobered. "But he was really... well, understanding. He got me to tell him---" she flushed--- "what I'd been dreaming---" She broke off.

Harry, sensing that this still hurt her, took her hand. "What is it, Gin?"

She took a deep breath. "I never told anyone else this--- but the dreams... they were about... Tom... making me into his... his consort... and then killing me." She looked up at Harry. "That is, he'd kill me... after he tricked me into killing you."

Harry couldn't say anything for a moment, could only hold her hand. "I know--- I know you wouldn't---"

Ron was clearly less interested in his sister's dreams than Harry was. "And Snape--- helped you?" he asked again.

Ginny shook herself, turning back to Ron with a glint of steel in her eye that reminded Harry strongly of Mrs. Weasley. "Yes, Ron, he did," she said coolly. "He told me about his own past--- about how he'd become a Death Eater, and come back to our side. He told me... that it was possible to be forgiven for far worse than I'd done." She looked him in the eye. "That's what Professor Snape did for me, and he wasn't even part of what happened to me. I can't imagine he'd do any less for Hermione."

Harry gaped for a moment; looking past Ginny at Ron, he could see that his friend was just as amazed. "Ginny--- how come you never told us this before?"

She turned back to him. "Because he asked me not to--- and given the kind of secret he entrusted me with, I don't blame him. But they way you lot were talking over the holidays, it sounded like you knew already, so there wasn't any harm in it." She shrugged. "I was just waiting for the right time, that's all." She gave her brother a look. "Waiting for you to be a git about Snape again."

Ron scowled. "Well, look, he may have been all right to you, Ginny, but Hermione---"

"Is, if anything, in better shape than she was before Malfoy got his hands on her," Harry said finally, getting a little tired of Ron being out of sorts that Hermione wasn't a sobbing mess. "So leave it, all right? She's doing what she wants---"

Ginny grinned mischievously. "And unless I miss my guess, you've got another young lady eager to take Hermione's place in your heart." She jerked her chin toward the doorway, where Blaise Zabini and the Teasdales were sauntering out, casting furtive looks in their direction.

Ron flushed, looking down; but Harry couldn't help but notice that his eyes strayed toward Catlin Teasdale. "Bet you're glad now that we put you up to giving her that valentine---"

"Otherwise you'd have had to buy her a butterbeer," Ginny teased, then, giggling, got up. "C'mon--- let's get going."

Harry followed her, still more than a little flabbergasted. Ron likewise staggered up, looking stunned. "Ginny," he muttered. "My little sister---"

Harry left him to it and caught up with Ginny, who was looking a little anxious. "You're not mad at me, are you? For not telling you?"

"Not a bit--- if you'd told us, without knowing we knew about him, then I'd have been mad." He nerved himself--- and ducked down and planted a kiss on the top of her head. She colored up, and he couldn't help but grin. Going out with her was still so new that even a little kiss like that could send him spinning.

Ron caught up to them, grumbling. "Are we going, or not? You're the one who was in a hurry." He stared resentfully at his sister.

"Sure thing, Ron." And the three of them went through the doors to the Great Hall in search of their Slytherin friends.

*****

It was snowing a little as the six of them headed down to Hogsmeade, prompting Florian to burst into song. "Oh the weather outside is frightful--- But the fire is so delightful--- And as long as you love me so---" He gave Blaise a look, and she blushed.

Catlin picked up the chorus with her brother. "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" She skipped a little in front of them, holding out her arms and whirling around, her head thrown back.

"You two have good voices," Ginny commented.

"Runs in the family---"

"Not that we ever do anything with it---"

"Too busy making money---"

Blaise grinned. "Like good Slytherins." She bumped her head on Florian's shoulder.

"Isn't it a little late in the season for Christmas carols?" Ron asked grumpily.

"Probably," said Catlin cheerfully.

Florian shot his sister a look. "Except at our house--- Mum's mad for the season---" he explained to the others.

"The tree goes up December first---"

"And stays till Valentine's Day---"

Catlin looked a little sad. "Which means it's gone down now."

"Sounds like fun," said Harry, who'd never had anything like a particularly wonderful Christmas until his first year at Hogwarts.

"What's your family do, Blaise?"

The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Long story--- see, most of Dad's Muggle associates are Roman Catholics, but we're an old wizarding family--- not much for the Christian Church in whatever form--- so we usually end up with this bizarre polyglot of decorations. Lots of holly, and---" she giggled--- "Mum wouldn't let Dad put up a manger scene unless the Three Wise Men were androgynous---" At Harry's puzzled look, she added, "In the pagan religion--- well, there's lots of them, but the tradition Mum and I follow--- it's the Three Sisters come to pay their respects at the birth of the Horned God."

Harry blinked. The Dursleys had never been much for religion, but he knew they'd consider this one more thing wrong with the wizarding world. "I didn't know you lot were pagans---"

"It's not a big deal," Catlin and Ron said together, then grinned at each other, startled.

"Yeah, most wizarding families aren't very religious one way or the other," Ron continued. "We do Christmas because it's fun---"

"Not to mention that it was originally a pagan holiday that the conquerors stole---" Blaise pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"And frankly, most Muggles aren't really that Christian anyway--- most of my parents' Muggle friends don't think about it that much." Catlin grinned mischievously at Blaise. "Not like yours, eh?"

"They're old-school Italians," Blaise said dismissively. "And Mum and I are old-school Goddess-worshipers." She grinned. "Makes for some interesting dinner parties, tell you that!"

By this time, they had reached Hogsmeade. "All right," said Harry. "Where first?"

Which could have sparked an argument: the five Quidditch fans wanted to go to Brooms Aloft, the sporting goods store, while Blaise refused to spend her free time that way. "You can pick me up in Bell, Book, and Candle," she said firmly, indicating the magical supply store down the street, then grinned. "I know Florian won't forget about me--- I still owe him a butterbeer."

The Teasdale twin in question grinned--- then actually bowed to her, with a flourish. "My dear Miss Zabini," he said in playfully Victorian accents, "how you could even think that I would be so ungallant as to--- ooof!" His florid speech was abruptly curtailed as his sister clouted him on the back of the head.

"Right then," said Catlin. "We're off to look at racing brooms--- catch you in a bit."

"Wish Granger'd come along," Blaise muttered, but trooped off on her own gamely enough.

At the Quidditch shop, Harry and Catlin got into a friendly argument about the qualities of a good Seeker's broom. "It's got to be fast," Harry insisted.

"And what good's speed if it's not maneuverable?" Catlin challenged. "All the speed in the world's wasted if you overshoot the Snitch---"

"What's the best thing for a Chaser's broom, then?" Ginny put in; she hated anything like a real fight.

Both Teasdale twins turned to her. "Fast---"

"But not too fast---"

"It's more a question---"

"Of what the other Chasers on your team have---"

"No good to have one Chaser outstripping the other two---"

"Well, Claws says you can coach a team that way---"

"But they have to be really good flyers---"

"Your sister says what?" What would a Seeker know about Chasing?

"Claudia captained the Slytherin team to victory four years running---" Catlin suddenly looked depressed. "Not that I'll ever get the chance to---"

"Malfoy's a dumb git," Harry said, "And I'd rather fly against a good, honest Seeker any day---"

"Oh, don't say that!" Ginny teased. "If the rest of the Slytherin team hears you, they'll never let her fly for them---"

"Malfoy's captain as well as Seeker, I'm not going to get anything till he leaves," Catlin said glumly.

Ron put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That git'll be living off his parents' money when you're a Quidditch star," he said. "C'mon, let's go look at the Chudley Cannons stuff---"

And Ron and Cat trooped off to the section of the store that had team logo material; Florian trailed a discreet distance behind, shooting Ginny and Harry a wink as he did so.

There was an awkward pause when the two of them were left to themselves, then Ginny turned abruptly, looking at the brooms on the racks along the wall. "D'you know what Bell and Johnson fly?" she asked. "Like Cat said, it's no good if you outstrip the other Chasers---" Her face fell. "Not that I'd be able to, on my stupid Shooting Star---"

Harry felt his face flush. Money was always an uncomfortable topic with a Weasley. "They've got Comet 380's," he reassured her. "Not all that fast."

"Ah, Potter---" it was Catlin, coming up behind him. "Buy your girlfriend a decent broom, will you? You ought to have the Galleons for it---"

Both Ginny and Harry colored up, and Catlin looked confused. Ron joined them, frowning, with Florian trailing them. "We don't need handouts," he said forcefully, glaring at her.

Catlin was unperturbed. "It's not a handout--- it'd be for the good of the team, right---" she scowled. "No worse than Malfoy buying racing brooms for all of Slytherin---" she sneered. "Never mind he can't win a match even with that advantage."

Florian grinned. "Hey, maybe that's the ticket---"

"We should get Mum and Dad---"

"To invest in a broom company---"

"No, start one, actually get brooms designed with us in mind---"

Ron boggled, then joined in. "Bet that'd be a hit with the pro teams," he said. "Custom-built brooms---"

"Ooh, hadn't thought of that---"

Ginny and Harry just grinned at each other.

The investment discussion was still going on when they picked up Blaise from the bookstore, where it came to an abrupt halt as Florian immediately began flirting with her, outrageously. Harry heard Ron whisper to Catlin, "Is he always like that?"

"No--- it's just for fun." Catlin shot the couple in question a glance. "I think."

But it made Harry wonder. "D'you think---" he whispered to Ginny, then realized he didn't quite know how to ask what he wanted to.

"What?" she looked back at him quizzically. He realized they were walking very close together.

"Well... the way Florian talks to Blaise--- I mean, I didn't think anyone--- do girls really---" He fumbled to a halt.

Ginny grinned up at him, blushing pink. "Harry, not only do I not want you to flirt with me the way Florian flirts with Blaise, I'd be downright embarrassed if you did." Her grin softened. "It's you I like, not the compliments."

Harry felt his face stretching into what had to be a goofy smile. "Um... you too." On impulse, he grabbed her hand. She gave a little squeak, then blushed--- it really went rather prettily with her hair, Harry thought. It would be nice to walk like this forever---

Only they didn't get to. Harry's first sign of trouble was when Catlin, walking in front of him, stopped dead. In fact, he'd got ahead of her when he finally noticed--- "Er---"

Cho was standing in front of them. And she didn't look happy.

"Um, hello, Cho." She did not smile.

"Harry Potter." She folded her arms over her chest. "I guess you're showing your true colors after all---" She looked around at the group. "I'm surprised at the Weasleys, though; I thought better of all of you than that."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny again showed that she had her mother's temper. "Spit it out, Cho, and don't play games."

Cho raised an eyebrow. "That's funny, coming from you lot--- acting like you're on our side---" She looked back at Harry. "Famous Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived', everyone's hero for defeating You-Know-Who---"

"Oh, knock it off." Ginny tossed her hair. "Now you sound like Malfoy."

"And you're any better?" Cho glared at her. "Consorting with Slytherins---"

"Excuse me---" Catlin's voice was sharp---

"But 'Slytherin'---"

"All attitudes to the contrary---"

"Is not a synonym---"

"For 'Death Eater Youth League'."

"Unless of course---"

"You want to accuse Alastor Moody---"

"Or Arabella Figg---"

"Of being Voldemort's servants---"

"Don't say his name!" Ron hissed, and Catlin blinked.

"Why should it matter to you?" Cho regarded him with disgust. "Seeing as how you're friends with Potter here--- the boy who fed Cedric Diggory to You-Know-Who!"

There was a stunned silence as all of them tried to take it in. Harry felt like his head was going to fall off his shoulders if he didn't stay very still. "What are you talking about?" he asked finally.

Cho was crying openly now. "Did you do it to win the Cup?" she asked. "Or just to save your own skin---"

"I didn't--- I didn't do any such thing!" Harry couldn't believe his ears. And that it was Cho accusing him--- Cho, whom he'd still secretly had a crush on, even though she'd not been herself this year at all.... "Is that what people think?" He'd heard the whispers all year, but after a few incidents at the very beginning of fall term, no one had said anything, and he'd hoped those rumors had finally gone away.

Cho looked at him coldly. "What else can they think---"

"That maybe a pair of teenage wizards weren't a match for Voldemort." Now Blaise stepped to the front--- and Harry did a double-take. This wasn't the Blaise he'd been hanging around with in the library, quiet and sarcastic and smart. No, this was somebody else, somebody powerful and calm and confident, somebody you didn't mess with. Beside him, Ginny was staring like she'd never seen anything like her. And Cho looked stunned. "That maybe Harry only narrowly escaped with his own skin." She folded her arms in imitation of Cho, raised an eyebrow. "That maybe what's good enough for Albus Dumbledore should be good enough for the rest of us--- and he's not blaming Potter."

The two girls stared at each other for a second--- then Cho ducked her head and walked away, muttering something.

Ron glared after her. "Why, that--- that--- how could she even think---"

Ginny's face was flushed and her eyes snapping fire, but she looked at Harry worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah---" Harry was still looking at Blaise, wondering what exactly she'd done.

The Teasdale twins, too, seemed more interested in her than Cho's accusations. "You never told us---"

"You were strega!"

Blaise blushed, shrugged slightly. "No reason to."

"What's 'strega'?" asked Harry.

"Well, it's the Italian word for 'witch', for one thing---" Blaise began.

Catlin snorted. "Oh please, Blaisie, don't blow us off---"

"Tell!"

Blaise sighed. "All right--- but not here." she grinned at Florian. "I still owe you that butterbeer."

Florian bowed to her--- and this time, Harry noted, it was a gesture of deepest respect, not the playful flirting of before. "I'd be honored," he said quietly, and held out his arm to her.

In the Three Broomsticks, they got their butterbeers and a plate of sandwiches and settled at a large round table in a shadowy corner. "Now, what's this 'strega' stuff?" Harry asked.

Blaise took a sip of her butterbeer. "Well, there's an old quote that says, 'If a witch is queen of women, strega is queen of witches.'" She shrugged.

"So what's that mean?" Ron asked. "What is a strega?"

"Not 'a' strega--- not unless you're using it in Italian just to mean a witch," Blaise corrected. "If you're using the meaning it's gotten in English, it's just strega, and she's always referred to in the singular."

"Yeah, but---" Harry said impatiently.

Blaise smiled. "It's easier to say what strega does than what she is," she said. "Strega... knows things. She believes in herself, because she's found out that she's right a lot. She decided, at some point, that being what she is is more important than belonging with other people. She walks her own path."

Harry looked at Ron, who was looking confused. Ginny, however, looked fascinated, while the Teasdale twins looked... satisfied.

"Claws is strega," Catlin said quietly.

"Doesn't surprise me." Blaise sipped her butterbeer.

"Are--- is there such a thing as male strega?" Ginny asked.

Blaise shook her head, amused. "It's only witches. Don't know why--- there's a lot of explanations for it---" she held up a hand, ticking them off on long white fingers. "The religious types say it's because witches are closer to the goddess, the spiritual ones think it has something to do with the life force, the medical or scientific thinkers---" she giggled--- "sort of agree with the spiritualists, they think it's got something to do with hormones and the ability to have babies. The social and psychological theorists--- they're the ones that make the most sense to me--- say it has to do with cultural stuff, with what Carol Gilligan--- she's a Muggle psychologist--- calls 'loss of voice', where girls in adolescence stop listening to themselves and speaking their own minds in order to be accepted, because there's all this cultural pressure to be nice and sweet and take care of other people and not threaten your boyfriend's masculinity by beating him at something." Florian snorted. "So with all that pressure, for a witch to overcome that, she has to be really powerful, mentally I mean--- really tough inside. Add in the magic and you've got a force to be reckoned with." Blaise smiled enigmatically and picked up a sandwich triangle.

"How old were you when--- I mean, it sounds like you're awfully young to---" Ginny began.

"I've been strega since I was about ten, as near as Mum and I can figure--- Mum's one too," Blaise added parenthetically. "Look, all that stuff about 'knowing' is fine--- but what's it mean?" Ron looked mildly annoyed.

Blaise regarded him with amusement. "Okay, easy example--- what it 'means' is what I just did with Cho out there--- strega has a force of will that can make other people back down. When she knows something--- and I know Harry didn't kill Diggory--- other people stand aside."

Florian frowned. "I can't believe what she said about Potter--- and us---"

"I'd like to wallop that spoiled cow--- she's---"

"She's grieving." Again, Blaise radiated that force of personality. She turned to Catlin, who quieted at once. "And beating her up won't change what people think." She rested her head on her arms, her silvery eyes going shadowed. "No... what we need...." She lapsed into silence for a moment, while everyone stared at her.

"Blaise?" Harry ventured after a moment.

"Eh?" She looked up. "Oh... nothing... I'll think about it later." She sat up. "Now, for Circe's sake, let's talk about something not involving Cho, Voldemort---" Ron gasped and she gave him a pitying look--- "or Quidditch."

"Doesn't leave much," Harry kidded her, but Catlin made a remark about computers, and soon they were off on a discussion of Muggle technology versus magic that took them through their butterbeers, the obligatory visit to Honeydukes, and well into the walk back to Hogwarts.

At the gates of the school, Blaise turned to the others. "Listen, you lot--- I haven't had a chance to talk about my being strega with Granger--- let me do the telling, okay?"

Ron frowned. "Why--- is it some kind of secret---"

Blaise made a tsking sound, impatiently. "No, but it's the sort of thing you should tell a friend yourself. Especially when she's---" she broke off abruptly, looking away. "I just what to tell her myself, is that all right?"

"Sure," Harry said, not wanting her to fight with Ron--- not least because he had no doubt she'd win. "It's your business anyway." He shot a glance at Ron, who wasn't looking very happy.

They parted ways inside the castle, the Gryffindors to their tower, the Slytherins to the dungeon. Harry, however, couldn't help but wonder what Blaise would tell Hermione.

*****

As it happened, Hermione already knew.

That morning after leaving the breakfast table, Hermione had gone to her room long enough to gather her quills and parchment and the Concealment Cloak--- her friends might know what she was up to, but the rest of the school didn't.

The thought of seeing Snape in private reminded her again of his inexplicable behavior on Valentine's Day. Granted, he took points off Harry every chance he got--- but she had begun to think it was at least mostly an act. Certainly, his sarcasm to her now was--- a calculated part of the journey to the eighth square. There was even a strange kind of pleasure in their verbal sparring, in standing up to him.

And a different kind of pleasure, a warmth, in rest of their conversations. She'd grown to appreciate his sarcasm, the dry remarks about Slytherins, Malfoy, and the Dark in general--- his real feelings, she sensed; and that he got a real pleasure in having his humor appreciated. And she could tell the difference (mostly) between the calculated sarcasm and honest humor, could tell by the devilish glint in his eyes when he really was twisting the knife....

And that glint--- the almost cruel satisfaction--- had been there when he'd savaged Harry. Savaged Harry--- Ginny hadn't come in for much of his wrath. She remembered his little spiel exactly. "So, Potter, I see you're taking after your father and wrapping the first young woman available round your finger. Not enough for you to have the whole school at your beck and call--- you have to turn a promising young witch into an armpiece to boost your ego, I see. Ten points from Gryffindor for unseemly public behavior."

And he'd swept off, that savage pleasure in his eyes. She hadn't had a chance to ask him about it yet, but for the first time since that night, she'd wondered about him--- wondered if he was worthy of her trust.

Well, she'd just have to ask him straight out, wouldn't she? That's what the eighth square meant.

That thought had carried her to the door of his classroom--- as usual, open a crack. She slipped inside, to find him, of course, at the cauldron in the back of the room. She flipped on the Exaudio Charm. "Good morning, sir."

He looked up. "Good morning, Hermione." Turning away from the cauldron, he straightened, looked at her. "I thought we'd mislaid the formalities some time ago."

She hadn't even realized she'd done it; that she couldn't call him "Severus" while wondering about his motives. But now it seemed like a good opening gambit. She unfastened the hood of her cloak so that she could speak to him normally. "Maybe it's time to find them for a moment." She began unfastening the clasps of the cloak.

"And why," he asked coolly, "would we choose to do that?"

She draped the cloak over a chair, came forward. "Because I'm about to ask an impertinent question," she said dryly, "and I'd rather you not think me rude."

His lips twitched. "Very well." Then, more softly, "You may ask me anything you wish."

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Why did you come down so hard on Harry and Ginny? They weren't doing anything that half the rest of the table wasn't doing more of--- in fact, by that standard, they weren't doing anything at all."

For a moment, she thought she might have pushed him too far; his eyes snapped with a cold fire and his lips thinned down to a narrow harsh line. It was the first time since the night at Malfoy's that she'd seen him truly angry with her.

After a heartbeat, though, he controlled himself, eyes and mouth going back to normal. He turned away for a moment, silently, then looked back at her. "This is the second time," he said in a voice whose quietness was more threatening than a shout, "in less than a week that you have asked me about something related to Harry Potter." He stepped forward, looking down at her. "I am beginning to wonder, Miss Granger, whether your... friendship---" he made the word into something insinuating, something she didn't like at all--- "with Potter is more important to you than our efforts against Voldemort--- or than reaching the eighth square." Another step, so that he was looming over her--- and there was nothing calculated about this, nothing that said he was merely testing her strength. "Is that so, Miss Granger?"

She stood her ground; the very fact that he didn't mean it as a mere test made it all the more important that she pass. "Sir," she said calmly, fighting the little flutters in her stomach, "if my asking you two questions about rather extreme reactions on your part is enough to make you doubt my determination--- then I have to wonder if you aren't overly sensitive on the subject." She took a deep breath. "And your attitude at the moment isn't doing anything to allay my suspicions." She brought her chin up. "Are you going to answer my question?"

For a moment, they stared at each other; she half-expected him to snarl at her in the pattern that had once been so familiar. But he controlled himself with an effort; the vicious light went out of his eyes and he relaxed, slowly. "I will answer--- if you will answer a question of mine first," he said. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because Harry's my friend, and so is Ginny--- whom, by the way, you really upset with your little speech." She took a deep breath, plunged ahead. "And because you've done--- so much for me, because--- I've come to--- to respect you, a very great deal--- and I need, for my own peace of mind, to know why you can't stand one of my friends." She looked up at him, wanting very much to reach out and touch him, not knowing how to do it with any degree of smoothness. "That's why."

For a moment, it seemed he couldn't look at her. Then, slowly, he managed it, even managed a slight smile. "That... makes sense," he said. "And I suppose you've some justification, particularly under the circumstances." He took a deep breath, stepped away from her and turned back to the cauldron. "One moment---" he muttered a Stasis Charm, and the pot froze in mid-bubble. "There--- that should give us time enough for this discussion." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "My office, then?"

When they were settled in the armchairs by the cold hearth, Snape regarded her with dark, intent eyes. "The reason, Miss Granger, why I responded as I did to Potter's... attentions to Miss Weasley, is one of the reasons why I despised his father." His eyes glittered nastily. "Because James Potter crippled one of the most brilliant witches I've ever known, denied her the chance to develop her power, and in all likelihood caused her death as a result. And I will not see the son they produced between them blithely lead another young witch to the same fate." Those glittering eyes focused on her. "Much less two of them."

Hermione barely heard the last part; she was still trying to digest the first. "But--- what do you mean? I didn't think---" She just couldn't imagine Harry's parents in some kind of abusive relationship, not the way everyone talked about them. Well, they way everyone but Snape talked about them, anyway.

"He didn't beat her, if that's what you mean," Snape said sourly. "In fact, by ordinary standards, he was a perfectly decent suitor and later husband." He looked as if the admission pained him--- then his lip twisted into a smile of bitter satisfaction. "By ordinary standards. Lily Evans was not an ordinary witch--- or at least, she shouldn't have been. She could have been a great deal more than ordinary--- if Potter's influence hadn't dragged her down, if his pedestrian schoolboy triumphs hadn't overshadowed her underlying brilliance---" He broke off, scowling.

"What do you mean, his 'influence'?" Hermione hazarded.

"I mean that Potter, by his very charm, his innate niceness---" he spat the word as if it tasted bad--- "his athletic prowess and popularity--- and most of all his devotion to Miss Evans, prevented her from having the opportunity to become aware of her own gifts. And the rest of her house didn't help. They made much of her for catching Potter's eye--- and Sirius Black's, but that's another matter, and at least she had the strength to rid herself of him--- and in doing so, completely overlooked her own unique abilities, and encouraged her to do the same." The glint in his eyes was bleak now.

Hermione caught her breath, trying to sort the thousand questions she had into some kind of sequence. "Her--- abilities?" she finally asked. It seemed the most sensible place to start.

Snape opened his mouth as if to snap out a retort, then closed it again, spoke more gently than he had to her all morning. "Child, what do you know about strega?"

"Strega?" Hermione frowned. "Isn't that the Italian word for witch?"

He smiled slightly. "Yes, true enough. It has, however, acquired a somewhat different meaning in the wizarding community."

"I've never heard of it."

He sneered. "Not surprising--- Gryffindors don't usually produce them--- and for the very reasons I mentioned. Their wizards get all the attention, no matter that the witches can sometimes surpass them." He shot her a direct look. "Child, for all that Slytherin has a bad reputation for things like arranged marriages and control of bloodlines, when it comes to a genuine lack of respect for or understanding of strong and intelligent witches, Gryffindor has us beat by miles." He sighed. "But we were talking about strega.

"There's a quote, from the writings of Aspasia Clemens--- she's one of the great Slytherin thinkers, child, I highly recommend her, and I think---" a smile played about his lips--- "your friend Blaise is descended from her, possibly on both sides of the family." He sobered and continued. "The quote goes--- 'If a witch is queen of women, then strega is queen of witches.'" He looked up. "Do you understand what that means?"

Hermione blinked. "I--- what does she mean, a witch is queen of women?"

His lips twisted. "I'm not surprised you didn't--- as I said, Gryffindors are deeply if subtly prejudiced in that arena." His voice softened. "But think about it, child--- a witch's power comes from within, it's not dependent on a man. In fact, a witch can overpower a Muggle male with a flick of her wrist--- while, for centuries, Muggle women were physically and socially at the mercy of the men in their lives. That's why you'll find far less chauvinism--- the behavior of wizards like the Malfoys notwithstanding--- in the wizarding community: witches have always, by their very nature, been able to take care of themselves, and for the most part we've always acknowledged that fact."

"But you said---" Hermione pressed, wondering how that fit with what he'd said about the Gryffindors.

"So where does Gryffindor prejudice fit in?" he asked dryly. "And, I'll admit, its not just the Gryffindors who take this stance. The raw power of witches has always been respected along with that of wizards--- impossible or at least difficult not to, with the evidence of it staring you in the face. However, witches as people are not always given the same respect as their power."

Hermione tilted her head. "So what does that have to do with strega?"

"Everything." Snape's smile was enigmatic. "Put simply, child, strega is a witch who knows her own worth and makes others aware of it. A witch of formidable innate aptitude for magic and unquestionable brilliance--- who has come to recognize those traits in herself, and, having done so, makes it necessary for those around her to do the same." A slight glimmer of humor flickered in his eyes' she could imagine the ways in which a witch could make necessary that recognition of her power!

Perhaps Snape read her mind, or at least that portion of it showing on her face; he smiled and relaxed in his chair. "Do you see why strega is queen of witches, now?"

"Er--- I think so?" Her head was spinning, and she asked the first question she could manage. "Why do we use the word strega--- I mean, it's just the Italian for witch---"

"Precisely." He smiled slightly. "Aspasia Clemens coined that usage of it--- but she did so for a reason: Roman wizarding families have always produced an unusually high number of strega. Which seems odd, considering some of the traditions that the latter-day Italians have had, thanks to Christianity--- but the wizarding world's managed to hold to its pagan roots, and Roman women had quite a bit of power."

"Roman women---" Italian women... Blaise was related to Aspasia Clemens--- "Blaise is strega, isn't she?" Hermione asked in a rush. "And that's why you wanted me to get to know her--- 'queen of witches'...." Hermione stared at him as the realization washed over her.

"Right in one." His smile was warm, gentle. "I wasn't going to tell you, as it's Blaise's business--- and no wise wizard crosses strega, even if he is her Head of House." Snape looked amused rather than annoyed at this. "Her mother--- my cousin Claire--- is strega as well."

"Wouldn't it be rather unusual to be strega at our age?" Hermione knew she should just ask Blaise, but she had Snape here and she very much wanted to know.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," he said, then added firmly, "but the rest of it is Blaise's story to tell."

Hermione knew a closed subject when she saw one. "All right," she said, putting her head back and closing her eyes. "I think I understand...." She looked back at him. "So Harry's mother... was strega?"

"Close." There was no pleasure in his tone at her question. "She could have been strega--- if it hadn't been for Potter and his friends--- but Potter most of all." He looked, for a moment, very dark and dangerous, bitter and cruel.

"What do you mean, 'could have been'?" Hermione ventured.

It seemed to take an effort for him to force himself back to the present. "Strega's not just a matter of talent, child, she's also a product of her environment. A witch can be brilliant, powerful magically--- and still not be strega, if she is never able to stand on her own. And admittedly, what makes that possible is different for different witches." His lip twisted dryly. "Who knows, for a different witch, Potter's... attentions... could have been just what she needed."

Something about that remark nagged at the edge of Hermione's mind; she filed it away for future reference. "What makes strega, then?"

"An opportunity to learn to rely on herself, her own gifts, to look within and discover her power--- and in the world outside, to use that power and discover that it works." His voice was soft, sad. "Lily..." it was almost a whisper, "Lily knew that she could be something more--- but there was never any chance for her to grow--- thanks to Potter." The last words were a harsh rasp.

"How did you know, then, if even she didn't?"

Snape smiled slightly. "Because I've grown up around strega, chlid--- Slytherin produces more of her than the other three houses put together." The smile twisted wryly. "Makes sense, doesn't it? We're the ambitious ones, after all--- and we respect power. We depend on it." He sighed. "And my family, particularly, seems to spawn strega--- my mother, bless her black and twisted heart--- cousin Claire, of course, and Blaise.... Oh, and the Teasdales, though by Slytherin standards, they're only cousins by courtesy--- third cousins, once and twice removed--- the twins' mother, Beatrice, and their eldest sister Claudia."

"So Harry's mother reminded you of them?" Hermione pressed. The news about the Teasdales was interesting, but not as pressing as the question of Harry's family.

Snape's eyes glazed over, painfully, she thought. "Yes, in a sense--- though it wasn't anything obvious, more of an awareness of what it takes to be strega, the knowledge that she had it---" His thin hands clenched into fists. "I could see it shining through from time to time--- she'd say something, and everyone would turn to her, everyone would listen---" He closed his eyes. "And then, always, always, she drew back into herself, shut down--- always looking to Potter for support, as if he had something she didn't--- and she could have been strega!" The last words came out with a harshness that must have surprised even him; he opened his eyes, blinking awkwardly, then spoke in a more controlled tone. "He never saw it--- none of them did, those arrogant Gryffindor wizards--- I'd listen to them, the way they talked to her: pretty Lily, sweet Lily, oh, and, she's quite clever with charms, she is, must be because she's so charming herself!" His voice was a harsh mocking sneer. "The only one who half-saw what she was was Remus Lupin, and he was too much of a coward to speak up--- too afraid that Potter and Black would throw him out of their little circle if he crossed them--- or maybe it was just that his little gang meant more to him than a brilliant witch whose talent went wasted." Again, he clenched his fists. "So proud, the lot of them, of their petty triumphs--- and they never realized they had a queen in their midst!" He looked over at Hermione, intently, speaking, she sensed, from his heart to hers. "They made light of what she was, Hermione, made her doubt the evidence that her own talent should have given--- and in so doing, denied her the chance to know her own power." His lip curled. "That's why Slytherin produces strega more often, I think," he said softly. "No one in our house would ever doubt evidence of her own power--- nor let anyone else disparage it, unless it were to her advantage to do so."

He looked away, into the cold hearth, silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was in a voice that matched the fireplace. "And the worst of it, Hermione... the worst of it is... I think, in a direct confrontation with strega--- with strega defending what she believed in and what she loved, loved enough to die for--- I think even the Dark Lord would have been finally destroyed, not merely defeated."

Hermione stared in shock, the implications refusing to settle in her mind. "You mean---"

"Yes." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But she never knew her own strength." It had the ring of an elegy.

For a long moment, there was silence, while Hermione digested that. Then, finally--- "Is that why you hate Harry so much? Because of what his mother could have been?"

"You make it sound so simple." Bite of his mocking sarcasm, that rang true, and she only just managed not to flinch. "Yes, Hermione, I hate him because his very existence--- her eyes looking out of the face of the man who denied her her true self, her true power--- his very existence reminds me of what we all lost when we lost Lily as strega. Because had she been strega, in all likelihood she would have lived, and the Dark Lord would be gone from this world forever." His lip curled. "And because your friend Potter has all the nasty, self-centered, arrogant little traits that his father had--- that brought his mother to her doom while making him loved and admired far beyond what his accomplishments should have merited." He looked over at her. "And that, my dear child, is why I do not wish to see Miss Weasley wrapping her life around Potter's little finger--- she's had enough grief for someone twice her age; she deserves better."

Several comments came to Hermione's mind; the one that, absurdly enough, came out was, "Ginny likes you--- I mean, like a favorite teacher."

Snape blinked in surprise. Then, ever so slightly, he smiled. "Well, I did give her a bit of a reason, I suppose--- after her... little adventure with Tom Riddle's diary, she ended up in the hospital wing with nightmares. I went and talked to her--- let her know that far worse than what she'd done could be forgiven."

"You told her that you were a Death Eater?" Now Ginny's reaction over the holidays made sense--- of course she hadn't been surprised that Snape was at the Dark Revel!

"Yes--- and swore her to secrecy." Snape frowned. "Has she said anything?"

"Not directly--- but when I told the others about... the Dark Revel... and your saving me, she didn't seem surprised." Hermione looked keenly at him. "Is that why you wanted me to... take care of her?"

"Yes--- I've already dabbled in her life a bit; seems rather cavalier not to keep an eye out." His expression hardened. "That's why I'd rather not see her fall into the same trap Lily Evans did."

Something Snape had said earlier suddenly fell into place in her mind. "But you said--- 'for a different witch, Potter's... attentions... could have been just what she needed.'" She looked at him. "And Ginny... she's really blossomed this year, since Harry started noticing her. She's not Lily Evans--- and maybe having---" she smothered a smile--- "'famous Harry Potter' think she's special is just what she needs." She looked at him seriously. "And--- mind, I'm not disparaging Ginny here--- but what makes you think she's strega material in the first place?"

"She doesn't have to be strega to deserve better than being Potter's ornament!" Snape snapped--- but she'd seen the little flicker in his eyes that suggested her question had caught him off guard.

"I'm just asking," she said quietly.

He got control of himself with a evident effort. "No... you're right," he said finally. "I have... no reason whatsoever to think that Ginny Weasley is likely to be anything more than a bright, overly brassy little Gryffindor witch." He a took a deep breath. "But she looks... very like Lily." He paused; when he spoke again, as if every word were being torn from his heart. "You don't know what it did to me, to see them sitting there... it was like seeing her, and Potter--- James Potter--- and I couldn't stand---" It was halfway between a snarl and a sob--- "couldn't stand to see it happening again---" He broke off, his hands clenching and unclenching wretchedly, looking down.

For a moment, Hermione wavered, uncertain what to do; hesitantly, she got to her feet, thinking to comfort him---

He looked up at her movement, and she started, almost falling back into the chair. It wasn't grief--- or rather, it wasn't only grief--- that knotted his hands and choked his words. There was rage there, a dark and bitter fury that frightened her.

She steeled herself, recovered her balance, and spoke. "Severus." He startled at the sound of his name, blinked rapidly, his breath coming in sharp chokes as if he couldn't quite manage to fill his lungs. "Severus---"

And then, because she couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't find words that would adequately express anything she felt--- or more to the point, adequately call him back from this half-mad anger and grief--- she took the few steps between them and perched on the arm of his chair.

He had watched her move, had started again as she sat with him; finally, as she rested her hand on his shoulder, he bowed his head, trying, she sensed, to let go.

Suddenly his hand wrapped around hers in a crushing grip. "I will not lose you to Potter's arrogance," he hissed, and it was her turn to start. "I will not see you lose faith in yourself and come to believe that your gifts are somehow of less value than his--- I will not see you dwindle at his side into a sweet little Gryffindor--- not when you have it in you to be strega---"

She shivered--- and not just at his words. Because she remembered her first year, when she and Harry and Ron had gone after the Philosopher's Stone, remembered after she'd solved Snape's riddle of the potions, how Harry had praised her intellect, and she'd denied it. How she'd called him a great wizard... and he hadn't yet done anything to deserve it.

She couldn't think of anything to say, so she simply wrapped her free hand around Severus' where it held hers like a vise.

"I watched you, you know," he said softly, more calmly, she thought. "Ever since your first year--- you had all the signs, Hermione, that bright mind, the raw power--- there aren't very many Muggle-born students who can manage to get spells to work for them before they start here, you know--- and most of all, you had the confidence." He smiled wryly. "For a while, I had hope you'd find it on your own--- that the ostracism of your housemates---" his lip curled--- "would lead you to depend on yourself and so discover the power of strega." A sigh, tinged with disappointment and sarcasm. "Then you managed to ally yourself with Potter and Weasley--- which I suppose was an accomplishment in itself--- and I'm ashamed to admit that I gave up on you."

"Why shouldn't you have?" she said gently. "I wasn't even one of yours, I was just another Gryffindor witch---"

"Who could be strega, with a little guidance and support," he corrected. "But then again, I suppose you were better off without my help---" again, that harsh curl of his lip--- "no, child, you managed quite well on your own." He looked up at her, the glint in his eyes mocking of himself rather than her. "That night in the Shrieking Shack--- oh, at the time, I wasn't very pleased with you, I'll grant---" now, there's an understatement for you, Severus; you'd have liked to gag me, wouldn't you? --- "but afterwards, when I'd... managed to recover my wits---" a deep sigh--- "well, there aren't many thirteen-year-old witches who'd have tried to convince me of anything, that night."

"Too bad I wasn't strega." Hermione leaned her arm along the back of his chair--- it was getting hard to keep her balance. "It would have been a grand thing for everyone if I'd gotten you to give Professor Lupin the benefit of the doubt long enough to show you Wormtail."

He looked away at that, his eyes burning. "The night after the TriWizard Tournament was the first time I learned that you had been right." His voice was harsh. "And if you think I've forgiven myself for letting Pettigrew go---"

"No--- you hadn't any reason to believe that we were telling the truth. And really," she added dryly, "if someone tried to feed me to a werewolf--- especially a werewolf who was supposed to be his best friend--- I wouldn't exactly take his word for much of anything, either."

Slowly, Severus looked up at her, a hint of warmth coming back into his eyes. "You have a point," he said quietly. "Thank you." And then, softly, "Strega."

And then, to her vast surprise, he drew her hand to his lips.

It was only the slightest brushing of flesh and his warm breath on her skin, but it sent a delicious shiver through her and stole the air from her lungs; she whimpered aloud at the sweet scalding contact that reminded her forcefully of what he could do with those hands. And what would it be like to kiss him?

He drew back, hastily, letting her go, and she bit back a cry of protest.

For a moment, they were silent, then Hermione gathered her wits. "Was that what made you decide--- decide to take an interest in me again?" He regarded her with some surprise. "I mean, isn't that at least part of the reason you asked me to be your assistant last term?"

He recovered himself, shook his head a little as if to clear it. "Yes--- but that wasn't when I decided." He smiled slightly. "It was watching you, for the next year, seeing that you'd grown into a young woman with her own convictions and the courage to follow them. That house-elf rights crusade--- as wasteful as I knew it to be, I had to admire your tenacity. And, little as I like Potter, there aren't many teenagers who would stand by a friend as you did."

"What about Malfoy's hex?" Hermione challenged. "When my teeth grew--- were you testing me then?"

"Assuredly," he said, unruffled. "And you passed brilliantly--- I'd never expected you'd have the wit, as upset as you were, to take the opportunity to circumvent your Muggle orthodontic apparatus."

She grinned. "I'm ever so glad you noticed." She looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. "Was that little comment of yours really necessary? 'I see no difference'---" she sniffed.

"No, it probably was not. But the opportunity was rather too perfect. And I did need to see how you'd react."

"You ought to have known how I'd react, you had me in class for three years by then," she scowled.

"Well, you got your revenge quite handily--- on me and any other person in the school who'd ever disparaged your looks," he retorted. "The night of the Yule Ball--- I don't think there was a male in that room who didn't do a double take, and no few of the women." He shook his head ruefully. "I'm quite impressed with Mr. Krum's perceptiveness, by the way--- but then I suppose an international Quidditch star would have the opportunity to learn that beauty is only skin deep--- at least, if he has any degree of wit about him." There was something so bitter, so cruel and yet so maddening in his tone that Hermione couldn't help but rise to the occasion.

"Was that when you decided to make me your assistant?" The implication was clear.

Snape looked up at her--- flicker of hurt in his eyes, then he smiled blandly. "No, actually it was when you captured our dear Ms. Skeeter--- clever move that, might I add; hoist on her own petard indeed." His smile invited her to join in. "And when the Headmaster gave me the responsibility for developing a cure for lycanthropy---" he shrugged. "It was the perfect opportunity." Before she could respond to that, he added, "And, speaking of which--- there's a cauldron out there with a Stasis Spell on it about to wear off." He got to his feet, careful not to unseat her, and held out a hand. "Shall we?"

It took Hermione a moment to recover her wits--- the calm return to the quotidian after this morning's revelations was enough to set her head spinning. "Er--- yes," she managed finally, and took the offered hand.

*****

To Hermione's surprise, it was actually a very productive session. They managed to rule out a number of promising leads, and found a few more avenues to pursue. And Snape actually laughed when she told him what Edison had said about failure--- "I learned a thousand ways not to build a lightbulb," or words to that effect.

So it was in a very good mood indeed that she left the Potions classroom at dinner time--- only to run straight into Blaise Zabini.

"Hey." Both of them spoke at the same time; Hermione couldn't notice that Blaise looked more than a little embarrassed.

"What's up?"

The dark-haired girl blushed. "Erm--- can we talk?"

This sounded serious. "About what?"

"Er--- let's go somewhere else, all right?"

"Library?" Blaise gave her a where-else? sort of look and they went up the stairs.

As they walked, Hermione glanced over at her friend. "Snape told me something interesting about you."

"What?" Blaise started, looking preoccupied.

"Well, I was asking why he'd been so short with Harry and Ginny---" Hermione decided not to go into the details of that particular conversation--- "and the subject of strega came up." She shot her friend a penetrating glance. "He said you were one."

Blaise gave her a look that was a combination of relief and embarrassment. "That's... what I was about to tell you." She looked away. "Should have said something sooner---"

"Blaise, you're a Slytherin; I'd be awfully surprised if you didn't have a few secrets." She looked at her friend curiously. "What made you decide to tell?"

Blaise looked around. "Let's get up to the library--- Restricted Section, okay? I don't want to be bothered."

Only when they were safely ensconced at a table among the forbidding shelves did Blaise start talking--- about Cho and the way she'd reacted to Harry's friendship with the Slytherins. Hermione listened in increasing disgust with the Ravenclaw Seeker. "So I stared her down," Blaise finished, "and the Teasdale twins sorted out that I was strega---" She looked embarrassed again. "Wanted to tell you myself, before the other's did; should've done it sooner---"

"Why? It's your business." Again, two sets of questions warred in Hermione's mind; she decided to see if she could cover both. "Though, mind you, someday I'd like to hear the story of how you got to be strega at our age, but first---"

"Oh, that's easy," said Blaise, before Hermione could finish. "Mum's one too---"

"Professor Snape said that--- said you were his cousin, too."

"First-and-one," Blaise said, which Hermione translated after a second as first cousin once removed. "Mum's mother and his father are twins, like the Teasdales--- lots of twins in wizarding families, we witches don't like to waste time on single births if we can help it--- anyway---" Before Hermione could ask about the implications of that statement, Blaise was off and running--- "Mum says she could tell from when I was little that I could be strega, and she gave me opportunities to, well, develop it--- nothing earth-shattering, just I wasn't ever really treated 'like a kid,' y'know?" she grinned. "Drove Dad nuts, I'll tell you that. But he turned right around when Mum's ring lit up for me---"

"Her ring?" This was a complete non sequitur.

"Yeah---" Blaise took a deep breath. "It's like this: most wizarding objects respond better to somebody with a lot of power and a lot of confidence in that power, which is a good thumbnail sketch of strega. And the families that produce a lot of her--- well, you know most wizarding families have their odd little heirlooms---"

Hermione grinned. "Even the Weasleys." Just as in Muggle families, the oldest son would get his father's pocket-watch, and the twins had a set of medals ("girl-jewelry," as Fred said in disgust, but they wore them all the same) that went to the first set of twins in the family, and last summer Mrs. Weasley had shown them a pearl necklace that would go to Ginny.

Blaise grinned. "Exactly so, only some of us have enough of them to make Borgin and Burkes drool. So anyway, families that have a lot of strega tend likewise to have a few pieces that respond specifically to strega---" She reached under the neck of her robe, drew out a pendant on a chain. "Mum let me pick this one--- well, really, it picked me, magical things are like that---" She held it out to Hermione.

It was a very odd piece of jewelry, an intricate latticework of old, old silver and blue crystal, roughly circular; it glowed slightly when Hermione touched it. "Oh!"

Blaise regarded her with interest. "'Oh,' is right... this thing only twitches for strega--- see---" She touched the pendant--- she'd been holding it by the chain--- and instantly, a blue light flared, then settled into a steady glow. "Like so." She looked at Hermione keenly. "So that means that you've got some of it in you---" she studied her friend closely. "I don't think... you don't mind if I say this---"

"I'm not strega." It was a relief that the pendant even reacted to her, as far as she was concerned. "Yet."

Blaise smiled at her--- not her usual grin, but almost a promise. "That's the spirit." She tucked the pendant back under her robes. "Listen, on a different topic, I'm thinking..." She rested her head on her hand, leaning on the table. "Look, I can't think that Chang's the only one to take that attitude toward Potter---"

"Not by half, I told you." Hermione leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers on the table. "So what are we going to do?"

"That's my question. I mean, if he's hanging out with Slytherins, you know the rumors are going to get worse--- especially after that stupid stunt Malfoy and his little hangers-on pulled at the Leaving Feast last year--- I mean, setting aside principles, sitting on their arses and announcing to the whole world that they supported the Dark Lord is bad, bad politics!" Blaise glowered, then looked hastily over at her. "Look, don't take that the wrong way---"

Hermione shrugged, amused; her new friend's apparent lack of the same kind of automatic revulsion for the Dark that characterized Gryffindors was rather refreshing. Especially since Hermione herself had been picking up more than a little about the Dark Arts from Snape. "Why would I? I mean, it'd be bad politics for you or the Teasdales to back You-Know-Who--- half your fortunes are in Muggle money."

Blaise looked relieved. "Exactly. Though mind, if Fudge keeps the exchange rate fixed at five pounds the Galleon, despite what the Muggle markets are doing---" She broke off, shaking her head. "Anyway, I'm thinking we ought to see if there's not something we can do about this school's attitude problem toward Potter."

Hermione agreed, but first.... She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so concerned what everyone thinks of Harry--- and don't tell me it's out of the goodness of your heart," she added playfully.

"Oh, don't worry," Blaise said cheerily, "any time I have a completely altruistic thought, I go watch Malfoy for a few minutes until I'm feeling properly self-interested again---" She smiled quizzically. "Which I suppose is a form of altruism in itself--- it's a lot easier to do business with someone acting in their own interests than someone who thinks they're acting for 'the greater good.'" Hermione digested this; meanwhile, Blaise shrugged and went on. "But we were talking about Potter.

"Look at it this way." Blaise traced a pattern on the table with her forefinger. "Potter's 'The Boy Who Lived', right--- major power-figure in the wizarding world. Serious clout, the boy has--- if a bunch of small-minded idiots don't tarnish his pretty reputation by making too many noises about Cedric Diggory and the Dark Lord. And at the moment, I'm by way of being in Potter's little clique--- no offense, but you three were always pretty tight; now the circle's opened a little, and I'm coming inside. And damn if I don't want it to be worth something. Lilith knows," she added dryly, "it's not his Quidditch prowess I'd fancy--- or his looks; little Miss Weasley's quite welcome to him."

"Bet Florian'd be glad to hear that," Hermione teased, then sobered. "Well... that's a cold way to look at it--- but it makes sense." She felt a chill as a thought occurred to her. "Mind if I ask you something, and I'd like a straight answer."

"Ask." Blaise looked at her soberly--- and was there a hint of tension in the silvery eyes?

"Why d'you hang about with me, anyhow? I'm not anybody special--- and don't kid me that you just wanted to get to Harry; you hardly talk to him."

"Mm-hmm." Blaise looked away, leaning back in her chair. "Because we're the same. Not identical, but... close enough. It's like taking a deep breath, talking to you is." She smiled crookedly. "Even strega gets lonely."

Hermione took a deep breath, looking into Blaise's eyes. She didn't know the other girl that well, but this didn't feel like a lie, unless Blaise was as good at it as Severus. "Same here," she said finally, then added playfully, "Especially with our dorm-mates, no?"

Blaise relaxed noticeably at the lighter note. "Exactly." She sat forward. "So--- what are we going to do about Potter?"

"I'm fresh out of ideas," Hermione admitted, then gestured around. "But it looks like we've got a whole bookcase or two here full of them, yes?"

Blaise grinned. "A woman after my own heart." And they set to, until the school bells sounded for dinner.

A/N The Tolkien Ring-ref is basically cited in the text, but I did want to underscore it: "rings true," etc. are, I believe, from the Hobbit (or at least the animated version I saw >GRIN<)

The Scarlattis are named, of course, for the family in Robert Ludlum's wonderful novel, The Scarlatti Inheritance, which I highly recommend--- Elizabeth Scarlatti is a perfect Slytherin Grande Dame! They are anything but "connected", are completely legit like the Teasdales, and in fact are more than a little peeved at Blaise's family. So much for stereotypical Italian mobsters. >GRIN<

Backnotes: The chaos-theory/Arithmancy stuff was inspired by a combination of Michael Crichton's discussion of it in Jurassic Park and Mike Resnik's Soothsayer trilogy, which has a character who can foresee multiple outcomes of situations, even if they don't necessarily make sense--- a multi-future precognitive, essentially. The twins are probably Heinleinesque enough that I should give him credit--- he has male-and-female clones based on the same basic gene set. Bell, Book, and Candle is somewhere in Shakespeare.

Chapter 15: Pawns' Pin

It took the girls several days to find what they wanted, and another several to convince Harry, who was, underneath everything, a very private person, to accede to the plan. In the end, if it hadn't been for Ginny's quiet but firm support, they'd never have managed.

After that, there was the business of actually carrying out their stratagem--- as Blaise said, "Why go to the effort of setting up the pieces only to find that our central pawn--- meaning Potter--- won't play?"

Hermione seriously considered going to Snape with their problem--- there was no denying he was brilliant, and (she had to admit) this had just enough of the flavor of Dark magic about it that he might well know. But his blind spot about the Potter family was enough to make her decide otherwise.

At least, that's what she told herself. Looking back on it after the fact, she knew she should have thought about the consequences. And "it seemed like a good idea at the time" wasn't a very queenly thing to say.

But at the time, she convinced herself that it was only Snape's loathing of Harry that kept her from telling him what she and Blaise were planning. Eventually, they managed to enlist the aid of Professor Vector, by the simple expedient of having Blaise tell her a not-quite-untruth--- they both agreed that the Slytherin was the best person for that little job.

They would have said that she was the best person to get the materials from Bell, Book, and Candle; her family had money and she was known for her experiments. But Harry put his foot down, and so it ended up that Blaise took some Potter family gold to the magical store--- and sent still more with a letter to Mr. Borgin ("He's an old family friend, Harry, I send him these little notes all the time, and I can't think why you don't like him!--- Yes, I know, he sucks up to the Malfoys, but they're good customers!--- Oh, just forget it; it's a Slytherin thing!") when B, B, and C proved lacking in some essential items.

All in all, it was the end of February before their plan was ready. They had the equipment organized, their roles down pat. Now they lacked only the most essential ingredient of all: opportunity.

It had to be a time when the whole school was together, for both the dramatic and the practical effect--- which meant mealtimes. Which was unfortunate, since they couldn't sit together as a group.

"We'll just have to start arriving together, making a show of how close we've all gotten---" Catlin suggested. Ron added that they might remark on how Gryffindor was a shoo-in for this year's Quidditch Cup, but Blaise and Hermione vetoed that on the grounds that the point was to dispel negative sentiments; that sort of comment wouldn't make Harry look too good, even if it was Ron doing the talking.

So they resorted to mobbing around together in a pack, even to the point of having the Slytherin contingent hover around the Gryffindor table for a few minutes on either side of meals, talking with the other four--- it was agreed that any excuse to stay away from Malfoy was a bonus.

And, sure enough, less than a week into their not-quite-act, the bait was taken.

Predictably, it was Cho who did it. They'd been talking about Quidditch--- not the House teams, but just in general, the five sports-fans couldn't help it, and Blaise and Hermione put up with it for the sake of the plan. Cho, however, didn't make such fine distinctions. She came storming up to them one evening at dinner, just as Cat and Harry has launched into a debate on the finer points of Seeking.

"You're really something, Potter." Her voice cut across the debate like a plague-dipped knife. "Talking about Quidditch--- with a Slytherin, no less--- after killing off your competition."

Blaise and Hermione exchanged glances. They had to play this out for a bit, get everyone's attention, before they played their trumps. "You've dropped his value a bit since last we met, haven't you?" Blaise asked the Ravenclaw girl boredly. "First it was Potter's life, then the TriWizard trophy, now it's the Quidditch Cup?" She drawled the last two words mockingly. A couple of people sitting near them twitched nervously.

"How should I know?" Cho snapped back, losing some of her rational edge when challenged. "When a wizard goes over to the Dark he'll kill for anything---"

Harry's voice rose above the babble in the Great Hall. "Are you accusing me of turning to the Dark, Cho?" he asked, and Blaise and Hermione exchanged the slightest of triumphant glances as every head in the Hall turned in their direction. "Are you saying I'm one of Voldemort's servants?"

Cho clearly didn't like being the center of attention, but, Hermione thought, you had to give her credit for courage; she plunged on headlong. "I don't have to!" she cried, her fists balling up as she came nose to nose with Harry. "You accused yourself, when you killed Diggory last year!"

"I killed Diggory?" Harry repeated in a soft voice that (thanks to the pre-planned Sonorus Charm she'd just put on him) carried to every ear in the room. "Yes, I've heard people say that--- I've been hearing the whispers since last year, Cho. From a lot of places." He spun slowly on his heel, looking around the room; again, the girls fought not to grin: Harry had a natural flair for the dramatic, and he'd taken their coaching brilliantly. "But nobody seems to have bothered to ask for the truth." He looked back at her. "Would you like to know the truth, Cho?" He raised his voice again. "Would all of you like to know the truth?"

There was silence in the hall; Hermione, risking a glance at the teacher's table, took in the reactions. Most of them looked stunned, Dumbledore, guardedly pleased... and Snape looked ghastly pale, his eyes hooded and haunted in his sallow face. Suddenly Hermione had a very bad feeling about this. But it was too late to stop now.

Finally someone--- she thought it was one of the Weasley twins--- said, "Go ahead, Harry. Let's have it." More murmurs followed--- no shouts, just a groundswell that shivered the rafters and vibrated in their bones.

"Okay." Harry looked over at her and Blaise. "Set it up."

They'd practiced the moves a dozen times since they'd finally gotten the equipment together. Blaise set up the Pensieve while Hermione and the twins arranged the huge, intricate web of crystal around it and Ginny arranged the Sneakoscopes on the outside of that, in plain view. "So no one doubts this," Harry said, as people noticed them.

Finally, it was set up, and the rest of the group stepped back, giving the "stage" to Harry again. "Does everyone here know what a Pensieve is?" he asked, then nodded to Hermione when a lot of people shook their heads.

"It stores memories," she said. "Only memories, not dreams or wishes." She looked to the high table. "Am I right, Headmaster?"

"Perfectly." It was possible that Dumbledore's blue eyes were twinkling less than usual, but he still had a slight smile for her. "Go on, Miss Granger."

Hermione caught her breath. "This Pensieve---" she gestured--- "is set up to project the thoughts stored in it onto a receptive surface--- such as the ceiling of the Great Hall." She looked at Harry, nodding for him to take over.

"And this is what happened the night of the third TriWizard challenge--- the night Cedric Diggory died." He placed his wand to his temple, then drew it in a straight line down to the Pensieve--- he wasn't inputting thoughts this time (the Pensieve was already full) but releasing them, calling them up to the surface.

The rest of their little group had seen his Pensieve before--- he'd shown them all while they were preparing this little gesture--- but it was still a shock to watch as Harry and Cedric appeared in the graveyard, the images flashing like a gruesome movie on the ceiling of the Hall.

The entire Hall was silent, watching the larger-than-life images of Wormtail, the two Hogwarts students, and the crippled hideous thing that was Voldemort's larval form. They watched as Wormtail callously struck down Cedric; as he took bone, flesh, and blood to bring the Dark Lord to life.

Here, Hermione held her breath; they'd had to edit out some of Harry's memories, to eliminate the sections where the Dark Lord named names. They'd all agreed that--- fun as it would be to watch Malfoy squirm--- it would only cause more trouble than it would cure.

For one thing, it would put Snape's head on the block--- and while Ron and even Harry weren't precisely averse to this, the girls and Florian had overruled them. And Hermione didn't think she could stand to hear Voldemort's cold casual voice saying, "He will be killed, of course," again.

So they'd worked desperately with the memories to make it appear as if Voldemort had spoken to Harry alone, as if he'd challenged him to a duel with only Wormtail and Nagini for witnesses. It had been difficult, shaping the silvery thought-stuff in the Pensieve, separating out the parts they couldn't share and making the parts they needed flow seamlessly together.

Because it was very important, they agreed, that everyone know that Cedric's ghost hadn't blamed Harry.

And the beauty part was, the Sneakoscopes wouldn't even blink at it--- because what they were doing was honorable, even if it wasn't strictly honest.

So they watched again as the ghosts returned, as they protected Harry long enough for him to rescue Cedric's body and escape.

There was silence when the last memory flickered across the ceiling--- silence; for a moment. Then the room burst into chaos, with everyone talking very fast. Everyone, except their little group... and Cho, who was staring at the ceiling where Cedric's face had been, tears running silently down her face.

Hermione only had eyes for the High Table--- for Snape. He was staring unseeing at them like a man who's seen his own death.

Hermione thought of the chessboard.

And realized, to her horror, that while they might have saved a pawn, they had almost certainly lost a bishop.

*****

Dumbledore's voice brought them back, ringing calmly over the hall. "Well, that was quite an impressive show---"

Beside the Headmaster, Snape had apparently recovered himself enough to play his role. "'Show' being the operative word, Headmaster," he said snidely, looking down at the group of them, his lip curling. "I've no doubt Potter bullied the others into helping him concoct---"

"There's an easy way to test that, Severus," the Headmaster said calmly, getting to his feet and making his way down to the group, stopping only long enough to pat the sobbing Cho on the shoulder as he passed. She didn't appear to notice, but tore her eyes from the ceiling and buried her head in her hands.

Dumbledore swept a glance around the group, and she knew in that instance that he knew exactly what they'd done--- and then, as the familiar twinkle flared to life in his blue eyes, that he approved, however guardedly, of what they'd done--- right down to the modification of the memories to edit out the incriminating sections.

He turned from them, then, and carefully extracted the Pensieve from the latticework of crystal that created the projection. "Excellent work, by the way," he said, as if talking about an extra credit project. "Your doing, Miss Granger, Miss Zabini, I presume?" Both girls nodded mutely; Hermione couldn't help but wonder how he was going to prove the memories to be true without revealing how they'd tampered with them.

He swirled the memory-stuff around in the Pensieve, passed his wand over it, muttering words to himself. For a moment, nothing happened; then the Pensieve began to glow with a warm, soft light, and a clear, bell-like note sounded through the Hall.

Dumbledore turned to the group of them, and it sounded as if he'd used a Sonorus Charm too, for his voice could easily be heard throughout the Hall. "Your story has the ring of truth to it, Harry," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "yes, it rings true." Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ginny mouth the words, "He can't quote Gandalf!" It was almost funny.

Except she wondered what Severus would do.

Dumbledore glanced at Ginny, his eyes crinkling in a way that said he rather agreed with her, then spoke again. "Yes, I will certify that this is an accurate recounting of the last moments of Cedric Diggory's life--- and of his role in arresting Voldemort's return." Beside Hermione, Blaise was regarding the Headmaster with what only her closest friends would recognize as genuine admiration--- he hadn't lied, not even a little, and yet he had carefully constructed the truth for his own benefit. No Slytherin could help but be impressed. "I sincerely hope that the rest of you will be willing to accept the evidence presented here today, and try to honor Cedric Diggory's memory through unity, not divisiveness."

He turned back to their little group, smiling. "And here we have a shining example of that unity," he added. "I'm most impressed that a group of Gryffindors and Slytherins could choose to work so well together---" the eyes crinkled again--- "but then, I believe the Teasdales and the Weasleys have something of a tradition of amity?"

Ron went as red as his hair. "You could say that, sir---" Catlin began.

"Plus, we're rather tired, some of us at least, of 'Slytherin' being used as a synonym for 'Death Eater Youth League'!" Florian added.

Hermione smothered a gasp: this was the worst thing possible for Snape. Any sign that his actions with her were having this kind of unifying effect--- She could only pray that Blaise would stay out of it.

She didn't. "When the truth is," the dark-haired girl said, radiating the quiet confidence of strega, "that some of us have even more to lose under Voldemort than the rest of you." There were a few nods of agreement, from three of the four Houses; Hermione remembered the twins telling her that the Teasdales weren't the only family to have members in several Houses--- only Hufflepuff and Slytherin seemed to be mutually exclusive.

Dumbledore, however, only smiled more openly. "Fifty points for each one of you," he said, "to Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively--- and a further fifty points to Slytherin; as I once said, it sometimes takes as much courage to stand up to our friends--- or at least our housemates--- as to our enemies."

There was silence after that, while everyone added up the points--- both houses were two hundred points up! There were cheers from both tables; the Cup was going to one of them this year, that was certain.

"And now," Said Dumbledore, when the shouting had died down, "I suggest we resume our repast. We have quite a lot to digest as it is." And he headed back to the High Table, after a last, quiet, "Well done," to their group.

The seven of them looked at each other. "Well---" said Harry awkwardly. The twins were already taking the projector down.

"That's that." Hermione looked around the Hall. Despite Dumbledore's injunction, no one was eating; the entire school seemed focused on their little group.

The Teasdales had the projector wrapped up and were clearing away the Sneakoscopes--- those had been courtesy of their Auror sister Claudia. "Well, guess it's back to Hell's Dining Table---" their nickname for the Slytherin table, after a Chinese myth about Heaven and Hell. In both places, the diners had to eat with spoons too long to reach their mouths; in Hell, everyone starved, but in Heaven, the diners fed each other and thrived.

"Wait." To their astonishment, it was Cho speaking. She looked at Harry. "I'm so sorry I ever for a minute thought--- that you would---" she was sobbing now, but to Hermione's admittedly inexpert gaze, these tears looked healing. "It was just---"

"I--- it's okay," Harry said, looking distinctly embarrassed.

He looked more embarrassed still, though, when Cho threw her arms around him.

As if that had been a signal, people started getting up from their seats, coming over to them. The first was a cluster of Hufflepuffs: Ernie McMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and Eloise Midgen. "That was a fine thing you did, Potter," Justin said a little pompously, shaking Harry's hand, while Ernie nodded in the background and Hannah added, "We're sorry that any of us ever thought for a second---"

"Er--- it's all right," Harry said looking somewhat befuddled. Hermione exchanged a glance with him around the Huffies: this wasn't the first time that they'd had to apologize for thinking the worst of Harry. She remembered the nightmare of the Chamber of Secrets only too well.

Then she didn't have time to remember anything, because the Hufflegation wanted to shake her hand--- and the girls to hug her. And, to everyone's surprise, to hug Blaise after her. There were more students coming--- it was almost a receiving line--- but she heard Justin say to Blaise, "I never would have expected a Slytherin to--- well---"

And her friend's answering riff of laughter, "Well, don't worry, neither did we---"

"Not by half---" Some of Blaise's housemates, mixed in with a few Ravenclaws, had joined the throng; Blaise yelped and hugged the tallest boy.

"Cousin Freddie! About time you started acting like family---" She turned to Hermione. "These are my Scarlatti cousins---"

"The honest side of Italian hybrid-fortune families," said a girl in the group, while the boy Blaise had called Freddie kissed Hermione's hand--- funny, he doesn't do it as well as Severus, it must be the age-thing, or maybe the crowd--- and then somebody else was elbowing their way past and she didn't have time to ask what the Scarlatti girl had meant by "honest".

The otherwise ordinary dinner turned into something of a romp--- "Good thing it's Friday!" Blaise called to Hermione at one point, and she couldn't help but agree. For tonight, at least, the inter-House boundaries were down completely; people milled about (mostly around Harry) with goblets and plates in their hands, and if a cluster of people from three houses ended up at the fourth's table, nobody really cared--- or even if, as a gaggle of first- and second-years from all four houses did, found a quiet corner of floor and had a sprawl. Even the teachers appeared to have given up hope of restoring order--- Professors Snape and McGonagall were looking very sour, but Flitwick was beaming and Professor Sprout was dabbing sentimentally at her eyes while smiling at the group of them.

Hermione was under no illusion that this camaraderie would last; it was more likely that everyone was just trying to get House points for "inter-house cooperation" or simply seizing the excuse to run wild. And some of the Slytherins were looking downright sulky (for that matter, so were some of the other students--- not all snobs were Slytherins, though that House did have more than its fair share). No, most likely the warmth and good cheer were as much an excuse to let off tension as anything else--- but at least it was being let off in a friendly sort of way. Their little group could count that much to their credit, at least.

And there was plenty of tension to be let off. So far, except for Hermione's little escapade, Voldemort hadn't reared his literally ugly head too much--- but most people knew it was coming, especially after last year. Like the crackle of electricity before a lightning storm, the tension in the air had been a palpable force this year--- whether you, like most of the school, were afraid of the Dark Lord's return, or like Malfoy eager for it. She'd half-expected some kind of explosion, internecine violence to mimic that which was brewing in the world outside their safe walls. That the explosion came as a party was a great relief.

And that she and her friends had done it had to be counted as a plus--- Slytherin thinking, maybe, but accurate. Mostly, everyone wanted to fuss over Harry (which he hated, but it had to come as a relief after the hostility he'd been getting, especially since they'd befriended the Slytherins). Hagrid even came down from the High Table to engulf her, Harry, and Ron in a bear hug, awhile Professor Vector rewarded Blaise and Hermione with much more sedate embraces and a "Fait bien!" Ron and Cat were the subject of a good bit of gossip--- when Hermione looked, she found them at the center of a clump asking them about their "family history". Blaise and Florian went off somewhere with the Scarlattis--- who actually had a Gryffie as well, a first year named Kate who trucked eagerly after her cousins--- and a few Teasdale cousins from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Ginny stuck to Harry's side--- Hermione rather thought she wanted to keep Cho away from him.

Which left Hermione by herself on the fringes. Which was fine with her: to go off by herself to an unoccupied corner of the Ravenclaw table and nibble a little roast chicken. This was rather more of a mess than she'd half-planned. Not that it wasn't a good sort of mess, by most definitions... except one. And that was the one she worried about.

What was Snape going to do?

She tried to catch his eye--- but he was clearly avoiding hers. Well, she couldn't blame him, not after what she'd just---

"Hello." The quiet, purring--- and all-too-familiar--- voice made her start and knock over her pumpkin juice.

The voice made a tsking sound. "Clumsy, are we?"

She gathered her wits about her hastily. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy's laugh was eerily reminiscent of his father's. "Just to... congratulate you, of course--- it had to be your handiwork, taking Father's name and the rest out of Potter's memories. Did you edit the Pensieve, or just cast Obliviate on Potty-boy?" He chuckled. "Either way, you did it well enough that even old Dumbledore didn't suspect a thing--- but then again, that's not hard, and---" he leaned closer, so that he was breathing in her ear--- "you have had expert tutelage, haven't you?"

Hermione had been expecting something like this, ever since the term began, but still, she couldn't help but start; she felt her face growing hot. "Oh, yes," Malfoy purred in her ear--- and now she felt a hand at the small of her back, dear Merlin, tracing a little circle. "I know all about the--- what shall we call them? Special lessons?--- with Professor Snape. And he'll be very pleased with you tonight, I'm sure--- after all, you've quite neatly covered his... mmm... back, shall we say? Not to mention protected the rest of us--- and all the while made it look like you're a good little Gryffindor, helping everyone to get along and be one big happy family---" He sneered.

The shock of the words was such that for a moment, Hermione didn't even mind the disturbing pressure from Draco's tapping fingers on her spine. Could it be--- was it possible that she'd managed to do something good for Severus as well? Oh, please, Merlin, Circe, anyone else Who's feeling kind....

But she had to get to him, to tell him what Draco thought--- because it didn't look like he'd thought of it himself. He was still scowling, up at the High Table....

Which gave her an idea for how to get rid of Draco--- and cover her own tracks, and Severus', a little more. "He--- he won't be very pleased with me, if he sees us together." She was proud of herself: the stammer was actually fake. She turned, steeled herself and managed to look up into Draco's nasty pale eyes. "He doesn't like it... when I'm around boys, or other men."

"Possessive, hmm?" Draco's sneer was a little less than it might have been. "Well, can't say as I blame him--- Snape's not exactly Adonis, is he--- oh, but of course, your knowledge of his... mmm... attributes would have to be more comprehensive than mine." He chuckled nastily, tracing a finger over Hermione's shoulder; she fought a shudder, and not least because something in her... was reacting.... "Oh course, there's always Imperio if he wants a sweet young thing, but---" another nasty chuckle--- "from what Father's told me, Snape didn't need to cast Imperio on you, did he?"

Hermione gulped, trying hard not to remember that night... trying hard not to think about the fact that Malfoy was clearly, if clumsily, trying to evoke much the same response that Snape had so casually produced in her.

"So he doesn't like to share, does he?" Malfoy purred in her ear. "I suppose that's why he introduced you to Zabini---- she'd be enough to make anyone sit up and take notice, even that Weasley twit--- but he's ended up with a Teasdale, hmm?" Malfoy's smile was unpleasant even by his standards. "Wonder if he knows what her sister did to his brother--- oh, but that would be telling." Malfoy bent so that his lips brushed her ear. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then--- wouldn't want Snape to be cross with you? He might punish you--- but then again, you might find you enjoy that too---" And with a final snicker, Malfoy Junior finally left her in peace.

Not that she was going to be able to eat another bite. Her stomach was in knots. Merlin--- I cringe when Ron touches me, don't react at all when a perfectly nice-seeming young man kisses my hand---

And Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape make my pulse race, and they both treated me like... like....

No, it wasn't fair to compare them. The way Snape had treated her in the dungeons had nothing to do with his real feelings, of that she was certain. He'd only been gentle with her since, treated her with tenderness and respect---

And what she remembered, in the dark at night with her eyes closed, was his hands on her in the darkness of the dungeon and his silky whispering voice---

And there was no doubt that Draco Malfoy had been trying to imitate him. And--- Circe save her!--- that she had enjoyed it. Even as she'd been utterly revolted by it.

She grabbed a nearby pitcher of pumpkin juice, poured herself a glass and drank, trying to wash the foul taste from her mouth. Lord, what's wrong with me?

Well, she had to see Snape tonight--- to tell him what Malfoy had said, let him know that this could be turned to their advantage.

And maybe, just maybe... he could... do something... about the ache in her bones and the heat in her blood.

Though it was really too much to hope--- or dread--- that he'd touch her again.

Author's Notes:

Lacy and Sithel both told me about the "en passant capture" that pawns can do; I couldn't resist. It's not quite right for this chapter, but I"m not sure what would be better...