It took Minerva precisely two days to agree to become the next Minister of Magic.
Severus, not entirely pleased at Lucius' ability to get round Minerva, waited another three days before informing him of this. He also scrawled a comment across the bottom of the note to the effect that his powers were obviously failing if it took as long as that, and it was all down to the ground work that he had put in anyway.
He regretted it almost as soon as he'd sent it, because that gave rather too much away.
Lucius' response was calculated to infuriate and inflame.
Dear Severus,
I note your comments on the matter with interest, and, though I accept that you had a certain amount of influence over our esteemed soon-to-be-Minister, I do think that you overestimate your own contribution. It is unfortunately the case that Minerva – I'm sure that she won't mind if I call her Minerva – was reluctant to become involved in our little plan as she was trying to protect the course of true love.
But once I had reassured her that I had no intention of seeking to separate the happy couple, all her reservations melted like the snow in summer.
You and Miss Granger do make such a pretty couple; I can see her point. You really must tell me how you managed to manoeuvre her into asking you to marry her – such a masterful plot, though I should know better than to underestimate my dear old friend. I am a little surprised, though, that you didn't see fit to inform me of your interest in the girl – I would have been only too happy to step aside in your favour.
Who am I to put such vulgar matters as wealth, power and influence above friendship?
However, now that I am aware of your interest in this area, I think it only right to bring to your attention that Miss Granger may have attracted the attention of a member of our House. I wonder if it might be better to allow it to run its course, or to bring her to heel before the matter has a chance to develop?
Do let me know what you decide, and do feel free to ask an older, and if I might venture, more experienced, man for help in the lists of love.
Your friend
Lucius.
At first glance, it was nothing more than rank provocation and Severus took it as such. After ten minutes, his blood pressure had returned to normal, and he was able to work through the intricacies of the damned thing.
Lucius was never as subtle as he thought. He'd always had money, power and prestige and those had always been enough to get him out of most difficulties in life. He'd never really had to plot the skin off a rice pudding, not without a Dark Lord to tell him what to do or Narcissa to hold his hand, but this seemed even more of a mess than usual.
Hermione had drawn the attention of one of his Slytherins – who, how, why? And, more importantly, why on earth should he be expected to care?
Unless Draco really did fancy Hermione, and that was what had been behind the marriage offer in the first place, and this was Lucius' attempt to …
No, whatever way he looked at it, that letter made no sense at all to Severus. The only thing to be done was to keep an eye out for trouble, for trouble there would assuredly be.
Vaguely, Severus wondered what it would be like to be bored. He'd like to try it sometime and see if it was really as dull as it looked; he could do with more dull in his life.
Hermione wasn't allowed to see the note that Lucius sent in reply. Severus said it was none of her business, that he didn't have to explain everything to her, and went to bed early presumably to sulk. Whatever it had said, it had reduced Severus to frothing indignation and drove her back out to resume her life amongst the other students. Harry and Ron were pleased to see her, but that was about all.
Severus had recovered from his bout of bad temper by the time of her next class with him, which is to say that he still managed to reduce Neville to a quivering pile of nerves, merely by opening the door to the classroom with his usual verve. Hermione was pleased to see he was back to his usual self and was looking forward to a night spent back in their rooms sitting on the sofa and reading one of his books.
Potions lessons were always poised on the edge of disaster, usually for Neville, but always for someone. That someone was rarely Hermione. She had rarely been on the receiving end of Severus at his worst, even before she married him in, as long as she kept her hand down in classes. But it seemed he considered that it would be some breach of etiquette to be particularly horrid to her now, and even more of a breach to actually ask her a question.
She was resigned to sitting in lessons watching other people flail around for answers that should've been obvious to somebody who had spent five minutes reading the books that they had been set the week before. Her only satisfaction was the thought that it was probably just as irritating to Severus as it was for her.
Possibly even more so.
"Right," he said. "Today we will be brewing a rather dangerous potion. Anyone who dies during the course of this lesson will be adjudged to have failed Potions; anyone who injures himself during the course of this lesson will be put into detention. I suggest you pay a great deal of attention to the instructions I'm about to give... that includes you Mr Zabini. If you could drag your attention away from Mrs Snape, I would be grateful, unless you think the instructions of today's lesson can be found written on her back."
Hermione, whose shoulder blades were trying to burrow their way towards each other, did not turn round and look to see what the Zabini was up to. As far as she was concerned, she had an overwhelming interest in the patina of the desk before her.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that the rest of the students were also keeping their heads down in the hopes that the storm would pass over them.
"Sorry, sir," Zabini said. "I was just distracted, and Mrs Snape's back was coincidentally in my line of sight, nothing more."
"Indeed." Professor Snape glared at him, and then turned his attention to the rest of the class. "Well, what are you waiting for? Start brewing!"
The class worked in silence, punctuated occasionally by the pop of a flame or the squeak of an implement on chopping board Hermione tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but she had this funny feeling she was being watched, and not just by Sylvia's friends looking daggers at her back.
Zabini was watching her, and it was giving her the creeps. He'd never even glanced at her before, other than the occasional evil glare in the corridors, and she couldn't imagine why he was suddenly taking an interest in her.
It almost put her off her potion, which wasn't quite the rich purple colour it was supposed to be. Severus would usually have marked her down for turning in a sub-standard piece of work like that, but he merely pursed his lips, called it 'barely adequate' and told her to run along to her next lesson.
'Barely adequate' was the nicest thing he'd ever said about her work. It was all very confusing.
"Harry," she said, as they settled down to do their homework in the Library later that day.
"Have you seen anybody peculiar watching me, more peculiar than usual anyway?"
"Oh, you mean, Zabini?" Ron said, riffling through her potions essay.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, haven't you noticed him?"
"No," Hermione said. "He usually sits behind me in classes, right at the back, where all the other children who are too cool to work sit."
"You mean, where we would sit if we had half a chance?" Ron replied.
Harry ducked his head, and took an interest in his homework, so that Hermione couldn't see him smile.
"Surely you would prefer to have the best view possible; you wouldn't want to miss anything, would you?" Hermione asked.
"Of course I want the best view possible," Ron replied. "Which is why I would like to sit at the back, you get a lovely view of... Hermione, I think that Zabini fancies you."
"I don't think so," she said. "That would have come on a bit suddenly, wouldn't it? Much more likely to be something to do with Malfoy, some sort of cunning plan."
"It's not very cunning then is it?" Harry said.
"Not very, but then perhaps we are supposed to notice, perhaps that's the cunning bit." Hermione couldn't think of a reason why Zabini would be watching her, which suggested that it was at least a moderately cunning plan.
"You could always ask Professor Snape," Harry pointed out.
"I could," she replied. "But then, perhaps that's what I'm supposed to do. You never know with these cunning plans, do you?"
Harry grinned, then Ron asked her a tricky question about potions and she forgot all about the mystery of Blaise Zabini. It was nowhere near as interesting as the intricacies of Ron's spelling.
Zabini said good morning to her as they passed in the corridor three times the next day.
When he did it again the next day after lunch, she stopped. "It's not morning," she said.
"I know."
"So, why say it?"
"Because I knew you'd have to correct me." He smiled, and sauntered off down the corridor leaving Hermione to glare at his back.
It seemed that everywhere she looked there was Zabini, watching her, smiling at her, saying something meaningless to her as they passed in the corridors. She found herself watching him at breakfast through narrowed eyes wondering what the hell he was up to, and keeping a careful eye on who he was talking to at the Slytherin table.
Everyone knew that he and Malfoy were as thick as thieves, but Malfoy was supposed to be on her side, or she was on his, she wasn't quite certain… So maybe it was something to do with Nott, who he also spent a fair amount of time talking to, or Parkinson.
He was talking to Nott that morning at breakfast, waving his hands around in a way that was all too familiar to her. They were talking about Quidditch.
Zabini saw her watching him, and winked at her.
"D'you fancy Zabini or something?" Ron said, interrupting her train of thought
"What?"
"Well, you keep looking at him." Ron looked faintly puzzled. "You would tell us if something was going on wouldn't you?"
"Yes… no." Ron looked even more worried. "Yes, I would tell you; no, there isn't anything going on. Well, that's not strictly true, something is very obviously going on, I'm just damned if I can work out what it is. He keeps being… nice to me. It's driving me round the bend."
"Perhaps he likes you?" Ron glanced over at the Slytherin table and frowned. "It's possible, I suppose."
"Ordinarily, I wouldn't be happy to hear that note of disbelief in your voice that suggests that I'm about as attractive as a flobberworm, but in this case I'll let it pass," Hermione said. "Because I think the idea that Zabini has suddenly been overcome with a rush of affection for a muggleborn witch is about as likely as you deciding to do your homework without being nagged."
"Which means he's up to something."
"He's Slytherin; they're always up to something," Harry said. "Even when they're not up to something, they're only doing it to either lull you into a false sense of security or to play with your mind by making you worry about what they're up to."
The three of them looked at Zabini, and assessed his levels of smugness and suppressed excitability with the air of connoisseurs. They were experienced interpreters of Slytherin signals.
"Up to something," Harry said.
"Yep," said Ron.
"I agree," Hermione said. "But what?"
"Ordinarily, it would be something like luring you out to meet Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Perhaps one of those rituals that involve virgin sacrifices," Ron said, his eyes still fixed on Blaise.
"Can't be that," Hermione said. "Not under the circumstances."
"Yeah, 'cos Voldemort is dead," Harry said.
"That too," Hermione replied, and both the boys went slightly pink and goggled at her. "I meant that, contrary to popular belief, there are no rituals involving virgin sacrifices. Not unless you count goats. Honestly, don't you two know anything about the Dark Arts?"
If anything, the boys goggled more.
"Is that what Aberfor…No, don't tell me. I don't want to know," Harry said, eyes wide.
"No, he was just turning them funny colours – Muggles could have seen them and everything. That's why he got into so much trouble," Hermione replied.
The boys relaxed minutely.
"No, the fascinating thing about the Dark Arts is that usually they involve … shall we say the more mature witch, presumably because her power is felt to be more, well, powerful. So someone like your mother, Ron, or Professor McGonagall would be a much better choice of sacrifice," Hermione continued. "It's a bit irritating really, though obviously a bit of a relief from the point of view of the younger witch who can feel sure that they aren't going to be used to bring back people from the dead. But why should we be considered to be so utterly useless when it comes to the Mortalis rituals, that's what I want to know?"
"Because an older witch, especially one that has brought children into the world, is presumed to have stronger ties to her family, which gives the ritual greater magical energy to pervert," Blaise said, from a position behind Hermione's left shoulder.
"Eep," she said.
"A very old witch would be considered to be so close to death already that there isn't any point in using one – their energy already partakes of death, so there's nothing to pervert," he continued, ignoring her startled squeak. "Though there are some modern writers who think that using virgins might be acceptable, provided you called upon the right aspect of the triune goddess at the time. Unfortunately, they aren't really able to experiment with the rituals, so their comments are only speculative."
He smiled down at Hermione, who couldn't think of a thing to say in reply because, whilst she was dying to know who these modern authors were, she wasn't going to admit to ignorance in front of the poster boy for Pureblood supremacy now that Malfoy was being all new and improved and caring for all members of the Wizarding community.
"I was wondering," he said. "If you were free this weekend. It's a Hogsmeade weekend."
"Er, yes," she said.
"Good. I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall, at the usual time then," Blaise replied.
Hermione nodded at him, he smiled broadly and then strolled back to the Slytherin table with three pairs of eyes boring into his back.
"Please tell me you don't fancy him," Ron said, still watching Zabini.
"I don't," she replied.
"Me neither," Harry said, and Ron threw a roll at him.
"I do fancy seeing how far he's prepared to take this though," Hermione said. "The Zabini library isn't quite the equal of the Malfoy collection, but it's close. If I can persuade him to lend me some of them…"
"You are not allowed to become the next Dark Lord," Harry said firmly. "I won't have it. I've only just got rid of the last one, and I don't fancy killing one of my best friends because they develop a taste for black robes and hanging round in cemeteries."
"Don't worry; I've already had that speech from Severus: no Dark Lording allowed. Message received, though I think you're all spoilsports." Hermione picked up a piece of toast and bit into it decisively.
"Well, now you know how we feel – you keep telling us we can't play Quidditch until we've done our homework, so we get to stop you Dark Lording. It's only fair." Ron assumed an air of indignant reproach.
"But I've done all my homework," Hermione replied, swallowing her toast with a gulp.
"So I think that means I'm allowed to indulge in a hobby or two."
"You'll just have to settle for being the youngest Minister for Magic ever," Harry said. "And that's my last word on the subject, though if you're very well-behaved and pass all your NEWTS at Outstanding…"
"…or higher…" interrupted Ron
"…or higher," Harry continued, "then we will let you play Quidditch. You can't say fairer than that."
Hermione sighed and helped herself to another piece of toast. She may not be allowed to be a Dark Lord, but at least she could have seconds, and with jam too.
Severus had seen the conversation between his wife and Zabini and drawn some obvious conclusions. Lucius had obviously set the boy the task of seducing Hermione – why, Severus had no idea.
The Malfoys owned the Zabinis, though they didn't make that known to the wide world, keeping a discreet distance in public. They also owned the Crabbes and Goyles but even Lucius couldn't have thought that Hermione would go for either one of them. Nott… Hermione might have enjoyed his company, if he could ever stop being a prat, but hell would freeze over before that happened.
No, Zabini was the obvious choice for the task, being young, attractive and sufficiently twisty to realise that walking up to the girl and going 'oi, how about it Mudblood?' wasn't going to work.
Severus couldn't work out what Lucius was up to.
Was he supposed to rush to save his wife from the predatory Blaise, thus revealing his great love for the girl and falling into each other's arms and billing and cooing on the sofa? Surely Lucius knew him better than that.
Or was Blaise supposed to distract poor, innocent Hermione from politicking by introducing her to the pleasures of the flesh? That seemed more likely, because Lucius really didn't know Hermione at all – even if she did succumb to the dubious charms of Slytherin's Self-proclaimed Sex God, she'd draw up a timetable to schedule extra-curricular nookie in and still have time to do her homework three weeks early and bring down the Ministry.
And he was fairly certain that Hermione was too bright to be taken in by the rather shop-worn charms of young Blaise, though he was wondering whether he ought to mention that…
Ah.
That was the plan then. Have him try and intervene and put her back up, leading to hours of tedious quarrelling and a less than united front when it came to dealing with Lucius.
Mystery solved, Severus' tactics were clear – don't get involved – so it was a bit of a surprise to him when the first words out of his mouth by way of greeting to Hermione that evening were, "So, I saw you and Zabini were having a nice chat at breakfast?"
"Mmm, he was talking about using virgins in the Mortalis rituals, and then he asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him this weekend."
"Typical – this school really does need a decent DADA teacher. Who on earth thinks you can use virgins to bring back the dead?"
Hermione shrugged. "I wondered that. Zabini said it was new thinking."
"Ah, that'll be his uncle Bertram again. He's always trying to convince young people that their continued virginity could lead them into all sorts of difficulties, and then generously offering to relieve them of that burden."
"Is that what passes for a chat up line in Slytherin house? Do you want to come back to my room and read some grimoires, and by the way have you seen this spell for raising the dead? What, you're still a virgin? I really think you ought to do something about that. Why yes it does involve us having sex, but it's a sacrifice I'm prepared to make?"
"Bertram Zabini is a Ravenclaw," Severus said, very much on his dignity. "And in Slytherin house, everyone knows the proper way to raise the dead; they'd never fall for it. Though I do recall you could have the elder Crabbe for a packet of Fizzing Whizbees, if you wanted. Most people preferred the Fizzing Whizbees." Severus was on the point of making a spectacularly vulgar comment about Crabbe, Fizzing Whizbees and things melting on your tongue, when he remembered that Hermione was too young to hear it.
"Er, and did you say yes to going to Hogsmead?"
"Oh yes, how else was I going to find out what he was up to?"
Severus smiled. Lucius was going to be cross when his little plan failed. He'd better start composing witty retorts to rub that disappointment in; it really wouldn't do to be unprepared.
It did not escape Hermione's notice that Draco was looking spectacularly smug when Zabini crossed the Great Hall at breakfast to make the final arrangements to go to Hogsmeade. Someone really needed to give the boy plotting lessons, but it wasn't going to be her.
Or her husband, judging by the way he was eyeing Draco with faint amusement.
Zabini was early to their meeting, watched fondly by most of his house, who were distributed around the courtyard pretending to be deeply interested in anything and everything that didn't involve the couple. He smiled at her, and she almost wished that asking her out wasn't some sort of ploy because he was a very handsome boy.
"Zabini," she said coolly.
"Granger." He smiled at her again. "Hermione. I thought we might take a little tea this afternoon. If that's acceptable."
She nodded. "That would be pleasant."
"And I promise not to talk about Quidditch at all. Not one word."
Hermione laughed, and a ripple of interest went through the courtyard. The Zabini magic was working yet again.
And it was. He was charming, witty and attentive. He asked her thoughtful questions, and listened to her answers, held out her chair for her at the café, and insisted on paying for her hot chocolate and biscuits. He played the part of the perfect boyfriend faultlessly. She enjoyed his company for whole minutes at a time before remembering that he was up to something.
"You're very good at this," she said, as she sipped at her hot chocolate.
"Wooing attractive young ladies?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes at her in an exaggerated manner. They were very nice eyelashes, she noticed. And nice eyes, too.
"That too." She smiled, suddenly fed up with sitting there playing games. "I haven't noticed the slightest hint of how uncomfortable you must be talking to a Muggleborn."
His smile faltered for a moment. "If it made me uncomfortable, I wouldn't be doing it."
"So your sudden interest in me is utterly unrelated to my little arrangement with Lucius."
His eyes narrowed, as if he had suddenly noticed her properly for the first time. "Arrange…? No, nothing to do with that at all – it just occurred to me that if my Head of House found something in you to admire, then you must indeed be admirable."
Hermione gave him bonus points for continuing with his mission in the face of overwhelming curiosity about her arrangement, and why she was suddenly on first name terms with the elder Malfoy. "Severus is such a sweetie," she said. "I am really very fond of him."
Blaise looked uncertain. "Are we talking about the same man here? Tallish? My Head of House? Wears black a lot? Sweetie?"
"Oh yes." Hermione smiled the confident smile of a woman who had half a pound of cockroach clusters in her room.
Blaise said nothing for a moment, his eyes flickering over her, examining her minutely, trying to work out what her secret was when it came to Severus-taming. "I'm sure he appreciates your loyalty," he said. "But don't you find it a little dull down there in the dungeons with him. You can't talk about Potions all the time?"
"We don't."
"And there is the age difference, that must be difficult."
"Not really." She frowned, thinking about it. "He's… so much more experienced than me; he has a lot to offer."
Blaise's mouth opened wide, and he tried to say something twice, thinking better of it both times. "Erm, experienced?" he said, eventually settling on a way to ask for more information without actually coming out into the open.
Hermione blushed, realising what he was inferring from her comments, and Blaise took that as confirmation of his suspicions. "Gosh," he said. "Right. Erm, would you like another hot chocolate?"
Once, a long time ago, a different Hermione would have been the sort of girl to take pity on Blaise but that girl had been extinguished by war, and by being messed around just once too often by inimical forces. She smiled sweetly. "That would be very nice, thank you. And then you can tell me all about you. And Draco, of course. You must have spent a lot of time at the Malfoys over the years."
He ordered a fresh pot of chocolate, and prepared to tell her as little as possible.
Hermione grinned. She was really getting the hang of this Slytherin business.
Severus was waiting for her when she got back to the castle. He didn't say anything as she took off her cloak and scarf, and kicked her boots off, barely raising his eyes from the book he was reading.
"I had a lovely time," she said. "Thanks for asking."
His lips twitched, and he condescended to put his book down. "And why would I be interested in the romantic goings on of my students?" he asked.
Hermione snorted. "There was nothing romantic about this, and you know it. And I did rather think that you'd be interested in knowing what Zabini was plotting."
"I already know," Severus replied. "And I have every faith that you dealt with him appropriately."
Hermione smiled, warmed by the thought that he trusted her to do a good job. "I did. I've certainly got a bit of blackmail material over Draco, and what he was like as a toddler."
"Small," Severus said. "With a tendency to lisp. Lucius doted on him, still does."
"And a habit of running run round with no clothes on, from what I hear."
"That doesn't seem to have changed much with the years either," Severus replied. "Not if half the tales that come out of the Slytherin Common Room are true. Not that I told you that, of course."
"Didn't hear a thing," Hermione replied cheerfully. "I've decided one thing though. I shall always marry Slytherins. I'm sorry to have to say it, but they're much more fun than Gryffindors."
"You liked Zabini that much?" Severus asked, faintly perturbed.
"Hardly. But I was thinking… if you get a post-divorce party to help you find some amenable blonde… Perhaps you could return the favour. Not with blonds exactly, but with single Slytherins. Who better than the Head of Slytherin to find someone suitable – a couple of years older than me, bright, charming and, obviously, not too sniffy about bloodlines. There must be some."
Severus nodded. "There are some respectable boys I wouldn't object to introducing to my ex-wife."
"I'm terribly afraid that you've corrupted me," she said.
"On the whole, as that's saved you from a life of married tedium, I think that's a matter for congratulation."
"I certainly wasn't complaining. It's a lot more fun than being some goody two-shoes."
He fixed her with a stern glance, the sort that made first years tremble, and said, "Just remember though – no Dark Lording."
Hermione sighed. People were no fun.
Hermione had rather expected that Blaise would leave her alone after their trip to Hogsmeade. The way she looked at it, either he had obtained the information he was after, or he would have realised that she wasn't talking. Neither scenario required him to actually talk to her again.
But he did.
It took him a couple of days, and several wary glances at Severus, but eventually he plucked up the courage to cross the great divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor to sit next to her in the library.
"Are you using that book," he asked, pointing to Fretsch's Follies which lay open on the table.
"Not at the moment," she replied, trying to sound polite but no more than that.
"Did you find it helpful on question three, or would I be wasting my time reading it?"
"It's got a chapter on the Prime theorem," she replied, and braced herself for a flood of questions on the topic. She was used to doing people's homework for them, or, rather, she was used to people wanting them to do their homework for them.
"Good." He sat down, pulled the book towards him, and started to read.
"Erm, don't you want to know what it says?"
"I prefer to find out myself, thanks."
She found that disconcerting. If he didn't want to talk to her about plotting, or homework, what on earth was he doing sitting there? She watched him as he turned the pages, seemingly oblivious to her presence, though she wouldn't put money on that. He was playing with her mind, the git.
She forced herself to concentrate on the particularly tricky Arithmancy problem she'd been saving for a treat but it refused to resolve itself neatly. That was her life, she thought, just when you thought you'd got the bloody thing sorted out, it went and changed and turned out to be a lot trickier than first impressions led you to believe.
She scowled at the page, and drew a fierce line through her workings. In her distraction she started to draw little stick figures on her page in various postures. One, a bit like Harry, had tufts of hair sticking up and was carrying a broomstick, so there had to be a little Ron following on behind… She carefully drew some freckles, floating just in front of his face, and gave him a broomstick too. And then there was a snitch, and that made her think of all those Quidditch matches that she'd been to watch, so she put another figure on a broomstick hovering above them and looking miserable.
So that would be a Slytherin, of course. So he should have a big, turned down mouth to show how unhappy he was and how much he was suffering.
Her paper was suddenly twitched out of her hand, and Zabini chuckled. "I didn't know you were an artist, Hermione. Is there no end to your talents?"
"No start to them," she said dryly, well aware that artistry was too large a claim to apply to her scribblings.
"I think there's something missing… if you'll allow me."
He didn't wait for permission – she'd noticed that Slytherins rarely did – and took up his own pen, to add to the gallery. He drew a female stick figure, with long, curly hair, and several books in her hand, that had to be her. And then he added another figure, which he spent a lot of time drawing, scrubbing it out when it didn't please him, that could only be him.
His figure was standing very close to hers. Very close. Almost as close as Zabini was sitting next to her.
Then he muttered something under his breath, and the figures began to move even closer together, until they were embracing, then more than embracing because Zabini's little stick figure was a very forward little stick figure.
Hermione blushed bright red. Then, being a sensible girl, she picked up her pen and started to draw: a tall figure, taller than Zabini, with long black robes, a beaky nose and a very large wand in his hand.
Zabini laughed softly in her ear. "Really? That big? I can see why you're so loyal then." He tapped his wand on the paper, freezing the figures in place at a particularly pornographic moment. "I can take a hint, but don't think this means I'm giving up."
He swung his bag over his shoulder and left the library, with something of a strut about his departure.
She crumpled up the paper, and tucked it into her satchel. She had to burn the bloody thing before anyone else found it, but she wasn't going to dash out of the room now. It would look like she was pursuing Blaise.
He did seem to be pursuing her though, which was just … odd.
And not something she could really discuss with Severus.