A law to herself

Severus woke the next day and found himself in no rush to get up. He wasn’t generally one for leaping out of bed, full of enthusiasm ready to face the day, even on the weekends, but he was even more reluctant than usual to rise.

Last night had thrown him. He had been flattered by Hermione’s trust in him; he was honest enough to admit that to himself. She, of the three, had always believed that he was on their side, and had thought he was worth listening to. He had valued that confidence in him, when so many others watched him out of the corner of their eyes in suspicion. And then she had chosen him to rescue her from the marriage law, and he hadn’t found himself wanting to sneer at her naivety in hoping he’d help but actually volunteering, Choosing him didn’t mean much when you considered the alternatives, and his agreement was enough to make you worry that he was turning into Potter and getting a Hero complex, but somewhere, deep down, he’d been touched.

Still, to find all that threatened by the loan of a book had been painful, surprisingly so, almost as surprising as the relief he’d felt that when she’d confirmed her faith in him. He hadn’t realised how much he had come to take her good opinion for granted, and that kind of dependence made him uneasy.

Severus found himself in the unaccustomed position of being in two minds about Hermione. He wasn’t used to being uncertain, being more inclined to the kneejerk reaction maintained in the face of all common sense, until he had to admit he was wrong, and then pretending he’d believed it all along.

So he was disturbed to find that his first thought, the hope that things would return to normal, was equally balanced by the hope that whatever had happened last night wouldn’t be forgotten about.

He got his wish: both of them.

It was just the same as every other day and yet completely different.

Hermione greeted him with a cheery good morning as their paths crossed on their way to and from the bathroom. He gave his usual grunt of acknowledgement, and that should have been that, but no. Hermione smiled at him, and it wasn’t just amusement at his grumpiness, there seemed to be an element of fondness as well.

It set the tone for their interactions for the rest of the term. There was the occasional nod as they passed each other in the corridors, and a Hogsmeade weekend didn’t go by without a little something left on his desk so he could help himself. Hermione could be found in their sitting room slightly more frequently, doing her homework, taking advantage of the peace and quiet to the hurly burly of the common room, and it wasn’t as if she was there every night.

It didn’t mean they were friends or anything.

Nothing had changed in Potions classes, for instance. There was no smile or nod in greeting as he entered the classroom, he was mean Professor Snape there, and to be treated with respect. The length of the essays didn’t creep up, as he’d half expected, so she was sticking scrupulously to their agreement.

No, things were back to normal, though it was a week before he felt comfortable enough to ask about borrowing a book.

“Of course,” she said in reply to his query. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure really. I haven’t had the opportunity to read a great deal of Muggle literature, other than the classics. I wouldn’t mind a chance to branch out a little.”

“Hmmm.” She opened the door to her room, and dropped her satchel on the floor. “You’d better come in, and see what I’ve got on my shelves.”

Severus felt like an intruder as he followed her into her room. There was an awkward moment whilst she kicked a pile of clothes out of sight beneath the bed, and he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the bookcases just in case there was something more than a shirt or skirt involved. He had no wish to be caught looking at her underwear.

Hermione was slightly flushed when she turned to him. “So, tell me some of the books you’ve read and liked, and which ones you couldn’t stand. That should give me some ideas.”

His father had said that Muggles were inferior beings, and there was no need to read their classics, so of course he had. There was nothing like a bit of teenage rebellion to kindle an interest in all things your parents said were bad, and of all of the things he’d tried as a result, Muggle literature was the least offensive.

His father had been right about the Death Eaters being a bunch of nutters, but it was about the only thing he had even been right about. Even Neville Longbottom was right sometimes; it didn’t mean you were going to take his advice on anything.

“My mother had a collection of leather-bound books,” he was surprised to hear himself volunteer. “Great Muggle Classics, it was called. All in red morocco leather, with gold lettering. It had Shakespeare, obviously, Dickens, and Austen. I liked her. She was very acerbic.”

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and ran a finger along the bookcase. “Well, if you liked Austen, you might like Edgeworth, I suppose.” She handed him a slim volume, a little tatty round the edges, which he opened at random. Absent-mindedly he sat down on the end of the bed, and began to read.

“I think we can take that as a success,” she said in amusement.

He blinked at her. “Hmmm?”

“Never mind.”

Severus returned his attention to his book entirely unaware of the quizzical look Hermione was giving him. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet beneath her, and chose a book at random. It wasn’t quite the domestic scene she had pictured – the two of them, seated on the sofa before the fire, reading – but it was close enough.

Severus didn’t venture into her room again. She wasn’t surprised; it was what he did, blow hot and cold. It wasn’t just that he was embarrassed at the idea of having spent an hour or so, oblivious to the world, half-sprawled on her bed, but that he felt exposed at having been that unguarded with her.

She hadn’t married a cat after all; she’d married a hedgehog.

At the first sign of difficulties, he curled up into a tight ball and presented you with a spiky exterior. He wouldn’t uncurl until he felt safe, and the only way to make him feel safe was to ignore him until he got over it, and keep leaving out the saucers of milk. Or cockroach clusters.

It was a shame there wasn’t a Newt in Severus-management because she was beginning to get rather good at it.

The Christmas break was looming, and she faced the twin problems of what to get him for a present, and how to persuade him to spend at least some time with her parents over Christmas. They’d been unbelievably supportive about her decision to stay in the Wizarding World, but things would be easier if they could get to know Severus a little better. They didn’t have to like him, but they did have to trust him.

She decided to deal with the easy issue first – the invitation to a family Christmas.

She waited until he’d finished his marking, and had settled on the sofa with a cup of tea and a biscuit. He hated marking, and bitter experience had taught her that trying to ask him something when he was in the middle of dispensing sarcasm to his unfortunate students, was not the best way to approach Mr Hedgehog.

“Erm, Severus?” she asked, testing his mood. “I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour?”

“If it involves Potter or Weasley the answer is no,” he replied, though without heat.

“It’s nothing to do with those two, it’s about Christmas.”

He looked at her anxiously. “I presumed you would be spending Christmas with your parents, and not here.”

“Absolutely. It’s just… I was wondering whether you’d like to… my parents have invited you for Christmas as well.”

“Of course they have,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that her parents would suddenly decide to take him to their bosom. “They want to keep an eye on me. See if I have any bad habits, like beating my wife, or slipping her nasty potions, or using Imperio to get a bit of peace and quiet. God knows, I’m tempted.”

“It’d take more than Imperio to keep me quiet.”

“I imagine so.” He sighed. “I presume from the fact that you actually mentioned this invitation, rather than conveniently forgetting all about it, that you would like me to turn up?”

Hermione nodded. “I would. I know it’s a big imposition, and I’m sure you had other plans, but, well, I wish you’d think about it. Just a couple of days would be enough.”

“Very well.”

“Very well, you’ll think about it, or very well, you’ll come?”

“It would be unwise to irritate the people who hold the deeds to my home: I’ll come.”

“I was thinking Boxing Day, if you think you could stand it?” she ventured.

“That would be … acceptable.” He took a fortifying drink of tea. “At the very least, it will allow me to escape Christmas spent with Albus and Minerva. Now, as to sleeping arrangements…”

“You’ll be in the guest bedroom,” Hermoine said quickly.

“I didn’t doubt it,” he replied, and she had the feeling she’d amused him somehow. “I was wondering if it was going to be as excessively floral as the rest of the house.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t really considered how out of place he would be in her suburban home – a large, black moth flitting from flower to flower. “No, not really. It’s cream, really. It’s more dull than flowery.”

And she would have a word with Mum about getting a new quilt cover and maybe some new curtains – the one’s that were in there were still too girly, even if they weren’t flowery -something black or grey, and abstract, and masculine.

Severus walked over to his desk and searched through the pile of papers there to produce a roll of parchment that he handed to Hermione. “You’re not the only one to be issuing festive invitations,” he said. “Lucius and Narcissa request the company, and all that, of Mr and Mrs Snape at their New Year’s soiree. The party will go on very late, so we are invited to spend the night at Malfoy Manor. ”

“Formal robes, I see,” she said. “Do you want me to go with you or not?”

“I think it would be … wise for you to attend.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Either Lucius was about to offer some sort of alliance – however loose and however unreliable – or, at the very least, she might be able to pick up some information. More likely it would be Severus that would pick up information, and she would be playing the role of beater, flushing out the game.

“Fair enough.” She handed him back the parchment. “How formal is formal robes? I wouldn’t want to show you up by wearing something that was inappropriate.”

“I’m no expert on women’s clothing,” he said. “I think Narcissa shops at Madame Lazards in Diagon Alley. You could try there. It’s expensive though.”

“I’ve got a bit put by,” she said. “And I’m sure that my parents can give me a sub, if necessary. It’ll be worth it in the long-run if we can get Lucius to co-operate.”

Severus hesitated before saying, “If you need further funds, you may draw on my account. Do try not to bankrupt me. And nothing red. Or gold.”

She grinned at him. “Of course not,” she said. “You’d have an absolute fit. I was thinking of something tasteful and black, if that won’t offend your sensibilities. Hopefully, it won’t be too expensive, but thanks for the offer, anyway. I’d pay you back,” she said.

“I know you will.”

“When I go shopping, I’ll pick up a bottle of wine or something,” she said. “You know, so you don’t have to worry about picking up a gift for my parents.”

“I’m perfectly capable of managing to purchase a Christmas present,” he said. “Unlike Potter and Weasley, I do not require you to do my thinking for me.”

“I didn’t think you did,” she replied. “I don’t assume that just because they’re useless at buying presents – I mean, how many times can you give someone a book token for Christmas? – that all males are; my father manages just fine. I just thought I’d save you the bother. After all, they’re not your parents; they’re not even your real in-laws, are they?”

“It’s no bother,” he said, marginally appeased. “I have to go to Diagon Alley next weekend to pick up some supplies. I was thinking a bottle of Firewhiskey for your father, and perhaps some perfume for your mother…?”

“I’m sure that’ll be fine,” Hermione said. “And thank you.”

Now all she had to worry about the tricky business of what to get him for Christmas.

Severus was also been exercised by the thought of what to buy his wife for Christmas.

Common courtesy dictated that he buy something for his hosts. That was easy enough. He didn’t know any male who didn’t appreciate a nice drop of something alcoholic, and Firewhiskey would be something of a novelty for a Muggle. Mrs Granger liked flowers; it was an easy assumption that she liked perfume.

But what to buy Hermione?

Books seemed the easy answer, but her library was extensive and it would never do to duplicate things. Even the boys had realised that, and plumped for book tokens, with the kind of breathtaking thoughtlessness that teenaged boys were capable of.

He couldn’t give her perfume. It was one thing to give scent to your mother-in-law, and quite another to give it to your not-really wife. It implied a kind of intimacy that didn’t exist between them.

Jewellery was out of the question. It was either too expensive, and risked making her uncomfortable, or too cheap, thus exposing her to all sorts of snide comments from his acquaintances.

And then he had a brilliant idea. A scarf, in Slytherin colours no less. Not one of the nasty school scarves, but something elegant and refined: suitable for evening wear. Not expensive enough to look like he was buying his wife’s affections but not cheap enough to insult her. She would be bound to wear it, to be polite, and it would subtly confirm to interested observers that she was under his protection and to be treated accordingly.

The fact that it would get up the noses of Potter and Weasley was just the icing on the cake.

It was a pity he wouldn’t be there to see Hermione’s face when she opened her present.

Instead he had to content himself with leaving the carefully wrapped present on his desk, with a little note to tell Hermione that there was a staff meeting that morning so he probably wouldn’t see her before Boxing Day.

It didn’t take Hermione long to pack. Unlike previous holidays, she could get away with leaving a lot of stuff in her room. Lavender, who was notoriously careless when it came to the ownership of other people’s toiletries, would hardly break down the door to Snape’s quarters to borrow her shampoo.

So it was just packing her Muggle clothes, and a bit of light reading to tide her over the holidays, and she was done. Severus’ present was carefully placed on the top of her trunk, before closing it, cording it, and putting it by the door for the Elves to take down to the train.

She took a leaf out of Severus’ book, and left her present to him, bought after long and careful consideration, on the desk. “Merry Christmas,” she wrote, “I hope you like the present. If you don’t, I’ve kept the receipt and you can always swap it for something else. See you on Boxing Day, Hermione.”

She felt mildly cheated when she arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room to find that Ron and Harry were already packed and ready to go. It was her job to organise the boys, not Lavender’s.

“You set then?” Harry said cheerfully.

“I am,” she replied. “All packed up and ready to go.”

“So are we,” Ron said. “Lavender’s been brilliant.”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Harry echoed, pulling a face behind Ron’s back.

Lavender wrapped herself possessively round Ron. “Well, someone has to look after these two, now you’re not here.”

“I don’t suppose,” Harry said plaintively, “that you’ll let me organise myself one day.”

“No,” the girls said in unison, and then laughed. Hermione still felt uncomfortable about watching Lavender look after the boys, but she had to face the fact that they were growing apart in many ways. It was the inevitable result of growing up. Harry and Ron would get girlfriends, and want to spend time with them. Eventually she would be free of the marriage law and have a boyfriend. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t always be friends but that they would have other responsibilities and loyalties.

Nothing could take away the fact they’d faced Voldemort together, and even in the midst of their new lives they would still be able to call on each other, be able to understand each other in ways that their new partners wouldn’t.

Harry, perhaps sensing a little of how she was feeling, wrapped an arm round her waist. “Come on then; we’d better head off.”

It was a cheerful group that walked down to the train: excited at the thought of going home for Christmas, and busily arranging to meet up over the holidays to do their present shopping. The train was already standing on the platform, and steam was billowing around the crowds of chattering children.

“I’ve already done mine,” Hermione said.

“Well I haven’t,” said Harry. “So you’ll still have to come with us or Ginny and Molly will be horribly disappointed in their gifts this year. I was thinking Ginny would really like a broomstick servicing kit….”

“Hey, I was going to give her that,” Ron said. “You’ll have to think of something else.”

“I don’t see why,” Harry began, then fell silent as Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson made their way towards them. “I wonder what they want,” he muttered.

“Snape,” Draco said with a smirk.

“Malfoy,” Hermione acknowledged.

“Doing anything interesting over the holidays?” he asked, still with the same smug smirk on his features.

“What do you want to know for,” Ron asked, hand ostentatiously on his wand.

Hermione patted his arm, and he relaxed a little. “Not really,” she said airily. “Christmas with the parents. New Year at Malfoy Manor. You?”

The smirk disappeared with amazing speed. “You mean he told you?”

Hermione smiled sweetly. “I expect I’ll see you there then. That is, if your parents will let you join the grown ups.”

Surprisingly, Pansy smiled at Hermione. “I’ll look forward to seeing you there. I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun.”

Pansy took Draco very firmly by the arm, and they walked away to the other end of the platform to find a seat on the train.

“Well, I wonder what she meant by that?” Ron said, looking after them thoughtfully.

“It sounded like a threat to me,” Lavender said. “You know, one of those Slytherin ones that you can never pin down. So when McGonagall asks you how the fight started, you can never give her an explanation, but you know what they meant.”

“Oh yes,” Harry said. “And then Snape looks at you like you’re something he’s scraped off his shoe, and you know you’re in for detention with Filch for a lifetime, and he deducts so many house points you have to go out and save the Wizarding World so that Gryffindor stands any chance of winning the House Cup.”

“Still,” Ron said. “It’s not as if they can do anything much, not when you’re a guest in their house. It’s terribly bad manners to hex someone you’ve invited to dinner, don’t you know?” He stuck his little finger, in an exaggerated gesture of affected politeness. “It’s when you end up there without an invitation, that’s when you have to worry…”

“More like, when they have to worry, these days,” Harry said. “I bet the Aurors are just panting for an excuse to break down the door and have a look round. And they don’t wait to be invited.”

“Have you decided what to wear?” Lavender asked.

“Not yet. Severus has given me the name of the shop that Narcissa uses, but I haven’t got a clue what’s appropriate.”

“If you wanted me to, I could give you a hand,” Lavender offered, a little hesitantly.

“Would you? That’d be really kind.” Hermione wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth; she needed to look her best for the damned party. The Malfoys struck her as just the sort of people to judge on appearances, and whilst nothing would erase the taint of Mudblood from her, at least she could look like a Mudblood who was trying to look like a witch.

The Express let off its whistle, and they hurried to find seats.

Hermione, looking out of the window, saw a black shape on the platform that almost looked like… No, it couldn’t be… She rubbed at the window in an attempt to clear it, but the steam was on the outside. The train began to move out of the station, so she stood up and flung the window open.

It was.

He’d come down to see her off.

She stuck her head out of the window and waved at him, and then wondered whether he’d been sent down to make sure that everyone had got on the train. He might not be there for her at all.

He didn’t wave. Severus Snape wouldn’t be seen dead waving at anyone, but he did half-raise his hand in acknowledgement before turning away.

She slammed the window shot and flopped back onto her seat, with a large smile on her face, which everyone else in the carriage studiously ignored.

The Malfoys wouldn’t know what hit them.