Hermione had never had the privilege of entering Severus's quarters before. As far as she was aware none of his colleagues had ever crossed his threshold, other than Madam Pomfrey when he'd had a particularly nasty bout of flu.

Apparently she'd been sworn to secrecy, and she would merely look mysterious whenever questioned about his rooms. Unkind and bitter souls (Minerva) had alleged that her closed mouth was solely due to a desire to wind up her fellow professionals.

Even if the evening didn't end the way she hoped – and let's face it, she thought, it would take a disaster of monumental proportions for her to come away without minimal lip contact – she would at least have the small pleasure of rubbing Poppy's nose in the fact that her monopoly had been broken.

And she'd been invited in, and hadn't forced her way past a poorly Severus in a weakened state.

The room was surprisingly pleasant. Obviously, he'd made an effort. She doubted that he'd selected the candles with anything in mind other than decent lighting to play chess – candlelight didn't have the same romantic connotations for purebloods – but the subtle glow created an intimate atmosphere nonetheless.

She was aware that Severus was looking at her a little anxiously, and that was the moment she knew she'd definitely won. She'd never seen Severus look anything other than gravely serious, sadistically sneering (when deducting house points), seriously miffed (when deducting house points from Slytherin), and on one memorable occasion smiling. He had a nice smile, but you couldn't go round defeating Dark Lords everyday, just to put a smile on his face.

Perhaps a post-coital Severus smiled?

She hoped so, and she hoped to find out personally. If a post-coital Severus smiled, it was perfectly possible that he could be made to smile at least once a day. Maybe more.

Perhaps she should throw caution to the wind and simply pounce on him, but then, he might not like such a direct approach despite Minerva's assurances to the contrary. She debated the point so long that the moment was lost, he was courteously holding a chair out from the table for her to sit in, and then started setting up the chessboard.

"White or black?" he asked, sitting opposite her.

"I'll take white," she said, smiling warmly at him. "I'm sure you'd feel more comfortable with black."

He acknowledged the joke with a twitch of the lips, and then battle began.

Hermione realised she had made a mistake almost straight away. After the first few moves, Severus was concentrating on the chessboard and not her at all. He was obviously determined to win. Now according to Minerva she should simply lean forward when moving the chess pieces, possibly with a meaningful look, and Severus Snape would be hers for the asking.

She sighed. She just wasn't the seductive type.

She turned her attention to the chess board, and decided to give him the trouncing of a lifetime. There was a brisk flurry of moves – a knight exchanged for a bishop, a rook taken by a pawn – and the game was on in earnest. Both of them were taking longer over their moves, eyeing the board, and calculating the possibilities before taking their turn.

Severus was surprised to find that Hermione was a very good chess player. He found himself having to concentrate on the board to make sure that the game wasn't over in fifteen minutes. That was harder then he had expected, not merely because of her newfound skills, but because of the dress. Every time she leaned forward to get a better view of the board, or to make her move, he could see the swell of her breasts; on one occasion he caught a glimpse of bra, and very nearly moved his knight to entirely the wrong square.

He was sure that the heroes in these damned books would be making witty conversation and wouldn't be reduced to dry mouthed sweating at the mere glimpse of a piece of flesh and/or underwear.

Still, it appeared to be nice underwear, and one thing had been made clear to him from reading Witches Weekly was that the wearing of nice underwear was Important to Women. It appeared to act as the female equivalent of Firewhiskey and give women Dutch courage to face any tricky situation, or, and he hoped that was the right analysis, was worn on a date to make the woman feel Attractive.

So, on balance, taking all things into consideration, he was tentatively considering the proposition that Hermione was not averse to some kind of relationship with him.

He knew that he was being silly; he'd heard her announce that she was interested in him to Minerva, but this was so unlikely that he couldn't help but look for circumstantial evidence to bolster this rather bewildering statement. Hermione likes me, he would think; and then he would prod the idea to see if it made any more sense than when he first heard it. He wondered if he would ever feel anything other than surprise at the idea; perhaps, in ten years or so, it would be 'of course Hermione likes me'.

He snorted.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "It's your move," she said softly, looking at him with her eyes wide. He'd never really noticed before: they weren't brown, or rather they won't solely brown, they had hazel flecks.

Of course, a smooth seducer would say something about them; perhaps quote some poetry, before pouncing on her. He elected to move his bishop to safety, which was just as well, as her next move could have seen him checkmated.

He really needed to concentrate on the game; she'd hardly respect a man she could wipe the floor with at chess - ah, he could see an opening, and if she would just move her queen to there - oh yes, she did as he wanted – it was only a matter of a couple of moves until victory was his.

And so it was; five moves later Hermione was ruefully contemplating the board and conceding defeat. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the game; he was a skilled player, and, unlike Ron, wouldn't sulk if he lost. She hoped so anyway, though on her present rate of progress it would be a long time before she found out.

If only she could keep her mind on the game, rather than whether he was interested in taking things further.

"Well," said Severus, "thank you for that. It's not often I get to play chess, let alone against such a challenging opponent."

Oh, was that her cue to leave?

"Perhaps you'd like a glass of wine? And then we could have a re-match; if you're interested, that is?"

Severus hoped he didn't sound as, well, hopeful, as he felt; he was trying for studied nonchalance.

"Thank you, that would be very pleasant. On both counts."

"Oh. Oh, right." So that blew any chances of studied nonchalance out of the water, and pretty much left him with drivelling idiot. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll hunt out a bottle of something half-way decent."

And then he bolted.

It was, she reflected, only just short of a disaster. She'd managed to inveigle her way into his rooms, but that was all. There was no indication that he was interested in anything other than a chess match; and she really wasn't keen on the idea of sweeping the chess pieces aside, sitting on his lap and snogging him into submission.

Well, actually she was dead keen on that, but not so keen on the likely rejection.

He was taking an awfully long time with whatever it was he was up to, surely it didn't take that long to find a bottle of wine? Idly, she moved to stand by the bookshelves and began to examine them as any bookworm would. He had a rare copy of Trentan, which she wouldn't mind borrowing; a couple of books so obscure she'd never even heard of; and she couldn't help but laugh when she caught sight of the Muggle paperback squashed between them.

He too had been confiscating inappropriate reading material from his classes. She smiled; she could just imagine it: the spotting of his prey, the preparatory sneering "What is so interesting that you feel it takes priority over listening to me?", the flustered girl, the pounce, the removal of the offending book, and the triumphant return to the front of the class holding the item at arm's length.

He might, if he was feeling particularly annoyed, read a few selected passages to the class.

Her eyes travelled on. Oh a Para...... Oh sod it, who was she kidding; she was dying to know which book it was. Had he read it, she wondered? Had he actually sat down after class with a nice cup of tea and some biscuits and read the book?

She drew it out of its place, checking to see that Severus wasn't about to return. She didn't want to be caught reading anything without his permission, and he'd likely be embarrassed that she'd found the book. An embarrassed Severus would be a bad-tempered Severus, and a bad-tempered Severus would not be receptive to the suggestion that they determine whether some of the more outrageous scenes were physically possible.

Curious, the book looked familiar. She eyed the impossible physical form of the hero, all dark and brooding... her mind drifted away contemplating the dark and brooding man now apparently hiding from her in the other room... hang on. It was the book she'd been discussing with Minerva, the one that had started all this off in the first place.

What a coincidence.

She flicked open the cover.

A name was inscribed in the top left hand corner, though why anyone would want to be associated with this pap was a mystery. Marietta Saker. That was the name of the girl she had confiscated the book from; this was the same book, it had to be.

There has to be a simple explanation for this. He found the book in the Common Room after you left and brought it back to his chambers to read. That didn't sound very likely did it? Which meant, what, that he had been there all the time? That he had listened to her confession about liking him?

And had then started being nice to her, and allowed her to suggest playing chess.

The cunning bastard; she'd thought she was being so clever, so seductive, and he'd been playing games all along.

Better put the book back. She needed time to think about what she was going to do about this.

The book wouldn't go back in its little space: there was something getting in the way. Frustrated, and worried that Severus would return and catch her red-handed, she pulled at the scrap of paper that was lodged in the space. The book slid home easily now, all she had to do now was push the piece of paper back down the side, and she was safe.

The heading on the paper caught her eye as she was shoving it back: How to Seduce Hermione.

He had a plan.

He actually had a plan; the conniving, sneaky, duplicitous git had a plan. Thank god: he was interested.

She cast a hasty glance over the page: only a fool would turn down the chance to work out what was going on in his mind. She was expecting the usual, something about chess matches being used as a thinly veiled excuse to lure his prey to the dungeons, flowers, chocolates, invitations to dinner, and hopefully satin sheets and the shag of a lifetime.

Apparently not.

It took her a couple of minutes to work it out: there were references to The Rules and she couldn't place them at first. Then an image of Witch Weekly flashed into her mind – How to Snare your Man. She had, in a weak moment, read them, before deciding that however much she liked Severus, nothing would make her behave like that.

It took another couple of minutes of feeling slightly disgruntled that he would think she would stoop to such tactics before the penny dropped; he was intending to employ these tactics. He intended that she should chase him – metaphorically – all round the castle before eventually allowing her to catch him.

Which was odd, and strangely appealing.

She heard footsteps, and quickly shoved the paper back into the bookcase, moving away to stand at the further end and admire his collection of first edition Potions books. She knew she looked slightly guilty when he came into the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses, but she hoped she it would pass for embarrassment at being caught in the typical bibliophile's habit of looking at another's bookshelves.

From his warm chuckle it seemed she'd got away with it.

"So, have you formed any deep insights into my character?" he asked.

"No, but I have found a couple of books I'd like to borrow, if you wouldn't mind. I know how hard it is to part with them, even for a little while, but I promise to return them unharmed, and not to read them in the bath."

Severus flinched at the idea of someone taking his precious books into the bath. He was reluctant to part with one of his books, but the strategic advantages couldn't be overlooked. She had to return the book - that meant another evening in his rooms, if he played his cards right – and would give them a topic of conversation. He was fairly certain that that the Rules of Romance didn't stipulate that you should make intelligent conversation with your intended partner, but he didn't see why he should sit through four hours of tedium just for a snog, no matter how nice the underwear.

After all he was a master strategist – see Voldemort, fall of; and Snape, Severus, Order of Merlin (First Class) – therefore he could play around with the Rules if he so chose.

He would have been surprised to find that Hermione was thinking along the same lines. She'd seen the flinch and had empathised; the last time she had lent a book to Ginny, she'd taken it into the bath to read and it had been returned dog-eared and curling at the edges.

It had taken her four weeks of applying charms to return it to its pristine condition and a further two weeks before she had spoken to Ginny again.

Some things were sacred; and if he was prepared to part with a book, she was doing better than she had thought.

Sod Minerva's advice, she was going to play this her way; it might take longer in the end, but surely the journey would be as interesting as the destination.

So when Severus suggested another game of chess, she smiled and said, "Would you mind awfully if we just talked instead?"

"Erm, well, no. What did you want to talk about?" Severus felt flustered as Hermione sat on the sofa and patted the seat next to her invitingly. He poured a glass of wine, to cover his uncertainty, and then handed it to her.

"Oh, I don't know... Why don't you tell me what Figgis did to warrant twenty points deducted in Potions this morning, that should be amusing."

"Hmmm, let me see what didn't he do?" He took a seat next to her, trying to judge the closest he could sit without being too personal, and was gratified when she turned slightly towards him and moved a little closer. "There were five points deducted for inadequate shredding of ingredients, five points deducted for melting his cauldron, and ten points for staring at Miss Spleather in an inappropriate manner."

"Ah, sits the wind in that quarter? I did wonder. I noticed him making puppy eyes at her last week. I only took five points, though."

"Which explains why he still feels able to allow his concentration to wander in my classes, no doubt." He tried a faint smile to go with the comment; he didn't want her to think he was criticising her teaching methods – though he did think she was too lenient with her classes – but rather venturing a joke. Humour was apparently important in a relationship.

She smiled back. "You may be right. I just don't think I've got the presence to carry off a more radical approach to points deduction."

He blinked. That was a compliment buried in there: she thought he had presence. "I'm sure you'll find it easier to command the classroom as time goes on," he offered.

"Perhaps, though I doubt I'll be able to dominate a room like you do; I don't have the voice for one."

She liked his voice, too?

He felt a little like a dog that had been rubbed – just right – behind the ears. It seemed these Rules were working: he'd managed to lure her onto the sofa, and had received two compliments.

He made a mental note to study the Rules again later, to work out what his next move would be, but now he had to think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a prat.

"More wine, Hermione?"

Well, it wasn't witty and charming, but neither was it foolish.

"Why, thank you Severus. I do like this: it's very rich and full bodied, just the way I like my wine."

"It's one of the last bottles from the Malfoy cellar. It was his one redeeming feature – the ability to choose a decent wine."

The conversation turned to vintages and vineyards. Hermione's father was something of a wine buff, so she was able to keep track of the conversation and even make a contribution. It was with something of a shock that she realised that they'd been talking for hours, and that it was well past midnight.

She yawned, unable to hold it back. "Oh, I think it's time I left." She rose to her feet and moved towards the door.

"Here," he said, holding a book out to her. "You nearly forgot this."

"Thank you, Severus." He held the door open for her; as she passed she stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope we can do it again sometime."

Severus wanted to suggest another date, but the Rules prohibited it. He wanted a day to think about his strategy and his next move, so he contented himself with a simple, "I hope so too, Hermione."

Both parties went to bed that night thinking that things could have gone better but overall rather pleased with the way things had turned out. Events were moving in the right direction; and Hermione and Severus were both planning to keep it that way.