Hermione didn't pay a great deal of attention to the calendar, other than as a way of keeping track of her homework, and Harry's and Ron's birthdays. The beginning of February meant, to her, three feet on the transfiguration of animate objects, two feet on the use of civet musk in healing potions – and how she was to stick to that limit, she didn't know – and as much as she wanted to write on the Goblin Rebellions, which turned out to be quite a lot.

The beginning of February meant rather more to her fellow students.

Valentine's day was looming, and even the first years were looking round for someone to pair off with, so as to avoid the shame of having no cards on that day. Hermione was vaguely aware of a little more giggling than usual, but that was about it.

Others were taking more of an interest, and not just for reasons of Romance.

Severus had noticed that Blaise was continuing his pursuit of Hermione. Blaise had noticed that Severus had noticed that he was continuing his pursuit of Hermione, and he had also noticed that Severus wasn't making any particularly hostile move to object to that pursuit.

Hermione had noticed that Blaise was continuing his pursuit, but was oblivious to the rest of the Slytherin posturing going on because of the particularly heavy homework timetable for that week. She was still more interested in her NEWTs marks than in boys, no matter how decorative.

Harry and Ron had noticed that Blaise wasn't going away, and they had noticed that Hermione wasn't making him go away – and they had no doubt about her ability to make him go away if she wanted to – and they had even noticed that Snape wasn't intervening, which just goes to show that they weren't taking their homework as seriously as they should.

Ginny had noticed everything, including how good-looking Blaise was, and thought Hermione was a lucky cow, apart from being married to Snape.

Draco was clueless.

He could see who was doing what, and to whom, or who they'd like to be doing it with, but he had no idea why. This worried him, and he kept looking at his forehead wondering when the scar was going to turn up, his hair turn brown and people were going to start calling him Potter.

Or worse, Weasley.

Of course, he could have asked Blaise what he was up to, but that was cheating, and would have led to him losing Slytherin Cool Points, and that was unthinkable. So he glared at his house mates, and the Gryffindors in equal measure, and wondered if he could persuade his Uncle Severus to teach him Legilimency.

Probably not.

So the only thing to do was to take bets on who would end up with whom on Valentine's day, lay off the risk on the more unusual prospects onto the more gullible Hufflepuffs, and choose a suitable present for Pansy. Because, whilst the world was falling apart around his ears, one thing was certain – getting Pansy the wrong Valentine's day gift was not a good idea.

Hermione would have been impressed by the meticulous planning that Draco put into the arrangements, and even more impressed with the complicated chart that he drew up to make sure that everything went like clockwork.

And then she would have been slightly concerned for the sake of the Wizarding World, because that sort of planning was just the sort of thing that Dark Lords should do, and never seemed to.

And then made a note in her diary to thwart his wiles in about five years time before he had a chance to start playing round with horcruxes. Though Draco, being vain, would never risk playing with anything that could mar the perfection of his profile.

What was the point of living forever, if you didn't have a nice nose?

Plotting, planning, and the drawing up of lists was a skill Draco had acquired from his father, and Lucius clearly had a spot in his diary marked for the 3rd February entitled 'Annoy Severus'.

The Owl, bearing the elder Malfoy's missive, arrived at breakfast. It was perfectly timed to cause maximum embarrassment and aggravation. He had the choice of opening the letter in front of the school and trying to maintain his composure, or having the bloody thing nagging at him all day.

He opted to open it.

Severus,

You will be receiving an invitation to spend Easter at Malfoy Manor with your good lady wife in due course. Narcissa has decided that it's time that she was introduced to the Witches' Institute, and if she is on her best behaviour and comes across like a perfect Harpy she stands a good chance of being the first Muggleborn to be invited to join.

Try and explain to her what an honour this is. Even my mother hesitated before crossing those ladies.

Mrs Zabini, in particular, is keen to meet Hermione, though she will be firmly instructed to leave the poison pots behind. I have pointed out to her that rumour is frequently exaggerated, and you're not one to stand idly by whilst his wife trifles with another, and she seems appeased by that.

Your old friend,

Lucius

Severus blinked.

That was the missive of a worried man, a man who had brought a pawn into play and suddenly realised that the queen was threatening him, and then had turned round and dumped the problem on someone else whilst expecting them to be grateful to him for the information.

Usually, Severus would try to handle things with tact and diplomacy, but Hermione was a Gryffindor and Blaise was a prat.

That was a little harsh, he reflected. Hermione was overcoming the disability of her House quite nicely, and Blaise would doubtless mature into a twisty and cynical Slytherin in due course.

In the meantime…

In the meantime, he was about to be forced into the role of jealous husband whether it suited him or not. Hermione, being Hermione, would only be keener to go out with Blaise once she heard about the threat, therefore young Blaise would have to be menaced, and menaced hard. He was very good at menacing. It wasn't a natural talent, but he had honed it through years and years of practice. He preferred menacing people to actually getting his hands dirty – it saved time, energy and cleaning up afterwards.

It was an opinion that he and Lucius shared, which was why they had managed to stay friends of sorts over the years.

He wasn't sure it was one that Mrs Zabini shared, which made the menacing rather critical.

He'd also brew some universal antidote for the Easter trip, just in case, and remind Mrs Zabini she wasn't the only one with a hand in the poison jar. Although he may have a habit of wearing black, he would prefer to avoid doing so as mourning for his wife.

Blaise had become rather complacent.

Being a smug bastard was practically required behaviour in Slytherin, unless you had settled for the role of minion and general factotum early in life. No one who had aspirations to the leadership of the Wizarding World – whether as Minister or future Dark Lord – could allow the faintest crack to appear in their air of superiority.

Nonetheless, even by Slytherin standards Blaise was a smug bastard. He was smugger, even, than the younger Malfoy. Not the elder Malfoy though.

No one had ever achieved the level of smugness generated by Lucius, even on days when he was feeling a little discomposed and unsure of himself.

He was an example to them all: Slytherin's grey-eyed boy.

Blaise could have done with acquiring more from Lucius than extra-smugging skills, like learning when to give up, but that was all right, because his head of House was about to take that duty on himself and complete his education.

But not quite yet. Fate is a tricksy bitch, and when she decides that someone needs to learn a lesson, she really rubs someone's nose in it. Apart from the Malfoys, who never seem to learn anything the hard way – perhaps Fate has a taste for blonds, or perhaps there was some truth to the rumours about the Dark Arts rituals involving perverse acts was true though it was probably just wishful thinking on the part of the Daily Prophet.

Probably.

They could have started the stories themselves, of course.

Blaise was so smug that he thought that the best time to ask Hermione out was when she was in the Library. Harry and Ron wouldn't be around – they were probably allergic to the place, though no one would ever know for sure as they'd never spent more than ten minutes in there – and he hadn't realised that Moste Potente Potions Parte II was more attractive to her than him.

He sat in the chair opposite Hermione and waited for her to notice him. He coughed gently, and when that didn't work he said, "Busy?"

Hermione nodded, and didn't look up.

Blaise assumed she was playing hard to get, and mentally awarded her several Slytherin cool points. She was; she just didn't know it.

"But surely you can spare me a little time? I was wondering if you'd be free next weekend…"

Hermione carefully marked her place, and looked at Blaise. "What for?"

Blaise blinked; this was taking the amassing of cool points too far. "Erm, a date?"

"On Valentine's day?"

Blaise nodded.

"But … haven't you got all the information you wanted?"

Blaise leaned back in his seat, giving Hermione the best opportunity to admire his physique and smiled significantly. "Oh, I'm sure there's a lot more to discover about you, Hermione."

Hermione wished she could raise an eyebrow meaningfully. It would be so much more convenient than trying to think of something to say that didn't make you sound like a pillock. "Possibly," she said, and hoped she was going to get away with that.

"Is that possibly there is more to discover, or possibly you might be available?"

"Both," she offered.

"I'll see you in the Hall at eleven, then," he said, then sauntered out of the Library without giving her a chance to say no, and well aware that her eyes were following him.

Not only her eyes; Hermione noticed that several girls were watching Blaise leave. In a school that thrived on gossip, it would only be a matter of time before that news was all round the school. It was just like Skeeter and the Tri-Wizard tournament with one important difference; this time there was something worth talking about.

The news took three hours to reach Harry and Ron, and it took them ten minutes to find her to discuss matters, cornering her in the common room as she worked her way through her Plotting Notes.

"Ah, you've heard, then?" she said, as they loomed over her.

"What are you thinking of?" Harry asked. "He's a Slytherin."

Hermione shrugged. "I like Slytherins. They don't talk about Quidditch all the time."

"There's nothing wrong with talking about Quidditch," Ron said, looking puzzled. "It's interesting."

Hermione poked him in the ribs. "Not always, and certainly not all of the time."

Ron batted at her hands, pushing her away. "A girl should want to listen to you talking about your interests. Mum always listens to Dad talking about his plugs and stuff."

"And your Dad listens to her as well, doesn't she?" Hermione asked, and Harry grinned at Ron's expression as he puzzled his way through that.

"You mean, I should ask Lavender about things she's interested in, like make up and stuff like that." Ron looked horrified.

"I don't think she actually wants to talk to you about make up, but it might be nice if you were to actually ask her what she's interested in occasionally. She might surprise you." She'd surprise Hermione if there was anything more in her head than make up and gossip, but it was always possible. And even if it wasn't, Hermione still owed Ron for several hours of her life spent listening to blow by blow accounts of great Quidditch matches in history.

"Blimey." Ron shook his head slowly. "Girls really are bloody complicated aren't they?"

"We are, and we aren't going to get any easier as you get older." Hermione grinned. "And Slytherin boys just seem to understand that better. I think it's to do with all the plotting that they have to do – it's the best possible training for romance."

"You are going to be careful, aren't you?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled; she knew she was nothing more than a beginner in both plotting and romance, but she was looking forward to practicing them. She was a girl who liked to learn.

"Although I suppose male solidarity ought to mean that we should warn Blaise to be careful," Harry added.

"Your loyalty is touching," Hermione grumbled, wondering when Harry had decided that running at a problem all wands hexing wasn't the best way to deal with things.

"Isn't it?" Harry replied. "But you said it yourself; we've got to get some practice in plotting, so that we can understand girls, so really we ought to be stabbing you in the back, and forming new alliances."

"Still, mate, I think we should let him find out the hard way," Ron said. "It's not as if he's a Gryffindor – we don't owe him anything."

"I suppose so. Still, you owe us." Harry grinned.

"Mmm," Ron said. "There should be something in this for us… a bit of help with our homework perhaps? Or extra helpings of pudding."

"If you're prepared to do your homework on time, then I'm prepared to help you polish your essays," Hermione replied.

"Ah," Harry said.

"Extra pudding it is," Ron added, not slow to see the flaw in their approach.

"We really need to practice this plotting bit," Harry said, frowning slightly. "Or I'm never going to get a girlfriend."

"I wouldn't worry, mate. On that basis, Snape would be some sort of Casanova, and he isn't, is he?" Ron asked, adding very quickly, "Please don't answer that. I don't want to know," and they all burst out laughing.

Severus wasn't Casanova, he would be the first to admit that. There was, deep down, a little envy of the casual way that Zabini managed to cut a swathe through the girls of Hogwarts, and more than a little disquiet that his previously sensible wife should be taken in by the boy's flashy charms. He'd thought she was brighter than that.

He watched Blaise sauntering down the corridor towards him, and was reminded of so many young turks he'd dealt with over the years. All thinking that they had all the answers, and knew better than some old, sour bastard.

"Mr Zabini," he said, and the boy was brought up sharply. "A word, if I may."

Blaise straightened, his face carefully blank. "Sir."

Severus stalked into the nearest classroom, and gestured at the boy, beckoning him in. He was careful to remain standing, his arms crossed, and his robes flaring round him. Blaise noticed, eyes widening as he assessed the situation.

"It has come to my attention that you've invited my wife to join you for Valentine's day. This won't be happening."

"It won't?"

"It won't." Severus didn't bother offering an explanation – the only explanation that Blaise needed was 'because I said so'.

"And what does Hermione think about this?" Blaise stopped short of a pugnacious tone, but there was a faint note of rebellion nonetheless. Typical that he should suddenly start developing a backbone at a time when it was going to most inconvenience Severus.

"You will tell Mrs Snape that you have another engagement, and then you will find that other engagement." Snape used his best 'do it or die' voice.

Blaise blinked first in their Slytherin staring contest. "I like Hermione."

Severus repressed a sigh. He had thought the boy was simply after information and status, but it seemed he had more innocent motives; it wasn't surprising that he'd overlooked that, but it did complicate matters. If he wasn't careful the two of them would be sneaking round the castle imagining they were Romeo and Juliet, and look how well that had turned out. "Your mother doesn't."

"Ah." Blaise swallowed. "I take your point."

"Good."

Blaise's eyes dropped to the floor, veiling them from Severus' view. His stance was still stiff and tense, reluctant to believe that there was no way out of the situation. Severus almost felt sorry for the boy. Hermione was just the sort of lover a Slytherin would enjoy: bright, cunning and pretty. "Things may change, boy. Hermione is going to be a power in our society; once that process is completed, your mother may be open to persuasion."

"But never… but never anything permanent."

"You're that serious," Severus said, surprised.

"No." Blaise sighed. "No, not really. But I wouldn't want to insult Hermione by treating her as a convenience either. It's not wise, it's not sensible, and it's bloody short-sighted. I'd prefer to remain her friend, if possible. Or become one, more accurately."

"I should commend your sense," Severus replied.

"Yes, the perfect Slytherin thing to do," Blaise said bitterly.

"Life's a sod, Zabini. I'd like to tell you it was going to get better…Actually, it is going to get better – things are changing, just not enough, and not quickly enough." He put a hand on Blaise's shoulder, and squeezed it.

"Fuck," Blaise said.

"I'd say that was an accurate summation of the situation."

Blaise almost smiled at that. "She's going to kill me."

"I doubt it. She's a Gryffindor; they don't hold grudges. She'll probably forgive you before you leave school. Probably."

The smug satisfaction of a job well done carried Severus through till dinner time. Hermione was sitting with Harry, Ron and Lavender, as always, chattering away, happily unaware of the unpleasantness that had been avoided. It even survived the sheer horror of being late to the table and finding the only available seat was pressed between Sybill and Albus.

Truly, he thought, no good deed goes unpunished.

"Evening, Severus," Albus said cheerily, and all of Severus' alarm bells went off at once.

Severus recited the ingredients to a particularly nasty poison in his head, before he could summon up the composure to return Albus' greeting. The reason for his more than usual inanity manifested itself soon after: Minerva and Albus were in the midst of having a heated debate, conducted with fixed smiles, hissed comments, and bitter recriminations.

Lucius had once enquired, after a truly spectacular Governor's meeting which had seen the two of them sulking worse than a toddler deprived of a bag of sweeties, whether the pair were lovers, as they quarrelled so much.

"Like you and Narcissa," he'd replied.

"I am very fortunate in my wife," Lucius had replied composedly. "I believe the general population is less so."

"The disagreements are rather more profound than who used the last of the clean towels," Severus had replied. "Politics, or rather morality, which is different."

"Indeed." Lucius had smiled, made a mental note of the point, and murmured: "Perhaps I am more fortunate in my house elves than my wife then, if that is the cause of so much domestic strife."

"And shall I mention that to Narcissa?"

"Heaven forbid, where's your loyalty, man?" Lucius had tried to look wounded, and failed, not noticing Severus' wince at the mention of loyalty. That had always been a sore point.

It had been unlike Lucius to read a situation wrong, and Severus had wondered ever since whether there was something in the suggestion that Albus and Minerva had some closer relationship than Headmaster and critic.

He thought not.

This was not the tension of two lovers wrangling, but something more profound. Minerva didn't really approve of Albus or his methods, though she'd never admit it in public, playing the role of loyal confidant to the hilt.

"What do you think, Severus?" Minerva asked, seeking reinforcements.

Albus tsked. "Severus agrees with me; it's the only sensible thing to do. Hogwarts cannot be seen to oppose the Ministry in this."

"I don't know; I can see arguments either way." Severus wasn't going to commit himself before he knew what the argument was about, and not even then, if he could help it. "Though I cannot see that Ministry involvement in anything at Hogwarts can be good – it's the thin end of the wedge. If you give into them on this, they will expect you to give in next time and the time after that."

"But surely you can see that the Marriage Act is a good thing?" Albus protested. "We need new, strong blood to repopulate the Wizarding World, and an end to division between the pureblood faction and the muggleborns."

"If you think that shackling people together willy-nilly will erase differences then you have rocks in the head," Minerva snapped.

"It might, of course," Severus said meditatively. "If you mean that it will unite them against the Ministry."

Albus shot him a flat look. "As I recall, you were full of doom and gloom about this, saying that there would be murders before the purebloods would accept this, and yet there haven't been."

"They're waiting," Severus said simply. To see if Hermione's plan will work, though he couldn't say that. "But they will run out of patience soon, and when they do there will be blood. I think it would be prudent for the school to remain out of the fray."

Albus considered for a moment, then brightened as the solution came to him. "Perhaps, Minerva, as you feel so strongly about it, you might like to communicate your reservations to them."

"I shall be only too happy to do so, Albus." Minerva's lips pursed, and Severus felt a moment's pity for the poor sod who was going to catch it in the neck on the subject.

And Severus would see to it that the news of her principled stand would be relayed to the organs of the press. Minerva had just taken her first steps on her campaign trail.

Three days before Valentine's day, Blaise finally got the nerve to talk to Hermione. He'd have liked to have done something deft and suave to separate her from her companions, but he had to settle for a murmured request to see her alone.

"So what is it that's so important?" she asked, once they had found an empty classroom in which to conduct their discussion away from prying eyes.

"I like you," he said.

"Why do I get the feeling there is a 'but' coming?"

"Because there is." Blaise took a deep breath, and sought for the right words. "I like you, Hermione. You're fun and entertaining, and interesting."

"There's still a but, though."

"But ...look, there really isn't any good way to say this... but it's been made clear to me by certain Persons that our continued association is not welcome." He shifted on his feet, bristling with nervous energy, and ready to make a break for it if things turned ugly.

"Certain Persons? You mean my husband, I take it."

Blaise thought that honesty was rarely the best policy but even he could foresee that dumping his head of house in the cladgy was even more foolish, so honesty would have to do. "He was merely relaying a message from my mother."

"Your mother doesn't like me?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed. "I don't think I've met her, have I?" She'd crossed wands with a few Pureblood families on the battlefield, and that would account for someone holding a grudge. She could understand that. It would make sense. She just had the feeling that the answer to her question was going to be 'no', and the reason for Blaise's volte face was going to be one that would make her very, very cross.

"You haven't," he said simply. "That doesn't stop her taking a dislike to you on general principles, and I don't have to explain what those principles are."

"And you're happy to go along with that?" she asked, voice cool and calm, though there were sparks forming in her hair.

"Not bloody likely," he replied, eschewing sarcasm in favour of getting out unhexed. "But she's a nasty piece of work, and I know I'm not worth dying for."

"That bad?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, unwilling to discuss his mother with an outsider. "And," he said, inspiration striking, "the thing is that Professor Snape is your husband..."

He didn't have to spell it out. Mrs Zabini would have to remove Severus to get to her, or if she didn't, Severus would remove her. She blinked, struck by how odd it was to think that she knew him so well now that she could predict certain inevitabilities. It was as if she had taken a course in Snapeism, though only the beginner's course, she acknowledged ruefully; the details would take a lifetime's study.

She sighed. "Well, I can't twist your arm and make you go out with me, so I'll have to accept your decision."

"I would have liked..." his voice trailed off.

"Yeah, me too," she agreed quietly, and that was that. Her second big romance brought to a halt, before it had even started. A girl could start to take that sort of thing personally after a while.

Hermione came back to their rooms to find Severus on the sofa in front of the fire, half asleep. He'd been reading a book, which was resting half-opened on his knee, and his head on a cushion tucked behind his neck.

"You look tired," she said, half-prepared to be shouted at for her impertinence.

"I feel awful," he replied. "Moderately awful, anyway. There's some sort of cold going round the lower years, and they seem determined to be generous with their germs."

He did look terrible – his eyes were red and puffy, his skin was paler than usual, and has a bluish cast to it. "Oh dear. My dad always used to swear by a hot toddy; have you tried that."

Severus ran his hand across his forehead, and pinched his nose between his fingers. "I've just taken a potion of my own brewing, which does contain a generous helping of Firewhiskey, so that should help. Not that I was getting much sympathy from Poppy – she thought I was putting it on, to get out of supervising the Valentine's day trip to Hogsmeade."

Hermione stiffened, not sure how she felt about Severus' interference. On the one hand, it might have been necessary, but on the other hand, it would be nice if people included her in the decisions that affected her.

Rather more than nice.

Severus sniffled a little, and looked pathetic.

"Are you doing this to get out of supervising Valentine's day?"

"I'm hurt," he said, "that you should think that I would try such tactics."

"Tried it once, did you?"

"First year of teaching," he replied. "They force fed me Pepper-Up and made me go anyway."

"You poor thing." He would have done, of course. Never confront a problem head on, when you could sneak up on it. Which was all very useful, but very irritating when she was the one being sneaked up on. He was supposed to be on her side. "Why didn't you tell me?" she said.

Whether it was because he was feeling ill, or guilty, he didn't pretend not to understand her. "Blaise discovered an unsuspected talent for honesty, did he?" He sniffed a bit, then searched through his pockets for a hanky. "Frankly, I didn't want you taking him up as a cause. You can only take on one project at once."

"So, you were doing it for my own good?" She sat on the sofa, and tried to find the energy to glare at him, but he looked miserable and pathetic, and the gratitude she still felt for rescuing her outweighed her irritation at being managed for her own good yet again.

"Honestly?" He smirked. "And that's breaking a long-established habit…"

She snorted.

"Honestly, it was more for your benefit than mine. Brewing antidotes is time consuming and dull."

"You think it would have come to that?"

Severus shrugged. "Perhaps. Did you like him that much?"

"Not really." She sighed. "Not him so much, as the idea of him – the possibility of a relationship with someone who paid you compliments, and bought you flowers, and generally did – not High Romance, I suppose – did a bit of Cherishing." She looked at him, feeling faintly foolish. "I suppose you think that sounds silly."

"Not that much – we'd all like a bit of cherishing from time to time. My dream blonde, for one, will be very attentive. Until then, I shall labour for scant reward." He sniffled again, then blew his nose long and hard on the clean hanky he had abstracted from his pocket, before vanishing it.

"I bought you Cockroach Clusters," she protested. "That's some reward. It may be poor and inadequate, but it's not nothing."

"But you wanted something in return for them."

"Doesn't everyone? Isn't that what super deluxe boxes of chocolates with kittens on the front, wrapped in pink ribbon are for?" She grinned, feeling more cheerful for mocking romance rather than pining after it.

"True. True." He coughed weakly, and rummaged around, looking for another hanky. "But where is the fair maiden to soothe my brow in my hour of need," he said, taking on the die away airs of Trelawney at her most feeble.

"Here." Hermione stood up, and put her hands on her hips, very much in the manner of Molly Weasley. "Or, at least, the nearest thing you're going to get, which is nagging wife."

"The honeymoon is over then," he said.

"Well, I am about to order you into bed." She blushed a little at that, but carried on, hoping he wouldn't react. "You should have an early night with a hot water bottle and a nice bowl of soup, and I'll tell Professor McGonagall that you're at death's door. She'll believe me."

He glanced at the clock. It was still early, but he did feel like hell. And an opportunity to skive should not be passed over. "Chicken soup?" he asked, hopefully.

"If you like. I'll bring it in to you."

Severus allowed himself to be bundled into his room slipping into his nightgown whilst Hermione chivvied a house elf into producing some soup.

By the time she returned, with a bowl of soup and some fresh bread on a tray, he was propped up against some pillows, with a pile of hankies on his bedside table.

"I can never remember whether you starve a cold and feed a fever or the other way round," she said, putting the tray on the bed, and handing him a bowl.

"In this case, it's feed a Severus," he replied. He sniffed at the soup, allowing the warm steam to insinuate itself up his nostrils and begin its work. "I swear that the house elves use some sort of magic to make this so good."

"Which means you'll be well enough to teach tomorrow." Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his face and the way he relaxed when he was concentrating on the soup. He really did spend a lot of his time wound up like a cobra, ready to strike.

He shrugged. "You can't have everything."

"I certainly can't."

He put his hand out to pat hers resting on the coverlet. "On the other hand, you don't have a cold. It could be worse."

She stole a piece of his bread. It served him right for being sententious.