Biding Time

Disclaimer: Again, I don't assert any intellectual or creative rights over anything from the Hogwarts realm. I am not making a cent from this.


Biding Time

Chapter One – Sacrifice

Ten years before it had all been so simple in a way: the Headmaster had been murdered, his killer had fled, and Professor Minerva McGonagall had become the Headmistress – the stern but benevolent queen of Hogwarts. Everything had been etched in pure black and white, good and evil.

Hermione Granger had always had the utmost respect for the Headmistress and had always felt a certain kinship with her. They were both strong Gryffindor women, friends and compatriots of the most important wizards of their age. Both valued knowledge and nurtured their intellect. Both reveled in their magical powers and sought to strengthen and broaden those powers in books that were both common and obscure. The Headmistress gave solid advice, kind and gentle with an edge of caution. So, when at the start of a very uncertain seventh year, she summoned Hermione to her office, Hermione hurried along the corridors without trepidation.

Minerva McGonagall sat by the fire in a crimson leather chair, her spine straight, her bearing regal. Her mahogany hair, piled up on her head, was threaded with silver and the flickering flames accentuated the hollows under her eyes. Her only concession to comfort was in having her stockinged toes stretched towards the fire. It was unseasonably cold for September and, somehow, she felt that it was a portent of things to come.

Hermione stood in the doorway, her robe unbuttoned, her plain blouse beneath positively ghostly in the gloom. A tower of books was balanced in the crook of one arm. In her mind, the Headmistress mused about how typical the sight was: If Justice had her tilting scales to balance, Hermione Granger had her ever-present pile of books to balance.
“Come in, Miss Granger. Please take a seat.” She patted a saffron-coloured chair across from her. Hermione tipped the books onto a nearby table, smoothed her robes, and gently perched on the chair.
“I am not one to make unnecessary niceties, Miss Granger, so you’ll have to excuse me if I speak plainly now.” She glanced at the girl to gauge her reaction and, after a long moment, continued.
“I understand you are quite actively involved in the Order of the Phoenix, and you have voiced in the past a desire to help their cause in any way necessary. Is that true?” Hermione had to stop herself from waving her hand in the air, as if she was answering a question in class.
“Yes, Headmistress McGonagall. I feel that if we are to defeat Voldemort and his death eaters we must be proactive and do anything possible to stop their influence. Anything, that is, except for the Unforgivable curses.” She added hastily. Then, at the Headmistress’ quizzical look, she muttered “Unless they are absolutely necessary.” She then blushed furiously.
“Well, Miss Granger, I may find myself holding you to your word and reminding you of what you have just said.” She cleared her throat, looked down at her folded hands in her lap, and then looked up again.
“It has been determined that you shall play a very important role in helping the Order.” Hermione leapt forward in her chair.
“It has been decided that you should get married.” With that rather unexciting suggestion (unexciting when compared to the other possibilities), Hermione slumped back in her seat.
“Marriage?!” She sighed. “How can that help?” The Headmistress gave a quick nod of her head and then forged on.
“Well, you see, the Order feels it would be very helpful if you would marry Professor Snape.” The girl leapt out of her chair with a yelp.
“Marry Snape?!” She burst out, but the Headmistress was continuing on.
“It would be a simple pledge of troth until the actual ceremony, which might not be for years really. However, it would be enough for the time being to bind you to him and, conversely, bind him to you.” Her last words were almost drowned out by the girl’s ramblings.
“Marry Snape! Marry a murderer! Marry him?” Her face was a shade of red to rival the Weasleys. A curt look from the Headmistress brought her to sudden silence. The older woman gestured for her to take her seat.
“Miss Granger, I must admit that from the first time you took your seat in my class, six years ago, I liked you. You were eager, intelligent and modest. You were loyal and true. You appreciated the knowledge and appreciated its value. Raised by Muggles, you knew both sides of the proverbial coin – the earthy and non-magical, and the wonders and opportunities available to you here at Hogwarts. I think you reminded me a little of myself at that age – an ardent student and an even more ardent friend. So, now, I feel that I must remind you of your oath of a few moments ago. You swore to help the Order in any legal way possible. Well, now is the time to test that promise. It has been determined that it would be practical for you to marry Professor Snape.” Hermione had to restrain herself from leaping from the chair again. Instead, she sat with her ankle resting on the opposite knee, knee jiggling frenetically.
“And who decided this for me? Who decided it would be in my interest and that it was how I could best help the Order?”
“Headmaster Dumbledore.” The jiggling leg stopped.
“Oh.” There seemed to be no arguing with a dead man. The girl cast her eyes to the portrait of the former Headmaster, who was gently dozing, his head tipped forward, cushioned by his long, silvered beard. She felt slightly insulted – he had set her up in this farce, and he didn’t even have the audacity to be awake to sit through this meeting. She rose to her feet, and scooped her books into her arms.
“I see.”
“The Headmaster foresaw every possibility and he accounted for it. He rather thought you might prove to be Professor Snape’s redemption.”
Hermione’s amber eyes met the Headmistress’ flinty gaze.
“He is beyond redemption.” Her voice was cold. She turned to leave but the Headmistress caught up to her in the doorway. She laid a thin hand on the girl’s arm tenderly.
“Hermione, there is always a chance for redemption. Remember that.” She whispered before allowing the girl to turn away and recede into the shadows.

********

After the door closed and there was no one but the Headmistress and the flickering fire, the portrait of the former Headmaster suddenly chortled.
“She didn’t take that too badly now did she?” His periwinkle eyes twinkled benevolently. The Headmistress scowled at him and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
“Yes, but I am not looking forward to sending word about this arrangement to Professor Snape. I would almost say, in that respect, that you have the better end of the bargain.” The portrait chuckled softly.
“Patience, Minerva, patience.”