A Dish Served Cold

Chapter 11 – Preparations

Emma Granger leaned back against the orange settee and nodded at Mr. Creevey. He sighed, having concluded his speech, and slumped forward with his head in his hands.

“They’ve turned our children into property,” he added with a voice that sounded as weary as Emma felt. The sad-faced milkman with his fringe of hair around a balding pate raised his head and gave the room a beseeching glance. They looked back, sharing his grief, but as helpless as he was.

“We have marched in the Ministry lobby, written letters, and had petitions signed. Nothing has helped,” Lady Finch-Fletchley fluttered, her delicate hands tracing patterns in the air as she spoke. She was a tiny woman, slender and pale; next to her large Rugby-playing husband, she looked washed out and overshadowed. Her husband made a grunt of agreement and Emma indulged her imagination for a moment as she tried to visualize their courtship. The man never spoke; had he indicated his interest through sign language? She never stopped talking; how had he proposed, waited until she took a breath?

Their country estate was decorated in Early Clutter with a smattering of pieces that had obviously been in the family forever and were therefore treasured instead of junked, as they ought to have been. Emma itched to go through the manor with a wrecking crew and five gay New Yorkers. There was a beautiful home underneath all the junk and lace doilies.

“Had I known what they intended to do to them, I would never have sent my boys to Hogwarts,” Mr. Creevey muttered and his wife patted him gently.

“Darling, there was no way to know; this sort of thing has never happened before. I thought our boys were safe from matchmaking because they were half blooded. No one could have foreseen this.” His wife was a tidy little woman with huge dark eyes and an elegant neck; she had the slightly over-bred look that was common to most purebloods but none of the arrogance that the muggle parents had grown used to dealing with.

“When I married Tom, I thought I was taking myself out of that world; I had no idea that I would be putting Nymphadora into this kind of jeopardy,” Andromeda Tonks added, nodding at Morghanna Creevey. Tom Tonks, a tall, rather handsome man with the beginning of gray at his temples, clasped her hand and gave her a supportive look.

“There was no way you could have seen this coming, Andy-girl,” he soothed and she nodded, but her face mirrored the same unhappiness as on all the other faces.

There were thirty people crammed into the already over-stuffed sitting room and Lady Finch-Fletchley’s tea service was tucked into what little space was left after all the people had miraculously found seats. Every one of them had a child who was being put on the market to be snatched up by some aristocratic pureblood family to be used to breed the next generation of wizards. They had fought tooth and nail for months against this law; they had used every weapon available to an underclass. They had fought and they had lost.

They were a very somber group. The first weddings started tomorrow.

Remus Lupin looked up as the owl came in through the open window and settled on the desk. He rubbed weary brown eyes and took the official looking missive from the tawny bird and watched in confusion as it back-winged away quickly without even waiting for a treat. He wondered how it had managed to find its way to Grimmauld Place in the first place.

He opened the letter and stared at it in shock for long minutes, unable to comprehend what he was reading. There was an added note at the bottom.


Mr. Lupin,
After much debate it has been decided not to exempt werewolves from the law after all.
Percy Weasley, Marital Officer


Remus just sat there for long moments then realized that he had to go to Hogwarts right then and find out just what Ginny Weasley was thinking of to bid for him.

Severus bottled the potion and put it aside. Minerva was watching him from the other side of the table, the candlelight softening her face until she looked rather pretty. He wondered why she had never re-married. It seemed a waste

“Take that look off of your face, Severus Snape,” she snapped at him and he reverted to his usual stony visage.

“Better?” he enquired with a sarcastic sneer.

“How you’ve managed to hide that streak of compassion from Voldemort for all these years eludes me, Severus,” she sighed and her concern was evident.

He remembered the first day of school: James Potter had dumped him out of the boat crossing the lake and he had stood there dripping and shivering with the other first years. No one had looked at him as he stood there; he had been a pariah from the moment he had stepped onto platform nine and three-quarters. Then Minerva had appeared and her dark eyes had swept them all. The children had stirred guiltily under her gaze.

Sometimes he wished that he had been in her house. If only she had been a Slytherin.

“Easily; Voldemort cannot comprehend compassion so he does not look for it. As long as one is careful never to appear ’weak’ one can act compassionately in complete safety.” Severus lied with aplomb. Well, it was more of a half-truth really, but still he was skilled with those and Minerva let it pass either way.

“There was something I wanted to discuss with you, Severus,” Minerva began with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

“If it has to do with Miss Granger, then you can put yourself at ease. I have no intention of traumatizing the child more than absolutely necessary.” He felt sick at the thought of the wedding night and hoped that he could make it at least a little pleasant for the girl in the physical sense, even if he couldn’t imagine it being pleasant in any other way for her.

“I have absolute faith in you, Severus. I don’t fear for Miss Granger in that respect.” Severus was warmed by her trust but kept his eyes resolutely on a bubbling cauldron and merely grunted an acknowledgement. Minerva’s voice continued. “No this is something entirely different.” There was a long pause and Severus looked up at her enquiringly. In her severe black robes and peaked hat, she should have looked indomitable but instead she looked sad and a little lost. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had siblings?” she asked suddenly and he froze in confusion.

“What are you talking about? You know full well that I am an only child,” he barked back at her. Minerva met his eyes and there was something there, some certainty and a gravity that made him sit down heavily on a stool and stare at her.

“You have two siblings: a brother, Trajan, who is seventeen and a sister, Helena, who is sixteen,” she paused and let the knowledge sink in.

“Father never told me. After his second marriage we didn’t talk much.” Severus felt a bone-deep weariness flooding him. So long the hatred and pain had festered between his father and himself. So long the bitterness had etched them with its potent acids, marking them with lines of arguments and mutual cruelties. He was so tired of hating. Why couldn’t it just be over? Why wouldn’t his father just die and leave him alone?

“Oh, Severus.” Minerva’s compassion was nearly his undoing. He wanted to cry but he covered it with his usual sarcasm instead.

“So were the birth announcements lost in the post?” he snarked and she sighed, watching him over her spectacles with that maternal look of disapproval.

“No, Hagrid received a letter from Madame Maxine. It seems Helena attends Beauxbatons and has received a marriage offer under the new law.” Severus blinked. It was hard enough to realize that he had two siblings, let alone that they were eligible under the new law. They were family, even if he hadn’t known of their existence before this moment. He had to protect them as well.

“From whom?” it finally occurred to him to ask.

“Draco Malfoy.” Severus proceeded to demonstrate his fluency in Hebrew as he cursed with an originality and eloquence that Minerva was in no position to fully comprehend.

“That means that he knew, Lucius knew all long,” Severus concluded in English. Minerva nodded tightly.

“Severus, we could not allow her to fall into Malfoy’s hands and there were only ten hours left before she had to accept the bid.” Minerva had clutched her hands in her lap as she spoke and Severus braced himself.

“What did Albus do, Minerva?” He knew it must have been Albus; only he had the fabulous talent that allowed him to dismay even Minerva, whose phlegmatic nature was a byword.

“He had to choose someone we could trust, young enough to marry a sixteen year old girl but a pureblood male who worked for the Order.” Severus’ mind worked with blinding speed and the name popped into his head even as he knew it must have for Albus.

“Great Merlin, no,” he groaned. “Anybody but Longbottom.” Minerva’s wince was enough to confirm his mental calculations. “Accio Whisky,” was his only reply and he gravely poured it out for them both. After all, Helena may be his sister, but Minerva was Longbottom’s Head of House; she was the one who would have to deal with the aftermath.

He sipped and then almost spit it out as the horrifying realization hit him.

“Holy Wormwood! He’ll be my brother-in-law!” Perhaps a vial of poison was still an option, he thought, if only he had enough for all of them, starting with Minister Fudge.

Draco Malfoy stared at the Ministry letter with an expression of fury on his face. First the mudblood and then Snape’s sister had refused his father’s bids. It was unthinkable for a Malfoy to be rejected in such a way. His mother had told him a thousand times what a proud day it was for her family when they had received the offer for her from Lucius.

His father would make them pay of course; one didn’t offend the Malfoys lightly. Draco wanted something more personal though. Not for the mudblood; Snape would make her life far worse than anything that Draco could arrange. He smirked at the thought. The half-blood sister though, she would be made to suffer. After all, she needed to learn that the Snapes were far below the Malfoys and ought to mind their betters. Oh yes, he would teach her to spurn him for that lump Longbottom. He’d enjoy it too. She was a pretty thing and Draco liked it better when they resisted.

He’d have to be careful though. Snape was a formidable duelist and one of the few people that Malfoy both respected and feared. It wouldn’t do to give Snape a reason to slip something deadly into Draco’s hot cocoa some chilly evening. Draco crumpled up the letter and wandered off to plot.

The next morning dawned bright and clear and Hermione stared at the beautiful day with eyes full of betrayal. Parvati and Lavender had both decided to do her hair and makeup this morning and Hermione had been too depressed to argue. So she sat as they fussed over her, casting charms and arranging her hair, feeling like a sacrificial lamb being dressed for the slaughter.

Her mother had come in about halfway through and stood silently to one side watching the scene with eyes as grieved as Hermione’s. It occurred to her that she could run to her mother and flee the Wizarding world entirely, that she could just give up magic and go. She could take to the hills and fight the Ministry and this law with everything in her.

Harry’s face flashed across her vision and she released that dream. She was Gryffindor and Gryffindors did not ditch their friends when they needed her most. The Order, Professor Dumbledore, Harry and Ron needed her and she just couldn’t see herself being so selfish as to abandon them in their fight against Voldemort. Whatever the cost, she would stick it out and behave in a way that would make Gryffindor proud.

Severus let Minerva twitch his robes into place and sighed impatiently as she fussed over him. He rarely wore the formal Head of House robes in Slytherin green and silver. They were elegant and ostentatious and he preferred something a little less flashy. Silver piping decorated every seam, silver braid mimicked snakes across the rest of the outer robe. The inner raw silk robes with their nubby texture was a sensuous delight against his skin that made him feel uncomfortably aware of his own body.

He glared at his reflection but it still hadn’t changed. Large hooked nose, lank hair, sallow skin, and gaunt features – he still looked like a vulture, only now he looked like an overdressed vulture.

“Give off, Minerva; it’s no use trying to dress me up.” His voice was gentle enough but the words made her flinch and he sighed inside. She cared about him, which was the problem. He was hard on those that cared for him.

“I’m not doing it for you, Severus,” Minerva retorted and he allowed himself a small smile at her astringent tone. “I don’t want the girl screaming when the Black Bat of the Dungeons comes to carry her off.” Severus snorted and while he was distracted Minerva transfigured a bit of fluff into a ribbon and tied his hair back too quickly for him to protest. She was lying of course, in her bluff Gryffindor way; she was doing this for him and they both knew it.

He hated having his hair off of his face. He was certain that it made his features even more severe looking and moreover, he liked to be able to swing the curtain of black in front of his face so that he could hide his expression. The hair was a shield against the world, a screen against prying eyes. He felt naked and exposed with it all tied back like that. He looked at himself in the mirror and heaved another sigh. He would never be handsome but he did look presentable.

“Thank you, Minerva,” he rarely thanked anyone for anything, preferring just to balance accounts, but Minerva had known him since he was a stick-like child, all knees and elbows with bruises on his body and scars on his heart. There was no hiding from eyes that had watched him grow up, from ears that had heard his worst confessions, from one of the only two people who had the whole truth of his heart in their keeping. So he thanked Minerva, as he thanked Albus, and no one else ever knew he was even capable of gratitude.