A law to herself

There was a deputation waiting for Hermione when she got back to the Common Room: Lavender and her group of friends. “So, have you been to see him?” she asked. “Down in the dungeons.” She managed to make that simple statement sound positively filthy. Her imagination had obviously been working overtime.

“I have been to see Severus, yes.” She took a perverse pleasure in seeing them flinch at the use of his first name. They didn’t need to know that she wouldn’t dare use it to his face. “I thought he’d like to know who to blame for the spread of gossip round the castle.”

There was a horrified silence as the implications of that sank in. Lavender found herself at the centre of a very large space, as everyone in the Common Room tried to distance themselves from her. Their body language was positively shouting, “Lavender? Who’s she? Oh, that Lavender. Well, I do know her, but not thall. ll. Isn’t she a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff?”

“You went and dobbed me in to a teacher,” said Lavender, desperately trying to recover some of her support. “You actually went grassed on me to Snape?”

“You know, trying to appeal to some sort of idea of student solidarity would go down so much better when you hadn’t spent the last hour or so gossiping about me behind my back.”

“But…but…but he’s going to go spare,” Lavender said, suddenly realising that she’d picked the worst possible target for her muck-raking.

“I think that’s very likely.” Hermione wasn’t about to offer any comfort. Professor Snape hadn’t given any indication that he was about to descend on the hapless Gryffindors like the Assyrian, but he could well change his mind before the next Potions Class especially once the rumour mills really started. All it would take would be one overheard comment to set him off…..

Hermione wondered if she was a bad person for hoping that Professor Snape would revert back to type and throw a wobbler of monumental proportions.

Professor Snape had been right when he’d said that it was Hermione that was going to suffer; suffer she did. The Gryffindors had backed off – more or less – following the little confrontation in the Common Room; they could see the writing on the wall and had decided that a low profile was the sensible course.

The Ravenclaws, although they liked to pretend they were above such things, liked gossip as much as the next person, and were just as keen to find out what on earth Hermione thought she was playing at. Their much-vaunted intelligence just meant that they were more subtle in the questions they asked, but better at making up all sorts of wild theories on the slimmest of evidence.

The Hufflepuffs kept out of her way, which had nothing to do with loyalty to a fellow student, and everything to do with a common sense approach to their own well being – Hermione was clearly a witch on edge.

The Slytherins were the worst though.

Most of them were disappointed that Voldemort had lost, and were in two minds on Snape’s role in the war. Some thought he’d managed to save his skin by turning his coat at the last minute, and were mildly impressed at the way he’d pulled the wool over Dumbledore’s eyes. Others, brighter than their fellows, could see that their Head of House had been instrumental in the downfall of Voldemort and had been playing a double role all along. A double role that had seen many members of their families dead or imprisoned.

Professor Snape wasn’t a popular Head of House, but they weren’t in any position to make this clear to him - always assuming that he could be persuaded to give a damn. His Mudblood wife on the other hand, was the perfect target for all their wit.

By the end of the first day after the disastrous trip to Hogsmeade, Hermione had threatened to hex the little sods fifteen times, with Harry and Ron coming close to her target. By the end of the third day, they were coming to wands drawn with anyone stupid enough to make a clever remark.

They had received the tacit approval of Professor McGonagall, who had come upon them in the middle of a pointed exchange of views, and merely deducted a point apiece from them, whilst giving detention to the unfortunate Crabbe and Goyle – once their ears had been re-attached – for a whole week. With Filch.

The Slytherins took this to mean that they were successfully getting under her skin, and redoubled their efforts to be irritating: she was being constantly questioned as to the quality and quantity of her sex life. Only Malfoy wasn’t getting involved in the new sport of Hermione baiting; he’d been on the receiving end of a slap far too often to think there was any fun to be had with that, and was too busy thanking Merlin for his lucky escape.

Hermione thought that if she had been having a sex life, Snape would have been relegated to the couch by now, because his smirking face grinning at her across the Hall at mealtimes was doing nothing for her sense of humour.

Wanker.

In her more reasonable moments she realised that there really wasn’t anything that he could do to make things better, and at least he wasn’t sneaking up on them and taking away House Points for picking on his beloved Slytherins.

Unfortunately, her more reasonable moments were getting fewer and farther between.

Harry and Ron were in their element, escorting her between classes, and glaring at anyone who dared open their mouths in her presence; at last, it was their turn to protect Hermione, or at least stop her hexing anyone in full view of a teacher.

Matters came to a head one Thursday afternoon. Hermione’s first Potions lesson after the news had broken loomed on the horizon, with all the attraction of a trip to Azkaban. She’d been decided to make her way down there early, in the hopes of slipping into the classroom early and avoiding the worst of the bullying.

The classroom was locked, and she was greeted by the smug smiles of Zabini and Parkinson and the slightly dimmer and more nervous grins of Crabbe and Goyle. “Ah, isn’t it sweet,” said Parkinson. “Did the little Mudblood come down early in the hopes of getting a little snog in before class.”

“What a shame,” Zabini added. “Professor Snape has been delayed, something about having to see the Headmaster. Still, I’m sure he’ll make it up to you later, Granger, if you ask very nicely.”

Hermione was preoccupied with worrying about why Professor Snape had been called to see Dumbledore again, and trying to reassure herself that it couldn’t be about her, because she would have been asked along as well, though she knew that was a very thin thread to hang her hopes on.

“Oh, is she pining?” asked Pansy, in a saccharine-sweet voice. “Is she pining for her Snapey-wapey?”

There was a chorus of sniggers from the crowd beginning to gather.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Hermione.

“Oh don’t tell me that the honeymoon is over already? I would have expected a little Mudblood slut to last a little longer. I mean you’d do anything to get a decent mark, and it’s not as if he has a lot of choice is it?”

“Tell me,” put in Millicent, “was he … you know…” Her gesture left no doubt what she was asking.

“She wouldn’t know,” said Blaise. “I bet she had her eyes shut. I bet she was thinking of Harry or Ron, or even Neville, or did he wear a paper bag over his head? That way he wouldn’t have to look at you either.”

The crowd was growing even larger, with the late arrival of the rest of the Gryffindors who hadn't wanted to rush to Potions at all. Lavender was very firmly to the rear of the group, and had every intention of hiding at the back of the class.

“For your information,” said Hermione in a distant tone of voice, “Severus was an extremely gifted lover.”

You could have heard a pin drop; this wasn’t a tack they had expected. Shock, horror, spluttering fury maybe, but a glowing report on the performance of their Head of House was unexpected and frankly unwelcome.

Harry and Ron exchanged significant glances and surreptitiously grasped their wands. The rest of the Gryffindors began easing themselves away from the action. They knew the signs, even if the Slytherins – apart from Draco - didn’t; Hermione was seeing red and about to blow.

“For your further informationhe che continued, still sounding oddly detached. “I have neither been taken roughly against a dungeon wall, nor bent over the desk in the potions classroom. Both of us have been rather busy this week, but we were planning to get round to it some time next week. A timetable will be issued, with diagrams, for anyone who is interested.”

Hermione was on a roll, and beginning to warm to her theme. “No, Pansy, I don’t expect to see an improvement in my marks because we are shagging like nifflers. No, Blaise, Professor Snape did not come to bed with a paper bag on his head, nor did I need one, nor was a bucket necessary to throw up in afterwards as some of you have been kind enough to suggest.

“Millicent, if you want to know whether the Professor is hung like a donkey, I suggest you ask him personally. I doubt he would be interested in showing you, but you never know your luck.

“Gryffindors, I have been neither beaten, bruised, manhandled or chained to the bed. I’m not sure whether you are disappointed to hear that or not. Professor Snape has treated me with courtesy and kindness.”

“However, I don’t suppose for one moment that ‘because he is getting laid on a regular basis’, that this means he will be any less of a bastard in class.”

Hermione was reaching the climax of her peroration: her voice was rising in both pitch and volume. “And one final mr, ir, if any one of you insults my husband in my hearing again, they will be taking their ears home in a paper bag. Are we clear on this?” She glared at everyone in turn; many of them dropped their eyes at her challenge having suddenly recalled that Hermione’s high marks weren’t simply obtained for a theoretical approach to hexing.

Hermione was half-expecting Professor Snape to appear at this point, bearing in mind his usual facility for intruding on student squabbles at a most inopportune moment – from the Gryffindor point of view at least – and taking points away from the wronged parties, and allowing the Slytherin perpetrators to get away scot free.

It would be interesting to see whether marriage would alter this modus operandi, but she would prefer to make the experiment on another occasion.

She was fortunate. He didn’t turn up for another five minutes, during which time the Slytherins and Gryffindors put aside their mutual hostility to join together in watching Hermione with all the suspicion of someone who, having lit the blue touch paper and retired, had seen the firework splutter out and was now in two minds as to whether they should nip back and re-apply the match. Was it really worth life and limb for a few sparks?

Professor Snape’s arrival, no matter that he appeared to be in a foul mood, came as something of a relief. All he could do was wound with sarcasm – he wasn’t allowed to hex his students – h mah made him a much safer bet than Hermione at the moment.

Though it was very much a case of being trapped between a rock and a hard place.

The door to the Potions classroom rocked on its hinges as the Professor flung it open. The children scuttled in, trying to make themselves invisible, or at least hide behind larger – or more obvious – targets for his wrath.

“Anyone not in their place within the next ten seconds will lose their House ten points,” he snarled. “We’ve wasted quite enough of this lesson already.”

Hermione slipped into her usual place, next to Neville, and threw him a reassuring look; she didn’t dare speak.

Snape stood at the front of the classroom, arms folded, giving the students the sort of glare that would burn the varnish off the tables in seconds.

“Today, we will be making the Chattering Potion. Can anyone tell me what that Potion does?”

Hermione did not raise her hand. No one raised their hand. Lavender’s gulp of terror was clearly audible throughout the classroom.

“Anybody? Not even the class know-it-all? Have you anything to say, Miss Granger?”

She knew it was coming, but flinched at the venom in his tone. “No, sir,” she replied.

“How very disappointing,” he sneered, driving home the message that nothing had changed in his classroom; there would be no easy ride for his wife. “Perhaps if all of you were to concentrate on your schoolwork, rather on foolish matters like trips to Hogsmeade, or talking to your fellows, and spent some of your precious time actually preparing for lessons, we would have better results?”

The Professor fixed each of the children in turn with a ferocious glare, until they dropped their eyes. “I see we understand each other.”

The Professor moved to stand behind his lectern, and slowly leafed through the book – probably Moste Potente Potions, Hermione considered – until he found the necessary reference, and began reading aloud, “The Chattering Potion is so-called because it renders the imbiber wholly unable to stop talking. All thoughts, no matter how embarrassing or private, are vocalised. The Potions was one of the precursors to Veritaserum, and has many points of similarity to it.”

The book was slammed shut, making the children jump; it was so silent – the students hardly dare breathe in case it attracted Professor Snape’s attention - that the noise rang through the classroom. “You have forty-five minutes to produce an acceptable Potion. Points will be deducted from any student not managing to do so. Once you have finished, I shall select one of the feeble attempts you succeed in concocting, and administer it to a volunteer to assess its efficacy.”

Lavender gulped again; it didn’t take a genius to work out who was going to be the guinea pig.

“So you really had better take a great deal of care with your brewing today. Points will be deducted for poisoning the test subject.”

There was a murmur from the Slytherin corner of the classroom. “Please, sir,” said Zabini. “How long do the effects of the Potion last?” He threw a sideways glance at Lavender, who was nearly whimpering by now.

Professor Snape smiled; it was a smile of unparalleled nastiness, with a strong hint of the feline about it: one of the larger, stripy felines, who hang round in jungles, with very sharp teeth. “I’m so glad you asked me that Zabini. I’m pleased to see you taking an interest in your studies at last.” Zabini broke out into a self-congratulatory smirk, that rapidly vanished as Snape said, “Since you are so interested, you shall be included in the experiment, along with Miss Brown; I shall expect the pair of you to produce a report on the effects of the Potion – I think ten feet will be sufficient.”

Zabini was stunned. Professor Snape had never rounded on one of his own like that before.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!”

The children bolted like sheep before the sheepdog, and milled around in front of the desk where the ingredients were laid out, casting anxious eyes on the Receipt written up on the blackboard. No one wanted to make a mistake, just in case the Professor decided to pick on someone else.

Brewing was conducted in near silence; only the popping of the flames under the cauldrons, and the bubbling of a boiling mixture punctuated the quiet. Neville was watching Hermione carefully, and copying her every move; she didn’t dare speak to him, but he seemed to be doing well enough.

The pressure began to tell. A hiss told of a knife slipping in sweaty hands; a stifled sob was the only sign of a potion boiling for too long; a muffled whimper greeted a disastrous colour change; and all the time Professor Snape sat at the front, watching, and waiting with all the patience of a tiger waiting for just the right goat to amble past.

Hermione was very fond of Crookshanks, but he had a nasty habit of playing with his prey. He might be persuaded to drink milk and have his tummy rubbed from time to time but ultimately he was a predator; so was the Professor. Well Cockroach clusters worked as well as milk, but Hermione wondered quite what amounted to rubbing his tummy; she winced as several suggestions presented themselves.

Neville looked at her anxiously; did the wince mean she’d made a mistake. She shook her head; no, it was fine.

“Stop brewing. Time is up.” There was a fusillade of clattering as instruments were put down, and flames extinguished.

“Now, let us see what you have achieved – and I use that word in its loosest sense.” Professor Snape stalked between the rows of the desks, first staring at one offering, then another. Finally, as Hermione thought he would, he stopped before her and Neville. “Well, Mr Longbottom, that looks almost like a Chattering Potion to me. I suppose it will do.” There was a flurry of robes as he turned away, then swung back suddenly, “And I think Miss Granger’s potion as well.” There was that smile again. “So, at least one of you will survive the experience.”

Hermione felt mildly ashamed at the pulse of pleasure that flashed through her. Finally, after all these years, he was saying something nice about her work. She ducked her head to hide her sudden grin. It really wouldn’t do to let him see that.

“So, Mr Zabini. Perhaps you’d like to choose? Miss Granger’s potion or Mr Longbottom’s?”

Zabini was bright enough not to smirk, and considered the matter carefully. “Granger’s potion, sir.”

“A very generous decision, offering Granger’s potion to Miss Brown; quite the young gentleman.”

Hermione thought that Zabini wasn’t very bright if he hadn't seen that one coming. He was always going to end up with Neville’s potion, because anything he babbled about was almosttaintainly going to lead to hexing and detentions and more aggravation for the Professor.

The Professor held out Neville’s potion, and watched as Zabini took a deep breath, then gulped it down. He gasped, clutched at his throat, and turned a very delicate shade of green. “Oh dear, that seems to be a fail Mr Longbottom, though the interesting question is whether Mr Zabini survives the lesson.”

Zabini made an odd, gurgling noise. “Please, sir. May I go and see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No, you may not,” he replied curtly.

Snape spun on his heel, and loomed over a quivering Lavender, thrusting the phial of Chattering Potion into her shaking hand. “Well, Miss Brown; what are you waiting for? The lesson is almost over, and we wouldn’t want to cut short your eloquence.”

Her hand was shaking so much that a good portion of the liquid ended up spilling down her front; she swallowed the remaining potion and the class waited to see what would happen.

“Is there anything you’d care to share with the class Miss Brown?” Professor Snape asked.

“No, sir,” she answered clearly struggling to keep her answer to a bare minimum. “Nothing.”

“Is there anything,” he said, leaning in for the kill, “that you wouldn’t like to share with the class?”

Lavender’s ‘Oh, shit’ came from the heart.

That class watched – some amused, some horrified, and some grateful to be spared- as Lavender began to tell them all of those little guilty secrets that people keep to themselves to keep the peace and avoid embarrassment.

Professor Snape watched with cool amusement as she babbled of Ron’s cute arse; and how she was so hairy that she had to cast the cast the charm to depilate her legs twice; how she’d snogged Seamus when she was going out with Dean; how she wondered what it would be like to snog Harry; how she wondered whether it was true about nose size, and God wasn’t Hermione a lucky bitch if it was……..

At that point Lavender had the sense to slap her hands over her mouth to reduce her ramblings to an indistinct mumble.

“How odd,” said Professor Snap, ignoring the comment about noses apart from a faint flush to his cheek. “The Chattering Potion is supposed to reduce the person who drinks it to a babbling idiot. And yet, I see no difference.” He turned to Hermione and barked out, “Stay after class Miss Granger and we will discuss your defective potiThe The rest of you – get out!”

No one needed to be told twice; there was a stampede for the door, conducted in silent desperation. Only later, when they were safely out of his presence, would they sit round with the air of connoisseurs and examine the day’s events and decide that it was pretty much unparalleled viciousness on the part of Snape and quietly decide to shelve any further discussion of his – and Hermione’s – sex life.

Only Harry and Ron lagged behind, until Hermione hissed at them to take Lavender somewhere quiet and not ask her any questions.

Harry looked worried. “Are you sure?”

Hermione nodded, very much aware of Professor Snape watching them from the front of the classroom. “I’ll be fine. Now, go on.”

Barely thirty seconds later and the classroom was empty, Lavender having been escorted out by Harry and Ron, whose voice could clearly be heard asking her whether she meant it about his arse being cute.

Hermione faced her husband, absolutely determined to ensure that her marks for the class weren’t going to suffer just so he could make a cheap jibe at the expense of a student. “About my potion,” she began, to his evident amusement.

“How very predictable you are Miss Granger. There really are more important things in life than your academic achievements, you know.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she mumbled.

“Don’t worry. Albus is going to double check all your marks from now on; I suspect you’ll be seeing mpromprovement in your results as he’s notoriously, and deplorably, generous about these things.”

Hermione felt mildly aggrieved at that. It wasn’t as if she needed the help, thank you very much.

“However, that wasn’t why I asked you to stay behind.”

“Oh.” Hermione braced herself for bad news.

“No doubt, gossip being what it is at Hogwarts, you are aware that I was summoned to the Headmaster’s office?”

Hermione nodded.

“It seems that the Governors – at the instigation of Lucius I suspect– have decided that, in view of my bravery in working against Lord Voldemort, I should be allowed the luxury of sharing my quarters with my young wife.”

“Oh fuck,” said Hermione, sitting down abruptly.

“My sentiments exactly,” he said. “Though I did expect you to be more enthusiastic about the news, bearing in mind the exciting timetable of events you appear to have mapped out for us.”

“You heard.” It wasn’t a question.

“Miss Granger,” he said, with exaggerated patience, “I expect the whole castle heard. You have a particularly penetrating voice.”

“I thought that providing details would work, where a straight denial just encouraged them to make things up. I don’t think anyone believed me,” Hermione said cautiously. “And, well, I lost my temper.”

“So I gather.”

“Anyone would think you were some kind of slavering pervert hanging who got his jollies out of giving people detention and watc the their arses twitch as they cleaned cauldrons. Which is frankly ridiculous. It’s not as if you even like any of your students, let alone want to shag them, and if anyone’s like that it’s Filch.” Hermione decided to stop digging; the hole was deep enough already.

Snape pinched his nose between his fingers. “And what exactly will your little out burst do to correct this?”

“Erm, well, the offer to hex their ears off might help,” Hermione suggested weakly.

Professor Snape sighed. “At least you’re bloody allowed to,” he said bitterly. “Albus has been most insistent that the students leave my lessons with the same number of appendages as when they came in. Bastard. Ahem. Be that as it may, the house elves are now clearing the second bedroom in my quarters preparatory to you moving in.”

“That’s not too bad,” she said in relief. “With separate bedrooms you’ll hardly know I’m there.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. ““I suggest you make the most of your lastht oht of freedom because, from tomorrow night, Mrs Snape, I shall expect you to comport yourself properly. There will be no visitors to our quarters at any time, you may not help yourself to my books, and you will not move anything, and there will be no excessive noise. I imagine you will be spending a great deal of time in the library, as usual, which will no doubt manage to set the minds of your peers at rest over the nature of our relationship. No one could manage to schedule that much wild sex and maintain your workload.”

“I couldn’t give a damn what they think,” she said firmly. “I just don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“It’s a little late for that Miss Granger. It’s a little late for that.”

Hermione grinned. “I know, but you did bring it on yourself.”

He glared at her, but it was half-hearted at best. On the whole, Hermione thought, they were getting on quite well – apart from the not reading his books thing, which was annoying – though it had to be admitted the honeymoon was over.

And, it did mean he was more likely to help her overturn the law, now that he had more of an incentive. All in all, Hermione thought it was going splendidly.

Now they just had to learn to live with each other without committing murder.


A/N -I'm told the lack of reviews is due to the review function being down and not the the lack of smut. Phew. There wie sme smuttage - eventually.