Triangulation

Disclaimer: On the seventh day, JKR (who owns the Potterverse) rested. And the rest of us started playing with her stuff.

* * *

December 1996

'I know about Professor Snape,' said Lavender. She had paused in her hair brushing to direct a pointed glance at her roommate.

Hermione, who was standing on one foot while she pulled on a long grey sock, overbalanced and stumbled against her bed. Blood rushed out of her head and she felt like she was about to be sick.

'What?' she said weakly, her sock dangling from her hand. 'What do you mean?'

'I know he's hurt. I know you've been helping McGonagall and Slughorn do his work. I know Dumbledore's lying about his visiting his mother. I'm guessing he's still in the hospital wing.' Lavender smiled slyly.

Was it possible to be both thoroughly relieved and utterly panicked at the same time? She doesn't know that. But still!

'How do you know all that?' Hermione squawked. 'Who else knows? It's supposed to be a secret, Lavender, it's important!'

'I know it's a secret! Dumbledore made me take an unbreakable oath not to tell anyone about it who doesn't already know.' Lavender pouted. 'It's been awful! I hate not being able to talk about things! But then I noticed you with the DADA papers that night in the library, and you got all flustered about it. I've also seen you going into Slughorn's office twice, and two other times I saw you coming from the hospital wing. I can add two and two to make four, Hermione.'

'Oh,' breathed Hermione, sinking onto her bed. 'Oh.' So Ron had not told Lavender. Rather, Lavender had been one of the two students to whom Dumbledore had administered a Wand Oath on the day Severus was attacked.

'But wait. If you can talk to people who know about it, why not talk to the other student who saw Professor Snape being carried in? Or to... um, yes. Why don't you, um, talk to that person?' In her panic she'd almost given Ron up.

Lavender made a disgusted face. 'Draco Malfoy? No thanks. I'd rather take tea with Peeves than try to have a conversation with that one. He feels the same about me, I'm sure.'

Malfoy. Hermione didn't know what to make of that bit of news. She'd have to think about what this meant, and consider what to tell Harry and Ron.

However, Lavender was the immediate problem.

'Well, I... I'm sorry, Lavender. I don't feel comfortable gossiping about it. I mean, you're right. Professor Snape is still in the hospital wing, and I am helping some while he recovers. I can't tell you much more than that.' Hermione finally pulled on her sock, then felt under her bed for her shoes.

'Ooohh, did Dumbledore make you take a Wand Oath, too? But you could talk to me, couldn't you, since I know the truth? Did you see Hagrid carrying him in? I thought it was just me and Malfoy. Do you know what happened to him? He looked sooooooo bad!'

Now Hermione felt very awkward. 'No, I didn't see him. I found out... a little later. Lavender, I just feel very odd talking about this. Do you mind if we change the subject? What are you doing over the holiday?'

Lavender was so frustrated she actually punched her pillow. 'I should have known you'd be like this. Oh, it makes me crazy! I need to talk about things to, to, to process them, and no one will talk to me! McGonagall is like a stone wall, and Dumbledore is... well, he's Dumbledore, and Hagrid shakes his head at me, and Pomfrey just says "Never you mind, my dear," and shoos me away, and Draco Malfoy's my other option? Ugh! Stupid, stupid Wand Oath!' she wailed.

Hermione was silent for a moment after this outburst. Gods, Lavender could be such a baby. Finally she said, more gently than she wanted to, 'I'm... well, I'm going down to breakfast now. Would you like to come?'

'Yes,' sniffed Lavender, flouncing off of her bed and heading towards the door.

Hermione stifled a sigh and followed.

* * *

'... Parvati said Padma's going to Oliver Wood's parents' for Christmas dinner. She's fancied him for sooooo long, and this last summer they finally got together. Parvati's at loose ends about it...she says it's weird when your twin is all focussed on someone else.'

Lavender was prattling about her favourite subject...everyone's love life or lack thereof. As she talked, she drew little shapes on Ron's chest with her finger. She was draped across his lap in a wide chair in a secluded corner of the common room...'the Nook,' she called it.

Ron was half-listening, or less. It was amazing to have a girl in his lap, ready and willing to kiss him anytime he fancied a snog. She might not be exactly the right girl, but she was a pretty good one. Nice legs and all. Good kisser, he guessed, not that he had much basis for comparison. Though she talked a lot. Really, really, really a lot.

His eyes were on his friends. Hermione had just come into the common room, and her face had lit up when she'd seen Harry sitting by the fire. She'd made directly for him, claiming a seat next to his.

Lavender was still talking. '... know for a fact that she fancies someone a lot. She won't tell me who it is, but she did say it wasn't you. I think it's McLaggen, though Parvati thinks not. She's not telling, of course, but then she never talks about anything. It's like sharing a dormitory with a, a, a teacher or something. I know she's your friend, but she makes me so cross sometimes.'

'What? Who are you talking about?' Lavender had suddenly claimed much more of his attention, and not just because she was nibbling on his earlobe.

'Hermione, silly. Haven't you heard a word I've been saying? Widdle Wonnikins.' She was starting to work her lips over his neck while running one hand up to clutch in the hair of his nape. The other hand was... oh.

Ron shifted to deposit Lavender beside him and caught her wandering hand in his. Somehow he didn't want her touching him quite so much at the moment.

He glowered at his girlfriend. Could he trust what she had just said or was she having him on? He knew she was sensitive about his friendship with Hermione.

But Hermione had been acting strangely lately. Really emotional. This whole Snape thing, for example. It was like the greasy git had become her favourite person all of a sudden, just because he got beaten up by You-Know-Who.

And now Lavender was saying Hermione really fancied someone a lot? WHO? Why didn't he know this? It could not be that git McLaggen. Could it? Did Harry know? Oh bugger, WAS IT HARRY? He stared at his friends, who were leaning in towards each other, talking intently. He felt... he felt queasy.

'Ron? Hello Ron?' Lavender was waving her hand in front of his eyes, breaking into his spiralling thoughts.

'Sorry, Lav. Um, I just remembered something I have to talk to Harry about. Er, team thing. Catch you later, yes?' He disentangled himself from her and loped over to plop himself down on the sofa next to Harry.

'Hi Harry. Hi Mione. What's up?'

* * *

'Hi Harry.' Hermione smiled happily as she dropped into the chair beside him in the common room.'

'Hi Mione. You're looking cheerful. Did McGonagall nominate you for Head Girl?' Harry teased, smiling back at her.

'Don't be silly.' She pushed lightly at his shoulder with two fingers and smiled even wider. 'No, I'm just glad that I finally got a date for the Slug Club party tonight.' She looked down at her lap and smoothed her skirt over her knees.

Harry stopped smiling.

'Why are you going with McLaggen? He's a git, you said it yourself.' When she'd announced at dinner who her date was, he felt like she'd dropped a Dungbomb on him. McLaggen was just... foul.

'Harry, I never called Cormac a git. I said he had a nasty temper and that he's rather full of himself,' said Hermione calmly. 'Really, though, he's not all bad.'

Harry snorted. 'Yeah, Cormac's a real prince.' Ugh, wrong word, he thought as Hermione started to get that disgusted, irritable, why-are-you-trusting-that-awful-book look. Hastily he blurted, 'Are you going with him to make Ron jealous?'

'Am I... what? No! Why would I want to do that?' She glanced over at a fat armchair in an alcove of the common room. Ron and Lavender were entwined there. 'Ron is... Well, he's... Oh, Harry. That ship has sailed.'

Harry went red. Great. He'd just put his foot in it completely. Well, she was definitely distracted from another rant about the Half-Blood Prince, anyway. Might as well keep going.

'I thought, you know, a month or so ago when you were fighting so much...' he muttered. 'It seemed to me like you and he...'

'You thought because Ron has such an exceptional ability to get under my skin that I fancy him? Harry, you and Ron are like brothers to me. He is the more irritating brother, that's all. I... I am very fond of you both. If I ever felt any differently about Ron, it doesn't matter anymore.' She looked a little embarrassed, but not nearly as embarrassed as he felt. He hated talking about this stuff.

'Oh, okay then,' he said. 'Sorry.'

'It's okay, Harry. And in answer to your first question, I'm only going with Cormac so I'll have someone to go with. He's a Slug Club member so it's convenient; you're going with Luna; Ron's otherwise occupied; and...'

There was another reason, but Hermione wasn't going to name it. 'And anyway, it doesn't mean anything, my going with Cormac. I may as well ask why you're going with Luna. Are you trying to make someone jealous?'

'No,' said Harry gloomily. 'Not likely.' He forced himself not to look over at Ginny, who was sitting on one of the common room's squashier sofas with Dean's head in her lap. She had reacted with a distinct lack of jealousy when she found out Harry had asked Luna to the party. Ginny probably thought of him as a less irritating brother, too.

At that moment, Ron appeared and collapsed on the sofa next to Harry.

'Hi Harry. Hi Mione. What's up?'

'We're just talking about Hermione's date for the Slug Club party,' said Harry grimly, before Hermione had a chance to say anything.

Ron frowned. 'What is the story with that, anyway, Hermione? McLaggen's the biggest berk outside Slytherin House. I thought you... I didn't think you... You don't fancy him, do you?'

Hermione rolled her eyes skyward and sighed heavily. 'Thanks for your support and subtle understanding. Both of you.' She spoke slowly and with great emphasis: 'This is a party. One party. To which we were both already going. We are not engaged.'

She cast her eyes down as she continued into the part of her speech that was almost entirely disingenuous. 'Besides, what if I did fancy him? He's... he's fanciable. He's well connected. He's good-looking. He's a, a great Quidditch player.' She couldn't think of any more positives. Best to leave now, she thought.

'I have to go get ready. Harry, I'll see you there. Ron... I'll see you later. Really, you two; don't be so idiotic about this,' she said starchily. 'It's not a big deal.'

Ron and Harry watched her disappear up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Their minds were reeling. Hermione had just called McLaggen, of all people, fanciable. True, she'd also said it wasn't a big deal, but her flushed cheeks seemed to give the lie to her words.

Harry felt like he'd rather poke his own eyes out than talk about this with Ron. But he couldn't say nothing. 'Well, it is just one party,' he muttered. 'I don't think she really fancies him. Probably.' He thought that came out pretty lame, so he tried a joke. 'It could be worse, though, yeah? She could be calling Malfoy fanciable.'

Ron made an abrupt barking sound, as if he'd been hit hard in the chest. Which, in a way, he had.

McLaggen? Fanciable? REALLY? He recalled the things she'd said about the great hulking git. Well connected. Good-looking. A great Quidditch player. None of these things were what Ron was, in his own estimation.

Rage and despair washed over him as he sat still, gazing at his own big freckled hands, which were resting on knees clothed in trousers that had covered three sets of Weasley knees before his.

He forced himself to look at Harry and give him a tight smile. 'Yeah, Malfoy would be worse, wouldn't he?'

Ron slumped back into the sofa and shut his eyes. Well, at least it wasn't Harry she fancied. That would be worst of all. He guessed.

* * *

Hermione stood before the mirror in the girls' bathroom, working Sleek-Eazy potion into her hair to tame the usual frizzy explosion into glossy, docile locks. She wound it up into a twist and secured it with pins.

She studied her face in the glass. It was rare that she did more than glance at her reflection in passing to make sure she was presentable. Now she scrutinized her features, which were accentuated more than usual by her upswept hair.

Her skin was maybe the best thing about her face: pale and creamy with some peachy colour in her cheeks and just a sprinkling of tiny freckles. Her mouth was a little wide, but nice in her face, which was sort of heart-shaped, she supposed. Straight, smallish nose. She turned a little to the left, then a little to the right to judge her profile, which was... fine. Nothing alarming there.

She smiled experimentally at herself, first with closed lips and then showing her teeth. The reducing spell she'd needed in fourth year had left her with even, white teeth. Good teeth. She gazed into her own eyes, seeing rich brown irises, clear whites, long thick lashes. They were set pretty well in relation to the bridge of her nose...neither too close nor too far...and the clean arches of her eyebrows seemed to make her eyes look bigger and more open.

She looked away from the mirror, then turned back to take in the whole effect of her face. Huh. Not bad at all. She looked older than she remembered looking, and she liked it. She was no Fleur Delacour, but really, she was rather... pretty.

I'm pretty. She wasn't surprised exactly; she'd felt fairly good about her looks for a couple of years now...ever since Viktor...whenever she actually thought about them.

But she was suddenly quite deliriously happy. Tonight, she was going to be a pretty girl at a party. Boys would look at her differently.

If only Severus... No. Nononono. Stop that right there.

She lifted her chin. Something deep in her rebelled against the notion of Severus Snape...the real one, her irascible teacher, her hero...noticing she was pretty, as if he were just some boy.

It felt dirty to drag her fantasies of him to the level of flirting with him at a Christmas party...oddly, dirtier than her most extreme erotic fantasies. Thinking of him as a real romantic possibility for herself was just... icky. And fatuous. And she was not going to entertain it. Certainly not while she was still at school...

Sighing, she reined her mind in before it could manufacture any scenes from the day after graduation day. A year and a half from now. During which time he and she and everyone they knew might be... Don't go there either, she scolded herself. Party. Think Christmas party.

Besides, she told herself, getting one last point in, he's still sick, still confined to his rooms. He won't be at any Christmas party tonight.

But Cormac McLaggen...who was a brute and a bore...would, alas.

She had asked McLaggen to be her date to the Slug Club party for one reason: Lavender Brown needed to be thrown off the scent.

This morning's conversation had unnerved Hermione. Lavender, for all her indifference to schoolwork, apparently could notice things quietly, and could put two and two together to make four. Just because the correct answer was six in this case didn't mean Nosy Brown wouldn't find the missing integer and put it in the sum where it belonged.

Perhaps if Hermione flaunted a seventh-year Gryffindor boy on her arm Lavender would fall short of putting the pieces properly in place.

She sort of wished she'd asked someone else, but actually Cormac was the seventh year she knew best.

And he was good looking, objectively speaking.

She wrinkled her nose as she headed towards her dormitory to put on her dress robes. Just really not my type.

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A/N: Jeez, it's hard to come up with chapter titles sometimes.

Love and thanks to the fabulous greenstuff and the wonderful lifeasanamazon.