Fame and Misfortune

Summary -- In which we find how much of Hermione\'s memories were affected. Severus reflects and realizes something astounding.

A/N – I’m still trying to ship my son to my beta readers as payment for their services, but the post office won’t let me.

--

Chapter Ten –

“Will she be all right, doctor?”

“Will she remember who she is?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” a gentle voice replied. “I can’t answer those questions until she wakes up. Add to that the nasty bump on her head, I can’t even tell you when that will be.”

Closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, Severus sighed. It had been three days since they had followed Lockhart into the attic of St. Mungo’s, the confrontation resulting in Hermione’s injury.

Questions plagued him. Had he let her down? From his perspective, Severus had disarmed her kidnapper before he could complete the memory charm, but everything had happened so fast, he couldn’t be sure. Not even Potter could recollect the order of events.

With Lockhart stunned, Hermione had fallen to the floor like a limp rag doll, hitting her head in the process. She had looked so pale, almost frail – as if she needed protection.

Guilt encroached upon his already tumultuous thoughts. In a way, his wife reminded him of Minerva and Albus. She had a stinging wit about her and the ability to trust anybody. It must be a Gryffindor trait, along with the need to always rush headfirst into situations that demanded careful scrutiny.

The bloody chit – running off with Lockhart like that! Even though she had thought Lockhart was Longbottom, the result had been the same. To spite him, she had run off.

Perhaps, if he’d gone about things differently…

“From what Auror Potter has told me,” the Healer continued, “it is possible that your daughter will suffer no ill effects. Isn’t that correct, Professor Snape?”

Looking at his wife, Severus sighed. “I cannot be certain. It happened so fast,” he replied grimly. Had he disarmed Lockhart when he had the chance, Hermione would be safe.

He took little satisfaction in her abductor’s sentence. Due to the extenuating circumstances and Gilderoy’s connections, he had escaped Azkaban. Gilderoy Lockhart would soon be resting peacefully in the Janus Thickey Ward, blissfully ignorant as to his role in Hermione’s injury. He was to be Obliviated and remanded into the custody of the new Healer-In-Charge of the Janus Thickey Ward.

“Either way, we shall not know until she wakes.” The Healer walked off.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between Hermione’s estranged husband and her parents.

“There is something the doctor isn’t saying,” Mrs. Granger stated, her dark intelligent eyes fixed on Severus.

“Yes,” Severus agreed softly, looking away. “The Obliviate Charm is used to modify or erase a person’s memory. In rare instances, it can be used to erase all memories.”

“But Harry says he disarmed Lockhart before Lockhart cast the O-bliv-i-ate Charm,” murmured Mr. Granger, stumbling over the magical term and stroking his daughter’s hand absentmindedly.

Severus wished he had Potter’s faith.

The Auror was adamant that Lockhart had been disarmed before he had cast the charm.

Perceiving his mother-in-law’s scrutiny, he moved to the foot of the bed. He felt like an interloper.

“I couldn’t help but notice the nature of your relationship with my daughter, Professor Snape,” Hermione’s mother said. “I read in the Daily Prophet that you and Hermione had filed for a temporary marriage certificate…”

Her statement hung in the air, sending a jolt of trepidation through him. He had evoked ancient magic to make their bond eternal. By now the Ministry was aware of it, as well as the media. There could be no divorce. The magic was absolute, and in being so, was infallible. It could not be formed against one’s will. It could not be forced through trickery. But a question dared to tickle his thoughts.

What had motivated him to bond with his wife? And why had she accepted him so willingly?

“It is my understanding that the interim nature of the contract is null and void?” Mrs. Granger’s inflection was one of studious contemplation.

“Yes,” answered Severus as he fussed with the edge of his wife’s blanket.

“I see,” his mother-in-law voiced neutrally.

He could hardly explain why he had chosen to bond with Hermione himself. How could he explain it to her mother?

“Do you love my daughter?”

“Yes.” The answer seemed natural and just, almost as if a burden had been lifted. That being that, he knew his answer was the truth.

He loved her. It felt as though he always had.

“Good.” Mrs. Granger moved round the bed and touched his sleeve. “I would hate to think that my son-in-law did not love my daughter.”

A deep chasm loomed in front of Severus. He loved Hermione, but did Hermione love him? She desired him, her responses to his touch leaving no doubt in his mind as to their physical compatibility. Alien notions stirred within him.

Always a bitter, taciturn man, he had perfected distancing himself from society, going so far as to push away those who showed the least bit of interest in him. It was a skill that had come in handy as a spy. Only Albus really knew him.

His introspection was ended by a soft groan. Hermione’s eyes opened slowly.

“Hermione, dear,” her father called to her, coaxing her to look at him by patting her hand. “How are you?”

Smiling weakly, Hermione looked at her father. “Other than a roaring headache, I feel fine.”

“What’s the last thing you remember, dear?” her mother asked hopefully.

His wife closed her eyes groggily as if she were falling back to sleep. “Harry and Ginny’s anniversary party,” she answered, trying to stifle a yawn.

Her parents looked at one another, concern reflecting in their eyes.

“I think that’s about five months ago,” Mrs. Granger guessed.

Mr. Granger nodded his head in agreement. “Before the letters started.”

“Mum? Dad?” Hermione was puzzled. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Watching the interplay, Severus stepped back. Whether the Fates were being generous or cruel, he had yet to decide. He had been invited to the anniversary dinner, undoubtedly through Molly Weasley’s mechanizations. Of course, he hadn’t gone.

His wife’s memories did not include their brief yet passionate time together. She didn’t remember his marriage proposal or their first time. He started to back away, retreating to contemplate his next move.

“What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” Hermione looked round, confusion marking the pure curves of her face.

Her gaze captured his and he froze in his retreat.

“Professor, what are you doing here?” Self-consciously, she pulled the sheet to her chin.

This complicated things greatly. Whereas he remembered the carnal nature of their relationship, she did not. Somehow he doubted she would be overly thrilled.

“You should get some rest, Hermione,” Mrs. Granger suggested, smoothing some errant curls around her daughter’s face.

Seemingly placated, his wife’s eyes drifted closed and her breathing evened. Severus stared at her resting form guiltily.

“We need to talk.” His mother-in-law smiled as she walked past Severus.

--

Staring at the ceiling, Hermione yawned. She felt like Rip Van Winkle. Not only had she forgotten the last five months of her life, but she had slept so much these last few days that she woke feeling tired.

She struggled to sit up, her atrophied muscles protesting any form of exercise. Flowers surrounded her bed, lending a sense of comfort. She had yet to even get out of bed to see who they were from.

A stack of letters sat innocently on the bedside table. Harry had brought them for her, trying to help her understand the events that had led up to her marriage to Snape. Harry had delivered all the letters, standing by her side patiently while she read them. She had run the gamut of emotions – anger, hatred, fear, and finally pity. When she got home, she would burn them.

Even more peculiar than the pile of letters detailing Lockhart’s obsession was a letter from her husband. A rather harried-looking owl had delivered it early this morning.

He must have been drunk when he wrote the letter.

My Dear Hermione,

Just the salutation made her nervous.

By now, you know why I was at your bedside yesterday.

We are married – a condition I regret to inform you is irreversible. Should you wish a divorce, I feel you should know that it is not possible. We are bonded together for all eternity.

What on earth had driven her to sign an eternal marriage contract with this man? More importantly, what had possessed him? Her answer for his motivation was later in the letter, but she scarcely believed it, and she had read the letter several times.

I have only one compunction – the way the marriage was brought about. I exploited your situation and played upon your insecurities. For that, please accept my sincerest apologies.

You had been sacked from your position at St. Mungo’s so I propositioned you – proposed actually. I thank the Fates you do not remember those words. You refused me.

Hermione sighed and continued rereading the letter.

In your desire to force your unknown admirer’s hand, you agreed to marry me. Since our union was under delicate scrutiny in the media we found it necessary to consummate the marriage.

Feeling the blush start in her chest and crawl up her neck, she fanned herself with the parchment. Her former professor had deflowered her and she had no memory of it. It was almost laughable. She unfolded the letter farther.

It was then that our union evolved toward permanency. We were together for nine days. Although we intended for this to be a temporary situation, our…passion…overruled our reason. If I had known things would culminate in such a manner, I would have never presumed to evoke the Iugum amo Saeculorum.

Although I’ve no doubt as to my affections toward you, there may be some ambiguity as for your regard for me. Again, I must apologize. I should have secured your solicitude before influencing your future in such a manner.

A divorce is out of the question. If you do not wish to be with me, I will respect your wishes and do what is necessary to provide for your comfort. I have only this to ask of you…

Hermione’s eyes blurred with tears as she read his request.

…the opportunity to court you properly.

Softly, she chewed the inside of her cheek and pondered what could have possibly made Severus Snape ask such a question. In her hand, she held the truth – a truth she didn’t remember. She only hoped he was sincere – that this wasn’t some twisted joke.

After graduation and the end of the war, Hermione had shifted her focus from surviving to making a future for herself. Through a bizarre twist of fate, that future now included her former Potions professor. They were irrevocably intertwined.

What had possessed her to ask him to marry her? Why did he agree? According to Witch Weekly, he had been one of the most eligible bachelors in Great Britain’s wizarding world. Surely, he could have his pick of any witch he desired.

“Hello, dear,” her mother’s voice greeted her cheerily as she walked into the room.

“Hi, Mum,” she replied, offering her cheek for a kiss. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s at the office.” She pulled away and started inspecting the various flowers around the room. “Dental emergency and all.”

Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes. Her father was quiet compared to her mother. In a way, she wished her mother had taken the emergency and not her father.

“Oh, look,” Mrs. Granger said. “Here’s an arrangement from Ronald. Very nice. Impeccable taste.”

Cracking an eye open and glancing at the flowers to appease her mother, Hermione sighed. “Yes, lovely.” She closed her eyes and feigned sleep as her mother gushed over the various floral arrangements.

“Here’s one from Professor Snape!” her mum stated excitedly.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open and she looked at the rather large arrangement. There must have been at least two dozen long-stem red roses nestled in a crystal vase. They surrounded a single white rose, the contrast and meaning of the arrangement not escaping her. Red was for passion, the white rose for innocence.

“Would you like to read the card?” Her mother set the card on the table next to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Snatching the card, she took it out of its envelope.

This is but a token. Yours, Severus.

Hers?

Hermione flipped it over, half-expecting there to be more. There was nothing. An all too familiar heat crept through her body. She couldn’t help but wonder. If his words made her feel this way, how would his touch feel?

--

“Perhaps you should reconsider?” his image pleaded, scowling. “You’ve been pissed all weekend. You should stay here and rest. I’m sure her parents are perfectly capable of checking her out of St. Mungo’s.”

Adjusting the collar of his robe, Severus glared at his reflection. “No, I won’t reconsider. You needn’t remind me of this weekend. I do not need to rest. And yes, I’m sure her parents are perfectly capable. But she is my wife and I should be there.”

“Do you really think she’ll want you there?” the Mirror of Truth asked. “Didn’t she say she would rather gnaw her arm off than be bonded to you?”

Inwardly, Severus flinched. The blasted mirror was telling the truth. She had said that. Swatting the lingering doubt away, he continued to groom himself. “She cares for me.”

The mirror gave a derisive snort.

“She just doesn’t remember it,” he murmured, sitting down and putting his shoes on. “There is no way she could respond to me like that and not feel something.”

His reflection started laughing. Between gasps of mirth, he slapped his thigh and spoke. “You should listen to yourself! You sound like a tawdry advice columnist. Or worse yet, a romance novelist!”

He ignored his mirror image, even though he felt the stab of derision and doubt. His first inclination had been to collect Hermione…kidnap her, really…and bring her back to Hogwarts where he would make mad, passionate love to her until she realized how happy she could be with him.

Then he started listening to Hermione’s mother. She had planted a seed within him that had fermented so quickly he could not ignore it. So, he’d left St. Mungo’s, grabbed a bottle of Ogden’s firewhisky, and started drinking.

He had woken up in the Owlery, his hands bloody and bird shit on his robes. There was a vague memory of writing a letter and trying to retrieve it. Stupid birds. Mrs. Norris and Mr. Filch had found him. He even had a vague recollection of placing an order for flowers.

The irony did not escape him. Hermione had been Obliviated and couldn’t remember, and he had gotten so pissed he didn’t remember.

No matter how much he wanted, he could not kidnap his wife and force her affections. She’d suffered enough trauma.

For a Muggle, his mother-in-law was wise. At least, he hoped she was. She had given him insight into Hermione’s psyche that he would have never guessed.

Whereas the wizarding community was very open about relationships and such, Hermione’s notions were considered antiquated and outdated. No wonder his wife had been a virgin – that, and the fact that Weasley had issues.

Hermione was his now, and always would be if he had anything to do with it.

“Somehow, I don’t think our wife will like the whole caveman attitude,” his reflection interjected.

Severus glared at the mirror. “Be silent. Or I shall be forced to consign you to the pits of Hogwarts.”

Not to be bullied, his reflection stuck its tongue out and made a rude gesture. “We live in the dungeon. There aren’t any lower levels.”

--

“Good news, Hermione,” her mother declared excitedly. “You’re to be released today.”

Having managed to sit up in bed, Hermione grimaced. Yes, it was time for her to leave. If she stayed here much longer, she would turn into a useless pile of goo. But where was she going to go?

Grabbing a hairbrush, her mother went to work on Hermione’s hair. “We mustn’t have you looking like death warmed over when Severus arrives.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she found it exceedingly difficult to catch her breath. She’d only ever read about Muggle panic attacks before. Was this what it felt like? “He’s coming here?”

Her mother laughed. “Of course he is.”

“Why?” She could feel her palms getting sweaty.

“He’s your husband,” her mother explained as if she were talking to a dumbfounded child. “He’s coming to take you home.”

“Where do I live?” blurted Hermione, praying for any answer other than Hogwarts.

Grinning, Mrs. Granger set the hairbrush on the table. “You live with your husband at Hogwarts. You accepted an apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey. We felt it best if you picked up where you left off.”

Staring blankly at her mother, Hermione frowned. “We?”

“Yes, dear. We—Severus, me, and your father.”

“And where was I during these discussions?”

“Resting,” her mother replied unabashedly, ignoring Hermione’s obvious displeasure and handing her some clothing.

Stewing, Hermione went through the motions of getting dressed. She couldn’t believe this. They were treating her like a child. She expected it from her parents, but from Severus?

They had been together for nine days, according to his letter. What gave him the right to make decisions for her? Live with him? Was he insane? Was her mother?

There was no way this was going to work. Surely, there was a loophole somewhere. For her to be married to Snape was positively ludicrous.

*****