And what did the children think about the buttonhole?
Not much, at least at first.
The next class of First Years didn't notice the rose at all. They were too busy watching their cauldrons and worrying about making a mistake to look up.
They were aware of Snape as a dark shape on the periphery of their vision, but had no desire to make eye contact. They were a class for whom the surface of their desk held an overwhelming interest.
The next – and final – class for the day were Seventh Years. Confident in their abilities, they could afford the luxury of taking an interest in things around them. For them, Potions was a little like war – or goalkeeping – for most of the time stultifying boredom, only occasionally punctuated by heart-stopping terror.
To a seventh year, Snape was a rite of passage they had endured and would soon be able to look back on with amusement if not fondness. They would be able to deal with the petty tyranny of future employers with equanimity – they had survived The Snape, unlike lesser mortals who had been forced out after their Owls.
Charlotte was the first to notice the addition to Snape's attire.
She had diced her ingredients carefully, which were now simmering in her cauldron in the approved fashion – neither too quickly nor too slowly - but hadn't achieved quite the right shade of green.
She cast a glance up at the blackboard to check on the ingredients and saw the buttonhole. She was so immersed in her work, and so used to seeing Snape without any adornment, that her brain didn't register what her eyes had seen for ten minutes or so.
That was a rose, said the eyes.
Nah, replied the brain. That can't be right.
No, really, the eyes insisted.
This is Snape we are talking about, replied the brain. How likely is it that he'd be wearing a rose? In class?
Take another look, the eyes said, and the brain did so. Not because it expected there to be a flower, but in the hope that the itching feeling behind the eyes would go away once the absence was confirmed.
There it was. It was a small rose, a subtle rose, a dark rose, but it was a rose.
Eyes and brain could both aver that there was indeed a rose and it was indeed attached to Snape, and after that the brain had nothing to contribute.
"Oi, Charlotte," hissed her neighbour. "Watch out."
Her attention drawn back to her cauldron, which was on the verge of boiling over, she adjusted the heat and tried to concentrate on her work.
"What on earth has got into you?" said Sharon from behind her, giving her a sharp prod with her wand. "If you don't watch out, Snape'll be down on you like a ton of bricks."
Snape's head shot up like a lion scenting prey in the long grass, determined to search out the innocent gazelle and rend it limb from limb. "There will be no chattering in my class."
"Sorry, sir," replied the two girls, almost in unison.
Snape's attention was now fixed on the pair, to their obvious discomfort, until a sharp cry of pain from the back of the class distracted him. "Mr Bartleby," he said, "Much as I appreciate your desire to bring your insignificant little existence to an end, I would be grateful if you could do so in some other teacher's class. Not only is the paperwork on the death of a pupil onerous, but it makes a dreadful mess, and I will not be happy if I have to spend my valuable time listening to the complaints of Mr Filch on the subject of blood on the floor."
Professor Snape drew his wand and cast a series of cleaning charms to remove the spilled potion from the floor, desk and pupil.
"Look at Snape," muttered Charlotte, taking advantage of the disturbance.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Sharon replied, and then the penny dropped. "Good god, is that what I think it is?"
Charlotte nodded.
"Good god," Sharon said weakly, unable to think of anything more original or pithy to say.
Susan heard their comments, and turned to see what they were looking at. "Eeeek," she said.
Pupil by pupil, the news passed through the classroom like a wave. Einstein had it wrong – gossip travels faster than the speed of light.
It was fortunate for the class that Severus had half a mind on Bartleby's mess and the other half on the impending chess game, because if he had realised that his entire class was gaping at him in astonishment, he would have been forced to give out detentions.
With Filch, of course. He had other things to do that evening, than bullying annoying schoolchildren, especially as Miss Granger was coming along nicely.
Severus could be forgiven for being distracted: he was trying to work out whether the Rules allowed him to reward Miss Granger's wooing by allowing her to pounce on him, and to what extent he could, and should, acquiesce in any pouncing.
He wouldn't want to seem easy.
Hermione had never thought of Snape as easy, and wouldn't have thought of him as easy if he had turned up in her bed one evening, stripped naked, and covered in baby oil. He was awkward, difficult, exasperating, oddly attractive, and a bloody mystery, but never easy.
So, whilst she was satisfied that she had managed the first task on the list, she had no expectations for that evening's chess game other than pleasant company and a challenging match.
This didn't prevent her from dressing with seduction in mind. If chance favoured the prepared mind, it may also favour the prepared body, which meant perfume, best underwear, and a dress that subtly enhanced her best points.
Minerva would doubtless think that she wasn't going far enough – and she hoped that Minerva would keep her opinions to herself over the dinner table - but she felt fairly self-conscious as it was. The v-neck dress she had chosen was revealing enough, and seemed to her to put acres of flesh on show. Anything lower would have meant an entire evening worrying about how far she could bend down before her chest fell out. As it was, it was all she could do to sit through dinner without constantly plucking at her neckline and making sure that she was decently covered up.
Hermione already felt extremely self-conscious, as if the whole of the Hall was staring at her, without the added discomfort of sitting next to Sybill who had ousted Minerva from her usual seat.
She was up to something.
Further acquaintance had not let to Hermione revising her unfavourable opinion of the fraud, other than downwards. Trelawney wasn't merely a fraud, she was a sadistic fraud, who spent her weekends tucked away in her tower sucking on the cooking sherry and deciding what "prophecy" would spread most consternation in the school.
The teachers were impervious to her dire prognostications and greeted her portents with shrugs and rolled eyes, but every year brought her a new crop of students to terrify, and terrify them she did with her tales of death, doom, gloom and despondency. It took the students the bulk of seven years to overcome their fear of Snape, but even the most ardent mouthbreather was immune to Sybill by the end of the first term.
This was a matter of annoyance to Sybill, who felt that Severus was showing her up deliberately.
Consequently there was little love lost between the two, and Sybill's sudden urge to sit near to Hermione was probably the rough equivalent to moving a pawn out onto the wide expanse of the chessboard and waiting to see what happened next.
Hermione, with all the smug assurance of the queen, was doing what she was supposed to, and protecting her king.
Sybill's reconnaissance being completed, she made her move. A gasp, a hand to the throat, a death rattle – if only, thought Hermione – and then the oracular pronouncement. "I see dark clouds gathering."
"The weather does look to be closing in," Minerva said from the other side of Trelawney. Severus coughed pointedly.
"I meant psychic dark clouds, as you very well know," snapped Sybill, before making a conscious effort to regain her wistful demeanour. "I can see them, gathering round people at this table."
"Really," Hermione said flatly.
"Ohhhhh," Sybill gasped. "I'm afraid, I'm very much afraid that it may be you, Miss Granger. You and another… I can see a dark figure… a dark man… and there is some dreadful event in store for you."
"I think she means that you're going to lose another chess match," Severus said to Hermione, but pitched to carry.
"The forces of destiny will not be mocked," Sybill said. "Trouble is brewing, and when it comes, you will rue the day that you scoffed."
"Yes, Sybill," Minerva said in tones of infinite patience. "Though, correct me if I'm wrong, didn't you foretell something equally dire last week? Smething about a snare lying in wait for someone?"
"Pomona did trip over a plant in the greenhouses," Hermione said. "Be fair."
Sybill muttered something under her breath that seemed to indicate that she was less than appreciative of Hermione's support.
"That's true. Good grief," Minerva clutched at Sybill's arm, "you don't mean that Hermione and Severus are going to have to supervise another Hogsmeade weekend, do you? Fate couldn't be that cruel; surely not."
Sybill pulled her arm free abruptly, to Minerva's evident amusement.
"Fate might not, but Albus surely would," Hermione said.
"Not if he wanted to make it to the end of term with all his limbs intact," Severus replied darkly.
"I shouldn't worry, Severus," Minerva said, offering what comfort she could. "Bearing in mind the events at the last Hogsmeade weekend you were called upon to supervise, only an idiot would think you were suitable to oversee children enjoying themselves."
"And your point is," Severus said, very carefully not looking at Albus.
"If you have quite finished mocking the fates," Sybill interrupted, knowing that the topic of Albus' sanity could occupy the teachers for hours. "I would remind people of the terrible fate in store for Miss Granger. If I were you, dear, I would settle for an early night and hope that the cloud will pass over in the night."
Both Hermione and Severus were thinking that an early night sounded like a good idea, and were bitterly regretting the decision to play silly games.
"I know you mean well, Sybill," Hermione replied. "But we Gryffindors are noted for their courage, so I will be brave, and just have to take my chances. If the fates have something dreadful in store for me, I can't see how it can be avoided really. Not even by sticking my head under the bedcovers."
"Indeed," said Minerva. "I think that's a very commendable attitude, don't you Severus?"
"Much as it pains me to admit that anything Gryffindor is commendable, I have to agree," Severus replied with the faintest of smiles, which deepened into something warmer when he turned to Hermione. . "If you've finished your dinner, perhaps we could begin our game?"
Hermione nodded, a little shyly.
Sybill watched them leave with an unpleasant expression that could have soured milk, and grievous bodily harm, if not quite murder, in her heart.
Hermione was feeling more confident about this chess game. She knew that Severus was interested, so she could concentrate all her attention on winning the game rather than worrying about her next move, and been reading up on strategy to increase her chances of winning.
She sat down in what she was coming to think of as her usual chair, and watched him setting out the chess pieces. "I thought," she said, "that we might make it a little more interesting this time. Perhaps we should play for a forfeit of some sort?"
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, intrigued.
"Nothing too onerous."
Suspicion made him hesitate. She seemed to be hinting that she would take advantage of him. That was all well and good if that taking advantage consisted of acts of a sexual nature, but what if she had something truly awful in mind like supervising a Hogsmeade weekend? Or sitting next to Albus at meals for a week?
"Unless you're worried you might lose," she added.
"Not at all," he replied. "After all, Sybill has foretold your doom, and we know how reliable she is."
It was only half way through the game, that he realised how truly stupid that comment was. Sybill was indeed living up to her reputation for almost complete inaccuracy, and he was losing. Not badly, but Hermione definitely had the edge.
She'd been practicing, he realised. And she was cheating. Wearing that dress definitely counted as cheating.
He was debating whether to let her win – or at least pretend that he'd let her win, just in case she did win – and allow her to move the real game on a move, when there was a thunderous knocking at the door.
"Bugger!" he said. He rose to his feet, and slipped back into his teacher's gown. "Is it too much to hope that the little bastards would refrain from killing themselves just as I was about to make the decisive move?"
"You mean you were going to conceded defeat?" Hermione asked, smiling at him almost fondly.
Snape didn't answer her, but opened the door to his rooms with great vigour. "Yes?" he barked.
"I'm sorry sir," wailed a student. "But there's been a bit of an accident."
"And?"
"It's Felsham, sir. You'd better come and have a look, sir. Quickly, sir." The lad hopping from foot to foot in his anxiety, and Hermione whether they'd drawn straws to see who came down to pass on the good news.
"I'm sorry, Her – Professor Granger" Severus said, turning back to her. "I'll have to go and sort this out, and it may take some time."
Hermione nodded, resigned to a perfectly good seduction opportunity going to waste. Whatever had happened wouldn't take that long to sort out, but trying to work out which of the fifteen versions of events was the closest to the truth would take several hours at least. It wasn't as if it were a straight Gryffindor vs Slytherin contest, where the matter could be solved by blaming the most convenient Gryffindor and deducting House Points. This was an entirely Slytherin affair, by the look of it, which meant actually having to work out who was the culprit. House discipline would not survive if one of the little blighters actually managed to get one across Snape.
"Indeed. I shall look forward to picking up where we left off at some stage," she replied.
Severus obviously wanted to say more , but couldn't in front of the student, so had to content himself with ushering her from the room and locking the door very carefully behind her.
As Hermione walked back to her room she reflected that Sybill had turned out to be right after all. And if she found out that Sybill had had anything to do with this evening's events – and she wouldn't put it past her – then there would be trouble.
The portrait guarding her rooms didn't appreciate the tone in which she gave the password, but thought better of saying anything about it. Hermione flopped gracelessly down on to her bed, and glared at the nicely wrapped box of chocolates on the bedside table.
Sod it.
She may not be able to have love tonight, but she could certainly have a Strawberry Crème. It would just have to do.
For now.
