Severus Snape had no need for office hours. All his Slytherins knew his door was always open, and none other would be so foolish as to attempt a conversation with the choleric professor. As such, he looked up from his grading at the knock on his classroom door. "Enter" he said commandingly.

Obliging, and yet composed, Blaise Zambini stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind him. Snape straightened in his chair. This wasn't some first year homesickness, and Blaise knew better than to complain about his grades. Snape let the moment drag out, before saying, "Yes?"

"I couldn't tell whether they were going to kiss or kill each other in class today, sir. Could you?" Zambini asked pointedly.

"Who?" Snape said, his bafflement well hidden behind years of granite silence.

"Why, Granger and Malfoy, sir." Zambini fought to keep the smirk off his face (mostly succeeding, but his head of house caught the detrius). Snape's head spun, three different plans launching themselves even as he suddenly found he had the answer to why he hadn't hexed (or spoken) to Malfoy in the past few days about his behavior in class. Except for his use of that loathsome term, Malfoy had reminded Snape of himself.

"That does pose a bit of a political dilemma, does it not?" If Malfoy had lost so much control of himself that Zambini was noticing... how long before the Gryffindors caught on. Scratch that, how long until Lucious Malfoy's ears caught wind of it?

"Indeed, sir."

"What are your thoughts on the matter? Surely you wouldn't have come to me without a plan?" Snape's low voice nearly purred, his interest sparkling in his jet eyes.

"Oh, Drakey-poo! You've simply got to get me that dress!" Zambini said, in flawless imitation of his classmate.

Snape rather approved of the circumlocution, and the plan was solid, if straightforward. "A reasonable idea. I'll see what comes of it." Slytherins would protect their own. Snape thought firmly, even from themselves, should the circumstances warrant.

I will not name you pretty-

as well compare a lady's slipper

rising out of swampy mirk and mire

to a bed of daisies by the road,

each and each alike.

I will not name you a beauty -

as well compare a fire orchid

blooming in the crook of a mahogan tree

to my mother's pampered roses

pushed and shaped and pruned

Not a hint of artifice surrounds you

Nay, you are the reckless wild,

the plunging cataphract descending

in utter joyous abandon into the dim abyss.

Not for you kohl-lined eyes nor painted cheeks

Yours is a sinuous grace and yours a feline majesty,

careless of any that would deny it,

imbued in your heart where hoary age cannot break it.

A letter sent with an icy smile, on a deliberately spotted school owl.

Received with a glare, and a snatch, a cat's cunning surfacing, as Granger deftly slid it into a thick tome.

[a/n: Plots and machinations! It's the Slytherin way. Do you think Zambini's right? Is Snape?

Oh, and before I forget - Read and Review, or I'll wander off and go finish a different story.]