Seven Preposterous Things

"You wanna marry somebody?"
"No, I just want a wife."
"Good idea."
"You know any?"
"I know one wife," Rhett said. "But she's married."
"All the wives I ever heard of are married."
"I could use one myself."
"Really? You don't look like it."
"That's what the wives say."
I considered that a minute, and then I said, "We may have to find us some unmarried ones."
"Would they still be wives?"
"Not unless we really screwed up."

--- A Guide to Western Civilization or My Story
By Joe Bob Briggs


Draco didn't crawl out of bed until well after Millie had made her bustling way to work. It was Draco's firmly held opinion that the only excuse for being awake at such an unsanctified hour was that one hadn't been to bed yet. That didn't keep Mrs. Malfoy, or rather Mrs. Black as she was now known, from rising at a wretched, dark hour whether she worked or not. She usually sat up after he'd fallen asleep as well. Millie'd always had the constitution of a force of nature, so he supposed it was like expecting the driving rain to spend a solid eight hours in bed.

Draco, for one, needed his beauty sleep. It was annoyingly difficult though, living with other people, coming and going as their schedules dictated, to stay sleeping past seven. It was horribly unfair, if you asked him. It wasn't as if he had any reason to get up before ten. Yet Millie never made any effort to take his needs into account when she was rattling around, dressing and having her tea in the mornings, and Snape took even less care when he came in.

Draco gave up sleep as a lost cause when the sound of the shower woke him yet again.

It had to be Granger in the shower. Snape preferred to bathe in the afternoon before picking Granger up from class. It was pathetic really, a wizard like his godfather pining after a Mudblood, even one as tolerable as Granger.

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about Granger. She was better now that she was culled from the greater herd of Gryffindors, but something intangible was lacking if she wasn't interested in Severus. It offended his sense of rightness for Severus Snape to walk around sullen and unrequited.

Draco pondered the conundrum as he found his dressing gown and made his way to the kitchen. It stood to reason if Granger was in the shower, Severus was in the kitchen, having or making a cup of tea, which would save Draco the trouble of making his own.

As if he'd foreseen it in a crystal ball, there was Severus, and there was the kettle on the fire. Something was off about Severus though; he was leaning backwards against the icebox with his eyes closed. On closer inspection, he had a look on his face Draco would have called serene if he'd seen it on anyone else.

On Severus it was unnerving, and most likely a sign of the final stages of despair. As if he were practising for his death mask. The far corners of his lips curved upward almost imperceptibly.

"Mudblood got you down? She doesn't deserve you if you ask me," Draco asked, hoping to cheer the poor bastard.

Perhaps he should have chosen his words more carefully, because the next thing he knew, Severus' eyes flew open and he advanced on him in that way of his that made him hard pressed to keep his bladder under control.

If Draco whimpered, it was only because he was afraid for his life. He knew, realistically, they were more or less the same size, but he couldn't help feeling like a particularly clueless firstie who'd offended a seventh year in some heinous way. Severus Snape could grind Draco Malfoy to dust, with or without magic, and they both knew it.

Unsuccessfully making himself small as Severus loomed over him, Draco opened his mouth to apologise quickly and sincerely, when his intimidator plunged his forefinger into Draco's mouth.

That was unexpected.

It took Draco a moment to get over the shock and realise the finger in question had a decidedly tangy flavour. He wanted to blink, but for some reason found himself unable to break eye contact with the wizard standing over him

A shiver ran through Draco when Severus smiled, broadly this time.

"Does that taste muddy to you? Because I had it in her cunt not half an hour ago," he said in a pleasant voice that chilled Draco to the marrow of his bones. "Call her Mudblood again and next time I'll stick it in her arse before I give you a taste."

Draco heard a small frightened animal noise he would later be ashamed to admit came from his lips.

"Have I made myself clear or I do I need to carve it in the side of your skull?" Severus said quietly, which was all the more frightening.

Draco had never been so relieved in his life as he was when he heard Granger call to Snape from across the house.


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"Severus," Hermione called, sticking her head as far she dared out the bathroom door without dripping shampoo onto the hallway floor.

She didn't know why it hadn't occurred to her to invite Severus to join her in the shower until her head was covered with shampoo.

"Yes?" he said expectantly, leaning in, one arm braced against the doorframe.

"Would you care to join me?" she asked.

Snape tilted his head, birdlike, as if not sure what she was asking him.

"You do need to wash either way, and I'd like to see you naked," she said brightly; she hoped it was brightly, at any rate. This was going to be her new tactic, ask for exactly what she wanted as soon as it occurred to her she wanted it.

Snape threw a pointed look over his shoulder at Draco and stepped into the bathroom.

Later she wouldn't recall the fact that he had blocked the showerhead, nor would she dwell on the uncomfortable moments that stretched as he undressed.

What did stay with her was how graceful his body looked, long limbed and pale skinned, that first time he stripped bare before her. The muscles of his back and shoulders and the backs of his thighs, the small paunch of his gut were fascinating to her. He reminded her of nothing so much as a certain crucifixion painting she had seen at the British Museum when she was small. She wasn't the sort of person who normally obsessed over paintings but it had held a place in her memory because her mother had covered her eyes, on account of the gore, she supposed. For that reason alone, Hermione had struggled to peer through her mother's fingers, studying the painting with all her pre-school powers of observation. The blood had disturbed her less than an anvil on a cartoon character. What stayed in her mind was the soft muscularity, the long white arms and legs.

Only the figure in the painting had worn some sort of loincloth. Had Hermione been the subject of a religious sort of upbringing, she might have thought it vaguely blasphemous, but what Severus Snape had between his legs never would have fitted behind a loin cloth, not without either peeking out the bottom or spoiling the artistic drape of the fabric.

His cock was every bit as oversized as it had felt inside her. It matched his aggressively broken and rebroken nose.

Nothing about him was the least bit ideal, and yet he reached some sort of perfect gestalt of Snapehood that made Hermione's knees feel perilously close to buckling.

Reminding herself that she had a class to get to, Hermione forced herself to take up the soap in one hand, her washcloth in the other. Without thinking, she began soaping Severus' stomach, surprising both of them.

He started a bit, then held her hand as it was.

She knew, first of all, it was too soon to have sex again. She would be taking advantage of his desire and weakening him. Secondly, she didn't want to be late for class. None of that stopped her from wanting him a great deal.

Not sure what else to do, she continued soaping the fronts of his thighs. She had time for that, certainly, and she had asked him to join her.

His long black eyelashes, probably the most objectively attractive thing about him, fluttered.

Looking him over, she caught sight of a thick scar running up the side of his leg.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, running one finger along the jagged white line.

"Three headed dog," he grunted.

Fluffy.

She remembered hearing about that from Harry. "And this one?" she said, tracing a line that wrapped around his right side.

"Are you purposefully attempting to make me feel like a piece meat being inspected for public consumption?" he said, opening one eye.

"I'm sorry." She grimaced. "There's just so much I'd like to learn about you." The fingers of her left hand walked gently up his sternum.

"Granger," he growled in a way that seemed to encompass endearment, frustration, and amusement all at once, a lopsided grin coming over his face she would have called silly on anyone else.

She put her arms round him then, keeping her touch purposefully light and gentle.

"I have desired this for so long," he whispered into her ear, remaining as he was, still and passive except for the fact that his cock was prodding her belly.

She turned a bit to look him in the eye.

"You are everything I knew you would become," he said, lifting a hand to touch her face, "and more. All I have desired for so long."

"How long, Severus?" she asked, the question that was both repellent and fascinating. "How long have you wanted me?"

His expression was both embarrassed and flirtatious. "I believe the proper answer to your question is... I never had a Miss Granger inspired wank until after your bubbies came in."

"So 13?" she said sceptically; she could not help the fact that she was not quite as amused as he was.

"Fifteen, actually," he chuckled. "Before that, they were rather too much like a set of radio knobs to be appealing."

He was rather fond of tuning the station to be so dismissive, still Hermione felt driven to follow the conversation along its logical path. "So, had I come to you when I was 15 and made you an offer..."

"I would have shown your delectable young backside the door and then assigned a detention with Mr. Filch," he said. "At least, I prefer to believe that would have been my course of action."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at his answer.

"The headmaster would have had my guts for garters for playing slap and tickle with a student." He sighed sadly. "And the other one, my other master, would have been rather more harsh if I allowed myself to be distracted by the pleasures of the flesh. It would have been a glorious thing to get away with, though."

That last part was more than a little unnerving.

"The water's going cold, and you still have shampoo in your hair," he said. "Perhaps you'd better..."

"Yes, I'd better," she said.

A few minutes later, as she dried and dressed herself, she watched as he held his cock under the stream of cold water until it hung limp, but still long, between his legs.

When they came to the university, he parked rather than let her out in front of the building where her mathematics course met.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Parking the car," he said.

"Excuse me, why are you parking the car?" she asked.

"I thought perhaps I would escort you to class," he said, narrowing his eyes as an accusatory tone crept into his voice. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."

There was something going on in his maze of a mind that she couldn't quite grasp hold of.

"I imagined you'd want to be home and in bed as soon as possible," she said, picking up the pencil that had rolled off the top of her textbook.

"Not alone," he said, turning round to face her in a way that seemed to be looking for argument. "I rather thought I'd wait for you here."

"Severus," she said, "you do realise I won't be out of class until after noon."

"I'm well aware of that," he said.

"Suit yourself," she said. "It's going to be a long wait."

"Are you certain your concern is my rest?" he said, rolling out his words like oil.

"What else would it be?" she asked.

"Are you certain you aren't reluctant to be seen, in public, with me?" he said, hissing.

"Why would I be ashamed of you?" she asked, startled.

"Apart from my being ugly as sin and old enough to be your father?" He smiled a smile she'd seen right before heads rolled in the potions classroom.

"I'll have you know both my parents are a good twelve years older than you," she said, unlocking her door. "Besides which, you're hardly less attractive than Viktor Krum and dating him put me on the cover of the Daily Prophet."

Snape snorted.

"Well, get a move on or I'm going to be late for class," she said.

"Heaven forfend," he said, rolling his eyes and following her into the building.

It was odd walking beside him, his hands in his pockets, looking more shy than she had ever seen him; odder still the uncomfortable goodbye at the classroom door. She was not entirely surprised that he was no longer waiting in the corridor when her class was over.


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Severus Snape was well acquainted with feeling a fair fool. He wondered what possessed him to hang about the door for twenty minutes like a lovesick schoolboy.

Ten points from Slytherin and detention for Severus Snape for embarrassing stupidity.

No, there was an answer to this, an answer that wouldn't make him feel like an adolescent... or an idiot.

When the realisation struck, he felt like an imbecile for not coming up with it sooner.


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Hermione was relieved to see Severus pull up in the car at his usual time in more or less his usual location.

Some dark, itchy part of her brain had put forth the idea that he was more than capable of haring off and never being seen again as the result of improper handling. She breathed a sigh of relief to see him smoking, making wide turns, squealing tires and screeching brakes, throwing obscene gestures at other drivers as he approached, and generally using the car as a surrogate swirling black cape.

Yet, as he drew near, cigarette dangling from his lip, something was different, but she failed somehow to lay her finger on it.

"Get in the car," he called, loudly enough that she could hear him clearly from her bench in front of the History Department. "I've something for you."

Once she was inside the car, two things happened simultaneously; she noticed what she'd failed to see before, namely that Severus was wearing a ring on his third finger, and he unceremoniously tossed its mate into her lap.

She examined it in her open palm. It was fairly shoddy; plain and thin, but it was gold; she doubted Severus could afford better without borrowing money from Draco. There was meaning to a ring he'd paid for himself. Especially since the day, some weeks ago, Draco had casually mentioned the beautiful black robes Severus had worn during Hermione's Hogwarts days had been a gift from Draco's father. On consideration, if he'd bought the ring, it was something of a first as far as she knew. She hadn't seen him pay in a Muggle shop since they'd come to America. The only thing he hadn't tried to get around, through magic or some sort of Slytherin chicanery, were Hermione's University fees and books. They were expensive enough, that he likely didn't have much to spare.

"Thank you," she said, not knowing what else to say.

Severus studiously avoided her eyes, pulling on his cigarette instead.

"You're welcome." He glanced at her quickly, then returned to some semblance of minding the road.

"Did you steal it?" she asked.

"No," he sneered. "I didn't steal it."

"It was a fair question," she said defensively.

"Perhaps, so... Will you?" He waved the accusation off like an annoying mosquito

"We already are married in the eyes of bureaucracy," she said, holding the ring between her thumb and forefinger. She knew it wasn't precisely an answer, but then she didn't know precisely what he wanted.

"But are you willing to say the words?" he said stonily.

"You mean to say you want a wedding?" she asked, utterly befuddled by the enigma that was Severus Snape. "We had a long talk last night, and I thought we had reached an agreement..."

"We appeared at least to reach an agreement. Logically, a formal declaration should follow," he said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. "If you aren't willing to say the bleeding words, you might as well have the common courtesy to put an end to it now and release me from my misery."

Hermione, it might be noted at this point, had just made her way through a very long and trying day. "Exactly what sort of misery are you in?" she asked.

"The misery of... you," he said tossing his cigarette out the window and immediately lighting another.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said, wide eyed and clutching his ring in her fist.

"The misery of making a complete fool of myself every time I open my mouth to speak in your presence. The misery of wondering every second ‘have I said something wrong?' ‘Have I done something wrong?' ‘Is this it?' ‘Is this the moment when she decides to tell me I'm just not bloody worth the trouble and she's in the floo to Addis Ababa?'" His hands waved never touching the steering wheel as he spoke and spit flew as the decibel level rose.

Hermione stared, agog. Yes, he was screaming, but he was screaming about his feelings, which was something quite new in her experience with Severus Snape.

He finally grabbed the steering wheel and jerked the car out of position over the centreline.

"What have you got in mind?" she asked, trying not to encourage his fit of temper by noting it.

Instead of answering, he cut across four lanes of traffic and pulled in to the parking lot of a nearby petrol station.

For his next act, he turned off the engine and studied the TEXACO sign for several moments.

"If you mean to do right by me, you will say the words with me, here and now," he said tightly.

"You wouldn't rather have a witness?" she asked.

"Your conscience is witness enough; unless, of course, you believe it insufficient for the matter at hand," he said in that touchy way of his.

"Right, then," she said. "Give me your ring."

She turned toward him as best she could on the bench seat with her books stacked between them. He twisted himself round to face her, still smoking.

"Put out your cigarette," she said, "and give me your hand."

Severus sneered but complied.

"With this ring I thee..." she began, only to be interrupted.

"Nonononono," he said clearly disgusted, enunciating each negative, "start at the beginning, the rings come after. Haven't you ever been to a Muggle wedding?"

"Two," she said, perturbed, "both before the age of eleven. I don't know why you expect me remember the vows."

"It is part of the culture you were born to, basic social literacy includes..." he said, but she was not prepared to sit through a lecture on Muggles from Severus Snape.

Hermione emitted a groan of disgust. "As much as I'd simply adore a rehashing of my third year Muggle Studies class, I was under the impression we were exchanging vows."

"I will begin, since you obviously need instruction," he said, taking both her hand and the ring brusquely.

"I, Severus Snape, take you, Hermione Granger, to be my lawfully wedded wife." At this, his grip on her hand softened a bit. "From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as we both shall live."

Hermione was not at all certain Severus' version was exactly the Church of England standard, but it hardly seemed worth the quibble; she wasn't sure what the point was except that Severus wanted it. It didn't offend her; at worst it seemed funny of him. There was nothing he had ever done in the time she'd known him to lead her to the conclusion he was secure. Still he wanted to trust her, clearly, and just as clearly he needed some sort of promise that he deemed worthy. Really, it was sweet in an utterly demented and depraved way.

"I, Hermione Granger," she began, "take you, Severus Snape, to be my lawfully wedded husband, from this day forward, to have and to hold, for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as we both shall live."

Severus cleared his throat before going on, that rich intoxicating voice of his sounding like that of a mere mortal for the first time she could recall. "With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow."

He slipped the ring on her finger; it was a good fit.

A chill ran up Hermione's spine. He was right; a promise was a promise. This meant something to her precisely because it meant something to him. Whether anyone was there to witness it or not, her promise not to hurt or abandon him was serious, whether she made it in a Cathedral or a petrol station parking lot.

She knew he meant it.

His word was as good as hers, and she knew it. If he'd been a little more his own man and a little less either Dumbledore's or He-Who's, they wouldn't be here now. It made her feel a bit like a Dark Lord herself, receiving his pledge like the rest.

She, at least, had his best interest at heart. As Hermione took his hand in hers and slipped the ring on his finger, she swore another pledge, a pledge to herself, to do right by Severus Snape, even if she had to put him in leg irons to do it.

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow," she said, surprised by her own fierceness.

She pulled him to her for a long hard kiss, her textbooks pressed uncomfortably between them.


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Millie took the long way walking home.

She frequently walked miles out of her way exploring the city, because she could, and because, fond as she was of all the people living in her house, she had always been accustomed to time alone. She'd long ago realised she was incapable of having long drawn out thinks when people were in the same room, breathing at her.

Walking was nice: she could think, and she could explore Muggledom. It was almost as good as work. Nothing gave Millie flashes of bright ideas like being in dough up to her elbows. Mostly she came up with ideas about how the Muggle world was different and similar to the magical one at the same time. Or, now that she had something to compare each to, how both might be improved.

Millie liked improvements.

She enjoyed discussing her thinks with Granger at the end of the day. Sometimes, if it might affect Draco, he would join in. On his days off, Snape couldn't stay out of it either.

She also thought about things to do in bed with Draco, which was fun, because he was up for any suggestion she made.

Lately, she thought quite a bit about the baby as well. About holding it in her arms and suckling it. About laying it on her belly and the two of them laughing together. About it becoming a grown up witch some day. She knew in her bones it was a baby witch and not a little wizard, though she wasn't sure if it was a matter of magic or wishful thinking. The visions, of a wavy headed grey-eyed witch that came to her in the midst of zesting oranges, were becoming an almost daily occurrence.

It didn't matter. She'd know for certain when it came out. Dreams and visions were for shit beside hard reality and she'd rather not get herself set on them.

Fucking spectacular, now her ears were at it as well.

She could hear a baby crying, in a strange muffled way. She stopped walking in spite of herself and looked down at her belly.

No, it wasn't coming from there. She listened, carefully, it was quiet but definite and somewhere to the right. The alley?

The alley.

It was an odd place to hear a baby cry, a tiny baby at that. Sounded like a newborn. There was nothing for quite a stretch but businesses, pawnshops, liquor stores, bars, and often no one on the street but prostitutes and drug addicts.

It was the sort of area Snape would give her what for, if he knew she liked to walk through there.

Too bad, it was none of his business; he wasn't her head of house any longer. She was a grown witch, and the granddaughter of Black Alice.

It was coming from the alley.

"Fuck me!" she whispered, surprised when the lid of one of the bins, the big metal ones Mrs. Bertolli called "dumpsters", blew itself open magically.

Sure enough, under some sheets of newspaper, in with all the rubbish, was a baby.

She knew Muggles were mad from pretending half the world didn't exist, but throwing away a baby? What sort of stupid cow went through nine months of carrying a baby only to toss it in the end? What a waste of effort. Oh well, Millie had found it so it belonged to her now; finders keepers.

She climbed in carefully beside it. On inspection, "it" turned out to be "he". Never mind, it wasn't the person from her visions, that was probably the baby in her belly then.

It didn't smell right, not like fresh clean blood the way a newborn was supposed to. Even under the rubbish smell, it didn't smell right. It didn't look right either, its colour was bad and its eyes were too big, and it had no fat anywhere. Millie sniffed again.

It was some kind of drugs. She couldn't tell which one, but she was reasonably sure Snape could. Without a doubt, he could make a potion to counteract it as well. If he couldn't brew at the house without risk, there were plenty of abandoned buildings around town where he COULD do it. Uncle Severus could fix baby right up.

Then it occurred to her, she hadn't magicked the dumpster open. The baby must have done it. Witches didn't sell fanny on Harry Hines. Not any way Millie could figure it. So this was a Muggleborn, like Granger. The little fella had saved his own life by throwing open the lid when she came close. Clever little bugger.

Quickly, Millie wrapped the naked baby inside her cardigan and climbed out of the bin. She raced home with a spring in her stride. Any day was a lucky day when you found a free baby in the rubbish.

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Author's Note: Special Thanks to Shiv and to Scattered Logic, because not only do they enable my sick habits, I like them.


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