It almost slipped his notice, so caught up was he in his own plans and problems. His connections were coming along swimmingly, seeing as all of them knew the true culprit behind the Azkaban breakout. There had been a shadow of doubt among many that his movement would be finished before it even got started again, but those murmurings seemed to have remained mostly background. Hopefully those whisperers would be silenced in a couple of months when he enacted his plan... which he did need to begin putting into action. There were several pawns to move into position before that and he should eliminate a couple of variables. Teaching the Potter boy occlumency would become a hindrance in the long run...

The bigger issue though, or at least the more immediate one, the one that he kept getting side tracked from was one that he had been raised by an overheard conversation in the corridor. The Weasley girl had been speaking to Dean and mentioned that Potter was taking some Chang girl to Hogsmeade, he'd thought nothing of it until he'd heard Weasley being cajoled into quiddich training by the bossy captain.

Perhaps times had changed since Gellert was of their age, perhaps it was because he was a product of an older, more polite time but he found the idea of her not being escorted to the village terrible. In fact, it had actually been such an outrageous concept that he hadn't even realised it would happen. It had taken several weeks for the obvious consequences of both her friends having other obligations to sink in.

So that is how he found himself dressed in his smart fur cloak, waiting in the common room long past the time when he usually would have already left to review the information Winky had collected the previous day. Harry and Ron emerged from the dormitory about half an hour after him, Harry looking rather pale and Ron seemingly trying to comfort him. Both boys completely ignored him, clambering through the portrait just as Hermione finally emerged from the girl's dormitory.

He stood quickly, striding across the room to her. She startled when she noticed him but cocked her head curiously when he stopped in front of her. For a moment he was lost for words, an unfamiliar chill trickling like cracked egg inside his chest.

'It came to my attention that you would be going to Hogsmeade unaccompanied.' He began, wondering whether it was still expected that a man would bow at this point. Bowing seemed to have gone out of fashion, but surely asking to escort a lady... then again, he wasn't asking to escort her, he was offering which made a difference in the etiquette, particularly when bowing had become so uncommon. He seemed to have hesitated too long, because Hermione gave an awkward giggle.

'Are you inviting me to Hogsmeade with you?' She asked through her giggles. Relief washed away that cold feeling, then that relief turned sour as he realised she was waiting for an answer.

'Well yes, I just couldn't see a young lady go unaccompanied on Valentine's day.' He managed, brushing his fingers across the hilt of his wand, hidden up his sleeve. A rose, she would like roses.

He whipped to tulip out and presented it to her.

He didn't know whether she was more shocked than him. His magic was never off like that.

Thankfully, she seemed more pleasantly surprised and with a delicate blush took the tulip from him. She didn't seem to realise how flustered he was, he was never flustered; he was a 115 year old war veteran.

He held out his arm like he had done when they first met, escorting her through the portrait and down to the breakfast hall. The persistent flobberworm in his stomach seemed to fade as he pulled out the bench for her and filled her a cup of tea. He barely noticed the suspicious glares Potter and Weasley were shooting him over their porridge. Actually, he did notice them but he was more interested in the letters both him and Hermione had both received.

He quickly took note of the familiar emerald seal, having already exchanged frequent correspondence with its owner, both the current one and the one two previous. He used his butter knife to slice through the wax and unfolded the letter. It was flowery as their correspondence always was, addressed to him under his alias of Gellert Abernathy as though he were a friend of Draco's. It contained the usual platitudes which hid the real information, hidden to all but the "Slytherin" mind that was already aware of their plans.

Lucius Malfoy did not like to be kept waiting, so he conjured a clean piece of parchment (doing the same for Hermione when she asked for one too so that she could reply to her letter.) and quickly wrote his response. Yes, he was doing well in his lessons (the plans were progressing nicely.) He would be very interested in the books Lucius had found, could he please send the first volume in the post (put the first part of the plan in motion.) Did Narcissa enjoy her Wednesday tea (did she hear anything of interest from her connections among the society wives). He beefed it out with a couple of comments about how Draco was doing, he offered condolences and concerns about their continued safety after the escape of Narcissa's deranged cousin (fishing for information) and mentioned that he would be able to exchange more detailed letters when he had the time, perhaps next week. (he was free to meet in person at some point next week).

He sealed the letter with a blank seal; his own would have raised far too much suspicion if anyone saw it. Instead, he used an anti-tampering charm before giving the letter to the waiting owl. Hermione too was just finishing up her letter and he cast a regretful look as his bacon as he stood to accompany her to the owlery. Malfoy's owl had helped itself to the best bits, leaving only rind.

He refrained from asking who she had been writing to, he couldn't exactly tell her who he had been talking to.

Today was not a day for conspiracies, plans and wars. Today was for a woman to be treated like a princess, a day for love and compassion and all those happy things that Albus liked to talk about that Gellert knew would bring back that inquisitive, brilliant young girl he had dared to call a friend before their argument. He was determined to put up his best performance ever when it came to those fuzzy feelings and give Hermione a day as a normal young woman, spending a normal day out of school.

They were checked out by the grumpy caretaker and the climbed aboard one of the thestral drawn carriages. They were the first inside and had to wait for a moment, however when it became clear that nobody would be joining them soon, the carriage moved off with just them aboard.

There was an awkward silence.

'Hagrid gave us a lesson on thestrals.' She said into the silence, peering over his shoulder through the window at what she would see as an empty space. He'd heard about this but was happy to take up the thread of conversation.

'I had heard. I assume that you can't see them?' He turned and looked instinctually. The single thestral harnessed to the carriage tossed its head as though it knew it was being talked about. Perhaps it did, he didn't make a habit of talking to the world's expert on magical beasts.

'I can't. It seems unlikely that I will never be able to though.' She was dwelling on the war again, so he made a conscious effort to change the subject. So he launched into the story of his daring escape from the American prison. His own propaganda made him seem like a deranged maniac who confidently perched on the roof of a carriage flying through a storm, controlling the lightning with his wand.

The truth was close, but he had spent significantly more time hanging on for dear life than swinging around corners. There had been a brief moment for example where he had actually been thrown from the carriage in an attempt to avoid a blast from a following auror. Luckily he had fallen forwards and it was only the trailing hoof of one of the thestrals that had flicked him backwards enough to grab a wheel. The public story had completely deleted the part where he spent several minutes desperately clinging to the wheel as he tried to muster enough upper body strength to reach up to the undercarriage.

It was not perhaps a story for a regular day away from school but it kept them entertained until they arrived in Hogsmeade.

He helped her down from the carriage and escorted her first to honeydukes, because he knew it was appropriate to buy girls chocolates on Valentine's day. They spent a while in the sweet shop, then skipped the rowdy joke shop and visited a parchment shop to buy new quills.

They spent a while in the book shop, he perused the titles with little interest but did purchase a token book on advanced ancient runes. Hermione chose a couple and he insisted on paying for them. He waived her protests and then cajoled the clerk into getting the majority delivered up to the castle so that they didn't have to carry them.

She'd told him that she had an appointment at the Three Broomsticks, so they meandered through the slushy street on their way to the pub. The conversation flowed smoothly from homework to advanced arithmetic, and once again Gellert found himself wondering at the girl who was only half way through her education yet still managed to make points that were both interesting and even more surprisingly, completely novel to him.

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron before the rush and Gellert looked around the famous building with more than a little interest. It was darker than he had imagined, although nowhere near as dark as the Hog's Head. The room was busy, although Hermione has assured him it would get busier as they got closer to lunch and the noise was just at the level of being comfortable. They walked down an aisle of worn floorboards past large wooden tables and a merry, crackling fire. The bartender waited behind a well loved bar – Rosmerta was admired by every boy in the dormitory with generous curves. The witch seemed only too happy to take advantage of the patron's opinions, dressed in a saucy robe that laced tightly from her waist and made her bust spill over the top. She chatted with the customers as she poured butterbeer for them and once again Gellert insisted on paying as they made their way to a table in the corner.

There was silence for a few moments as they both sipped on their butterbeer.

'Why do you do this?' Hermione asked into the silence. He had no idea what she was talking about so he just looked blankly at her. 'All this I mean?' She gestured vaguely around them at the pub. He could only assume she meant the morning in general.

'In my day... it's difficult to explain... we would never let a lady go alone on Valentine's day.' Gellert answered but Hermione still seemed unsatisfied.

'No, I mean... I spoke to Dumbledore... he said you're not like us, that you paid a price for your sight.'

'I was born with the sight. I didn't pay any price.' He scowled. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what Albus had told her and if he had recounted the story of how thoroughly he had played the British wizards emotions, she would never come to trust him and all his efforts would be wasted.

'Well, he said you're a bit like You-Know-Who, that you don't feel love or compassion.' She elaborated. It felt like ice was creeping through his veins, so cold that it burned. All that he could think was how much he hated Albus for ruining this connection he had just begun to repair.

'In essence.' Was all he said.

'So why do you pretend?'

The question caught him by surprise. He had expected accusation, perhaps an argument, at least anger for stringing her along. He took a deep breath before answering.

'It's not a simple as Albus makes it out to be.' He finally managed. 'I don't know the situation with Riddle but my own is rather fluid.' Hermione deserved an explanation if nothing else, perhaps this situation could still be salvaged. He could lie, tell her that Albus was wrong, but Hermione was too intelligent. She would find out eventually and the rift would become irreparable. For now the truth was better.

'I do not form meaningful connections, I never loved my parents, nor did I have any true friends. Perhaps if I had that ability I could develop empathy; I have never lost someone I care about, I have never cared about someone enough to be concerned when they are injured or upset.' He rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on his thumb and his forefingers covering his nose. Hermione was staring intently at the table, hopefully considering what he had told her. 'I understand the emotion, perhaps better than many who have experienced it. Riddle discounts its existence entirely, which is foolish. Love is a powerful magic.'

'So why do you pretend? All this?' The witch asked, frustration leaking into her tone. Without seeing her face he couldn't judge her opinion, her hair formed an almost solid shield infront of her bowed face.

'Usually? Because people wouldn't understand, they make a joke and I must laugh, someone dies and I must mourn because that is what society expects. It became habit to mirror the people around me. Today? I have already answered that. I didn't want you to be unaccompanied on Valentines. I would hardly offer to accompany you, then scorn you for the day.' Hermione had looked up but her face was frustratingly unreadable.

'I think I understand.' He got the sense she wasn't talking about only the topic they had been talking about just then. She gathered herself, checking her watch and finishing her butterbeer. She offered him a weak smile.

'You do?' He confirmed. The flobberworm was back.

'Yes, I think so. I am meeting someone though, a reporter. She should be here in a few minutes; any last minute advice?' She asked and he forced himself to relax, ignoring the flipping of the flobberworm as they settled back into a stilted conversation.