What with one thing and another, Hermione didn't have long to get ready for dinner. She'd suggested staying in bed and getting the House Elves to bring them a meal, but Severus had wanted to attend Dinner in Hall.

"If you don't turn up," he said, nuzzling at her ear in an entirely distracting way, "the little sods will think they've won."

She didn't really want to get into petty point-scoring with the boys, and would have been content to ignore them, but there were Severus' feelings to consider. It wasn't fair to expect him to put up with them making these kinds of allegations, which they would no doubt be passing on to everyone. What was needed was a show of unity, and then hopefully they would drop the matter.

"We don't have to stay long do we?" she said.

"Not long at all." There were only two more days of this jamboree left, and then she would be packing up to leave. He didn't want to waste any more time that was strictly necessary on winding the boys up, when he could be spending it with Hermione, but if they didn't get them sorted out now then the argument would drag on for ages.

It had to be admitted that his desire to complete his victory over the boys was not entirely free of self-interest: Potter had been a thorn in his side for years, and Weasley had been almost as irritating. (He carefully didn't think about Hermione's role in the triumvirate, because that would remind him that she had once been as much of an irritant as the others. More so, really. They have never asked awkward questions in Potions that he might not have been able to answer.)

His main motive was pure though. Well, as pure as revenge ever is. Hermione was unhappy at the way that the boys were treating her, therefore the boys had to be made to stop doing it.

They were clearly unmoved by appeals to common sense, or any sense of gratitude or affection, therefore they would have to be bullied into being better behaved.

He'd always found that appealing to people's better natures was nowhere near as effective as frightening them into obedience, and so no reason to change his methods now. If the boys kept on the way they were going, then there would be worse in store for them then salacious rumours about their sexuality.

After all, there was nothing wrong with being gay, though they would obviously find their precarious masculinity threatened with it.

They were amongst the last people to take their places at the table, and the Daft Duo watched them take their seats with stormy expressions.

Severus gave them a chilly smile, which did nothing to improve their mood and allowed his eyes to skate over them, as if they weren't worthy of his attention.

Which they weren't.

If looks could kill, Severus would have been dead years ago. He had been glared at by many more frightening people than Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, people who could actually kill with a glance, or at least a raised finger, so those two amateurs had no chance of discomposing him.

They had clearly expected he and Hermione to be on bad terms – for her to be tearstained and downcast, not chatting and smiling. Their chagrin was truly a beautiful thing to behold.

"Are you smiling at them?" Hermione asked.

"I might be."

"Good."

His smile, presently of the rubbing-salt-into-the-wound variety, softened into something warmer. The boys hated that even more: a smirking Snape was bad enough, a happy Snape was worse.

Hermione didn't allow herself to look at the boys during dinner but gazed adoringly at Severus or kept her eyes on her plate. She did smile, once, at the boys: a smile of unadulterated joy. They returned it, uncertainly, but obviously taking it for some sort of olive branch.

How wrong they were.

It didn't matter how often she told herself that their view of her as a dried up spinster who only lived for books only showed how narrow-minded and immature they were, their insults had hurt. So she hadn't slept with as many people as they had? There was nothing wrong with that. At least she'd never spun someone a line to get them into bed.

She had never been able to get them to understand that she didn't give a damn whether they slept with an entire Quidditch team, in public, on broomsticks, and sold the pictures to the Daily Prophet, as long as they were honest about the fact they wouldn't Owl the next day.

Why any sensible Witch would believe any promises made by those two, she would never understand -their exploits were infamous and widely reported by the Wizarding Press - and for some reason when she pointed it out to the whittling witch sobbing on her shoulder, this didn't go down well.

She supposed she ought to be more sympathetic, but after the twentieth time or so, it was difficult to be particularly caring when it should obvious to a flobberworm that the boys weren't ready to settle down, and probably wouldn't be for the next ten years or so.

They weren't sowing wild oats, but wild barley, rye and were well into wild rice by now.

They'd never had an adolescence, so they were determined to make up for last time. She understood that. She just didn't understand – with a deep hurt that refused to go away – why that meant they had to be so bloody rotten to her.

Severus would say it was because they were pillocks. She liked that as an explanation. It explained all observable phenomena, and made it clear that it was their fault and not hers, which was as it should be.

They was certainly no way she could forgive their foolish attempt to split her and Severus up. He wouldn't be caught dead fooling round with Pansy, so if he were caught talking to her, it could only mean that he wasn't fooling around. She had a fair idea what he had been up to, and if the boys couldn't work it out, then she wasn't going to enlighten them.

She was looking forward to finding out though.

Dinner finished, and the tables were cleared away so that there could be dancing. The floor was practically empty, as the diners were reluctant to move so soon after ten courses of the finest food Hogwarts' House Elves could produce. People gathered in small groups round the edge of the floor, chatting away, and then breaking off to go and find a new group to catch up with.

Hermione stood with Severus, who was talking to several ex-Slytherins who'd left school long before her time, listening to the conversation with one ear, and watching the Brownian motion of her year-mates with one eye.

"So, Miss Granger," said Septimus (she thought it was Septimus), "I understand that you're quite an important figure at the Ministry."

"So I'm told," she replied cheerfully. "Though that doesn't mean I can actually get anything done."

"No, indeed," Septimus (she was sure it was Septimus, Septimus Spurtle, which was unfortunate) replied. "I don't think anybody ever does get anything done, do they? The Ministry has a venerable tradition of not actually doing things, which leaves us poor souls to get on with running our own lives."

Severus huffed. "I know I have the devil's own job getting my ingredients' budget past the Ministry every year. Potions ingredients don't grow on trees."

Septimus smiled. "Not all of them, certainly, or you'd have the little darlings on detention and gathering ingredients in the Forbidden Forest."

"I have suggested it to Albus, but he simply won't go for it. Something about Health and Safety, which is ridiculous. If you can't fend off an attack from an Acromantula at eleven, it's better that you were removed from the gene pool and Hogwarts as soon as possible."

Hermione bristled, and opened her mouth ready to denounce the pair of them as heartless bastards, when she realised that they were teasing her. "That's outrageous," she said. "You'll be telling me next that the Headmaster won't let you use children for potions ingredients! It's just political correctness gone mad."

Septimus stifled his choke of laughter. "Do you remember the time you gave me and Amanda Braithewaite detention for talking in class? She was convinced that one of your bottled specimens waved at her."

Severus snorted. "It probably did."

"I told her it was nothing more than a trick of the light, but she insisted on hanging on to my hand all the time we were in the ingredients' store. It was rather sweet really, and made me feel all big and strong."

"And three years' later you were married," Severus noted.

"It was our fifth wedding anniversary before she admitted that she wasn't the slightest bit scared, but was just using it as an excuse to hold hands. Wonderful woman," Septimus replied. "You and Hermione must come over to dinner one evening, since you were instrumental in bringing us together."

"That would be pleasant," Hermione replied, putting a hand on Severus' sleeve. "If you'll excuse me, I can see that Lavender wants a word with me. I'll leave you to make the arrangements, shall I?"

Severus nodded, and she left the two of them discussing dates as she crossed the floor.

"Hermione!" Lavender greeted her effusively. "It's been simply ages since last we saw each other. It must be years."

"Very likely," she replied dryly. "It might even be graduation."

"No! Well, we mustn't leave it so long next time. You look well." Lavender flicked a glance over at Severus, and then eyed her with some respect. "So, you and Snape, eh?"

Hermione nodded.

"I always thought you'd end up with either Ron of Harry," Lavender continued blithely. "Of course, now I understand."

"Sorry?"

"You know," Lavender nudged her knowingly in the ribs.

"Sorry, no."

"For heaven's sake, Hermione, there's no need to keep it a secret any more. Everyone knows." Lavender frowned, irritated by Hermione's refusal to gossip.

"Everyone knows what?"

Lavender's frown faded. "You mean you don't know about Harry and Ron being gay?"

"They're not gay," Hermione blurted. "What about all those girls?"

Lavender sighed. "Oh come on, Hermione. It's obvious when you think about it. They were just cover. What do Muggles call it – oh yes, a beard. I'm surprised that they didn't tell you, really. After all, you are best friends."

Lavender paused, but Hermione had nothing to say. She was still wrestling with the idea that Harry and Ron had managed to keep a secret of that magnitude from her.

"I suppose they were worried what your reaction would be. I don't think the Muggle world is as understanding about that sort of thing."

"What? No. I suppose it isn't. Though it is changing," Hermione replied on auto-pilot. "Erm, who told you about this?"

"Parvati told me, and so did Susan Bones. Pansy denied it, but she's obviously covering something up. I wouldn't be surprised if all that fuss last Summer about the threesome was Draco and Harry and Ron, and not Pansy at all. She was just showing off. I've always thought Draco was playing for both sides." Lavender nodded knowingly.

"Good god," Hermione said. The penny had dropped. Pansy's delicate hand was behind the rumours, which meant this was Severus' revenge. The boys were going to be livid.

And wasn't that a lovely thought.

"Oh, gosh," Lavender said, interrupting Hermione's gloating. "There's Neville. I wonder if he's heard the news?" She hurried away, determined to see that the whole room was kept in the know. Telegram, telephone, and tell-a-Lavender, went the old joke. (Though you had to explain it to the Purebloods, and it lost a lot in translation).

Pansy was watching Lavender with a great deal of interest, with the kind of smile that you normally saw on someone who had just drawn a winning hand on poker – subtle, but triumphant.

Hermione waited patiently until Pansy looked her way, and held her glance for longer than was polite. Understanding passed between them – Hermione's lips twitched, Pansy dropped an eyelid in a wink – and then Pansy turned back to her conversation.

When Hermione returned to Severus, she didn't say anything, just tucked her arm under his, and picked up the conversational reins where they had left off.

Harry and Ron were not happy. They had seen Hermione and Severus come into dinner late, and the disgusting way they had flaunted their happiness in front of the other diners.

They had been astounded to find that everyone they spoke to thought that they made a lovely couple, and wasn't it sweet the way that Snape was doting on her, and how he deserved to find happiness.

It was like being in a parallel universe.

Their universe, the normal one, was the one in which Snape was a Greasy Git who bullied children and shouted at people a lot, and gave them detention unfairly.

This universe, the one that was obviously due to drugs or mind-bending potions, was the one in which Snape was a bit of a softy really, though a bit grumpy.

So they greeted the arrival of Neville with relief: here was a man who wouldn't have a good thing to say about Snape. He wouldn't have forgiven or forgotten the treatment meted out to him in Potions.

They were about to be very disappointed.

"Hermione and Snape?" Neville said when he was told the news. "You're joking."

"We're not," Harry said grimly.

"We only wish we were, mate," said Ron.

"Well, good for her," Neville replied. "I hope they'll be very happy."

Ron pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming – this could only be a nightmare. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

"This is Snape," Harry said. "You know. Snape. Greasy Git of the dungeons. You used to hate him."

"Used to Harry," Neville replied. "Used to being the operative word. I've grown up a bit since then – and I was really awful at potions. I've got a couple of apprentices working for me now, and all I can say is that I've a new appreciation for Snape's point of view. What a pair of idiots – they drive me up the wall, and the worst that can happen in a greenhouse is being nibbled by a carnivorous plant. I'd hate to have to teach something where people could get killed in any number of spectacularly violent ways."

Harry and Ron were dumbstruck.

"He's rather sexy in a dark and brooding way," Neville added, eyeing Snape speculatively. "He's not my type – I've always preferred blonds – but I can see the attraction."

Harry and Ron still couldn't find anything to say.

"Mind you, red heads have a certain charm as well." Neville was now looking at Ron as if he were the last nut cluster in the Milk Tray assortment.

Ron made an odd sound, like a chicken being throttled.

"I'm a little hurt," Neville continued blithely, "that you didn't feel you could tell me about your," he paused significantly, "preferences."

"What preferences?" Harry asked. He'd been too busy staring at Snape and wondering how on earth anyone found him attractive, to pick up on the implications of what Neville had been saying.

Neville smiled knowingly.

"He means that we're gay," Ron said very, very calmly. "That's what you mean, isn't it Neville?"

Harry blinked. "But we're not."

"Harry, you mustn't worry. No one here is judging you," Neville said earnestly. "And if either of you want to go out one evening, there's a couple of bars I could introduce you to…"

"But we're not," repeated Harry. "And what do you mean no one here is judging us?"

Neville patted him soothingly. "Exactly what I say, Harry. We're all very pleased that you've finally decided to come out of the wardrobe."

"Closet," Harry said automatically. "It's coming out of the closet."

Ron thumped him, hard, on the upper arm. "We're not coming out of a wardrobe, closet, or anything else you can store clothes in. We're straight as a die, and proud of it."

A look of profound disappointment crossed Neville's face that eclipsed anything they had ever seen on McGonagall's face. "I see. I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said stiffly. "I can see where I'm not wanted."

Harry put out a hand to stop him going, then jerked it back as if he was frightened he'd get burned. "Neville, mate, be reasonable. We can't help it if we're straight."

Neville just shook his head sorrowfully, before turning away. "I only hope one day that you feel you can trust us."

"Bloody hell," said Ron, once Neville was out of ear shot. "I never knew Neville was into men." He winced at the unfortunate pun.

"Neither did I."

There was a moment of profound silence whilst they digested what had just happened.

Ron wasn't stupid - just inconsiderate – and was perfectly capable of putting the clues together. They were being watched, he realised, but if he tried to catch someone's eye they looked down at the floor or over his shoulder – anywhere but looking him in the face.

"They all believe it, you know," he said quietly, still thinking things through.

"What!" Harry glanced wildly round the room. "But they can't. It's not true."

"When has that ever stopped a rumour?" Ron asked scornfully.

"But why?" Harry wailed.

"Snape," Ron replied. He had no doubt that Snape was behind this. Who else had they annoyed recently – apart from Hermione, and she was more of a face-slapper than a plotter – it had to be Snape.

Harry, always eager to think the worst of the man, found this entirely believable. "The bastard."

"Yes, indeedy," Ron agreed fervently. "Now the only question is, what are we going to do about it?"