A law to herself

“Have you got any idea what this is about?” Hermione asked anxiously as they made their way to the Headmaster’s office. Percy wasn’t due until next week, so surely it couldn’t be about their marriage, and yet, what else would see both of them summoned from classes in this way?

“I should think that’s obvious, it must be about our marriage,” he said, for once not commenting on the inanity of her question. She was bound to be nervous, and snarling at her before the meeting was likely to be counterproductive. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that she felt more like his wife now, and not his student, and that his consideration of her feelings may not be entirely pragmatic. “Perhaps Percy has been told to move his inspection up. We’ll find out soon enough.”

Severus didn’t look worried, which annoyed Hermione no end. If she was worried, he ought to be worried; surely that was what marriage was about, sharing your worries. A trouble shared was a trouble halved, and even better was a trouble passed on to someone else entirely. He sounded happy, cheerful, even. “You’re looking forward to this,” she said, almost accusingly.

“Oh yes.” Severus stopped still in the corridor and looked at her through hooded eyes. He certainly didn’t look anything like as innocent as the cat who’d been at the cream. If he’d been a cat, there would have been mouse-tails hanging out of the corner of his mouth and a definite display of claw. “There’s no point winning, if you don’t get to rub the noses of your opponents in it, now is there?”

Hermione was taken aback. She’d never thought of it like that. “Is this some sort of Slytherin thing?”

“It’s a human thing, Hermione.”

She supposed he was r. Sh. She’d spent so much time during the war worrying about whether they would win, that the actual victory had come as something of an anti-climax: it was more that the constant stress was over, rather than any positive feeling. And then of course, this bloody Marriage Law thing had come up, before their victory had had a chance to sink in, and any chance for gloating had arrived. Sometimes she wondered whether they had won the war, because this marriage law seemed to be carrying on the same conflict by other means.

Maybe Severus was right though, maybe the time had come to point out to people that she wasn’t a nice little Gryffindor anymore. The penalties for losing wouldn’t be entirely one-sided this time. She was saw so busy pondering that point, that Severus strode off towards the office alone, and she had to hurry after him. She hated these bloody robes sometimes, they were a bugger to run in; you had to hold them with one hand, to keep your knees free, and make sure you didn’t trip over them.

They arrived together – Hermione was slightly breathless from having to chase after him, which appeared to amuse Severus – and he knocked on the door.

The door swung open – really, there was no need for such an ostentatious use of magic - and e wae was Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, looking extremely uncomfortable. That didn’t look like good news. Percy was such a sycophant, that he would be almost unable to be rude to the Headmaster. Most people, in fact, seemed to treat Albus with a great deal of deference, a deference that he really didn’t deserve, but which would have been useful to hide behind, if at all possible. Whoever was in there with Albus was clearly not going to be easily despatched.

She felt the familiar worry-induced tightening of her stomach, and her wand hand twitched. She hesitated at the door, trying to put off the evil moment, but Severus gestured for her to precede him. He was right, whatever – or whoever – it was, couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much she might want to. She only hoped that Severus was right and that there would be an opportunity for them to gloat afterwards, though she would settle for a simple victory.

She moved to stand in front of the desk, and adopted the usual stance of recalcitrant children summoned to the Headmaster’s office, hands behind her back, head dipped so all she could see was the pattern on the carpet. She’d been here a time or two over the years. It all conspired to make her feel like a naughty schoolgirl, instead of the powerful and determined witch she was.

Which was probably the point, she thought.

Severus, always sensitive to the subtle nuances of power, Accio’d a chair for her from its position pushed up against the wall, and she sat down carefully smoothing her robes into place. That was better. She’d never been offered the courtesy of a chair before, and it did go some way to dispel the feeling that somehow she was about to be punished for wrongdoing.

Severus then took up a position on her right hand shoulder. He used that stance in Potions to reduce his students to quivering jelly; here, it was comforting.

“Headmaster,” Professor Snape said in as bland a tone as she’d ever heard him use. “You wanted to see us.”

“Ahem.”

Hermione almost flinched. She remembered that cough, and the awful woman that went with it: Umbridge. Severus hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed, whether in warning or comfort she didn’t know. Hermione couldn’t think of anyone she would less like to deal with at the moment, even Lucius Malfoy would be preferable; at least she’d never lured Lucius into an ambush by centaurs. Umbridge was just the sort of person to bear a grudge, although a dispassionate observer would admit that being ambushed by centaurs was just the sort of thing to make even a well-balanced person hold a grudge let alone that cow.

Hermione was the sort to bear grudges too, and what she’d done to Harry’s hand was unforgivable.

Albus wasn’t happy about his office being invaded; his twinkle was entirely absent, and he looked all of his years. “As you can see, Madam Umbridge is here on behalf of the Ministry. There appears to be some sort of difficulty with your marriage.”

“Really, Headmaster.” It wasn’t Severus who was speaking, but Professor Snape. She’d grown used to hearing a slightly softer, less sneering tone from him, and it was something of a shock to hear that voice drip honeyed poison again.

Umbridge moved from her position, lurking by the door, and came to stand next to the desk, arms folded and lips pursed, looking smug. She was obviously determined to enjoy every minute of her perceived triumph, and Hermione was rapidly coming round to the idea of rubbing Umbridge’s nose in it.

“Really, Professor,” she said, mimicking his inflections precisely.

“And what, precisely, has this to do with you Madam?”

“The Minister has asked me to look into this personally,” she said, all smug condescension. “I have been appointed to be his Special Investigator in this matter. It was felt that Mr Weasley – though competent enough in his own way – seemed to lack the necessary zeal to prosecute this matter as it should be.” Here she paused to assess their reaction to Percy’s removal. Hermione had had far too much experience of lying to the Headmaster, to Severus, to McGonagall, in fact, to just about everyone, to be caught out so easily. Hermione expected that Severus wouldn’t look surprised on general principle, even if he was offered the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, a massive pay-rise, and a position on the Board of Governors. Umbridge’s nostrils flared in annoyance at the lack of response. “So I’m afraid that your little arrangement is over, Miss Granger. It was quite clever, dear, but not clever enough.”

“Mrs Snape,” Hermione said firmly. “I am Mrs Snape now.”

“Well know, that really remains to be seen doesn’t it? If you persist in maintaining that you are … ahem… husband and wife, then of course you can have no objection to accompanying me to the … ahem … appropriateartmartment at the Ministry and proving that the marriage has in fact been … ahem … consummated?”

“Appropriate department?” Hermione faltered. She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “And what do you mean by proof?”

Umbridge looked even smugger, if that were possible. “You would be required to undergo a medical examination to determine whether you are … ahem … still a virgin, and then answer certain questions whilst under veritaserum. After all, you may well have not gone to your marriage bed a virgin; we do need to be sure that you have … ahem … actually had coition with your husband rather than others.”

Hermione flushed bright red. It was bad enough discussing her sex life in front of the Headmaster, and her husband of precisely one night’s standing, without the possibility of being mauled about by one of Umbrdge’s cronies.

The hand returned to her shoulder again, this time it was definitely a warning to keep quiet. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Professor Snape said, even managing to sound regretful. “As you know, such a procedure would require my consent, and that consent isn’t going to be forthcoming.”

The warning was unnecessary. She wasn’t about to break out into an impassioned defence of the rights of wives at this point, not when the barbaric rules were the only thing standing between her and an appointment with a cold speculum.

Umbridge’s lips thinned. “Really, Professor Snape, you surprise me. I would have thought that you would have been only too pleased to free yourself from this sham of a marriage, which was doubtless forced on you by others. You can hardly be happy about being married to a child.” Her meaningful glance at Dumbledore indicated who she thought was the prime mover in all this.

“Madam Umbridge, you should know by now that I make my own choices, and I’m not susceptible to pressure no matter who brings it to bear.” Hermione wondered quite what Severus was getting at there: something that happened when Umbridge was here before presumably, something she had asked him to do, and he had refused obviously, but exactly what sort of pressure? Offers of the DADA position, or something more personal? Dear god, not the offer of the DADA position in return for … ahem … services rendered. Hermione shuddered; that thought was just too horrid to contemplate.

Umbridge’s expression turned ugly. Well, to be fair, thought Hermione dispassionately, it turned uglier: her expression was already naturally ugly. Whatever Severus was hinting at, and Hermione made a mental note to ask him if she ever found him in confiding mood, it had struck home. “If you prove recalcitrant on this matter, I can see no alternative to a full Wizengamot hearing.”

“I’m sure that the Daily Prophet will take an interest in the proceedings,” said Snape meditatively, examining his fingernails with studied indifference. “Particularly the finer details of how the offence – as it were – was committed.”

Umbridge’s lips stretched in a thin smile. “There would be reporting restrictions of course. I’m sure that you’d prefer to keep the details of your private life exactly that. So many of your ex-colleagues are likely to react poorly to the news that you’ve married a Mu … Muggle, that such restrictions would be necessary to keep both you and your child bride from unsavoury attentions.”

“I hardly think that Madam Bones will accept that argument. She’s notoriously eager for justice to be seen to be done.” I’m I’m afraid that Madam Bones may not be available to oversee the matter. It’s hardly important enough to merit the attention of the full Wizengamot. Perhaps a smaller hearing with more junior members?” Umbridge replied, with a poorly concealed air of triumph.

In other words, a small hearing in private composed of placemen and people too junior to be able to make a difference. Hermione was beginning to get a little worried. Umbridge seemed to have an answer for everything; surely she wasn’t going to get away with this? She’d married Severus for his sneaky tendencies and his ability to wriggle out of trouble, but so far she hadn’t seen much sign of it.

“Indeed. Mr Murbles suggested that you might take that course of action.” It seemed she had misjudged him. Snape’s voice had taken on that silky purr that showed he was entirely confident of his ground, and just on the point of pouncing on his hapless prey.

“Mr Murbles? You’ve consulted him on this matter?” Perhaps that was a faint chink in her armour; she seemed a little uneasy at the thought of Murbles.

“Indeed.” Snape dropped the word into the conversation with all the finality of a paw descending on the hapless mouse for the last time; the cat was bored of playing and was moving in for the kill.

There was a moment of silence whilst Umbridge worked through the implications of that, and then, judging from the unpleasant smile on his face, arrived at an answer that suited her. “I think you’ll have to do better than that, Professor. Mr Murbles may be the … ahem … lawyer of choice of a certain Pureblood element, but even he has to submit to the law.”

“Precisely.” The jaws had closed around the prey; the neck snapped. “I take it, that you are unaware of the family history of Minister Fudge, or rather, Mrs Fudge?”

Umbridge looked blank.

Snape proceeded to the dismembering, and the tearing of entrails. “It appears that Mrs Fudge’s father is in fact a product of a mixed marriage. Her paternal grandfather married a Muggle, in a Muggle ceremony. Now you know, and I know, that the only reason that the Minister married his wife is her large dowry, a large dowry that depends on recognising that Muggle ceremony as valid. If it were to be set aside, well, the Minister could find himself having to hand back all his wife’s money. I’m sure that’s a sacrifice he’s prepared to make, in order to ensure the success of his Marriage Law.”

Albus was paying a great deal of attention to his desk. He may have felt a little slighted about being passed over for Severus, once he had a chance to think about things, but his dislike of Umbridge was more profound. She’d made few friends in her short stay at Hogwarts.

“That’s blackmail,” snapped Umbridge.

“I’d say so, yes.” Professor Snape said smoothly.

There was bitter silence from Umbridge. “You think you’re so clever,” she hissed, pushing her face so close to Hermione, that she could see the faint trace of moustache on her upper lip. “You come into our world and expect all the rules to change to suit you. Well you’ll learn your lesson, I’ll make sure of it.”

Hermione was shaken by the woman’s hatred, but was determined not to let her have the satisfaction of showing it and met her glare for glare.

“Good day, Dolores,” said Albus, determinedly cheerful. It seemed Dumbledore wasn’t above rubbing salt into the wound. It almost made her like him again, for a moment.

Umbridge departed, slamming the door behind her, without another word. For a brief moment after the departure of Umbridge, there was a smug silence in the room as they all revelled in the victory.

“Well,” said Dumbledore. “Very nicely done, if I may so. so. A pleasure to watch as always Severus.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Severus replied, all sleek fur and his claws now demurely put away. He tapped Hermion ton the shoulder. “Come along. It’s nearly lunchtime, and I expect your hangers on are filled with curiosity. I’m surprised they haven’t stormed the Headmaster’s office, demanding an explanation already.”

“They’re not that bad,” Hermione replied, following him to the door.

Severus held the door open for her as she left the office, and cocked an eyebrow at her in disbelief as she smiled up at him in the corridor.

“You know,” she said confidentially to Professor Snape, “you were absolutely right about the gloating. It is a lot of fun.”

“Of course, if you wanted to repay me, Miss Granger…..” Severus left the sentence hanging, but she didn’t bite. “That was your cue to say, ‘anything, Professor’,” he added, to make the point clear.

“I know, but I’m not stupid. I’m not about to lay myself wide open like that. No, Professor, Gryffindor doesn’t equal stupid, no matter what you might think. Tell me what you had in mind, and then I’ll see if I can agree to it.”

He scowled at her: ungrateful minx. “Your potions essays to be within a couple of inches of the minimum length, rather than a couple of feet.”

Hermione’s smile widened, and for a horrible moment he thought she was planning to write even longer essays. “If that’s all you want,” she said, in a voice rich with amusement. “I can do that.”

He suddenly realised that he’d sold himself short, yet again. He could have asked for something else, something much more important, and stood every chance of getting it. What was it about Hermione that made him so bloody helpful, and what could he do to counteract it?

They were heading along the corridor in what passed for a companionable silence – Hermione was wondering what Umbridge was up to, and Severus was wondering what steps he could take to keep Hermione under control - when the boys came clattering along at high speed, and hurried up to them. Severus considered deducting points for running in the corridors, and then mentally shrugged; what was the point? He needed to regain the upper hand, it was true, but nothing as crude as points deduction was going to work in this situation. He needed time to think and come up with a strategy.

“Come on then,” said Ron. “Tell us what happened.”

He reminded Severus of a toddler tugging on his mother’s sleeve, asking for sweeties. Hermione smiled up at Professor Snape, and said, “Well the Ministry sent Umbridge to try and browbeat us into agreeing to set aside the marriage, and the Professor was absolutely wonderful, annt hnt her off with her tail between their legs.”

Was it Severus’ imagination, or were the boys disappointed to find that their services as heroic rescuers weren’t required? And a little surprised to find he and Hermione on such good terms? Interesting. Now that could be useful. The day hadn’t been a complete waste of time if he’d managed to get under Potter’s skin.

“She passed us on the stairs; she didn’t look happy,” Harry said giving Severus what could only be called a funny look. “In fact, she looked like she’d swallowed a wasp.”

“Thus adding to her natural beauty.” Severus smirked at Hermione, earning him more odd looks from the boys. Really, was it so odd the she should share a joke with his wife?

“Well, at least we’ve seen the back of her. Hopefully, that’s the end of the matter, for now at least.” There was a definite note of triumph in Hermione’s voice; she’d taken to gloating like a duck to water.

“The last we saw, she was having a word with Filch,” Ron said.

Severus looked mildly concerned. “I wonder what she’s up to. I think I’d better have a word with our caretaker.”

“That’s a good idea,” Hermione said. “I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her, though I’d like to find out just how far that is.”

“I’m so gratified to find my actions meet with your approval,” Severus said, with the slightest hint of claw extended. He wasn’t a teenaged boy who needed instruction; he was an experienced spy and Slytherin who required a certain amount of respect.

Severus was amused at the identical looks of outrage on the boys’ faces. Hermione, stiffened, and said, “Of course, Professor.”

It made him feel guilty - that was what the feeling was, though it took him some time to identify the novel sensation – and then irritated aelineling guilty, and then guilty again about being irritated and it all swirled together until he was filled with the urge to deduct points from someone, anyone, to recover his temper. Instead, he said, rather more softly than he intended, “I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as possible. Don’t worry.”

There was a faint twist of her lips, and she nodded; his half-apology was accepted for what it was. “Right you two,” she said briskly. “I’m starving. And it’s Eve’s Pudding for afters, I think, so come on.”

He watched them troop off dutifully for lunch, chattering like magpies. Hermione was doubtless telling them all about the meeting, and they were making the necessary noises of support. He was surprised when, just before they turned left to go down the stairs, Hermione looked back, and raised a hand in a half-wave.

His hand had moved in reply, before he realised what he was doing, and snatched it back to his side. Too late, she’d gone; now it looked like he’d waved at her.

Buggeration.

He strode off to find Filch and bully him to within an inch of his life. He may be helping Miss Granger, but no one said he couldn’t have a little fun as well.


Filch was easily found. He was in the trophy room, polishing the silverware. He always said it helped him to think. Privately, Snape thought that the only thing that was going to help him think was a brain transplant; even a Wit-Sharpening potion wouldn’t help.

Normally Severus liked to think of himself as a man of great subtlety. It would all be wasted on Filch, so he went straight for the kill. “So, what did the Delectable Dolores want with you Argus?”

Argus carefully put the plaque he was holding back in the cabinet, and closed the door, before replying. “She was telling me all about your nuptials, Professor.”

Bugger. Now he faced two choices: the direct lie, or admitting the truth and hoping that some way could be found to keep the man’s mouth shut. Obliviate was favourite. “Oh, yes?” he said, playing for time.

Argus nodded, then fished a grimy rag out of his pocket and began wiping his fingers. His intentions became clear, when he stuck a marginally less filthy hand out, seized Snape’s hand, and began pumping it up and down. “Congratulations, Professor. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

Severus was bewildered; was Filch some sort of closet romantic or was that an attempt at sarcasm?

“I reckon that Dolores didn’t take the news well.” Argus adopted a confidential, man-to-man air that made Severus want to hex him into the middle of next week. He was the bloody caretaker, for god’s sake, not his long-lost friend. “I reckon she had her eye on you.”

“I…er…reckon you might be right,” Snape said. “She certainly seemed disappointed this morning.” He did condescend to smirk at Filch.

“I mean, Dolores was telling me that the Headmaster made you wed tirl,irl, but that can’t be right. There must have been something in it for you, if you know what I mean.” Argus left eyelid drifted shut.

“Only the knowledge that I’ve helped a student in distress,” Snape replied repressively, determined to quash any speculation along that front.

He was horrified when Filch leered at him. “Oh I see, Professor.”

“And a bloody big pay-rise,” he added hurriedly. He’d rather be thought of as prepared to sell his soul for money than someone who lusted after schoolchildren.

“Well, don’t worry Professor; your little secret is safe with me.” Filch seemed disappointed that it was a mercenary transaction; his fevered imagination had doubtless pictured him and Hermione performing all sorts of salacious acts. Severus shuddered. Ew.

“I’d be grateful if you would, Argus,” he replied, trying to sound warm and confiding, when all he wanted to do is disappear to his quarters and wash himself. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to lunch.”

“Of course, Professor.”

When Severus opened the doors to the Great Hall, lunch was well underway. He swept majestically between the serried ranks of the children, until he reached Hermione. “I trust,” he said icily, “that there will be no re-occurrence of the events that lead to this morning’s trip to the Headmaster’s office.”

“No, Professor.” Hermione hung her head in dutiful submission.

“Good. I have just come from an interesting discussion with Mr Filch, who tells me that the school silver is in dire need of polishing.”

Hermione’s head shot up at that, a question in her eyes.

“He assures me,” he continued, “that he is perfectly willing to accommodate any student caught breaking the rules. I hope we understand each other on this point.” Hopefully that was sufficiently vague to get his point across without announcing the problem to the world at large.

“Yes, Professor.” She ducked her head again, doubtless to hide her grin. Ron wasn’t so discreet, and it took a severe glare from Snape to wipe the smile off his face.

As he continued on his way to High Table, he could hear the Gryffindor table breaking out into whispers behind him, unhappy at his treatment of Hermione. Which was just as it should be. It looked like they were going to get away with this for a bit longer.

He settled himself at his usual chair, and glared down at the students who were still talking to a thin-lipped Hermione who kept shaking her head in response to all the questions. When she was sure that no one was looking she flashed a quick glance up at him, nodded to confirm she’d understood the message, and then started chatting to Ron and Harry. If she had any sense, she’d be whining as loudly as possible about his behaviour to make sure their tracks were firmly covered.

The good thing about being married to a bright woman was that it wasn’t necessary to spell everything out. Of course, it would be a problem in a real marriage, as it would be impossible to get anything past her, but there was no need to worry about that in this case. The way things were going, in three years, maybe four at the outside, they would be divorced and he could begin looking for the amenable blonde with the large breasts.

He turned his attention to lunch. He was pleased to see that Hermione was right and it was indeed Eve’s pudding. He rather thought he deserved an extra large portion today.