The nice thing about Pansy Malfoy nee Parkinson was that she knew how to bear a grudge. She wasn't fussed whether revenge was a dish served hot or cold, as long as it came in double portions.

Pansy had a little black book with a difference. Not for her the Floo details of young men (or women, depending on the mood). Oh no. Her little black book contained the names of all those who had annoyed, irritated or otherwise crossed her. Harry and Ron were by no means top of the list, but she was prepared to be flexible and take the opportunity to stitch them up like a kipper, even though it wasn't really their turn.

She'd replied to his note with commendable promptness, agreeing that they had a common interest in seeing that the Terrible Two got their comeuppance and Severus had taken the chance to slip away to find her when Hermione had conveniently returned to her room to do unspecified girly things.

Hogwarts was a castle designed for sneaking around and having meetings on the sly. There were secret corridors, which each generation of children discovered for themselves, and fondly imagined they were the first, and hidden rooms that only opened by the light of the full moon, or on the second Tuesday in every month. There was a complex chart on the wall of Severus' Office which displayed which room was available for each day of the year, so that he could better sneak up on People (Children usually) who were Plotting.

You always knew where to find the Gryffindors though: the Room of Requirement. No imagination.

For his own Plotting, he preferred to use an undistinguished room off the main corridor in the Dungeons. Flashy amateurs like Riddle preferred the exoticism of secret rooms like the Chamber of Secrets; Severus preferred an ordinary room, available all year round, and which didn't appear and disappear according to the vagaries of the stars. After all, you never knew when you might want to plot at short notice, and it was no good putting things off until next week because the room wasn't available.

To this end, he had kitted out the room with a couple of cosy armchairs to set his fellow Plotters at ease (the better to take advantage of them), some tea things and a never-empty biscuit barrel (refreshments were always nice), and a potions kit containing all sorts of useful items.

Crossing the courtyard, he saw the two boys huddled together on a bench in the distance. He could imagine what they were talking about: how to save Hermione from the clutches of a dangerous man, though why they had to do it outdoors, he couldn't imagine. There was enough fresh air between their ears to mean that they didn't need to leave the castle in search of more. He turned sharply right, deciding to go the long way round, rather than have a confrontation with them. Even stupid people would be able to put two and two together if there were an argument one day, and something went terribly wrong the next.

He still arrived early, naturally, and set about making a nice cup of tea, and arranging some biscuits neatly on a plate. Satisfied, he settled back to wait for his visitor.

Pansy was fashionably late. Experience having taught her that there was no point in trying to outflank him by getting there before him, she opted to make him wait ten minutes instead. Not long enough to be insulting, but just long enough to point out that her co-operation shouldn't be taken for granted.

Bless.

She certainly held a grudge against the boys.

"It was bad enough that that grubby pair suggested a threesome in the first place," she said indignantly. "As if I'd be interested in either of them. But then to spread the rumour that I'd only refused because Ron turned up instead of Harry is appalling. Whichever way you look at it, I come across as a desperate slapper."

"At least a slapper with taste, once you got your version of events in," Severus said, fanning the flames under the guise of sympathy. "Turning someone down because they have ginger hair does seem a reasonable response to me. I do wonder how Mr Weasley manages so well with that handicap."

Pansy twitched; the shot hit home. "So do I. I wouldn't put it past either of them to be boasting about conquests they haven't actually achieved. Ronald could still be a virgin for all we know."

"They really are an awful pair, and nothing they've done since leaving school has changed my mind," Severus replied. "A gentleman would take rejection on the chin, or anywhere else a lady chose to offer it."

"They certainly don't qualify as gentlemen," she said. "I only managed to prevent Draco from doing something foolish by pointing out that I was the wronged party, and it was for me to seek my revenge. You can imagine the field day the Daily Prophet would have with that: 'Son of Notorious Death Eater attacks The Boy Who Lived Twice'. We'd never hear the end of it."

Severus frowned. He didn't like to be reminded of Potter's celebrity status. Anyone would think that he'd taken on Lord Voldemort single-handed and the rest of the Order had been merely window dressing. Where would Potter have been without his spying skills, to take one example, plucked out of the air entirely at random. Dead, that's where.

It would be a positive pleasure to display Potter's feet of clay to a wider audience, but how was this to be accomplished.

Pansy had several interesting ideas. He did think that photographing the pair of them in a compromising position with a goat, and threatening to publish, was a step too far. Especially for the poor goat.

It did give him an idea though, and idea of almost intoxicating loveliness.

"I've always thought that the way that pair carries on is their desperate attempt to come to terms with, shall we say, a more deep-seated problem," Severus said, testing the waters to see if this idea would float. "They're trying too hard, don't you think?"

There was a significant pause whilst Pansy considered the suggestion, and assessed the likelihood of persuading the Wizarding World of the possibility that the rampant, almost obsessive, heterosexuality of the Terrible Two was nothing more than a thin veneer obscuring the true nature of their orientation.

"No one would ever believe it," she said regretfully. "They can't dance."

"They're in denial," Severus reposted.

"They have no dress sense."

Severus couldn't deny it, though, as someone who prided himself on his attention to his attire, he wasn't entirely happy with the implication that only gay men were well dressed. "That is true, but that can be explained as part of their heterosexual camouflage. A determined effort to blend in."

"All they're interested in is Quidditch."

"A game played by athletic, sweating men which provides them with the perfect cover to bathe communally and admire the rivulets of water trickling down over pink, firm flesh."

"Hmmmm." Pansy mused lovingly on the picture presented to her, but then recalled her attention to the matters in hand. "I suppose that would work, though it would have to be delicately handled. It's no good either of us going round alleging that they're gay. It'd be dismissed as sour grapes, especially on my part."

"Indeed, no. I was thinking more along the lines of us denying the rumours…"

"Obviously there's no truth in the rumours, Dean," Pansy addressed an imaginary target. "I don't think you have a thing to worry about in the changing rooms. I know some people say there's no smoke without fire, and it's a little odd that neither of them have managed to hold down a proper relationship, but really, I'm sure that it's all just a silly misunderstanding. After all, lots of boys spend time together, and it doesn't mean a thing, does it?"

"And all I have to do is to request Minerva not to discuss the rumours with Hermione, as it only upsets her, then our job will be done. She'll have to mention the rumours to Hooch and Trelawney, and those two can spread gossip faster than the Portraits. Before the end of the day the everyone at Hogwarts, including the House Elves, will be absolutely convinced that Harry and Ron are devotees of the love that dare not speak its name."

"Once they hear, they're bound to do something stupid like deny everything when the sensible thing to do is to look supercilious or smirk and offer to prove the rumours wrong. If they played their cards right, they'd actually be able to bed more young ladies," Pansy said, immensely satisfied with the beauty of the plan.

"If they go to Hermione for help in getting themselves out of the enormous hole they've dug for themselves, then she's just as likely to lecture them for being narrow-minded as anything else. Though she will enjoy them grovelling before her in an attempt to persuade her to help," Severus said, equally smug.

Pansy was looking at him quizzically. "You mean this is entirely for her benefit?"

"Indeed. What of it?" Severus replied flatly.

Pansy grinned at him unrepentantly. "Nothing. Nothing. I think it's very sweet, that's all."

Severus was surprised to find that he wasn't remotely bothered if someone thought he and Hermione were sweet together, and contented himself with raising an eyebrow in mild amusement.

"Bloody hell," she blurted. "It must be love."

Severus didn't really feel very comfortable using words like 'love' after a mere twenty-four hours, but he couldn't deny that there seemed to be more to his good mood than merely copious amounts of high-quality sex. He'd had that before, without his irritation levels being affected; it appeared that Hermione was right about brains leaking out of your ears when you were in love, and he only hoped that the damage wouldn't be too extensive. He had Slytherins to deal with after all.

Mind you, judging from Pansy's shocked expression, the thought of Professor Snape in love was sufficiently scary to offset any sudden loss in venom. He shrugged mentally: whatever worked.

"Well I hope you'll be very happy," Pansy said, recovering from her shock enough to be able to mouth platitudes.

"It's traditional to wish both partners happiness," he said dryly.

"I couldn't care less whether Hermione Granger is happy or not," Pansy said firmly. "She's never done a thing for me or Draco. You, on the other hand, spoke up for Draco at a time when no one else did. Don't think that either one of us have forgotten."

"Slytherins look after their own," he said. "I couldn't stand by and allow the Ministry to confiscate all the Malfoy estates like that."

"Besides," said Pansy, "it annoyed Potter."

Severus smiled faintly. "That too."

The look of aggravation on Potter's face when he'd testified that Draco had never been a Death Eater had been immensely gratifying. That this was due more to Lucius keeping his son out of things, just in case they lost, rather than a conscious moral decision by Draco was irrelevant. Draco's hands, if not his soul, were clean and that was all that mattered to the Ministry.

"The Aurors raided the Manor, you know. Looking for Dark Artefacts, and goodness only knows what else. They seemed very disappointed when they didn't find Muggles chained to the walls and suspicious blood stains on the floor. It didn't stop them tracking their great big muddy boots all over the carpets though. It took the house elves simply ages to get the marks out," Pansy said, annoyed all over again at the intrusion into her home.

"Didn't Maskelyne lead that Investigation?" Severus asked.

Pansy nodded.

"Didn't he get moved to the Apparition Licensing department shortly after that?"

"You know, I believe you may be right," Pansy replied blandly.

Severus suspected that many of the people involved in that investigation featured prominently in Pansy's Little Black Book, and were in the process of being ticked off one by one. It did the heart good to see his Slytherins growing up and making their way in the world. The Gryffindors may have won the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup for the last ten years, but his Slytherins were coming out on top where it really mattered.

And so was he.

Hermione hadn't really been able to think of a reason she needed to go back to her rooms. She didn't need to wash; she'd never been cleaner. Her suitcase was in Severus' rooms, so she couldn't pretend she needed to find fresh clothes. What she did need was a bit of time to herself, and she had the feeling that Severus had things to do but was being too polite to say so.

Well, not polite. Severus wasn't polite, not in conventional ways, but they had suddenly found themselves in a relationship and were rather groping their way to a modus vivendi. Until the fine details had been sorted out, it might be a good idea to err on the side of caution and give him some space.

So she'd made some comment about needing to do things, and suggested that he come and find her 'a bit later' – which was suitably vague – and slipped off to her room.

She had planned to read quietly until dinner time but she couldn't concentrate. The stupid faces of her stupid friends kept appearing before her, looking miserable. What right had they to disapprove of her relationship with Severus? As if they knew anything about going out with the same person for more than a fortnight.

She wasn't worried about Severus at all, she felt quietly confident that that was going to work out fine, thank you. It may have happened a little quickly, but it was a bit like a complicated potion – it had been bubbling along for seven months, and then the last ingredient had been added, and whoomph…

Whooomph was right.

No, the only fly in the ointment she could see was The Boys, and their dog in the manger attitude, and she was damned if she was going to waste any more time on them when there were much better things to be thinking about.

Such as the last ingredient in the cauldron.

And how long 'a bit later' would turn out to be.

She was startled out of her comfortable half-doze by a knock at the door. She opened it eagerly, having smoothed down her hair and clothes, expecting to see Severus.

"Oh, it's you," she said. Harry and Ron. Her two least favourite people in the world, now that Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy were dead.

They both looked hurt at the coldness of their reception, but shuffled inside when she stepped back from the door.

"I'm glad we caught you alone," Harry said, looking grave.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I hope you two haven't come round to nag me over seeing Severus, because if you have I suggest you save your breath," Hermione snapped irritably.

Ron perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, ready to make a run for it if things turned nasty. "Look, Hermione. I think you should hear us out. It's important."

Harry nodded. "It is important. I know you think you're in love, but, well, I don't think you can trust Snape."

"Oh not that again," Hermione replied. "I've spent nearly ten years telling you he's not a Death Eater, and still you won't give up. If the absolute failure of him to sneak up behind you and hex you in the back during the final confrontation hasn't convinced you that he's on our side, what will it take: a signed affidavit from Voldemort that he considers Severus a traitor to the cause? Because if that's what it takes, I'll try and arrange a séance."

"It's not that," Harry said, raising his voice. "Though I still think he's a shifty self-serving sod. It's something much worse."

Hermione glared at him. "What on earth are you on about now?"

"He's cheating on you," Ron said simply. "He's been seen meeting another woman."

Hermione was so angry she couldn't speak, but just stood there trying to control the urge to hit them.

"Someone saw him sneaking into a room with Pansy Parkinson," Ron said. "And we all know what she's like. They were in there for ages, and there were all sorts of silencing charms up. You don't do that, if you're not up to something."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, patently not sorry at all. "But I thought you had a right to know."

"That's kind of you," Hermione replied bitterly. "Very kind indeed. I bet you just couldn't wait to rush here with the good news."

"It wasn't like that, Hermione," Ron protested. "We're worried about you. We're your friends."

"If you were my friends, you'd be happy for me, and if you couldn't manage to be happy for me, you'd at least pretend to be happy for me, instead of coming up with this rubbish."

"But it's true," wailed Ron. "We saw him with our own eyes."

"I don't believe you," she said flatly. "Or rather, I don't believe Severus was having an illicit tryst with Pansy. Whatever you saw, it wasn't what you think it was. He's the Head of Slytherin, for god's sake; he's bound to have things to talk over with old pupils."

"Since when has Snape ever cared about the students?" Harry scoffed.

"It's Gryffindors he doesn't like, Harry," she replied wearily. "Just Gryffindors. And right now I can see his sodding point."

"I don't know what's happened to you, Hermione," Ron said pityingly. "We used to be such good friends, and now you throw this back in our face when we're only trying to help you. What changed?"

"You did," she said. "And I really don't like you very much at the moment."

Ron heaved himself up from the bed. "There's nothing more to be said then. We'll leave you to it. Just don't come running to us, when we find out the truth."

"I take it you don't want an invitation to the wedding then," she said, with a sneer that Severus would have been proud of.

Harry opened his mouth and then either thought better of what he was going to say or, more likely, couldn't think of a suitably nasty response, and let his breath out again in a long hiss. He shook his head sadly, presumably at Hermione's folly in trusting Snape, and left without saying another word. Ron followed him, and Hermione took great pleasure in slamming the door behind them.

Oh, for the old days, when she could have slapped the pair of them and got away with nothing more than points deduction and maybe a detention. She was an adult now, and had to behave.

Being a grown-up was no fun at all.

Severus knocked on her door barely ten minutes later. He expected to find a warm and gently glowing Hermione, who would be pleased to see him. What he got was a rather forlorn Hermione who needed to be coaxed back into good humour by an offer to hex the boys – it was obvious that her unhappiness was due to the boys, though she wouldn't tell him what they'd said - in whatever way she wanted.

"Tantallegra?" she suggested into his chest, where her head was buried.

"That would be doing them a favour," he replied. "It's the only way those two clodhoppers are going to learn to dance properly."

She choked with laughter.

"I was thinking more along the lines of giving them the symptoms of some horrible social disease, like syphilis. Just think: they'd have to notify all their recent partners. The news would be round the Wizarding World like wildfire, and they'd never have another shag again."

"You would too, wouldn't you? I do love you, you know," she said fondly.

The tone was half-joking, half-teasing, but there was an underlying truth to what she was saying, something that was so solid and undeniable that she could joke about it, because she took it for granted. It took his breath away for a moment, and then he'd kissed her with all the passion that he couldn't put into words, not yet anyway.

She'd reciprocated with enthusiasm, and it wasn't long before they'd found themselves in her bed.

Afterwards, as he lay there spent and limp, and thought of the careful way she'd moved on him, her eyes fixed on him, it seemed the easiest thing in the world to move a little closer to her and whisper in her ear that he loved her too.

He didn't think he'd ever feel entirely comfortable saying it, but it was worth it to see that contented glow back in Hermione's face.

Leopards, even well-shagged leopards who've fallen in love, don't change their spots, and there was a fleeting thought that he really ought to find some way to let the boys know that their intervention this afternoon had provoked that declaration, but it was only a fleeting thought.

They would be livid though.

Melusina: I do know what you mean about the plot not really holding the story together. Usually the plot arc in my stories is a simple one – boy meets girl – they argue a bit – find out they like each other – fall into bed / love / both. So when A snape gets to that point there's a feeling that the story has ended, and it's taken me months to think what happens next. I was a bit worried about making the boys so thoroughly horrible – they're going to get worse – but I think it introduces the necessary plot complication. The story arc is now boy meets girl – friends are awkward – friends are sorted out….. the romance is firmly relegated to sub-plot.

It's a bit tricky swapping horses in mid-race, so it might not be entirely successful; we shall see.

I'm not sure whether The Arithmantic Dating Agency isn't finished really. I mean they're off on honeymoon. I had intended to do the Honeymoon and an epilogue of their return and what happens with Ginny and her match, but (a) the Honeymoon couldn't be posted here, and I've gone off writing mindless smut, so I might move straight onto (b). I just can't think who to match her with? Neville? Draco? Hmmmm.