Arithmantic Dating Agency

Chapter Five

Minerva could tell that the date had gone well as Severus actually smiled at the breakfast table, and this was before he had taken his morning cup of coffee or deducted his first points from Gryffindor.

She nearly made some comment about it being love, but she hadn’t got the heart to tease the poor little sod. Not to mention that she had the feeling that if she said anything he would probably smile inanely and nod at her.

Severus Snape was in love and he had got it bad.

It was a lovely sight to behold, and she wasn’t going to allow anything to disturb his perfect moment of happiness, no matter how tempting it would be to make some sort of remark.

Severus was aware that Minerva and Pomona were champing at the bit to be told the details of his evening, but he had maintained a dignified – and very annoying – silence on the issue. There would be plenty of time to talk about it later. The arrival of a large Owl delivering a letter from Hermione at the breakfast table, raised their curiosity to fever pitch, but they maintained an air of casual indifference that was fooling no one. He was incautious enough to open the letter there and then. He had never before considered himself to be prone to blushing, or indeed embarrassment of any kind, until he received this very intimate letter.

She expressed her thanks for a wonderful evening, suggested a repeat performance the following Friday, and expressed her appreciation of his kissing talents. There was nothing overtly graphic about her appreciation - indeed, it was a letter he could show to Minerva with a clear conscience - however, the whole tone of the letter was inviting.

Apparently, she considered him sexy. Something about a beautiful voice, sultry eyes and long fingers. He peered at them. He wondered why long fingers were considered attractive. Obviously long fingers were useful when it came to potions making, but he hardly considered that to be sexy. He could ask Minerva, but on the whole, he thought he would prefer to remain in ignorance. The answer would probably make him blush more.

He suddenly realised that Minerva was watching him staring at his fingers, and she had a very peculiar expression on her face. He just sighed and passed her the note; he could hardly be any more embarrassed.

He was wrong about that.

Minerva gave a little snort of laughter, quickly suppressed; he wasn’t the only one to put up a frosty exterior in order to keep the children in check. The she leaned across and whispered an explanation in his ear.

He went bright red. His pleasant reverie about what he could indeed do with very long fingers, now that the issue had been clarified, was disturbed when he realised that not only was Minerva passing the news on to Pomona, but that both women were eyeing his fingers in a way that was making him feel very uncomfortable.

He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robes and tried not to look flustered; he wasn’t sure he was entirely happy about his new status as a sex symbol. He made a mental note never to open a letter from Hermione at the table again. Then another thought struck him; was he supposed to respond in kind? Surely not.

He had no idea that venturing into the waters of dating would be so perilous. It was clear that he would need further advice on how best to proceed, which meant he would have to swallow his irritation with Minerva.

Just not quite yet, he thought, and swept off to classes.

It would have done nothing for his peace of mind to know that both Minerva and Pomona were watching his departure with a great deal of attention.

Minerva could tell that the poor boy was a bundle of nerves over the whole business. She couldn’t get over the idea that it could all lead to disaster, and was strongly tempted to send an owl of strongly worded advice to young Hermione - get him into bed as soon as possible, and worry about the details afterwards.

If she ever got a chance to say it in person she may well do so.

She thought it would take him until lunchtime for the rosy glow to wear off, and by the end of dinner this evening he would be back to fretting.

And so it proved. Double potions with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws frayed his nerves; he spent lunchtime trying to recapture the quiet happiness he had felt last night as he got ready for bed; and by dinner he was back to glowering at his plate.

Minerva felt that Snape with moods that swung like a pendulum between misery and ecstasy was worse than one that was perpetually gloomy, and resolved to take a hand. First things first, she wanted a detailed account of last night’s activities and then she was going to offer him some very blunt advice.

The sooner he was married and back to being miserable the better for everyone.

He was pathetically grateful to be invited back to her rooms for a chat, and all it took was a glass of Firewhiskey to get him to spill his guts.

Hermione was wonderful, and the restaurant was wonderful, and the conversation was wonderful, and she looked wonderful, and they had kissed which was, well, wonderful. And then they came to the nub of the problem. Sex had reared its ugly head; there was a strong suggestion he would be called upon to do the dirty deed on the next date.

“What did she actually say?” asked Minerva.

Severus dutifully repeated the sex-on-the-third-date comment.

“Let me see the note again.”

Severus sheepishly extracted the note from his robes; Minerva didn’t comment on the fact that he had been carrying it round with him all day. A mere oversight, she was sure. She read the note carefully, noticed that the invitation was to meet in a restaurant, and wondered how to break the bad news. Severus wouldn’t be getting his podger on Friday, not if she was any judge.

She leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. Severus had always been a rip-off-the-sticking-plaster sort of man since she had known him; she delivered her verdict. “I don’t think Hermione expects you two to be – er – intimate on your next date, you know.”

Oddly enough, he seemed relieved rather then disappointed, which was rather touching really.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“She wants to meet in public. If I had designs on a young man, I’d invite him to my flat for dinner; it’s so much easier and it’s a subtle way of saying ‘do you fancy a shag’ without actually coming out into the open.”

He nodded; that made sense. He was slightly overwhelmed by all these codes and subtle signals that had passed him by previously, but he was determined to master it, even if it meant discussing details of his life that he would prefer to keep private. He wasn’t going to risk alienating Hermione and messing up a chance at, well, love. He felt mildly uncomfortable using that word, even in the privacy of his own head, but that was what he wanted. Not a quick shag, but a proper love affair.

He sighed.

Minerva looked at him quizzically. “You think you’ve got problems,” she said. “Try having Filch following you around like a lost puppy.”

Severus was overcome with an unaccustomed desire to be helpful. “Hermione actually runs the Agency, you know,” he said tentatively.

Minerva sat bolt upright. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” she said, spluttering with indignation.

Severus didn’t think that saying he hadn’t thought it important would go down very well. “She did say that if she could do something to help you, she would.”

Minerva looked marginally appeased. “Good. So she ought.”

“I’ll mention it at dinner then.”

Wisely, Severus didn’t say anything further on the matter, and the conversation turned to the various irritations of life as a teacher.

Severus was pleased to discover that he wasn’t anywhere near as nervous as he had been before wht cat came to getting ready for his dinner engagement with Hermione. This time he had prepared in advance. His evenings had been spent idly canvassing topics of conversation and, whilst he was mildly disappointed that there would be little opportunity for kissing Hermione, he was relieved that the spectre of sex had been laid to rest.

Hermione was ready and waiting for him when he arrived. She wasn’t dressed as elaborately as before, but she still looked wonderful. It made her look more approachable, more real; when he told Hermione this she had blushed and ducked her head.

“You really are charming, when you want to be,” she said.

He forgave her the slight note of surprise in her voice; he had to admit it was unlikely. “I’ve never had anyone I wanted to be charming to before,” he said. “Perhaps it’s a hidden talent.”

“Well don’t go practising it on anyone else, like Minerva for instance. You don’t want Filch to get jealous,” she paused, then added, “or me.”

He politely offered Hermione his arm. Hermione had chosen the restaurant this time. He was relieved to see that it wasn’t the Gryffindor monstrosity again, but somewhere smaller and less formal. The food was just as good though. Chatter about Hogwarts saw them through to the arrival of the cheese and biscuits. She seemed surprisingly well-informed about the goings on at school and she confessed that she and Minerva kept up a regular contact.

He seized his opening. “Talking of Minerva,” he said. “I mentioned to her that you might be able to help her with her Filch problem.”

“Hmmm,” she replied.

“I think she might be weakening though,” he said. “So don’t let her kid you that she’s not interested.”

“Really?”

“Albus put his two pennorth in at a staff meeting, and it didn’t go down very well.”

Hermione looked amused. “You can always rely on Albus to stick both feet in his mouth without thinking. What did he do?”

“He offered to have a word with Filch on the matter, because it was obviously unsuitable for a teacher to be romantically linked with the caretaker.”

“I expect that went down well. Minerva’s no snob.”

Severus nodded in agreement. “No, she got quite frosty and said she was quite capable of dealing with Argus if she chose to do so and that the Headmaster should keep his nose out of her affairs.”

“I wish I’d been there to see it. What did he say to that little bombshell?”

“He looked shocked, and then he asked her whether she was seriously contemplating going out with a caretaker and a squib to boot. She stood up, said that the only thing she was contemplating at the moment was bloody murder, and recommended that he shut up.”

“Good for Minerva,” Hermione said warmly. “It’s about time someone told him to get stuffed. It does sound like she’s weakening though.”

“I think so.” He paused for a moment, and poked at his cheese in a distracted manner. “I also happened to mention to her that you owned the Agency.”

“Did you also happen to mention, during your urge to confess all to Auntie Minerva, that you set her up in the first place?”

His cracker paused half way to his mouth. “Er, no,” he confessed.

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “And I suppose you wouldn’t like me to mention this fact to Minerva?”

He looked at her in horror. “Of course not,” he said indignantly, “she would make my life a living hell.”

“What’s it worth?”

“Pardon?”

“What’s it worth for me to keep my mouth shut?”

It took a moment for him to realise that she was teasing him. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

She looked at him as if he was the last newt eye in the jar. “I’ll think of something.”

He coughed nervously. “So, shall I tell Minerva that you’ll come and see her?”

She smiled and graciously allowed him to change the topic of conversation. “Fine. I’m free most of the time, so I’ll just fit in with her.”

The cheese was finished, the bill duly summoned and paid, and cloaks collected. They were on the verge of leaving the restaurant when Hermione put a hand on his arm and asked, “Would you like to come back to my flat for a nightcap?”

He would indeed; he was reluctant to end the evening.

It was only as he followed Hermione into the floo connection, and he caught sight of the waiter smirking at him, that he realised what he had just agreed to. Minerva had obviously under-estimated Hermione – she had lulled him into a false sense of security by agreeing to meet in public and then lured him back to her flat to take advantage of him.

Oh well, there were worse fates.

Her flat was smaller then he had expected, but very warm and cozy, with – inevitably – deep red velvet curtains. There was a matching sofa facing the fireplace, flanked on either side by deep-cushioned armchairs. It all looked very comfortable. He sighed. He now had a new worry. Not only did he have to contend with the possibility of being required to give up wearing black, but Hermione would also want to make-over his quarters. Whilst he would welcome something a little more cheerful, welcoming even, than his present quarters, he was worried about this obsession with Gryffindor colours. It would be wholly unsuitable for the Head of Slytherin to have his rooms decorated in red.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked politely, watching his reaction with some amusement. “Tea? Coffee? Something stronger? Brandy?”

“Brandy would be nice,” he replied as he absent-mindedly sat down in one of the armchairs. He realised he had made a tactical mistake almost immediately. He took the offered glass of brandy and watched Hermione sit on the sofa whilst he was marooned on the chair. It would be too obvious to move to sit next to her on the sofa now.

He hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin for nothing though; it didn’t take him long to come up with a plan to recover his position. He couldn’t move to the sofa, but she, as dutiful host, would have to offer him another drink and would then be in arm’s reach.

He stretched his long legs out before him, and smiled.

Sure enough, after around fifteen minutes of polite conversation, she offered him another glass of brandy. A quick tug as she reached for his glass, a startled squeak as she lost her balance and then she was in his lap.

She wriggled around to get comfortable and then concentrated on the very serious business of kissing. It was only when her hands moved to his buttons that he developed a sudden and acute case of cold feet; it was too soon to go further.

He froze. “I don’t want to have sex,” he blurted out, and almost cringed in horror at what he’d said.

“Wait until you’re asked,” she said tartly. “I know it’s the third date, but really!”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “But Minerva said that …” He didn’t complete the sentence; he had a feeling it would make things worse.

“Minerva said what?” she snapped.

He tried to put things as delicately as possible. “That an invitation to your home could mean that you were – erm -”

Hermione softened in the face of his floundering. “To be precise,” she said, “when I said would you like to come back to my flat for a nightcap, I meant would you like to come to my home where we could sit on the sofa, drink a glass of wine or so and then gradually move on to a little light kissing, and nothing more, because I didn’t fancy snogging in the street. It’s cold, and you’re too tall. It makes my neck hurt.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Now you realise that I don’t have designs on your virtue, can we get back to what we were doing?”

He realised with a rush of relief, that that he hadn’t blown things completely. “Yes,” he said, “yes, please.”

By the time Severus arrived back at Hogwarts, it was very late. He made a note to himself to have a word with Albus about dropping the anti-apparition wards. His love life was more important than the putative safety of any of the blasted children, and he didn’t feel comfortable wandering round in this dishevelled state. Hermione had discovered a fascination for running her hands through his hair, and whilst it was entirely welcome, it couldn’t be denied that he looked a little messy, not to mention the fact that his robes were both crumpled and unbuttoned. He had, in the end, submitted to Hermione’s desire to loosen his clothes, and had been rewarded by a prolonged and concerted attack on his neck that he was sure had left marks.

He knew he had when he returned the favour.

He looked up at the Castle, and could see that Minerva’s light was still on. He wondered what she was doing staying up so late, and decided to pay her a visit.

He was in such a good mood that he didn’t pause to take points off a Hufflepuff he found wandering around – what was the point, they didn’t stand a chance of winning the House Cup this year anyway – and was quickly at Minerva’s quarters.

He paused, his hand raised to knock on the door, when he heard the sound of voices within.

And one of them was male. It didn’t sound like Albus either, although it did sound familiar.

Was she?

She was. She was entertaining Filch in her rooms after curfew. And wouldn’t that be fun to tease her about tomorrow. He briefly considered casting a quick listening charm to find out exactly what was going on, but quickly re-considered; there were some things that were better left private. Minerva and Filch were definitely something left alone.

Severus headed off to bed in a decidedly cheerful frame of mind. He would have been even more amused to know that the Hufflepuff spent all night in a state of terror wondering what Professor Snape was going to do to him that was worse than detention with Filch or losing twenty house points.



Severus’s good mood was still present the next morning; he was again seen smiling at breakfast. The Hufflepuff broke down in tears at the sight of this and had to be escorted to Madame Pomfrey.

“Good morning, Minerva,” he said cheerfully.

She looked at him sourly, and said, “Someone’s cheerful this morning. I don’t want to be a killjoy, but could we keep demonstrations of happiness to a complete minimum until I’ve finished my coffee.”

“Tired, Minerva?” he smirked. “You didn’t stay up late last night, by any chance, did you?”

There was a fraught pause whilst Minerva won the battle not to spit her coffee across the table. “Have you been listening at doors again?”

“Tut, tut, Minerva. I thought paranoia and suspicion were supposed to be peculiarly Slytherin qualities.”

“Or those of people dealing with Slytherins,” she replied.

Their budding sniping contest was nipped in the bud by the arrival of an Owl from Hermione suggesting that she and Minerva meet.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” he asked seriously.

“Has Filch bribed you?” she replied. “Because if he has…”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “I was thinking of your interests. You seemed to be getting on well enough last night. It was Filch you were talking to last night, wasn’t it?”

She nodded.

“The Agency does seem to work,” he said very softly, so that none of their colleagues could hear.

“It might work for you,” she said, in the same tone of voice. “But don’t forget that you filled your own form in. Whoever filled in my form could have made terrible mistakes.”

He had to admit that might be true, largely because to do otherwise would be to admit his involvement in the application. He didn’t think she’d take the news well, and he wanted to live.

An evil smile crossed Minerva’s face. “I think I’ll arrange to see Hermione on Wednesday afternoon. You are free then aren’t you, Severus? Perhaps you’d like to take your girlfriend on a tour of the Castle.”

“Whilst I would be happy to see my girlfriend, as you put it, at any time, I fail to see why you would expect me to show Hermione round a Castle she is entirely familiar with from her student days.”

“There are parts of the Castle she hasn’t seen yet, Severus.”

“How very true.”

It was lucky that the Hufflepuff had already left the Hall, as the sight of Professor Snape with a very wide grin on his face would have snapped the poor lad’s grip on sanity once and for all. Severus had just realised what Minerva was getting at; Hermione hadn’t seen his quarters.



As Hermione strolled up from the apparition point, she thought how pleasant it was to be back at Hogwarts. She hadn’t been back to the school since graduation, despite Minerva’s frequent invitations – too many painful memories to contend with – but now she was pleased to find that the raw hurt that had overwhelmed her after the Final Battle had subsided to a dull twinge and that she was able to remember the many happy times she had spent here.

Albus was waiting to greet her which was a trifle irritating when it came down to it. He was obviously sniffing out gossip, whether about her and Severus or Minerva and Filch. She had always thought his reputation for omniscience was greatly over-rated – she had never seen him with a decently configured Arithmancy equation. Those toys in his office were the equivalent to a Potions Master setting up glass tubes with coloured water running through them – very pretty, but bugger all use to anyone.

Which pretty much summed up the Headmaster himself, apart from the pretty bit.

With that lovely thought in her mind she was able to greet Dumbledore with a smile on her face, and resist the urge to get snippy with the prying old goat.

“Miss Granger, how nice to see you again. How are you?”

“Well, thank you. And you?”

“In the pink of health. Minerva is waiting for you in her sitting room, I’m sure one of the house elves will show you the way. She seems quite enthusiastic about the meeting, but not as enthusiastic as poor old Severus.”

She bit back the remark that it was the height of hypocrisy for him to be referring to Severus as OLD in anyway, and merely smiled sweetly. “I’m sure both of them are looking forward to catching up with me; we have a lot to discuss, so if you’ll excuse me Albus…..”

“Of course, of course,” he said jovially. “I’m sure I’ll have a chance to catch up with you later.”

“Possibly,” she said politely. Not if she could help it.

She slipped away from him quickly before he could reply, and attracted the attention of a house elf who directed her to Minerva’s rooms.

Minerva was more sincerely pleased to see her, even if it was almost entirely on the basis of self-interest. “Thank god you’re here,” she said fervently. “You have got to do something about Argus, he’s driving me insane, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings poor chap. I tried talking to him last night about how unsuited we were, and all he said was that the Agency was never wrong.”

“Well, we’re not,” said Hermione firmly, holding out a slim folde Min Minerva. “I am an Arithmantic genius.”

Minerva looked askance at the papers. “What’s this?”

“Your answers.”

“But I didn’t fill any form in, these aren’t my answers at all,” Minerva said, slightly bewildered.

“I know, but look them over anyway. If you want to alter any of them let me know. Look it’s the way the charm works, you can’t have your name taken out of the possibilities it considers; so if you want a letter to go to Filch saying there’s been a mistake, you need to re-submit your answers.” Hermione was lying through her back teeth. From the suspicious look Minerva was giving her, this was obvious even to the most stupid observer, and Minerva wasn’t stupid.

Hermione sighed. “All right then, I have reason to suppose that the person who filled this in, got most of it right; if they did, Filch is your soul mate, sorry and all that, and I don’t want to throw away a chance at happiness just because you have some set idea about what you want in a man.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes and glared at her. “It was Severus, wasn’t it? The bastard! Just wait till I get my hands on him.”

“He only did it to try and track down the Agency. He did say he tried to answer the questions as accurately as possible.”

“Oh, that makes it alright then,” Minerva said, rolling her eyes. “Just because he’s ecstatic with his choice, doesn’t mean to say that we all would be, or even that I’m interested in a man at all.”

Hermione sat down, without being invited, and said, “He’s ecstatic?”

Minerva caught sight of her enormous grin, and said irritably, “Dear god, you two have got it bad. I really don’t want to have anything to do with love, if it means going around with your brains leaking out of your ears.”

Hermione resented that remark and said so. “It’s better than being miserable and alone.”

“Is that intended for me?”

“I was thinking of myself, only a couple of weeks ago. Oh for heaven’s sake,” she said impatiently, “just read the bloody thing, and see how close it is.”

It was, judging from Minerva’s ashen face when she finished, close enough.

“Bugger,” she said, “and you can stop laughing; it’s not funny!”

“I bet that’s what Severus thought when he read my name,” gasped Hermione in between laughing, “ and look how we’ve ended up. I lay you a fiver you and Filch are married within the year.”

It was fortunate she ducked; the book could have been damaged if it had hit her.

“You know, its odd being back here,” said Hermione, apparently going off at a tangent. “All the memories come back: Harry playing quidditch, Ron and the slugs, stealing from Snape’s stores.”

Minerva snorted. “You’d better not tell him about that. You could still end up in detention, you know.”

Hermione just smirked. “And there’s the memories of the Final Battle as well.”

Minerva suddenly looked al her her years. “Yes. You should get Severus to take you to the Memorial so you can pay your respects.”

Hermione nodded. “I will,” she said softly. “It seems like only yesterday we were duelling with Deatheaters on the Quidditch pitch. I can remember how angry Ron was; he was worried that there might be damage to the goals.”

Minerva smiled fondly. Ronald Weasley had been a favourite of hers, more so than Harry if the truth were told, she’d been very pleased when he survived the battle. It had been a close run thing, as the stupid boy had been hexed in the back by Avery, and had fallen to the ground in a very bad way. Mercifully, Avery couldn’t resist the chance to gloat over beating one of Harry’s staunchest allies, which had given Filch the opportunity to come up behind him. He may only have been a squib, but even a squib can knock someone out.

“I always wondered where the Headmaster was in all the excitement.”

Minerva shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “He was in his office, overseeing things.”

“Ah. Yes. He was always good at that.”

Minerva didn’t pretend that she didn’t understand Hermione’s point. “All right then,” she conceded, “I’ll go on one date. If he doesn’t make me hot under the collar by the end of it, you’ll give him another name.”

“Deal.” Solemnly they shook hands on it.

“Now leave me alone, and go and see Severus,” Minerva said, torn between laughing and grimacing, I expect he’s fretting by now. Be gentle with him,” she added more seriously, “He’s a gentle soul underneath all that sarcasm.”

Hermione nodded, and couldn’t resist the temptation to say, “Yes, you really shouldn’t go by first appearances should you.”

Minerva sniffed, but she looked thoughtful.

Severus was indeed fretting; he was waiting for Hermoine at the foot of the stairs to Gryffndor Tower. She couldn’t restrain a broad smile at the sight of him anxiously pacing backwards and forwards, and so far from his beloved dungeons too.

“There you are,” he said.

“Here I am,” she agreed cheerfully. “And I’m all yours for the afternoon.”

“Would you like to come back to my quarters for a cup of tea?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

“Not just yet. I’d like to visit the Memorial, if you don’t mind. I haven’t been back since they built it.”

He tucked her hand over his arm, and said, “Don’t be silly, of course I don’t mind. I ought to have thought of it myself. It’s this way.” It took Hermione a moment to orient herself; it had been a long time since she had had to content with Hogwarts and its moving staircases. They were heading towards the Quidditch Pitch. The memorial had been built close by, both because it was the scene of the final battle, and also because the children would be reminded of what happened there on a regular basis.

Harry had insisted on that site, in the face of Fudge’s suggestion that the Memorial would be better placed somewhere more discreet, so that the children wouldn’t have nightmares. His view, which he expressed very forcefully, was that as he had spent seven years having nightmares about facing Voldemort, the potential suffering of pupils at Hogwarts was the very least of his worries, and besides, the Fallen would want the best view of the matches that they could possibly get.

There was an official ceremony each year to make the anniversary of the Final Battle; but she knew that the three of them considered that the more important ceremony was the unofficial one that took place at the end of the Quidditch Cup. It had started the first year, when Lee Jordan’s younger brother had taken the Cup to the Memorial to tell his brother about it. Instead of being laughed at, as he had secretly feared, he had started a tradition. Each year now the Cup was presented to those who had died.

“How did it go with Minerva?” Severus asked.

“Well, I think. I reminded her about Filch saving Ron during the Final Battle.”

Severus wrinkled his nose. “Of course that had more to do with his grudge against Avery. He made Filch’s life a misery when he was at Hogwarts.”

“I didn’t know Filch had been a pupil here.”

“Only until his fifth year. It was clear by then.” Severus didn’t need to say more.

“What house was he in?”

“Gryffindor, where else would he have been sorted? Brave, courageous, tacking adversity against all the odds, hurling himself into battle, surely that’s Gryffindor traits.”

“But he attacked Avery from behind, surely that’s Slytherin tactics?” There was silence in response to this sally, and Hermione realised that she’d offended him. He had always been sensitive about the reputation of his House.

They reached the Memorial a few minutes later. It was simple, and spare – Harry had put his foot down again – a tall stone block simply recording the names of those who had fallen. She squatted down and traced the names of those who had died; so many Gryffindors among them

There were fresh flowers at the side of the stone. She looked up at Severus, mutely questioning.

“So many of them had younger brothers and sisters, cousins even, the Magical world is a small one. They come down here from time to time to check up on their relatives. I found young Jordan down here one day, reading his brothers the scores from the Quidditch World Cup.”

She stood up abruptly. “I wish,” she said in a quavering voice, “I wish more of them had been more careful, more sensible, more Slytherin and less bloody brave.”

Severus had never been very good with weeping females. The last woman to cry on his shoulder had been Minerva, after the battle, and he’d never been certain whether he should put his arms round her or pat her on the back or say something soothing. In the end he had settled for standing there awkwardly whilst she used his robes as a hanky. They’d never spoken of it since, but he had a feeling that he ought to have done better somehow.

He was surprised to find that he had no such difficulties with Hermione. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to pull her into his arms, hold her tight and bury his nose in her hair. He didn’t worry about the state of his robes, or even flinch when she sniffed horribly.

“Tea?” he said softly. “Dobby’s made crumpets, and we can toast them in front of the fire.”

She nodded, gave him one last convulsive hug and then moved away.

They reached the entrance to his quarters without bumping into anyone else, which Hermione found something of a relief. She could just imagine the rumours that would start if she were seen in tearstained in the Severus’s company. For all that he revelled in his ability to create fear in the hearts of his pupils, she didn’t think he would appreciate being thought of as someone who bullied his girlfriend.

Children, yes; girlfriend, no. Not to mention that if it got back to Harry or Ron, and it was bound to, one or both of them would be hammering down his door demanding satisfaction in a wizarding duel. It wasn’t that she was concerned that Severus might get hurt, more that she was bloody certain that the boys would be. Which would then make it harder than ever to persuade them that she and Severus were meant to be together. For some odd reason, the boys weren’t quite as convinced that she was an Arithmantic genius as she would like.

Of the two, Harry would be the most opposed – he could still wax lyrical for fifteen minutes on the subject of Snape and his personality without repetition, deviation or hesitation – and the most likely to concede that her calculations were correct; he did have the evidence of Millicent before him. Ron, on the other hand, had never used the Agency, preferring to play the field, so he had never experienced what Harry had described as the way the world suddenly clicked into place when he met the right person. On the other hand, he didn’t hate Severus as much as Harry. She didn’t think anyone – living – hated Severus as much as Harry.

She suspected that Ginny had been keeping the boys informed of her – she supposed you could call it an affair – and the absence of people in white coats coming to take her to St Mungos was indicative of a certain level of acceptance.

Ginny must be giving Severus a good press.

She wasn’t surprised to find Severus’s rooms were spartan, despite an obvious attempt to brighten them up with a bunch of lilies; she’d never taken him for a man who read Witches Weekly to find out the latest trends in decorating dungeons.

“I’ve hidden the skeletons,” he said dryly.

“Really, that’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing them.”

“It’s not very homely,” he said, looking round at his rooms with freshly critical eyes.

“All it needs is a rug and a couple of cushions for the sofa. A nice bright red rug would look lovely there.”

Severus thought he hid his twitch of dismay well. “Red?” he said uncertainly.

“Or maybe pink.”

He looked at her in horror; he hadn’t appreciated before that there were worse colour choices than Gryffindor red.

“Or maybe a nice tasteful green. Something comfortable to sit on when toasting crumpets.”

Severus ignored her obvious attempt at teasing him, because he had had a flash of inspiration. If she wanted to sit in comfort in front of the fire that could be arranged. A quick Accio summoned his pillows and bedspread, and he spread them before the fire.

His inventiveness was rewarded by being allowed to sprawl next to Hermione whilst she toasted crumpets, and watching the wholly entrancing way she licked the butter from her fingers. He thought he could make that a life’s work.

Unfortunately, their little afternoon idyll came to an end all too soon; a sharp knock on the door heralded the arrival of another whining student with some hard luck story about being set upon by two bullies. Gryffindors, of course.

The child’s eyes had been as wide as saucers when he had seen that his Head of House had been entertaining a woman. Severus went rushing off to defend the precious honour of his house leaving Hermione with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. She watched him go, robes all swirling, with a fond eye. She realised with a start that the small child was still looking at her with an open mouth.

“You’re a Slytherin?” she asked.

He nodded dumbly.

She reached out and grasped his ear. “Right, you and I need to have a little word about Professor Snape.”

The child couldn’t nod; he was stood on tiptoe to avoid being parted from his ear.

“The Professor will be wanting his evenings and his weekends to himself from now on.”

The child smiled faintly in the usual Slytherin manner, indicating that it understood perfectly why the Professor would be wanting his evenings to be free of interruptions.

“That means that your House will have to start behaving itself, are we clear?”

She released his ear, so that the child could nod.

“And let’s be very clear about this. You think Professor Snape is the scariest person you’ve ever met don’t you?”

The child was undecided what was the right answer under the circumstances. Should it go with the truth and risk insulting Snape, or lie? In the end, he opted for silence.

“Well, let me tell you that I’m a damned sight more scary than the Professor. You see he’s a teacher at Hogwarts, and he has to abide by its rules; I don’t. Do we understand each other?”

The child nodded again. It understood perfectly.

“Now be a good little boy and run along. Pass on the message to all your little chums in Slytherin.”

“But it’s not always us that causes the trouble,” he whined. “It’s those Gryffindors.”

Hermione put her face unpleasantly close to the child – a tactic she had learned from her beloved – “Then you can tell your house I’m going to have a little word with them as well.”

The boy nodded again, and scuttled off as quickly as its little legs would carry him.

Hermione dusted off her hands - the child’s ear had been unpleasantly sticky - and went in search of the Head Girl. A one woman reign of terror was about to be launched on Hogwarts; nothing was going to stand between her and Severus.