A law to herself

The day before term started found Severus in front of the fire in his rooms, cuddling a glass of brandy – Lucius had been so pleased with their meeting that he’d given him a whole bottle in a fit of generosity – and thinking.

He’d been glad to get back to Hogwarts. Hermione had returned to her parents’ house, giving him the luxury of spending time in his own quarters, on his own, with no wife and cat to disturb him.

He had found that he missed the cat. It had been someone to talk to at the end of a long day teaching that had offered unqualified support – at least, it hadn’t disagreed with him, and that would do for now.

He had noticed Miss Granger’s absence as well. Now he could walk around his rooms without a dressing gown, though it was a nice dressing gown, and wee with the bathroom door open. It was a silly little thing, and yet it made him feel like a large tiger marking its territory. These are my rooms, he was saying, and I only let you live here because I have to.

That pleasure had palled after three days, and he had realised that he was bored.

This had obviously been because it was the first time in twenty years that he hadn’t been fighting for his life, or spying, or worrying about something. It had had nothing to do with missing Hermione at all. He just needed to find a new hobby or a little research perhaps, and that would fill his time nicely.

That had lasted a week, and now he was skulking about his rooms and very carefully not looking at the Calendar. Today was marked with a big, red circle and the legend “Last Day of Freedom”.

All right then, he was forced to admit that he was missing the presence of Someone in his rooms. It wasn’t Hermione per se, because she was still an irritating Know-it-all, but the prospect of Someone, a nicer Someone more suited to his tastes, who would be there to offer him cockroach clusters and amuse him when he was bored.

This meant that it was vital that he help Hermione with her project, so that they could get divorced, allowing him to get on with the serious business of finding a wife: The Second Mrs Snape.

He’d been thinking about the Second Mrs Snape a fair bit and had concluded that, whilst a blonde with big breasts might be nice, it might be better to settle for someone who was kind and caring. Obviously he hadn’t given up hope of finding a blonde (with big breasts) who was also kind and caring, but if it came to a choice he knew which one he’d plump for.

So he knew what he wanted, and now all he had to do was get it.

This meant that he would have to spend more time with Hermione, to make sure that she didn’t make any silly mistakes and ruin their chances of getting a divorce.

Which meant that he had to take Minerva’s advice: perhaps they should start having afternoon tea on a Sunday.

Fine.

Good.

That was sorted, then.

And he went off to bed feeling a lot better about everything. The art of lying to yourself was to tell yourself something very close to the truth, that allowed you to do what you wanted, but without actually coming out and saying the Actual Truth – yes, he missed Hermione.

He winced.

Bugger.

Now he’d come out into the open and thought it.

Still, he almost missed Voldemort sometimes, and that didn’t mean that he liked old Scaly did it? He missed Hermione in the same way he’d miss his desk if it were moved. He’d got used to her. He nodded to himself, this was sounding good. He could live with that.

And, if he did go down to greet her at the station this was because he’d been brought up properly and knew what was due to his wife and not because he wanted to see her.

Not at all.

He punched the pillow into a more pleasing shape, and settled down to sleep happy that he’d settled that little problem to his satisfaction.


Hermione had found it difficult to relax for the rest of her holiday. She was anxious to return to Hogwarts and get on with things. She had three notebooks filled with ideas that she wanted to discuss with Severus, and a long list of people that she thought might be helpful.

And if they didn’t want to be helpful, she was sure that either Severus or Lucius Malfoy would be able to persuade them that they really wanted to be helpful. She could definitely see the attraction of being Evil – it did mean you got your own way more of the time, and without having to explain things to people.

Jump, you said. And they did. They didn’t even bother with asking how high, but jumped as high as possible in case they were asked to jump off a tall building instead. It was enough to make a person turn Dark. She didn’t really have the hair or the figure for being evil though, and would never fit into some slinky dress with architectural boning and drive men wild with passion, so she would have to settle for being a bit Bossy instead.

The boys had been pleased to see her on the train and had been full of tales of Christmas at the Burrow. They settled down in the same carriage, the boys on one seat with an impressive collection of sweets between them, and her facing them.

“You should have seen it, Hermione,” Harry said. “The twins managed to slip some potion into his porridge on Christmas day and it turned his nose blue for the whole day.”

“And none of the buggers told me,” Ron said, pretending to be grumpy about it all. “So I went round with it all day, until I looked in the mirror and realised why they’d all been giggling at me. Bastards.”

“And the only reason you were looking in the mirror was to make sure you were looking pretty for your girlfriend,” Harry teased, then looked a little awkward. Harry still hadn’t learned to be tactful before he opened his mouth, but he had graduated to being aware of having put his foot in it shortly afterwards. This was, Hermione thought, an improvement on the old, tactless Harry – just not much of one.

“Quite right too,” Hermione said warmly. “Perhaps if you made a bit more of an effort you might get a girlfriend, Harry.”

Ron sniggered, and nudged him in the ribs. “Yeah, Harry. Who did you last go out with?”

“I’ve been a little busy saving the Wizarding World to have time to find a girlfriend,” Harry replied.

“You’ve had months since then, and you haven’t even had a sniff,” Ron replied, revelling in being the successful one for once. “You’d think that being the Boy-Who-Lived would mean you’d be overrun.”

“That’s the problem though.” Harry shrugged. “They don’t want to go out with me; they want to go out with the boy they read about in the papers.”

“Good job, really,” Ron said heartlessly. “A little bloke like you would have awful difficulty pulling otherwise. No girl’d want to be seen with someone shorter than them.”

“He could always wear high heels,” Hermione giggled.

“Or ask old Snape for a growing potion,” Ron added.

“As if I’d take a potion that he’d prepared,” Harry scoffed. “He’d probably put poison in it or something.” There was an awkward silence as he realised what he’d said. “Er, sorry Hermione.”

“How dare you suggest he’d poison you,” Hermione replied, frowning.

“Well, er, I’m sure he wouldn’t do it. Not really,” Harry stuttered.

“Of course not; that would be far too obvious. Bit like leaving a signed confession really. He’d do something much more imaginative,” she said.

There was the silence as the boys worked out that she’d been joking – which took them a bit of time because they weren’t entirely convinced that Snape wouldn’t do something much worse – and then they burst out laughing.

“You should have seen your face,” Hermione gasped, in between giggles.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Snape, if you think that’s funny!” Harry threw a chocolate frog at her, which she deftly caught and opened.

“Mnnh,” Ron said, and swallowed his frog quickly. “How did you get on with your trip to see the Malfoys. Still got all your fingernails?”

Hermione wiggled her fingers at him so he could inspect them. “It wasn’t too bad. Lucius is still a nasty piece of work who should be locked up but, if you ignore that, he’s at least prepared to do a deal about this bloody law.”

“What sort of deal?” Harry asked, inspecting the wrappers carefully to make sure that none of the frogs had escaped.

“We need a new Minister for Magic,” she said.

“Makes sense.” Harry nodded.

“Lucius very generously put himself forward as a candidate,” Hermione said.

“I’ll bet,” Ron snorted. “You didn’t agree, did you?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think he really expected me to. It was an opening bid, and then he was going to suggest someone awful, but who wouldn’t be as bad as him, so I’d leap at it. They’d already decided that Harry was too – what was it – too independent for their tastes…”

“They?” Ron asked sharply. “Malfoy and Snape?”

Hermione frowned. “Yes. Lucius and Severus had a little discussion whilst I looked at the Library. I don’t know what was said but… you don’t think that matters do you? I mean, Harry doesn’t want to be Minister, do you?”

Harry shook his head fervently. “God, no. I’ve had enough of saving the Wizarding World to last me a lifetime. I’m looking forward to an easy life, with no complicated decisions.”

Ron looked worried. “I don’t like the thought of those two making decisions like that when Hermione isn’t there.”

“I’m sure that Severus will tell me anything important.” Hermione shrugged. “I can’t see any way round it – Lucius Malfoy isn’t going to deal with me directly.”

“You trust him?” Ron asked.

Hermione sighed. “Up to a point. Malfoy’s twisty and underhanded, and about as reliable as a candle in a hurricane, but he’s all we’ve got to work with. He’s the only one with the Pureblood clout.”

“I meant, do you trust Snape?” Ron said patiently.

Hermione blinked. “Erm, yes. There may be things that he doesn’t tell me, because he knows I wouldn’t approve, but otherwise? Yes, I trust him. It’s not as if he wants to stay married to me.”

“Spose not,” Ron replied. “Mind you, it’s not as if he’s going to find anyone else daft enough to marry him.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione said, speaking very slowly and carefully, “has a great deal to offer any woman. He may be a little irritable, but he is loyal and is capable of being pleasant company when he wants to be.”

“So who is going to be the next Minister for Magic then?” Harry asked, heading off an argument before it could really get going.

“We thought that Professor McGonagall might be a good candidate,” Hermione replied, allowing herself to be distracted. “I don’t know whether Professor Snape has asked her yet.”

“Not bad, not bad at all.” Harry grinned. “Just think – it’d be the first honest Minister we’d have had in years. I’m surprised Malfoy went along with that – surely he wants a Minister he can bribe?”

“I expect he thinks that he’ll be able to outmanoeuvre her once she’s in place,” Ron said, with an even broader smile. “Which is absolute rubbish, of course; she’ll make mincemeat of him.”

“I thought so too,” Hermione replied. “They’ve probably only met at Governors’ meetings in the last couple of years, and Professor McGonagall would have been on her best behaviour there. It’ll be different when she’s Minister.”

“Ooooh, yes,” Ron agreed. “I think we can count on that.”

“I just hope she agrees,” Hermione sighed. “After all, no one in their right mind would want the job.”

“Which neatly explains why Percy’s so keen on the idea, I suppose. I can’t say I’m looking forward to working in the same building as him next year. He’ll be all ‘have you combed your hair’ and ‘do as your told and don’t let the family down’, and it’s not as if you’re allowed to hex him at the office.” Ron heaved a martyred sigh, and reflected on the injustices of having an elder brother who was a pompous twit.

“I don’t think he’s that happy with the Ministry himself.” Harry pounced on a frog that had been hiding underneath the wrappers, then remembered his manners and offered it to Hermione and Ron, who both shook their heads. “He did let us know about Umbridge.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “He did, didn’t he? He’s still a prat though.”

“You don’t hear me arguing with that,” Harry replied. “He’s just not entirely beyond hope.”

Ron grunted, not entirely convinced.

“Do you think he might be able to get us tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup?” Harry asked. “Seeing as he’s so important at the Ministry.”

“Probably not – which is just as well, really. Have you seen how the Cannons are playing? We’re never going to be able to get an English team in the final, when there isn’t a decent Seeker in the entire league who was born in this country.”

The rest of the journey was taken up with complicated discussions of tactics, and statistics and all the minutiae of Quidditch that Hermione usually filtered out to concentrate on more important things but which now seemed to be an essential part of their quickly disappearing childhood.

It was odd to think that, in many ways, she was closer now to Snape than she was to Harry and Ron. She could talk to him about so many things that they only gave half an ear to – or none at all – and the converse was equally true. Soon school would be over, and the boys would be off to become Aurors whilst she still had no clear idea what she wanted to do once this law was finished. She couldn’t afford to take them for granted in the same way any more - it would be easy for them to slip from good friends, to friends to acquaintances as their paths diverged – so she listened to them, and allowed them to laugh at her silly questions, and mentally hugged them to her as tight as she could.

Still, even with her new determination to be a better friend, she was pleased when the train slowed down indicating that Hogwarts was just round the corner.

There was a flurry of last minute checking that everyone had their bags, and hunting for a misplaced scarf, and then they were swept onto the platform in a crowd of chattering students. An ear-shattering squeal announced the arrival of Lavender, who nearly knocked Ron over in her enthusiasm to hug him, and she was rapidly followed by a couple of the younger Gryffindors who wanted to ask Harry about something really, really important that couldn’t be discussed in front of a girl – at least she thought that was what the grimaces and shuffling of feet was all about – and she found herself standing slightly alone whilst everyone rushed past her.

There was some commotion at the front of the group. She couldn’t see what was going on, but it was probably something to do with Hagrid. She crouched down on the platform, and was asking Crookshanks whether her best boy was all right, and telling him that he would be let out of his basket soon when a pair of black boots appeared just in front of her. Boots she was entirely familiar with, but had not expected to see here and now.

She looked up; Severus was scowling at her. “Is there any reason for you to be dawdling like this?”

Behind him the students stood half on one side, and half on the other, having parted like the red sea before Moses. They weren’t silent, but the conversation had settled to a quiet whisper, and it was obvious what they were discussing. “No, sir; sorry, sir,” she said meekly, and rose to her feet.

“Very well then, come along.” He strode off, deliberately choosing to force another way through the crowd, scattering children before him, with Hermione dutifully bringing up the rear.

He opened the carriage door for her, and helped her into her seat. He sat opposite her and looked excruciatingly uncomfortable. She couldn’t help it; she grinned at him.

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Granger?” he snapped.

“Not at all, Severus,” she replied. “I’m just pleased to see you. And admiring the effect you had on the students.”

His lips twitched.

“It was very kind of you to come down and meet me.”

“The headmaster suggested… “ he sighed. “The headmaster has no idea I’m here at all. I just thought that… it was … a whim.” He didn’t offer any further explanation.

Severus did nothing on a whim. He did silly things when he had lost his temper, but most of the time he did nothing without calculating precisely what the effects would be.

“I missed Hogwarts,” she offered obliquely. “It was nice to see my parents, but after a while I … well, it’s nice to be back.”

“I thought that we might have some tea together before dinner,” he replied, equally obliquely. “If you’d like.”

“That’d be nice. I er get thirsty after the long journey and I’ve never really taken to pumpkin juice.” It really had to rate as the most asinine conversation she had ever had with anyone, and she was quite relieved when Severus lapsed into silence and she didn’t have to think of any more small talk. Neither of them were very good at that sort of mindless chatter that others filled their lives with.

It didn’t take her long to settle back into her room: Crookshanks let loose to renew his friendship with Severus, a flick of a wand to unpack, putting on a big jumper to keep out the chill, and finding her slippers which had disappeared under the bed.

When she came out of her room, Severus was sat in the large chair by the fire with a purring Crookshanks on his lap. On the table in front of him was a large pot of tea, two cups and some crumpets to toast. She settled in a graceless heap in front of the hearth, tucking her feet beneath her.

“I’ll do the crumpets, shall I?” she asked. “I always think they taste nicer done by the fire than just shoved in the toaster.”

He pushed a teacup at her, and accepted a buttered crumpet in return. She licked the butter from her fingers, then remembered that wasn’t the best of manners.

“So, have you had a chance to talk to Professor McGonagall yet?” she asked.

“Not yet. You don’t suddenly walk up to someone and suggest that they might like to enter into a criminal conspiracy to overthrow the Minister of Magic – especially when they’re so close to Albus – you work up to things by degrees,” he replied.

She held up a hand, acknowledging the point. “I’m sure you know best. I’m not criticising; I’m just asking how things are going.”

He eyed her with suspicion, but was mollified by her patent sincerity. “I’ve been trying to find out how deeply Dumbledore was involved in the law. According to Lucius, he was right behind the measures, and if that’s the case then we have to be very cautious in approaching Minerva. They’ve always been very close, and we can’t risk her telling him what we’re up to.”

“How fixed are the plans that you and Lucius came up with?” Hermione asked.

“To call them fluid would be generous; they’re not so much plans as a general outline of strategy because everything depends on getting Minerva to agree to be our candidate. In the meantime he’s going to try and stop any more Purebloods making offers of marriage.”

“Do I want to know how he’s going to do that?”

“Nothing more exotic than asking very nicely, don’t worry. It’s not as if there is an overwhelming desire to marry Muggleborns amongst Purebloods, so it won’t be necessary to apply that much pressure. There will be the odd family looking to curry favour with the Ministry to try to recover some of their prestige, but if there is a chance that the Ministry is going to be under new management soon, they will be better off waiting to see who is going to come out on top.”

“Makes sense. It’s vile, but it does make sense.”

“They’re just as caught in this situation as you are. They’d rather have their children grow up free to marry who they wanted to, and they don’t have the luxury of saying no to the Ministry. How would they cope in the Muggle world if they were forced out?”

Hermione wasn’t inclined to give sympathy to Purebloods. She didn’t think that she would be any more at home in the Muggle world now than they would. She had no qualifications to show future employers, and no way of explaining what she’d been doing with her life for the last seven years. That was half the problem with Purebloods – they thought they were so bloody special.

Actually, that was the whole of the problem with Purebloods.

“Then what do we do? A swift round of blackmail and bribery of the most important people on the Wizengamot?”

Severus nodded. “I’d say so. We don’t want to leave anything to chance do we?”

“I’ve erm… I’ve made some notes on likely targets,” she said.

Severus, in mid-sip, inadvertently inhaled some tea and spent a couple of minutes coughing. “You’ve got notes? Of course you’ve got notes. Do they extend to identifying what we should be blackmailing them about?”

Hermione blushed and shook her head.

Severus drained his cup. “Well, you may as well show me what you’ve got.”

Hermione Accioed her bag over to her, and rummaged through it, to pull out a large red notebook. She removed the powerful disillusioning spell she’d used to protect it before giving it to Severus.

“Hmmm, I see you’ve picked targets that you think might be sympathetic. I presume that’s why Amelia Bones is on your list, rather than blackmail. As far as I know she’s never put a foot wrong, unless you include the time that she offered to shove Fudge’s wand up his arse.”

Hermione giggled. “I think the critical question is whether there actually is something behind the law. I mean, there’s supposed to be this serious problem with squibs and a falling birth rate, but is this actually true. I wonder – if it is true, why is there so much security about it? If Madam Pomfrey’s sister can’t find out what’s going on, it suggests that there’s something to hide.”

Severus looked up from her notes, one long finger poised half way down a page. “You may have a point, though you should never underestimate the Ministry’s belief in secrecy over the most minor matters. Still, it’s an interesting point – is the Wizarding World about to be brought to its knees by inbreeding? I’m not sure we want to know the answer though; it might encourage people to keep the law in place.”

“The law’s bollocks,” she said. “Think about it – if the problem is inbreeding all you’d have to do is prohibit marriage between Purebloods. You don’t actually have to compel marriage with Muggleborns.”

Severus blinked. “That’s true.”

“And if you did have to compel marriage, what about the Pureblood women?”

“What about them?”

“Think about it – why aren’t Pureblood women being compelled to marry Muggleborns and breed up kiddies until their uterus falls out.”

Severus smiled. “Oh, now there’s a lovely prospect to dangle in front of any of Lucius’ waverers: side with the Ministry and your daughters will be rutting with Mudbloods. They’ll be livid.”

Hermione winced; after seven years that term still had the power to make her feel extremely uncomfortable. Severus reached out and patted her awkwardly on her shoulder. “It’s not pleasant,” he said. “But if we appeal to their prejudices, it’s going to be a damned sight more successful than appealing to their better nature.”

She sighed. “I know. It’s just that sometimes I wonder what future I have in this world.”

“A bright one, once this is out of the way,” he replied. “The Pureblood grip on power is weakening. Only the Malfoys are really wealthy any more, and the rest sit around in their shabby houses chewing over past glories and wondering why their children are being passed over for promotion. If they weren’t frightened of you, they wouldn’t hate you so much.”

“It’s hard work being hated,” she replied.

“Try teaching for twenty years, and then you’ll be able to complain.”

“Hmmm,” she replied. She couldn’t imagine what it was like having to teach for that length of time. If you had ever had any interest in your subject, it must have been leached out after the first couple of years when you realised that your students were indifferent at best, and you found that they were repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

You could argue that it kept you young, having all that contact with teenagers, or maybe it was a form of arrested development. That could explain an awful lot about Dumbledore, when you thought about it. It wasn’t a second childhood; it was still his first one.

It might mean that Severus could shed some light on the perennial mystery of what it was that the boys saw in Quidditch.

“Do you like Quidditch?” she asked. “Of course you do; you’re a boy.”

“It’s been nearly thirty years since someone has called me a boy,” he replied. “But yes, I enjoy Quidditch. Many people do, and not all of them are male.”

“I just don’t see the attraction.” She took another crumpet and stuck it on the end of the toasting fork. “It’s just … dull.”

“I hope that you keep that heresy to yourself,” he said.

She nodded, watching her crumpet carefully to make sure it didn’t burn.

“It’s all Harry and Ron ever seem to talk about,” she confided, in a rush. “And I’ve tried to understand it, but…” She didn’t finish the sentence, unwilling to say out loud what was worrying her.

“As Mr Potter and Mr Weasley mature, you’ll find that they develop a much wider range of interests. First, Quidditch, then girls, then alcohol, and then one day they’ll hit on the happy idea of mixing all three.”

Hermione sighed.

“However, I am sure that, whilst they may not be the most interesting conversationalists, they will always be your friend. The friends you make at Hogwarts last a lifetime.”

“Really?” She looked up at him. “They’re going to go off to be Aurors and leave me behind, and they won’t need me to help them any more.”

“I expect they will manage to delude some poor young woman into explaining how they should tie their shoelaces, and what colour socks to wear so that part of your friendship will pass, but they will always want to be your friend,” he said firmly. “If I can stay friends with Lucius after all these years, despite trying to kill each other on a number of occasions, then I don’t see why you should fall out with those two merely because they become Aurors.”

Hermione pulled her crumpet free of the fork and spread it with butter, whilst she thought that through. “What was he like as a child?”

“Lucius?” Severus shrugged. “I never knew him as a child. He was a seventh year, when I started here, and not inclined to spend a lot of time with grubby children.”

“But you were friends?” she prompted.

“Of sorts. He was Head Boy and made sure that Slytherin was properly respected in Hogwarts, even if that meant looking after a snotty first year he wouldn’t normally give the time of day.” Severus smirked at the memory, replaying old victories. “Whatever else, he would say, Slytherins should stick together.”

Hermione could imagine how potent the approval and protection of the older boy would have been. It was probably the first kind word he’d had from anyone, though you had to wonder whether Lucius had deliberately set out to manipulate Severus in that way. Probably not. Not at seventeen surely– and their friendship wouldn’t have lasted as long as it had if it had been based on something so false. “And you did.”

“And we did. I don’t mention the fact that he recruited me, and he doesn’t mention the fact that I betrayed them. We also don’t talk about my suspicion that he knew I was spying and chose not to say anything…”

“Really? You think he knew?”

Severus shrugged. “I’m sure that if you asked him, he’d claim that he’d known all along. It may even be true.”

“The way he claimed that he allowed me to hex him? Do you think he did let me?”

“Is it that important to you?” he asked, amused.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Of course it would be,” he said. “The girl who always had her hand in the air, the girl who always wanted to be the best, she won’t be happy until she’s sure that she hexed Lucius in the back.”

“And that’s why you ended up in Hufflepuff,” Hermione riposted. “Because you were so shy and retiring, and backwards at coming forwards. You weren’t ambitious at all.”

He stiffened. “I’m not sure that mine is a wise example to follow.”

“Not all of it perhaps, but…” she paused, seeking the right words. “It can’t always have been darkness. Not at first.”

“No. To begin with there was wine, women and Quidditch. Mostly wine, or at least beer, and Quidditch for me, and women for Lucius. He was always very successful with women.”

“Lots of girls do seem to be silly like that,” she replied. “They think someone is charming and pleasant and don’t notice that, in the things that really matter, they’re selfish wankers.”

“Lots of people are like that, not just the female half of the species,” Severus replied, with a faint note of bitterness.

“Which, from the perspective of someone who has to wear four bottles of Sleakeasy’s hair tonic to get noticed by boys, is a bit of a sod. However, looking on the bright side, the fact there are a lot of silly people in the world does mean that it’s easier to manipulate them.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” His lips twitched. “Bitter experience suggests otherwise – never underestimate the ability of a truly stupid person to foul things up.”

Hermione couldn’t deny it, so she didn’t try but simply offered him another crumpet. It wasn’t much compensation, but it was all that was available.

“Does that mean that we have to hope that Fudge is a stupid person so we can take advantage of him, or that he’s an intelligent person so that he doesn’t outclass us by being more stupid than we can cope with?” Hermione asked wryly.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the quarter hour. “An interesting question that I won’t have time to answer,” Severus replied. “You’re going to be late for dinner if you don’t get a move on.”

“What about you?” Hermione asked, accioing her robes, and swapping her slippers for shoes.

“I’ll be along in good time,” he replied. “After all, I won’t get detention for being late.”

Hermione pulled a face at him, and hurried out of the room with his shouted instruction not to run in the corridor ringing in her ears. She waited until she’d turned the corner before breaking into a brisk trot. As climbed the last flight of stairs, she could see Pansy and Draco outside the Hall, flanking the door, deep in conversation.

“Granger,” Draco said. “Running late, aren’t you? Your two sidekicks are already in there.”

“We’re not joined at the hip,” she replied, taking the chance to catch her breath.

“Are you sure that they can manage without you, if you’re not there to do their thinking for them?” Pansy asked.

“Probably, as long as its nothing too complicated,” Draco replied. “They can cope with the basics…”

“Walking,” said Pansy.

“Eating,” Draco supplied.

“Breathing,” added Pansy.

“Let’s just hope that they’ve worked out what shoe goes on what foot,” Draco added, assuming an air of anxiety.

“I’m sure they’d be touched by your concern,” Hermione replied. “It’s nice to see that inter-house co-operation is finally happening after all these years. I’ll be sure to pass on your kind words to Harry.”

Draco grinned. “I’m sure he’ll take it in the spirit that it was intended.”

“I’m sure he will…,” began Hermione, but was interrupted as another latecomer pushed past her. “Oi, watch out.”

The girl half-turned back and glared at Hermione. “What are you going to do about it? Get me detention with Slimy Snape?”

Hermione didn’t have time to reply before the girl slipped into the Hall and took her seat at the Hufflepuff table.

“Not much inter-house spirit from that quarter,” Draco said softly.

“No,” said Hermione. “Something she could come to regret.”

“All you have to do is mention it to the Professor; I’m sure he can come up with something appropriate.” Draco’s grin was evil.

“Some things are best done yourself, don’t you agree?” Hermione replied.

Draco nodded. “If you need any help, just say the word.”

Dumbledore’s chair scraped along the floor as he rose to make his opening speech, and they scattered to their respective tables to take their seats, and Hermione forgot all about the irritating Hufflepuff with the sharp elbows.


The irritating Hufflepuff might have got away with being rude if she hadn’t made the mistake of pushing her luck again. Unlike Severus, Hermione wasn’t one to hold a grudge…

Hermione was one to bear a grudge, but only over important things.

All right, she could hold a grudge with the best of them, but had forgotten all about the Hufflepuff until the incident was brought back to her attention about a week later by the silly moo deciding to continue the argument.

For some odd reason, Albus had decided that the exigencies of timetabling meant that it was a really good idea to put Slytherins and Gryffindors together, leaving the Hufflepuffs to be matched with Ravenclaws. Slytherin and Gryffindor was a fairly explosive combination, but she’d always thought that Ravenclaws must get pretty fed up with Hufflepuffs. She found them a bit too nice, and hard-working and self-effacing and after ten minutes of all that ostensible sweetness and light she wanted to scream.

What, she thought, was the point of all that hard work, if you didn’t make sure you got rewarded for it?

Which did make you wonder whether the reason that Gryffindor and Slytherin didn’t get on was because they had rather more in common than they were prepared to admit, which was something she should really mention to Severus one evening and watch him splutter.

Intent on her thoughts, Hermione wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking. She was a bit early for her next class – unlike the boys who were dawdling – and the students from the previous lesson hadn’t left the classroom yet.

She leaned against the wall, and rummaged in her satchel for her Charms textbook. She wanted to check up something about Invisibility charms before the class, to make sure that she couldn’t be asked any awkward questions. She was determined to make it clear to her teachers that there would be no slacking off or looking for favours merely because she was married to Professor Snape.

A shadow fell across the page, but she didn’t look up until a pointy elbow connected with the book and knocked it to the floor.

“Oi,” she said reproachfully. “I was reading that.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” said a voice laced with the sort of insincerity that she hadn’t heard since Malfoy had stopped being such a wanker. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, it’s you,” Hermione replied, remembering the face if not the name. “The clever cow who thinks it’s smart to insult teachers.”

“Didn’t you go running off to hubby?”

“Don’t need to,” Hermione said simply. “I’m more than capable of caning your arse without his help. Small matter of Voldemort? I’m sure you remember his name. We took care of him in the summer holidays whilst you were topping up your tan. I hardly think you’re going to take a couple of seconds.”

The girl went white – Hermione still couldn’t put a name to the face – and one of her friends put a hand on her elbow. “Come on Sylvia; it’s not worth it. You’ll only get into trouble.”

Sylvia shook off the other girl. “You’re right it’s not worth it. It’s not worth touching this scum.”

Hermione held on to her temper by the thinnest of margins. She couldn’t go round slapping people for being stupid, even if it was terribly tempting because she was a mature woman these days, and she couldn’t let Severus down, and …

“After all, she has to get into bed with Greasy Snape every night,” Sylvia said. “I suppose that’s punishment enough.

Oh sod it, Hermione thought dimly through the red mists, and slapped the girl as hard as she could.

This, as Draco could attest, was very hard indeed; certainly Sylvia would have agreed with that assessment if she had been able to speak. She rallied quickly though, and grabbed hold of Hermione’s hair and pulled it – hard – bringing tears to Hermione’s eyes. Keeping a tight grasp of the hair, so Hermione had no chance to move out of the way, Sylvia slapped her back. It wasn’t as successful as Hermione’s slap; she didn’t see stars, but it stung. Hermione pulled away, and they wrestled together before Sylvia lost her balance, slipped, and fell heavily to the floor with Hermione on top of her.

Professor Flitwick, attracted by the noise, came to the door of his classroom to see a small group of students gathered round the fighting girls.

“What’s all this?” he asked, but no one took any notice. Hermione was too busy trying to get an elbow into her opponent’s stomach, Sylvia was trying to pull out her hair, and the crowd were encouraging the competitors according to personal taste and house loyalty.

“This is a disgrace,” Flitwick bleated. “Stop this at once.” Seeing that they were still fighting, he drew his wand and prepared to cast a suitable spell.

“There’s no need for that, sir,” said Malfoy, pushing himself off the wall where he had been negligently lounging. “If you’d allow me….”

Flitwick nodded.

“Oh, you two. Snape’s coming,” Draco yelled.

The two girls shot apart, and got to their feet in one swift movement and then tried to look innocent.

Hermione looked round for her husband, but he was nowhere to be seen. “You,” she said to Draco, “are a little sod. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Ten points to Slytherin,” Professor Flitwick said. “For quick thinking in a crisis.”

Hermione pulled a face at Draco, who just grinned at her.

“Well what was this all about?” asked the Professor.

“Nothing, sir,” Hermione replied.

Sylvia threw Hermione a disbelieving glance, but said nothing.

“Well I shall have to mention this to Professor Snape,” Flitwick huffed.

“Like that’ll make any difference,” Sylvia muttered.

“And I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say to you about your behaviour,” Flitwick said, frowning at Sylvia. Obviously, he’d heard her. “Twenty points each from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and a detention for both of you. With me. Tomorrow evening. And I want no more of this, is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” they both murmured.

“Those of you who are supposed to be elsewhere, I suggest you run along. The rest of you, into my classroom now!” Flitwick said, waving his hand dismissively.

“This isn’t over,” muttered Sylvia as she went past.

“Count on it,” Hermione replied.

Ron and Harry came to stand beside her. Ron offered her a hanky. She inspected it carefully first. It seemed to be relatively clean, so she used it to wipe her eyes which were watering heavily.

“Detention, eh?” said Harry. “That’ll be your first, won’t it?”

Hermione nodded, a little shamefaced.

“At least it’s with old Flitters,” Ron said. “Not Snape.”

The boys exchanged significant glances. “Otherwise it’d be scrubbing the cauldrons by hand then…” said Harry.

“Or, worse, do you remember the time he had us collect all that bubotuber pus?” added Ron with a shudder.

“Yuk!”

“You two really have the knack of making me feel better about this,” Hermione put in sourly.

Ron took her hand and shook it firmly. “Congratulations Hermione. You will now leave Hogwarts having experienced all the delights that Hogwarts has to offer.”

“Being petrified by basilisks,” Harry chipped in.

“Slapping Malfoy,” Ron added.

“Slapping Malfoy repeatedly,” said Harry with a grin.

“Breaking into the Ministry.”

“And now, detention.” Harry patted her on her arm. “Just think of it as a rite of passage.”

“Yes,” said Ron earnestly, sounding frighteningly like one of the twins. “Today, Hermione, you become One Of Us. One of the naughty students.”

“It’s not the bloody detention I’m worried about,” Hermione snapped. “What on earth will Severus say.”

The boys seemed to be used to her calling Snape Severus, because they didn’t even wince.

“I’m certain that Severus will be very understanding,” said Draco, from behind their little group where he’d been watching events with interest. “Once you explain why you were fighting, anyway.”

“I can’t do that,” she protested. “That’d be snitching.”

Draco shrugged.

“’Ere, Hermione. If you don’t make it out alive, can I have your chocolate Frogs?” Harry asked.

“You really are a pair of daft buggers,” she said affectionately, moving into the classroom. “Come on, before we’re late.”

The class was very subdued, but she’d managed to win back nearly all the points she’d just lost by the end of it. It seemed that Professor Flitwick had some understanding of what had provoked the dispute, and even approved of her actions.

Perhaps that meant that he wouldn’t paint the event in too bad a light when he informed Severus? She could only hope that would be the case. She didn’t want to fall out with him, when they were getting on so well, and cockroach clusters wouldn’t help this situation at all.

Not even a full pound.

She spent the time after classes and before dinner hiding in the Gryffindor common room and putting off the evil hour as long as possible.

Flitwick was sitting next to Snape at High Table and having an animated discussion. Hermione couldn’t help staring at him. He seemed to sense it and raised his head to look at her. Their eyes met in a long exchange until, finally, she looked away.

“Bugger,” she said softly.

“What?” Harry asked.

“He almost smiled,” she said.

“That’s good isn’t it?” asked Ron.

Hermione tried to believe that was true. A smiling Snape was indeed a happy Snape, but a happy Snape could be one that was plotting retribution. It all depended on who he was plotting against.

When she got back to their rooms, he was waiting.

“I hear you’ve been in the wars,” he said.

She nodded cautiously.

“You really ought to know better by now,” he said severely.

She nodded again. Silence was the best option.

“Next time, why don’t you wait until she’s further down the corridor and hex her from behind? That way you might get away with it.”

“Er, ok,” she said.

And that was the end of the matter.