Chapter 15: School Politics

A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. My fault, again... the extra chapter for Christmas put me a bit behind on the final betas.

Pansy Parkinson wasn't stupid. She'd been a bit under-subtle as a kid, of course... well, all right, she'd laid it on with a trowel. She'd been young and relatively innocent. She'd improved.

And Professor Snape had definitely made a very interesting suggestion about solidifying her grip on the leadership of Slytherin. There was no reason the boys shouldn't follow her lead, as well as the girls... and Vince had been quite pleased with the idea of being her right hand man. He knew he needed someone to guide him through life, and he and Draco weren't speaking anymore.

He was not, however, much use as a spy. For that she'd recruited Theodore Nott. Theo was an old friend, and even if he was no use in a fight anymore - nerve gone completely since the War, it was quite sad - he was clever and sneaky and hardly ever got noticed. He'd been happy to be able to do something in their traditional battle to Do Gryffindor Down, even if he could no longer handle the direct confrontations.

Pansy had always hated Gryffindor House, but the War had set her loathing in stone. They had ruined everything. And hardly gotten touched themselves - Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had all lost housemates, but the Gryffs had gotten by without a single death, at least among the current students. (Spinnet had snuffed it, hadn't she? One of the snotty bints off the old Gryffindor Quidditch Team, anyway) They might have won the War, but as Professor Snape said, that was a temporary thing that she would just have to pretend to put up with for now. In the meantime, she was going to do her damndest to get the House Cup away from them just once before she left. She'd even let Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw have it... the important thing was for Gryffindor to lose.

"Well?" She glanced around to check again for listeners. No... they had the chilly corridor all to themselves. Hardly anyone but the Slytherins knew how far the dungeons really extended, and they were a nice quiet place to have a clandestine conversation.

"They still don't know who's trying to kill Potter," Theo said quietly. He'd lost weight again, and Pansy made a mental note to have Vince remind him to eat. "If anyone is... could be a general plot against the Gryffindors. The attacks haven't been too well focused so far."

"Not that I mind, but I do wish I knew who was doing it," Pansy said, frowning thoughtfully. "It's not likely to be one of us, unless it's one of the little kids... the older students know better curses and poisons than those."

"Could be a Hufflepuff. Between Diggory, Abbott and Macmillan, they're not too happy with Potter even if he did lead them to victory. I think they've worked out that they seem to be the ones taking all the casualties." Theo shrugged. "They're patient and not usually up on their curses the way we are."

"And if it's a Hufflepuff, they might be quite willing to take out a few of Potter's friends first so he knows how it feels." Pansy nodded. It wasn't a certainty by any means, but it was a good theory. "What about the other thing?"

"Nobody knows. Not even the teachers... I slipped an Extendable Ear in the staff room window." Theo shook his head. "For a Gryffindor, Granger's not bad at keeping secrets... from what I heard in the library, even Potter and the Weasleys don't know who the father is."

Pansy frowned. "Damn. The harder she makes this, the more likely it seems that there's some huge potential for blackmail, here. I mean, if she's too ashamed to even tell Potty and the Weasel..."

"You don't think she shagged Flitwick, do you?" Theo asked, making a disgusted face. "They've always gotten on, and she'd probably rather die than admit it if she had."

"So would I. What a disgusting thought." Pansy scowled, pulling her cloak tighter around her and leaning against the wall. "None of this makes any sense. Granger the bookworm actually managing to get knocked up by someone who isn't a Weasley, for a start... think she's lying about that?"

Theo shook his head. "She's been firm on that right from the start, according to Padma Patil. She said that Parvati says Granger's dead relieved that Weasley's moved on. Didn't even seem bothered when Brown brought up all the times he cheated on her."

"Huh. All right, so even if she did manage to get someone else into bed, why would she keep it? She's been able to brew potions that simple since first or second year, most likely... and even if she couldn't, they're not that hard to get hold of. Why mess up her N.E.W.T. year with a baby? I mean, I'd understand it if it was the Weasley girl - they all breed like rabbits. But I'd have thought Granger would rather die than get less than all O's in her exams."

"Maybe she has moral objections to those potions," Theo said, a little stiffly. He probably did himself... a lot of the older families did. Given that those older families often only managed one or two healthy children in a generation as it was, Pansy could appreciate their reasoning.

"Doesn't seem like her. She's not sentimental." Pansy frowned. "Brown, Weasley... them I'd expect it of, but Granger?"

"Does seem a little out of character." Theo shrugged. "But if you want to get at her, you'd have better luck just shoving her down the stairs."

Pansy snorted. "If you're going to try to get me to outsmart myself, Theo, you'll have to try harder than that."

Theo smirked. He knew how the older families - most pure-bloods, really - felt about healthy offspring. Managing to 'accidentally' kill a Gryffindor might raise her credit with the other Slytherins; killing an unborn baby would get her a world of trouble. Muggle-born or not, potential fecundity had value. "Just making sure I haven't allied myself with someone who doesn't see the long term."

"I may hate her - and believe me, I do - but I'm not going to let her ruin my position." Pansy frowned. "Besides, pushing her down the stairs would be much too kind."

"Hermione?" There was a quiet tap on her door. "Are you here?"

"Dilly will get the door!" Dilly squeaked, giving Hermione a don't-you-move look. She scampered to the door, pulling it open and letting Justin Finch-Fletchley through. "Does Miss want tea for her guest?"

"Yes, please." Hermione smiled at Justin. Yet another good thing about having her own room... non-Gryffindor guests were permitted. "Forgive me for not getting up, but I'm under strict orders to rest for an hour after dinner, without touching my homework. Madam Pomfrey told Dilly to make sure I did, and if I do something as athletic as walking across the room, I think I might lose my endless-supply-of-fresh-tea privileges."

"I understand." He smiled as she waved him into the other seat. "It must be nice having your own room... and your own house-elf."

"She pushes me around something shocking," Hermione said, grinning. "She's started pulling my books out of my hands if I sit up reading too late. I think Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are using her as a secret weapon in their plot to make me take care of myself instead of getting good marks in my N.E.W.T.s."

"Well, looking after the baby is important too." He returned the grin. "I hope I'm not interrupting - I could come back later."

"Oh, no... I have half an hour of not-studying left to do, and talking is more interesting than knitting, really." She held up her needles. "Can you tell what it's supposed to be?"

Justin looked at it, tilting his head to the side a bit. "A little cardigan?"

"I'm definitely getting better," Hermione said happily. "It's a bit bigger than I planned, but it's definitely cardigan shaped. And the baby will grow into it."

"They do that." Justin nodded. "Or so I hear, anyway." He smiled at her, the scar across his cheek giving him a decidedly piratical look. She wondered how he'd explained it - and the multitude of others - to his family. "How are you, anyway? Any varicose veins yet?"

"Thankfully, there are potions for that." She raised her eyebrows at him. "And how do you know about those?"

Justin laughed. "I have a baby niece. My sister told me all about it. In rather more detail than I wanted to hear."

"Ah." Hermione nodded. Dilly reappeared, with the usual enormous tea tray, and Hermione did her duty as hostess; she poured, offered milk and sugar (accepted) and a biscuit (politely refused). "Did you want to talk about anything specific, or did you just come up to ask about my veins?"

"A little of both." Justin sipped his tea. "After the attack at Christmas, we were all worried about you. As Head Boy, I'm expressing the official concern and support of all the prefects... even Slytherin, although Pansy looked very sour about it."

"She would. She loathes me - and it's not just because I'm a Gryffindor, either." Hermione frowned at her knitting. Had she gone around a row too many on this sleeve? "Thank you, Justin. It means a lot. And congratulations on being Head Boy... I think I forgot to say it, before."

"You did, but it's all right. After fighting through the end of the war with you - including waking up to find you and Professor Snape kneeling over me in that field keeping me from bleeding to death - I'd feel particularly ungrateful if I expected an extra pat on the back for getting a badge."

"You forgot to mention the enthusiastic kiss you got when you tackled Macnair just before he took my head off," Hermione said, touching the scar on her jaw and smiling at him. "I was very grateful."

"So was I." Justin grinned suddenly. "And if I had any interest in women whatsoever, I'd definitely have attempted to follow up on that kiss. You did it very nicely."

Hermione blushed. "Yes, well... thank you. I do flatter myself that I neither dribble nor bump teeth."

"I was impressed." Justin shrugged, and sipped his tea again. "Apart from the official messages of support and encouragement, I wanted to talk to you, Muggle-born to Muggle-born."

"Of course... about what?"

"Being a Muggle-born, really." Justin shook his head, rubbing his thumb absently along the scar that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth. "How did you tell your parents about the war?"

"I lied a lot. And avoided going home. They still don't know how bad it was - keeping them away from wizards meant they couldn't get the Daily Prophet, thank goodness. They know there was some fighting, but..."

"Some fighting. Eleven days of increasingly intense skirmishing and three of all out war," Justin said wryly. "Some fighting was more or less how I described it, too. Of course, I had a lot of scarring to explain. Fortunately, being hit with a hail of broken glass from a wand leaves scarring not unlike getting thrown through a plate glass window. My parents were upset, but being thrown through a window sounds so normal compared to some of the other things I've been doing for the last seven years."

"I can see their point." Hermione smiled ruefully. "My parents reacted rather the same way to me joining, as my dad put it, the pudding club during the victory celebrations. They were so happy that I was alive to be pregnant that they didn't get too upset."

"I can see their point. It could be so much worse, after all." Justin leaned back in his chair. "And, war aside - or drunken brawling among the wild Scotsmen, as it was explained to the rest of my family - it hasn't been so bad while we're at school. I mean, going away to boarding school is... easy to explain. But what about next year? There are no wizard universities, and there's no way I could go to an ordinary one now. I'll be able to find work easily enough in the wizarding world, but..." He shrugged. "My parents and my sister know what I am, but we can't exactly tell my entire extended family. Not to mention the few friends I still have from before I got my letter. What am I going to tell them I'm doing? Waving a wand for the good of the realm?"

Hermione winced. "That's... not going to be easy, is it?"

"That's an understatement. I've been seriously considering having my parents tell everyone I've run off to join a cult. At least that would explain my disappearance from their lives." Justin rubbed his forehead, sighing. "I love my family. I miss them. I just... don't know what to tell them."

"I wish I could help. It's just my parents and me, since my Nana died, so... it's easier, for them. And I never really had any friends before I came here." She shrugged. "My parents were planning to tell people that I was going to university in Europe. Of course, that works better when your family and friends don't pop over to Europe on a whim to buy coffee."

The Honourable Justin Finch-Fletchley, scion of an old and wealthy landed line, blushed and grinned rather sheepishly. "It does, yes. What are they going to tell people now?"

"That I had a baby and I'm taking a year off school to reconsider my options. By the time that's over, we'll have come up with another plan." Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "But considering your options could work for you too. Tell everyone you've decided to take a year off to travel. You could travel... explore the wider wizarding community, maybe meet some nice men."

"That's... a thought." Justin nodded slowly. "I'd quite like to travel. Maybe I could do both. If I could get a position with International Magical Cooperation, maybe..."

"That could work. It would at least give you some time to work out what to tell people. And working in an unspecified-but-important Ministry job might make a good enough explanation in the longer term."

"It might. Thank you." Justin smiled at her. "It's just... hard. Trying to live in two worlds at once."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Hermione returned the smile. "At least you're never going to have to explain why the pictures of your baby move."

"I think we've been spoiled by Malfoy and You-Know... I mean, Voldemort," Ron said, slouching at the table with an air of deep gloom. "They were always so helpful with leaving clues and all."

"There was nothing at all to be detected from the poison or the butterflies?" Ginny asked, for the third time. "Professor Lupin didn't know anything else?"

"Just what Hermione told us at the time," Harry said patiently. "Could be anyone in third year or older. Second-year if they're bright."

"And there's no way to know if the simple means are because whoever-it-is is too young to know any better ones, or to make us think that they're too young," Hermione agreed, flipping through her Potions notes. She'd decided to write them out again more neatly, if Professor Snape was going to be looking at them, and try to incorporate the additions and footnotes she'd scribbled on the earlier bits.

"But it's bound to be a Slytherin, right?" Ron leaned forward. "I mean, who else would want Harry dead?"

"That's a good point," Harry said, frowning. "Malfoy may have reformed... stop making that face, Ron, I have to admit hacking off his own arm was pretty conclusive...but that doesn't mean all the others have. Crabbe, for example... this is about his intellectual level."

"That's true." Ginny nodded. "Crabbe's not bright, but he'd be up to something like this."

"It couldn't possibly be Crabbe," Hermione said firmly. They all looked at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I mean... butterflies?"

"They are a bit girly for Crabbe, yeah. Good point, Hermione." Ron chewed on a thumbnail thoughtfully. "What about Pansy? She likes all that frilly girly stuff..."

Extensive speculation ensued among the other three while Hermione concentrated on actual work. In the end it had been decided that Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise Zabini ("I've always thought he was a bit sissy, Harry, haven't you?") were the likeliest suspects. Millicent Bulstrode, it was generally agreed, would have gone for Hermione first, and in any case, would simply throw them out of a window and be done with it.

Hermione listened, a little frown creasing her forehead. They'd assumed automatically that a Slytherin had to be to blame. They usually did, now that she thought about it. And while Draco had been a solid bet through most of their schooling, it seemed downright foolish to simply assume that a Slytherin must be to blame now. She knew from long experience, however, that there was no point in interrupting Harry and Ron with an opposing viewpoint once they were on a roll.

Hopefully she'd be able to reason with them once they calmed down a bit.

"Severus? May I have a word?"

This was why he avoided the staff room. People insisted on speaking to him. Some, like Pomona and Filius, were sometimes interesting. Others were sometimes amusing (Hooch) or invariably deadly dull (Sinistra). But they all seemed to want to talk all the time. And now Lupin was back and even he couldn't leave Severus alone to have his tea and read his Alchemist's Review in peace.

"If you must," he said, pointedly not closing his magazine or in any way giving Lupin his full attention. "What is it now?"

"I wanted to thank you for taking the time to help Hermione," Lupin said in his usual slightly tentative, too-soft voice. The man was a walking apology, and it was intensely irritating... all the more when one knew that the soft facade only masked the beast within. "It's very generous of you to give up your free time."

"Had she had a proper grounding in Defence, I wouldn't need to," Severus said sharply. "Or had she not spent the last six years being taught carelessness and bias by her idiot friends."

Lupin winced. "Harry says Hermione has devoted a great deal of her free time to the study of Defence," he said, still meek and mild. "I'm sure she appreciates the extra lessons."

"She appears to do so." Severus gave him a disapproving look. "I trust you are not making too many concessions to her... condition in your own classes. She may not be as agile as she was, but there is nothing wrong with her mind or her wand hand."

"Madam Pomfrey has cautioned us against tiring her too much," Lupin said, just a shade of defensiveness in his tone. Probably having the girl sit through every class and perhaps throw a genteel hex or two. "But she is doing quite well."

"As I would expect." Severus looked down at his magazine and then back at Lupin. "Is that all?"

"I... yes." Lupin's shoulders slumped slightly. "It's good of you to help her, given your feelings towards her friends and her House."

Severus snorted, and at last the werewolf went away. Stirring his tea absently, Severus looked down at his magazine without reading it. Good of him to help her. He snorted again. The werewolf wouldn't think it was so good of him if he knew that Severus had sullied pure, innocent Hermione Granger with his greasy hands. Never mind that the fault hadn't been his. The Order would rise up against him in a primarily Gryffindor mass if it was known, with Lupin first to go for the throat.

He smirked a little as he imagined it... the outrage at the idea of sweet little Hermione carrying the Greasy Git's child, at the impotent fury of her friends when they realised that she'd been his, even briefly. And she would defend him, shamed though she would be by it, because she had enough common decency to admit her culpability in this.

As enjoyable as the explosion would be, though, he wouldn't wish it on the child. Better to be a fatherless bastard than known to be the bastard of Severus Snape; and the child might not yet be fatherless. Even if Draco couldn't win her, a woman who could produce a healthy child was a valuable prospect, even if most wizards wouldn't think of it in quite such blunt terms.

That wouldn't be the only attraction, of course. She'd put her hair up again for their next lesson, and he'd been struck anew by how perfect and how finished she was. Most of her classmates still had the awkward, incomplete look of adolescence; even with her pregnancy making her movements slow and ungainly, Hermione was all finely modelled lines and perfect proportion. He'd found more than one excuse to pass behind her and admire her slender neck, and to appreciate the graceful movements of her hands across the board.

And oh, the look on Lupin's face if he knew that Snivellus was admiring the lovely lines of the student he was being so good as to devote his spare time to...!

She'd never really had the opportunity to spend a lot of time looking at his hands before. Now, watching as he walked her through the mistakes she had made, moving the pieces across the board, she couldn't help noticing them. Thin, covered with faint scars from a lifetime of potions-brewing, with long fingers and slightly knobbly knuckles. In repose, they probably wouldn't look like anything much. In motion, though, she was so fascinated by them that she failed to pay sufficiently close attention to what they were actually doing.

"Checkmate."

"Again?" She looked at the board and then covered her eyes. "Ohhh, I watched you make that move, and I didn't even realise."

"Obviously not." He gathered up the scattered pieces - simple, faceless, unmoving pieces of wood. He'd been right... it was much easier when the pieces couldn't protest or look up at her with little faces. "But you have, finally, managed to keep your eyes on the board or your opponent for an entire game. That's progress."

"It is. I didn't flinch once." Mostly because she'd been thinking embarrassing things about his hands, but still. "Should we play again?"

"Two games are enough for tonight, I think." He'd never actually mentioned it, after her first lesson, but he still seemed worried about letting her get tired. "You may have some tea, if you wish, while I look over your research."

She'd already had one cup of tea, and that was a mistake. She'd been trying to ignore the increasing pressure in her bladder, and when she stood up, she winced. "Er... sir, I'll have to excuse myself for a minute."

"Why - oh." He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Of course."

Until now, she'd managed to avoid the necessity. Now she blushed a lot. "Is there... uh... anywhere closer than the one on the first floor?" Stairs were uncomfortable even when her bladder was empty.

"No." He watched her as far as the door, then made an impatient noise. "If that's as fast as you can move, it'll be your bedtime before you make it back down here."

"I can't help it," Hermione said, gritting her teeth. Now that she was up and moving, she really had to go. "This is my best speed right now."

"In the interests of efficiency, then," he muttered, and followed her out. "This way." He led her down the featureless corridor and stopped in front of a bracket that looked to have been on the wall since the dungeons were lit by wooden torches. "Snape."

A door appeared next to the bracket and swung open. Hermione stared at it. Was he taking her where she thought he was taking her?

"We don't have all night, Miss Granger," he said icily, and shooed her in ahead of him. It was exactly where she thought he was taking her - his private quarters. She was standing in a smallish room that had probably been a reasonably sized one before he'd lined every wall with overstuffed book-cases. There was a fireplace at one end and a desk at the other, and another door on the other side. He shooed her through that, too, and she found herself in his bedroom.

Dear God. His bedroom. There wasn't a girl in Hogwarts who hadn't speculated.

It was actually a bit disappointing... the standard Hogwarts four-poster with faded green and blue brocade curtains, a couple of worn rugs, and the usual bedroom furniture. No mirror, though, and the only decoration was a tiny landscape on one wall, barely more than a miniature.

"Are you quite finished staring?" He sounded deeply annoyed... and looked a little embarrassed. Hermione stuttered something incoherent, and he indicated a third, smaller door. "Through there. As quickly as possible."

"Er... all right." She hurried across his bedroom and into the blessed haven of the bathroom. Which was small, and managed to convey an air of faint untidiness despite being quite clean. But it had a toilet, and right now that was very important.

Afterwards, she looked around while she washed her hands. It was a very male bathroom... one aging hairbrush, a couple of unlabeled bottles, and that was about all. She didn't quite dare to touch his towel, and dried her hands hastily on her robes. Ducking out of the bathroom again, she gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

"Under the circumstances..." He trailed off, not quite looking at her stomach. "It is a long walk to the first floor facilities."

"It really is," Hermione said fervently. She'd frequently had to traverse that long walk with her knees clamped together. "I appreciate it."

He nodded. Hermione fiddled with her robe. It felt... odd, standing here in his bedroom, trying to think of something to say. It was a relief when she heard a mew, and Akilah uncurled herself from what was undoubtedly Snape's pillow and trotted to the edge of the bed to demand attention. "Hi, pretty lady," Hermione said, going over to scratch behind the huge ears. Akilah purred, and patted Hermione's bulge with a soft paw. Crooks tended to ignore the baby's increasingly obvious presence, but Akilah seemed fascinated by it. "I'm sorry, he's not going to knock back... he's asleep right now." Akilah nosed her stomach anyway, clearly hoping for a response, then allowed Hermione to scratch her ears again.

"How do you know that the child is sleeping?" She looked up to see Snape doing a startling impression of Crookshanks in the presence of fish - looking so disinterested that he was clearly fascinated.

"Well, I don't, really." She patted her stomach gently with the hand that Akilah wasn't occupying. "But he's not moving at all, and I sort of assume that that means he or she is asleep."

"I see." The moment passed, and then he looked away. "Your research - meticulous but unimaginative as it is - awaits us, Miss Granger."

Rita,

I have a story that I promise will make you happier than you've been since the Triwizard Tournament. Please contact me as soon as possible.

Sincerely, etc.