Severus sat in his usual chair in the staff room, enjoying an evening cup of hot chocolate (there may or may not be more than just a drop of Kahlua mixed in with it) while perusing the latest The Mixologist before heading to the dungeons for the night. Remus had left about twenty minutes ago after they'd finished a game of muggle chess (neither wanted the wizarding kind this evening). There was a group of witches chatting amongst themselves. And no one else in the room. He hadn't been invited to join them nor did he have any particular interest. He liked them well enough, but six of them together could be a bit … much. So, that left Severus to his own devices for a while, leading to him reading. It was generally a pretty crap periodical, but occasionally enough, printed a worthwhile article to make it worth the subscription.

He wagered the editors of the periodical weren't even certain what a mixologist was. Not to say the moniker was wrong , but he wasn't sure it carried the image (that of an alcoholic beverage expert) they were wanting.

"So, Minnie," he heard Pomona say.

This was said loud enough, he imagined the Herbology professor wanted him to hear. She fussed over him quite frequently over the years, always pointing out various witches who might be of interest to him. None of them were. Not that he didn't look . Of course he did. He wasn't dead, a priest, or a eunuch. A few gave him the time of day, but there was no interest. Mostly, he imagined, it was his fault. He was too picky contrary to his mother telling him he shouldn't be. He wanted, nay needed, intelligence. He couldn't stomach the idea of settling for someone he couldn't communicate with about as wide a variety of topics as interested him. That was not an appealing way to spend his life. Even if he realized she would be settling, too. And likely suffer for it. He still associated with unsavory types, so many still questioned his loyalty.

Poppy, Rolanda, Bathsheda, and Septima were all regarding Minerva with interest now. So, Pomona got what she wanted. By the looks on the witches faces, anticipation if he didn't know better, they all knew what Pomona was going to say. Severus, for his part, did not. Minerva, for her part, looked as if she very much enjoyed being the bearer of whatever tonight's gossip was going to be.

"Is it official?" Rolanda asked. Evidently, Pomona wasn't fast enough, or her dangling question wasn't sufficient to move the conversation along in the expected direction.

Gossip.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Minerva said. She obviously knew exactly what they were talking about. Or wanted to talk about. That brogue of hers was just a little … stronger than usual. A dead give away.

"Is Mr. Potter officially off the market then?" Septima asked.

Severus scoffed silently. Only just stopping himself from doing so aloud with the realization he wasn't part of the gossip party. (Why they were here and not at the Three Broomsticks he could only assume was due to the inclement weather.) Really? That was what was so important? A fourteen year old wizard's love life? Severus could admit to being a little curious, only because he had not seen evidence that Harry Potter had chosen a witch. Certainly, he'd never caught him while doing his assigned post-curfew rounds. He was fairly sure Remus would have mentioned it. Or Sirius.

(Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined being invited to a private Christmas meal at the Black residence, but that was where he'd spent Christmas Day night, eating with the other three wizards.)

"I don't know anything beyond the rumor that he's asked to be Miss Granger's escort to the Valentine's Day dance."

Severus rolled his eyes from his spot, ensuring his face was carefully hidden behind the magazine he was reading. That explained the strength of her brogue during this gathering. The head of Gryffindor would of course be strutting like a very proud peacock if The Boy Who Lived and The Cleverest Witch of Her Age got together. He had heard no such news, so he'd believe it when he saw it was fact.

Tonight's gossip relieved him a bit, though. His thoughts went to the wizard, and then the witch as the witches peppered Minerva with questions that she truly did not seem to know the answer of.

When he observed Miss Granger the first few months, prior to his deal with her to abstain from raising her hand for a day in exchange for house points and assisting him with brewing. Well, she was on a path he recognized well. He knew what it was to be the smartest wizard in the room, and knowing it was so. He also knew what it was to feel as if he didn't quite belong, being raised muggle even if his mother was a witch. She had to learn that she didn't need to prove that every second of every day. Where she wanted to answer every question to show she knew the answer, he had preferred saying nothing unless directly asked.

It was enough for him to know that he had the correct answer.

Well, since that weekend of her first year, she'd seemed to understand what he'd been telling her. She still participated in class, but she let others talk and answer questions now. She actually engaged in a debate with Draco about what possible uses the Pompion Potion could have that left his godson clearly aghast at her ability to form a thought that didn't come from a book located in Hogwarts before Christmas holidays their first year!

He had, in fact, gotten a howler from Lucius Malfoy. They had settled things shortly after, as Albus wanted Severus to keep that contact intact. Lucius was an excellent source of gossip that Severus just didn't have access to not being a pureblood. Or wealthy. Draco had been included in the extra credit ingredient collecting after a couple weeks of making him sweat it. He could admit, too, that he would have felt somewhat guilty turning his back on Draco at the age of eleven.

Back in 1980, when Lucius asked Severus to be Draco's godfather, Albus told Severus that decision was completely up to him. (Very little was truly up to him when it got down to it since he had been eleven years old. Severus had come to terms with the fact this was true, even if he still hadn't figured out how the headmaster had done it.)

He said yes to Lucius' offer because, in truth, at the age of twenty and having completed not just his Hogwarts education but nearly being done with his apprenticeship in record time. Well, he had no prospects of a witch, which meant he had no expectation of a wife or children coming in the foreseeable future.

He remembered the "advice" his mother had given him. However, what if she was wrong? What if he did find someone willing to look past his humble beginnings and looks? He thought dealing with a godson would be a good … test as to whether he should even contemplate having children after his own upbringing.

Nearly fifteen years into Draco's life, he still wasn't sure if he'd passed the test. Of course, he still had no prospects for a wife, which meant children were out of the question as well.

He decided in Draco's first year that if he could somehow … guide his godson, as well as other Slytherins and Dark Lord loyalists outside of his house, into realizing on their own (seemingly) that muggleborns were not stealing their magic or taking anything away from them. He couldn't let anyone know he was doing it, of course. It had to be subtle, done with care, letting them gain that information by seeing it was true with their own eyes. Well, maybe, just maybe if the Dark Lord did return, some of them wouldn't buy into his rhetoric and go to him.

Some was better than none. He wasn't fool enough to believe he'd reach every one of them.

That was the reason behind getting Granger and his godson to work together. Draco would never give Miss Granger the time of day for any reason but scholastic betterment. The chance to outdo her, though. One thing Severus knew about his godson. He was a competitive bastard. It was one of the things he liked about Draco. He wanted to be the best. He just hoped one day he wouldn't be such a prick about trying to accomplish that.

He needed Draco to be able to see that Miss Granger was intelligent and capable. There were other muggleborns in attendance, but none that would be able to challenge his godson the way Miss Granger could. He needed Draco to see that with his own eyes, draw his own conclusions. He had planted the seed, informing him that she was achieving better grades than him. In truth, they were virtually neck-and-neck. Then and now. It had taken a few months, almost to the end of their first year, but he noticed a difference in the way Slytherins treated the witch. As if Draco had imparted to them that she "wasn't so bad", and they had adjusted their mindset with regard to her. Draco was respected. He was looked up to. He was a leader. People would take his word pertaining to something like that.

Not to say, she wasn't still teased, but the cruel edge to it that had been there at the beginning of their first year wasn't there. In fact, this year, he couldn't say it was happening much at all.

"Did she say yes?" Pomona asked.

Ah, yes, he was eavesdropping. Best pay attention.

"I believe so." This was made to sound coy, but she didn't succeed. He took that to mean she more than believed so.

"You believe so? You mean you don't know for sure?"

The last round of questions came from Rolanda Hooch. She was not at all subtle about her distrust of someone like Hermione Granger who didn't look forward to flying. She didn't dislike her or think badly of her overall abilities, but to Hooch flying was as much a part of being a witch or wizard as being able to transfigure a match into a needle.

"No one's told me one way or the other."

Of course she knew. Minerva adored Hermione Granger. There was no way her head of house didn't know this bit of information.

Or was Miss Granger withholding the information from others? There was an interesting thought. He'd seen signs over the years of her having a bit of a … devious streak.

"Well, she would be a fool to say no!"

Severus shook his head slightly. They were fourth years! (Granted, Miss Granger was almost sixteen he knew from his discovery of her birthdate back in her first year, but still.)

It was times like this he wondered how he could have ever been … mad at Lily or Albus. Good lord, why did the magical world have it in their heads that children had to meet their future spouse at Hogwarts?

He realized now, twenty-four years later, that he would not have been happy or content marrying at the age of eighteen. He certainly hadn't been ready for a child at the age of twenty. He wasn't sure Lily loving him would have made him be ready.

So, he could acknowledge these days that Albus had done him a favor by making him look objectively at his relationship with Lily back then.

"I did hear her talk about her buying something suitable for a dance while home for the Christmas holidays, so I imagine she said yes," Minerva added.

"Well, that will be interesting. She's already not very well liked. People will absolutely hate her now!"

"I'm not sure who she said yes to, honestly," Minerva said. "In addition to Mr. Potter I believe Mssrs. Longbottom and McLaggen asked her as well."

"Why doesn't she have any female friends," Rolanda asked.

"Well, look at who her roommates are," Minerva said, very clearly standing up for her favorite. Not that this surprised Severus (nor would it the witches she was talking with). "She has nothing in common with them! They're figuring out ways to land someone like Blaise Zambini, and she's figuring out how to make the world a better place."

Of course Minerva would stick up for her cub, Severus reasoned.

The funny thing was, she wasn't wrong. Fourteen years he'd been teaching. It was rare to find a witch who was more concerned about reading an extra book on any topic versus learning how to apply eyeliner.

"And to be honest, she doesn't need makeup or anything else to make her beautiful."

Severus shook his head then.

Again, Minerva wasn't wrong. She hadn't been in the beginning. She wasn't plain looking, no, but she definitely had gotten more comfortable in her skin the more she'd grown into her magical ability.

Confidence.

Yes. She was no longer a know-it-all swot, but instead a confident, capable witch. There was no doubt that wizards like Potter, Longbottom, and McLaggen would see that.

And desire it.

Especially if she wasn't going out of her way to attract their attention as other witches likely were. He didn't allow socializing in his classroom, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware that Mr. Potter, in particular, was quite sought after.

*****

February 11, 1995

Minerva knocked on the door to her spare bedroom. At least that was who Hermione presumed was knocking.

"Hermione, Dear, are you ready?"

"Yes, Professor."

She was ready, but thought for sure she was going to be sick to her stomach. So was putting off leaving for a few minutes. Or ever. Professor McGonagall helped with her hair and makeup. She could have stayed in her room and let Lavender or Parvati help her, but she didn't want to let them. They would have changed her, where her professor just enhanced what she'd naturally been given. She didn't want to look like a completely different person!

"Are you sure?" her head of house asked.

"Yeah," she called.

"You're going to be late."

"I think I'm going to be sick," she murmured. No, she wouldn't. She could do this. It was a dance. She wasn't even really sure it was a date. Neither of them had put such a name on it. He'd asked, she'd answered. And here she was. She gathered her courage. "I'll be right out, Professor. You can go on without me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Dear. I'm sure you look lovely and look forward to seeing for myself."

"Thank you," she called through the door.

She smoothed her hands over the gown she'd found while shopping with her mum over Christmas holidays. It was red and floor length. It was a prom dress so was maybe a little more grown up than she would have chosen normally, but as it was the first formal dance she was going to, her mum wanted to go all out. She regarded her reflection in the mirror one last time (magical of course).

She thought she looked … beautiful.

"You look lovely."

"Thank you," she said, ensuring the tiara that helped hold her hair in place was secure.

"First dance?"

"Yes, madam," she said. Hoping madam was the correct title. Who knew with a mirror?

The mirror tutted. "Well, have fun."

"I think I will," Hermione said, smiling a bit.

She set both hands over her abdomen for a moment, taking a deep breath as she convinced herself one last time to do this. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't being tricked. She was going to have a great evening.

She recited the periodic table to herself as she made her way from Professor McGonagall's quarters to the top of the staircase that would take her to the great hall's entrance. The moving staircases were surprisingly cooperative tonight. Just her luck.

Everyone in the foyer stopped talking almost all at once when they spotted her at the head of the stairs.

Alone.

She scanned the crowd, fighting the urge to fidget and draw her lower lip under her teeth. She had lipstick on tonight, so she couldn't do that. At least not before the dance actually started. And she refused to let anyone see her fidget.

Did he stand her up?

Would he do that?

Was it a joke after all?

Then he was there, in his formal dress robes. He was even sporting the bowtie that she'd had dyed to match the shade of red her gown was. (He'd accused her of choosing the dress deliberately.)

He met her about four stairs from the bottom landing, bowing politely as he took her hand. The roaring in her ears that he was actually here in front of her, taking her hand as her escort for the night should, drowned out all other sounds in the foyer. No doubt everyone was gossiping and stammering at this unlikely pairing for the night's festivities.

In truth, it was why she'd said yes when he asked. Who would have believed her if she'd told them who she was going with? No one, that was who.

"You are absolutely stunning, Granger," he whispered.

Stunning? He'd said stunning! She'd been aiming for pretty. Beautiful maybe. Stunning. Yeah, she smiled. She could live with that.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she said. "You look very nice, too."

"Shall we?"

He offered her his arm once they were on the floor of the foyer. She slid her hand to the crook of his elbow and took another deep breath. Yes, she believed they shall. And have a good time doing it, too.

"Nothing like shocking the masses," she murmured and he tilted his head back and laughed as they stepped into the great hall together.

*****

Severus watched as the students entered the great hall. He and the other professors were seated at what was in essence the head table, just shaped and placed differently than usual for the evening. He hated these things and zoned out whenever he could, unbeknownst to anyone else. (Probably they did know.)

"You said she was going with Mr. Potter," he heard Pomona murmur to Minerva none too softly, bringing him out of his thoughts on just what he'd done to Albus over the years to cause him to punish him by making it a requirement that he chaperone these things. No one, and he meant no one, would miss him if he wasn't here.

"What?"

"Miss Granger. You said she was going with Harry Potter."

"What of it?"

"That is not Harry Potter, Minerva."

The entire table heard this conversation, and all heads turned as his godson walked through the great hall doors with Hermione Granger on his arm. More than one set of eyes went from them to him, as if he'd known.

He hadn't.

She looked … beautiful. Not that he'd ever have reason to say such a thing to anyone. He could in his mind, though, acknowledge that of all the witches in this room she was one of the loveliest. It helped that she was wearing a muggle dress. He had to admit, he liked that about her.

And just like that, the rose was off the bloom, so to speak, as Pansy Parkinson none too gracefully or discreetly walked toward the unlikely couple. (Were they a couple? How had Severus not had an inkling that one of his Slytherins, and his godson, had asked a muggleborn witch to tonight's dance?)

"You turned me down for this mudblooded bitch?" Pansy Parkinson shrieked so that anyone could hear her.

Severus stepped down from his spot with the other staff then to intervene. Two Slytherins to one Gryffindor. This was his responsibility.

"Miss Parkinson," Severus said, grabbing the witch's arm at the elbow. "Now is not the time or place."

"You, Professor Snape, should put a stop to this abomination! He lied to me! He told me he wasn't going!"

"It's a dance, Miss Parkinson."

"I am telling my parents about this!"

He drew Miss Parkinson into a room off of the great hall. She didn't want to go, but he was taller and stronger than she was so it didn't take much to just move her with him as he walked.

"Did it ever occur to you that Draco might have invited her to the dance for a reason, Miss Parkinson?"

"What do you mean?" She didn't believe him. Truthfully, Severus didn't either, but until he knew what was in play, he didn't want a scene. And, well, his godson deserved a nice evening. That wouldn't last long. Someone would surely tell his parents who he'd escorted to the dance. This witch might be first in line to do so.

"Have you ever heard the phrase keep your friends close but your enemies closer?"

"I don't believe you. If you saw the way he looked at her when she was coming down the stairs. He likes the mudblooded whore."

He loathed that word. Truly, hated it. He tried to correct those who said it. Back in Miss Granger's first year, when a fair number of his Slytherins had taken to calling her (and others) mudblood, he'd talked with Albus about what course of action he should take. Did he correct them? If so, how stringently? Both men agreed, it had to be carefully done. He couldn't be seen as being reformed or turning his back on Voldemort's beliefs. Not yet anyway. Albus assured him there would come a time that he could.

So, Severus had walked a fine line, trying to steer them away from the slur as best as he could without making anyone believe he didn't subscribe to the beliefs anymore.

He hated it.

"As is his prerogative, Miss Parkinson. Again, it's a dance, not the rest of his life. And she is not a whore. Calling her a mudblood isn't appropriate either. You're getting far enough in your schooling where you need to think about your future. Those muggleborns will be competing against you for jobs. You wouldn't want one of them to get chosen over you because it's known that you can't stop yourself from spouting prejudiced drivel. Not to mention, name calling will not gain you what you want in life. If you think that insulting his chosen date for the night is going to win you points, or woo him to your side instead of hers, you have a lot to learn."

"Says the thirty-five year old unmarried wizard who is so homely he's never been seen with a witch on his arm to anything. Everyone knows it's true! What the hell would you know about it?"

"Miss Parkinson," Severus said, the two words spoken with venom. She flinched, so heard his cautionary tone very clearly.

"See what kind of wife he gets after this!"

Severus held his tongue on that. She could very likely not be wrong. On the other hand, he might get an even better one after this.

In truth, he had no idea what possessed his godson to think, let alone actually suggest, acting as Granger's escort to tonight's dance. He truly had not even had a clue, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He didn't think Draco had asked the witch to the dance for nefarious purposes, but he hoped to Merlin he wasn't presuming he'd get sex out of the deal this evening.

Granger was a lot of things, but a whore was not among them, despite Parkinson's opinion. Plenty of Slytherins (as well as Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet ) liked to attempt to gossip about the witch. However, Severus had never caught her, or heard rumblings about her, engaging in any illicit activities in various alcoves in the castle.

The worst crime she'd committed was being out after curfew because she left the library too late. He would have heard through the grapevine if there'd been worse infractions, even if he hadn't caught her in the act himself.

"Miss Parkinson, it's a dance not a betrothal or marriage proposal. He asked someone else and lied about his attendance tonight in an effort, I'd think, to spare your feelings. One more word out of you on this subject and I will start taking points."

"You wouldn't dare!"

Severus Snape did not take points from Slytherin. Everyone knew that.

This, though.

Merlin, if this was any indication that his subtle pushes toward his godson, and other former followers' children, seeing that muggleborns were not bad the past four years, was working. That the Dark Lord's rhetoric was not only not healthy, but that blood purity was not sustainable.

Well, he was rather proud of himself.

It was a far more important lesson than any potion he could teach his snakes, as none of them were going to become potioners anyway. Well, his godson possibly could, but he doubted it.

He watched as Miss Parkinson returned to the festivities once they returned to the great hall, seemingly in control of her faculties. He'd keep an eye on her. And on his godson and his date as well. No sense harm befalling either one of them. Gryffindors would think it was some sort of trick and this careful … truce that seemed to have been built would come tumbling down.

That would not do.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com