A law to herself

Chapter five

Ron was late into dinner and Hermione was beginning to fret. When he finally appeared, just as the doors to the Hall were being closed, she hissed in irritation. Harry threw her a slightly reproachful look, then waved at Ron. “Over here, mate; we’ve saved you a seat.”

Ron said nothing as he sat down; he wouldn’t meet Hermione’s eyes, and he was paying a great deal of attention to his choice of food. Eventually even he had to admit that he couldn’t fit another thing on his plate, and he faced his friends. He looked wistfully at Hermione, and then abandoned all pretence at being interested in food. Putting his knife and fork down, he asked, “Alright, I agree Snape’s the better choice.”

Hermione realised, too late, that her sigh of relief was less than flattering.

“Would you ever have gone out with me,” he asked savagely.

Hermione bit back hot words; the whole purpose of this exercise was to stay friends with Ron. The truth would never do: this was no time to point out that the only time Ron ever wanted her was when someone else did. Dog in the manger jealousy was hardly a firm foundation for a relationship – mind you, neither was being sneered at in Potions lessons.

“Probably,” she said simply. “You’d probably have got up nerve to ask me to the Graduation Ball, and I would have said ‘yes’.” Largely to avoid having to deal with the whinging. “We’d spend a couple of years going out but gradually we’d start drifting apart – you’d want different things from me – we’d start arguing and, one day, we’d have the most enormous row, and you’d storm out of the house, and that would be that.”

She could see Ron wanted to deny that this would be the future for them, but he was too honest.

“And then your Mum would take your side and tell you I was never good enough for you, and she’d probably send me a howler, and then she’d start introducing you to proper young witches who’d know how to treat you right, and one day, you’d meet the woman of your dreams and settle down and get married.

“And she’d probably hear all about how horrible I was from your Mum, and she’d invite me to the wedding to make sure I wasn’t going to be a threat, and you’d look at me and wonder what on earth you ever saw in me.”

“Would I be best man?” asked Harry. Ron and Hermione both looked sharply at him. “Well, if you and Hermione are going to split up, I don’t want to have to take sides, and that might mean I couldn’t be best man.”

Ron took a long, shuddering breath. “Of course you would, mate. No one else would do.”

“Absolutely, Harry,” added Hermione. “In fact, you’d never take sides between us, and you’d make sure that in the end Ron and I started talking to each other again.”

“That’s right,” said Ron piously. “Because you know how awkward she can be; she’d never admit she was in the wrong.”

Hermione glared at him. “That’s because it is always your fault Ronald Weasley.”

“Not always; sometimes it’s Harry’s fault,” he replied.

Hermione started laughing. “You should see your face, Harry, anyone would think you never went into the Chamber of Secrets, or talked us into raiding the Restricted Section, and what about the time you made us sneak out to Hogsmeade for a drink.”

“We had just defeated Voldemort,” said Harry patiently, “I don’t think it was unreasonable to want to have a celebratory drink, was it?”

“No,” said Ron. “Apparently everyone else felt the same. You couldn’t move in there for Hogswarts’ teachers.”

“Do you remember McGonagall’s face? I thought she was going to blow a gasket,” Hermione said laughing.

“A whole month of detentions with Filch,” said Harry, shaking his head at the unfairness of it all. “I still think that was going over the top.”

The three of them exchanged glances, and then collapsed into more giggles. By unspoken agreement the subject of marriage was shelved for the rest of the meal, which was spent reminiscing about old times. But all too soon dinner was over, and she couldn’t delay the appointment with Professor Snape any longer.

“I’ll walk you down,” Ron said, “and no arguments.”

“I wasn’t going to argue,” she replied mildly. “I was just going to say thank you.”

“Hmm,” he grunted, mollified slightly.

“I’m off to the Common Room,” said Harry brightly and headed off briskly in that direction.

“What’s that about?” Ron said, puzzled, expecting Harry to come with them.

“I think he’s being tactful,” replied Hermione.

“Oh. Really. No wonder I didn’t realise what he was up to.”

Under normal circumstances it would always take a long time to reach Snape’s office; for some reason, people were generally dragging their heels, and a simple five minute journey could often take as long as fifteen minutes, depending on the severity of the detention awaiting them.

This time the trip took five minutes, which was odd, because Hermione thought that proposing to Professor Snape was surely more worrying than any detention that could have been imposed.

“Hermione?”

“Hmmm,” she replied her mind half on whether she ought to get down on one knee.

“What do you think the sex would have been like?”

It tool several seconds for the sentence to make its way from her ears into her brain, and then another couple of seconds for the brain to decode what he’d said, falter, check again for error, and decide he really had said something that stupid.

Hermione was an honest girl on the whole, but life had taught her that on occasion honesty was not the best policy. When Professor Snape asked what you were up to; you denied everything. When Ron asked you if you thought his plan was stupid, you carefully made suggestions to improve it. When Harry asked you if you thought Sirius dying was his fault, you patted him on the shoulder and said of course not.

When Ron asked you if he thought the sex would have been good, you bit your lip and said, “Absolutely.” And tried to look him in the eye as you said it.

“Can I kiss you,” he asked. “Just once.”

“Alright,” she said slowly, “but no tongues.”

“Hermione Granger, do you think I’d take advantage of you at a time like this? I’m cut to the quick.”

“Ronald Weasley, sometimes I think you should have been sorted into Slytherin.”

He smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. If Hermione has wanted to kill Fudge before, now she wanted to torture him first. No boy should have to face up to the loss of his first love with so much dignity; he should be allowed to sulk and throw a tantrum, and generally behave like the child he was.

She wasn’t the only one who was having to grow up too soon.

As Ron bent towards her, she closed her eyes in the approved fashion. It was a soft kiss, warm without being wet, thank Merlin, and no tongues.

“There, your first kiss, and no one can take that away from me.”

She hadn’t got the heart to tell him about Seamus Finnegan; it would have ruined his big moment. He left her by the door, with a last pat of the hand , and didn’t look back. She straightened her robes, tidied her hair, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Enter!”

Hermione wondered whether that was a more friendly ‘enter’ than usual, but decided it probably wasn’t. On the other hand, it wasn’t a particularly unfriendly ‘enter’, given that it was Snape. Get grip Granger, she told herself severely, stop flapping and get your arse in there, the worst he can do is say ‘no’.

Or say yes, a traitorous voice suggested at the back of her mind.

Actually, the more sensible part of her replied, the worst that he can do is sneer, be sarcastic, laugh in her face, say ‘no’, give her a month’s detention for even presuming to ask the question, tell Dumbledore and make the rest of her time at Hogwarts a complete bleeding misery.

Oddly enough that made her feel a bit better, because on the whole she didn’t think he was going to do any of that.

She pushed the door open, and stepped through. Professor Snape was sat at his desk, busily writing; he didn’t raise his head but gestured at her peremptorily to take a seat.

When he finally acknowledged her, some five minutes later, she realised that there was a faint hint of colour on his cheeks. “I presume this is about the essay I set you, Miss Granger. Did you have some … erm…. queries about it,” he asked.

She realised with a sense of surprise that Professor Snape was embarrassed. She wondered if he expected her to ask about the Birds and the Bees, and had been preparing a little speech along the lines of…. well, what? She couldn’t imagine Snape explaining reproduction to anyone, although presumably he knew the basics.

Snape and sex did not belong together at all.

“No, Professor Snape. I wanted to see you about something else.” She felt a brief moment of sympathy for the poor sod, as he relaxed: you’re not out of thods ods yet, Professor Snape. Best to break it to him gently she thought.

“I have a proposition for you, or rather, more of a proposal.”

She had to give him credit; he worked out what she meant very quickly, and barely flinched at all. She was slightly surprised to see that he was looking at her with a rather worried expression.

“Miss Granger,” he said very carefully. “I must ask you this; you don’t have a crush on me do you? Because this wouldn’t be the first time a … confused … young woman had made her way down here to confess her admiration for me. I hardly expected it from you though. I thought you were more sensible than that.”

She just looked at him in amazement; her blank confusion reassured him that he wasn’t about to be forced to defend his virtue from a crazed teenager. Something about the way she kept looking at him prompted him to add, “There are some female students in this School who do, no matter how bizarre you find the idea, develop some sort of attachment to me.”

Good god, it seemed that sex and Snape did belong together after all. She looked at him, really looked at him as a man and not a teacher, for the first time. She supposed that if you’d been reading too much Bronte, he could just about fit into the stereotype of the romantic hero: all Heathcliffe, and Wuthering Heights, and wanting to soothe his troubled brow.

She’d never liked the Brontes, had always considered them a bit silly, and that the whole business could have been sorted out in four chapters if only people had talked a bit more rather than wandering around looking rumpled and tortured.

Professor Snape saw her faint smile, and was not amused. Whilst it was perfectly permissible for him to consider that these girls were deranged, no man wants to think that they are not suitable romantic material. “And you find this idea amusing, Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s attention was drawn back to the present issue abruptly, and the realisation that insulting one’s future husband was probably not conducive to securing his agreement the first time that you asked. “It’s not that, Professor,” she said trying to recover some ground. “After all, Harry gets the same sort of attention; it’s part of the territory of being a War Hero. I was just amused at the thought of them coming down here and telling you this? What on earth for?”

It was Professor Snape’s turn to look blank. “In the hopes that I’ll reciprocate of course.”

Hermione blinked. “But you’re a teacher. You’d never take advantage of your position like that. Good god, they must be absolutely thick to think they’d ever get anywhere like that. At the very least toughought to wait until they’ve graduated before they make a pass at you.”

“Thank you for that glowing recommendation, Miss Granger.” There was only the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice, and perhaps a little gratitude that she didn’t think he was that kind of man. Which was just silly really; even if he was that kind of man, he’d be an idiot to try something with Dumbledore on the prowl. Although bearing in mind Dumbldore’s latest actions, maybe he wouldn’t think there was anng wng wrong with propositioning a pupil.

“I can assure you, Professor, I have not been staring at you across a crowded Potions class and thinking of you like that at all. If I’ve been staring at you, it’s been to make sure that you don’t see me helping Neville,” she assured him earnestly.

“I shall be certain to keep a better watch over you then,” he said, smiling faintly. She knew he meant it. “Now, perhaps you could tell me why you have this sudden urge to marry a man old enough to be your father.”

“Better that, Sir, than someone old enough to be my great-grandfather.”

He didn’t pretend not to understand that reference; his complete lack of expression spoke more powerfully of his disapproval than any frown could do.

“I think I’ve found a way round the Marriage Law. It all starts with Seamus Finnegans mother, I suppose. You know she’s a witch, but Seamus’s father isn’t. Well, they were married the Muggle way. There’s been a provision in Magical sin since 1732 that a marriage made under Muggle law is equally valid as a true, magical wedding, to provide for that sort of eventuality.”

Snape nodded - he knew that – but he didn’t interrupt.

“And ever since 1732, every time a law has been passed about marriage, or inheritance, or anything like that there’s been a little section put in that says that nothing in the Act shall affect Muggle marriage law. It’s even in the Marriage law. I expect the draftsman put it in, without thinking through the effect it could have.”

“And this means what, Miss Granger?” She was relieved to hear that he wasn’t snapping at her, but seemed genuinely intrigued to hear what she had worked out. She was getting a better hearing than she had hoped for.

“I think that this means that someone who married a pureblood, but under a Muggle marriage, would satisfy the terms of the Marriage Law but without having to enter into the contract that Madam Pomphrey was talking about.”

“I see.” He was absorbed in examining his quill for a moment or two. “But that’s only half the story. Assuming you’re right about this loophole, why me rather than Mr Weasley or even Draco?”

Hermione was encouraged when he didn’t reject the idea out of hand. “There are a number of reasons, some of them practical and some of them, shall we say, more personal.”

“Go on.”

“Firstly, I should say that I intend to do all that I can to have this law repealed. I intend to be loud, I intend to be vociferous, I intend to make Fudge’s life a complete misery until he agrees to abolish the Marriage Law.”

“This isn’t likely to make him very happy.”

“Exactly. If I were married to Ron or any other of the Weasleys, Fudge would be able to put pressure on them to make me stop. One way or another almost all of them work for the Ministry. Your employment, on the other hand, rests entirely with the Board of Governors. Doubtless Fudge could lean on them, and they could lean on Dumbledore, but it’s not as immediate a threat.”

“Malfoy then?”

“You’d know Lucius better than me, but I don’t think he can afford to stand up the Ministry at the moment. If I went to him with this suggestion, he could well pass the information on to Fudge in the hopes of recovering his position. I don’t think that’s a risk I can afford to take. If I marry Malfoy, it would have to be under Magical Law, rutting like an animal once a month, and hoping that I could manage to sneak contraceptive potions past both the Ministry and Lucius.”

Professor Snape had never before considered himself to have a better nature, but he found himself moved by her courage in facing her difficulties. He could only dimly imagine the horror she would feel at being compelled to, what was the phrase she used, rut once a month. Where tears and tantrums would have left him unmoved, her quiet determination was touching. He shifted uneasily in his seat; surely he wasn’t considering accepting her proposal?

He couldn’t help but think of his mother though, and the life she had led at the hands of his father. Neither Malfoy would beat her, and she would have the support of her friends, but as time went on she would find herself bound more and more tightly to them. Silken cords, but cords nonetheless.

“I’ll think about it,” he heard himself say.

“Really?” She was looking at him with so much hope in her eyes it was painful.

“Really, Miss Granger. I am not in the habit of saying I will do something and then not doing it.”

“No, sir,” she said dutifully. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t agreed, yet,” he warned.

“No, sir.” She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see the flare of triumph in her eyes; he’d say yes, she was sure of it now, provided she didn’t do something stupid like gloating too soon. She arranged her features into a careful mask of earnest hope, and looked up; she didn’t fool Professor Snape for a moment.

“Very well. I suggest you return here with your entourage tomorrow at the same time, when I will give you your answer.”

“Why?” she blurted, before she could stop herself.

“Whatever my answer is, you will need to make plans. Since you will doubtless be discussing these plans with Mr Weasley and Mr Potter, it will save time if they are present. I can assure you, I have no desire to socialise with either of them.”

“That makes sense,” she said thoughtfully, getting out of her chair and moving towards the door.

“I’m so glad you feel the suggestion has merit,” he said, all silky condescension.

She just smiled absently at him, her mind obviously pre-occupied. Snape sighed; she was probably picking out the wedding robes.

“Miss Granger,” he said sharply, gratified to see her jump. “Even if I don’t agree to sacrifice myself to procure your safety - I hesitate to call it happiness, because marriage to me can hardly be considered a cause for celebration for a young girl such as yourself - there may be other ways in which I may be able to help. The standard of potions experts working for the Ministry is universally low, and I suspect the list of banned potions is incomplete.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione said with a quiet dignity, “whilst I would be grateful for any help that you could see fit to offer me, I can assure you that I consider marriage to you does offer me the best chance at happiness. I should also warn you, that I don’t intend to take no for an answer, so if I were you I’d start thinking about ‘how’ and not ‘whether’.”

Fortunately that last statement amused him, maybe even tipped the balance slightly in her favour. He need feel no guilt at ruining a young girl’s life, when the young girl in question was so keen. Not to mention the fact that it would be a powerful point to bring up in any argument that they had in the future, and he rather thought that marriage to Miss Granger would consist of a great deal of arguing. “Miss Granger, you shouldn’t warn your intended victims in that way.”

“It seemed more sporting sir.”

“Very well, Miss Granger. Since you are so determined to have me, have me you shall.”

He would have been even more amused to know that, on closing the door behind her, she leaned back on it, raised her face to the ceiling, and said ‘thank you, god’ fervently, before heading off to tell the boys the good news.