A law to herself

Severus Snape sat in his rooms and wondered quite how he\'d arrived in this mess. Tomorrow, he was due to meet his future parents-in-law; presumably they would want to know why on earth he had agreed to this mad scheme, and he wasn’t sure that he could give them a sensible reason.

It clearly was madness for a man of his age and disposition to be considering marriage at all, let alone to Hermione Granger, know-it-all of this parish.

He’d never re not noticed her as a distinct entity until the last year of the War; he’d always thought of her as an adjunct to Potter, or part of the Trio, and disliked her accordingly. That ended the night he overheard her shouting at Harry.

They’d been arguing about him, so he’d stayed to listen. Potter, as usual was whining about the unfairness of life, and blaming him for most of the ills that had befallen him.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Harry,” she’d exploded. “Will you grow up? You don’t have to like the man, but you do have to listen to what he tells you. You’ve got to… we’ve got to stop running around like children, thinking we can solve everything ourselves and pull together.”

“But he’s so nasty,” Potter had quavered.

“So would you be if you had to spend all you time in the company of Death Eaters, trying to find out useful information, and constantly worrying whether you’re going to do or say something that’s going to put him in danger. He spends ages working out some convoluted plot with Dumbledore and then we go and mess it all up by doing what we were told not to do. What happens if Voldemort decides his information is useless, or worse, that he’s a traitor, because of something we’ve done. He’ll be killed, and it won’t be quick. He may not have the nicest temper, but you can’t deny he’s loyal and brave, do you want that on your conscience?”

He didn’t hear what Potter mumble rep reply, but apparently he was casting doubts on his loyalty, because Granger had snapped, “Bollocks Harry. If he’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now.”

Potter conceded the point with ill grace. “All right, I’ll make an effort to be civil to the Greasy Git, but don’t expect me to like him.”

“That’s all I ask Harry. I don’t want to lose you, you silly sod. Friends are hard to come by.”

The last thing he heard, before beating a hasty retreat was Harry asking whether she was going to ‘have a go at Snape’.

He’d never expected her to follow through on her promise to do so, but shortly afterwards she’d asked to have a word with him. She was rather more tactful with him than she had been with Potter, merely pointing out that keeping them in the dark just lead to trouble, so why didn’t they actually try treating them like adults for once.

He restrained himself from pointing out that Potter had to behave like an adult in order to deserve being treated like one, and had made some non-committal reply, but at the next Order meeting he had suggested to Albus that the trio should be allowed to stay for at least some of it.

Dumbledore was adamant that they wouldn’t be full members of the Order until they were of age, and, rather conveniently, Voldemort had been dead by then.

Potter had been as good as his word to Hermione, and a tentative truce had been declared. He and Potter didn’t like each other, but they could work together, particularly if Hermione was there to ensure Potter’s best behaviour. He, of course, was immune to glares thrown at him by teenaged girls.

She was certainly a forceful girl, which was probably not conducive to marital bliss.

Leaving aside the issue of her forceful personality, there was also the sheer revulsion he felt at the idea of bedding a student, even once. He’d been horrified when Pomfrey had passed the news on to him that the Headmaster had been on the brink of proposing to Hermione. He hadn’t thought that there was any cruelty or betrayal that could surprise him any more, but even Death Eaters had more honour than that. How often did you get to say that in a moral debate?

Miss Granger, he corrected himself. It would be unwise to get used to thinking of her as Hermione until after graduation.

It had almost been Slytherin, the way she’d tried to think of all the angles and how she could drag some consolation out of the whole sorry mess. In the end he supposed that had tipped the balance from mild interest to being prepared to marry the chit.

It wasn’t as if they would have to live together or anything, his life would continue happily along its present path, but with a substantial payrise to soften the blow.

He liked Lucius; they were old friends in many ways. He justified his continued visits to Malfoy Manor to Dumbledore as keeping an eye on Lucius, but it was the only e hee he could have a civilised conversation, a decent glass of wine, and could make a few jokes without Minerva giving him a frosty glare.

Some people had no sense of humour at all.

It couldn’t be denied that the man was a monster though: the Ministry had defanged him, but the poison was still there. His weakness was that he couldn’t conceive that a Mudblood could have anything to offer him. Hermione would never be able to strike a deal with him, because he couldn’t conceive of her as human let alone his equal. Why should he compromise to get what he wanted, when he could simply enforce his wishes in any number of unpleasant ways?

Hermione stood about as much chance of dealing with Lucius Malfoy as she did of convincing water to run uphill. Less, really, because there was almost certainly a Charm to reverse gravity but there was no magic in the world that could convince Lucius to actually talk to her rather than issuing orders. .

It wouldn’t stop her trying though, and he knew from bitter experience that when she set her mind to something she didn’t give up, even in the face of insuperable odds. He supposed it was admirable really, but when dealing with Lucius, it was likely to prove dangerous.

Somehow, her fate had become symbolic of sheer waste of time the War had turned out to be. Nothing had changed just because Voldemort had gone. What had been the sodding point of risking life and limb on a daily basis for seven fucking years (he took a deep breath) if at the end of it, Dumbledore betrayed everything that he had stood for, and everything that Severus had done on his behalf.

It made the whole business pointless: all those lives squandered so people could bend their knee to the tyranny of the Ministry rather than Tom Riddle.

Sod that for a game of soldiers.

He’d seen what his father had managed to do to his mother over a lifetime of abuse and contempt, and he was damned if he was going to see Hermione turn into a blank-eyed, shambling wreck.

It was a little late in the day to be developing altruism, and he fervently hoped that he would get over it soon. Nor was he unaware how wildly unsuited he was to the role of knight in shining armour, and how ridiculous the whole thing made him look. At least Albus thought he’d been tricked into it, so he could console himself with the thought that his employer thought he was stupid rather than noble, and wasn’t above trying to take mercenary advantage of the situation.

And Lucius would be fit to be tied at the news, which would be amusing. He might even buy them a wedding present: something gaudy and tasteless for his pet Gryffindor, accompanied with some snide remarks about younger wives. It was a shame he couldn’t ask him to be best man really. Malfoy, in a Muggle Register Office, watching his prize go to Severus; it would almost be worth marrying the girl for that alone. Perhaps he could have a word with Hermione, and convince her that it would be a good way to smooth things over.

Ah well, it was a nice dream.

He picked up his book, and turned to his bookmark. A little poetry to soothe the soul before bedtime……

Let not young souls be smothered out before
They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride……

Bugger, even the books were mocking him tonight. He snapped the book shut and headed off for bed thoroughly disgusted with the world and himself.


His mood hadn’t improved at all, and by the time Miss Granger turned up at their agreed rendezvous – on time, so he couldn’t deduct points, which was annoying in itself – he was thoroughly out of sorts.

Hermione took one look at him, and could tell that he was in a foul mood. Six years in Potions allowed you to hone your skills at guessing the Potions Master’s mood to perfection. He hadn’t reached the stage of the throbbing vein in his temple and the tendency to spit when shouting, but he wasn’t far off.

Wasn’t that going to make a wonderful impact on her parents? She was also guiltily aware that she may in the past, from time to time, have expressed an opinion on Snape’s morals, person and character that may not have created a favourable impression.

She had a nasty feeling that this afternoon was going to turn out to be an absolute sodding disaster.

Snape noticed her looking over him critically. “Do I pass inspection, Madam?” he sneered. “Because, if not, we can always call this off.”

“You’re not getting out of it that easily,” she hissed at him, casting worried looks round to see who could hear them.

“I didn’t mean…” He took a deep breath. He’d faced Voldemort; he’d faced Dumbledore; he’d even faced Minerva; he could certainly face two Muggles. He realised that Miss Granger was almost as worried as he was, which was disconcerting. “I’m sure it will be fine,” he said soothingly, even though he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be. Miss Granger wasn’t convinced.

Something more was needed to soothe her nerves. A plan; she liked plans, they made her feel that the situation was under control even when it was manifestly going tits up with a vengeance.

“What we need to do,” he said thoughtfully, “is to agree on some sort of strategy. Which one of your parents is the one who makes the decisions?”

“My mother,” she said. “They take decisions jointly mostly, but I’d say she had the last word.”

Of course, it would be her mother, he thought wryly.

“Right. So I’d better concentrate on your mother.” Hermione looked at him doubtfully. “I can assure you, Miss Granger, that I am perfectly capable of being charming for a couple of hours.”

She smiled weakly. “I’m sure you are.”

“You will have to lie better than that if you want to convince your parents that this is a good idea.” He felt mildly irritated that she thought he couldn’t be charming. Of course he wasn’t pleasant to his students, he didn’t havebe, be, and there were other ways of making them do what he wanted. Outside of student-teacher relations – he winced at that – he had to be more circumspect and rely on his powers of persuasion.

Or Imperio.

She laughed a little at that. “Well, I suppose you had to be charming to Voldemort. If you apply the same tactics…”

“Are you comparing your mother to a deranged megalomaniac? I’m not sure I would have agreed to marry you if I’d known; if you take after your mother…..”

He was congratulating himself on putting her at her ease - it would be a lot easier to persuade her parents she was safe in his hands if she seemed comfortable in his company – when Hermione smiled up at him and said, “Yes, I think you’re perfectly capable of charming my mother.”

He wasn’t sure that he was entirely happy to be so transparent to a seventeen-year-old girl. Nor was he so sure that she couldn’t have come to terms with Lucius after all.

Bugger. And it was too late to back out now.

Still, at least married life wasn’t going to be dull.

Mr Granger wasn’t happy to see him at all, and made that clear, despite not saying a word. Mrs Granger seemed nice enough, and put them on first name terms straight away. It made him feel uncomfortable, as if he were there on false pretences. Based on Hermione’s performance earlier, he was wondering whether this was entirely accidental.

His suspicions were confirmed when Elizabeth, having carefully waited until he had settled in a cosy armchair in the lounge and taken a mouthful of hot tea, announced, “So, this is the man you’ve decided to marry.”

Good, he thought, but not good enough. He’d spent ten years, man and boy in the Inner Circle. Once you’d heard Voldemort announce that there was a traitor among them without flinching, you could pretty much take anything in your stride.

He calmly swallowed his tea, and took another sip.

“Mu-um,” came Hermione’s exasperated voice.

Mr Granger said nothing, but didn’t look surprised; her parents had obviously discussed this before he and Hermione had arrived. He wondered what conclusion they’d reached. Not completely opposed to the marriage, but neither were they happy at the prospect.

Neither was he, if the truth be told.

“I’m sorry dear, but it was pretty obvious from your Owls what the problem was, and then you make arrangements to visit during term time with a man in tow. It’s the only explanation,” Mrs Granger said firmly.

“I can see where your daughter gets her intelligence,” Severus said, and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile at all; as aas a matter of establishing dominance now, he was back on familiar territory.

Mrs Granger had acknowledged the point and then offered to show him the flowers in the conservatory. Hermione made no move to accompany them, and merely shrugged in reply to his reproachful look.

He didn’t like the look of the chair he was offered, some wicker thing, that didn’t look like it would take his weight, but he could hardly decline.

“So, why do you want to marry my daughter?” she asked, taking a seat opposite him.

“’Want’ is too strong a word,” he replied seriously. “However, her other suitor is Draco Malfoy, and his father, Lucius, is a thoroughly nasty piece of work.”

“I see. What about Ron Weasley; he seems fond of Hermione, wouldn’t he make a more appropriate choice?” More appropriate than her teacher and a man twenty years her senior was the unspoken question.

“He would, but whether he would be able to protect Hermifromfrom Malfoy is another matter. He’s a powerful man with many friends, and few scruples.”

“So, is Malfoy really that dangerous,” she asked.

“Worse,” he said shortly. “He’d break her within a week.” He wasn’t going to go into details.

“Hermione is a strong-willed woman.”

“Have you heard of Imperio?” he asked. “It’s a spell to control the mind. Technically it’s illegal, but that wouldn’t stop Lucius. He could order her to do anything, and she’d obey.”

She looked unconvinced. He drew his wand, and said, “May I?”

She went white but nodded her agreement.

“Imperio,” he said softly. He didn’t want Hermione realising what he was doing. “Mrs Granger, I could tell you to agree to the marriage, and you would; I could tell you to kill your husband, and you would; you would do anything that I tell you, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, her eyes blank, her will stifled by his commands. She was a strong-willed wombut but she was no match for him. He released the spell abruptly, feeling nauseas, and Mrs Granger put her hands to her face. She said nothing for a while, clearly shocked by what she had experienced.

She regained her composure remarkably quickly. “And you can keep her out of Malfoy’s hands, is that it?”

He smiled that shark-like grin again, and said, “Lucius Malfoy and I are old friends.”

Mrs Granger digested the implications of that in silence. In that respect at least, he hoped that Hermione would become more like her mother as time went on. She sat staring out into the garden for a long time, saying nothing, until she reached her decision. “Very well, we’ll give our consent to the marriage, but answer me one thing: what will you do if the law isn’t repealed?”

He had no answer to that, because he’d tried very hard not to think about it. Perhaps it was time he started.


Hermione was sitting alone in the lounge when her mother returned. Her father had beaten a retreat to the kitchen to make another cup of tea. She was mildly concerned that Severus wasn’t with her mum; hopefully they hadn’t argued.

“I’m not happy about this,” her mother said, “but I know how much magic means to you. I’ve already told Severus that we’ll give you our consent, but the question you have to ask yourself Hermione is whether you can stand being married to that man for the rest of your life, because you may not be able to get the law overturned. And, even if you can, is ight ght to ask him to give up his future for you.”

And with that her mother left her to think.

Hermione felt a gnawing terror in the pit of her stomach at the thought of being stuck with this bloody situation for the rest of her life. For two pins she would have given up there and then, not returned to Hogwarts, and refused to marry.

But then, as her head cleared, her natural common sense returned. Could she spend ten years married to Snape? Well, probably, but the more she thought about it, the more likely it was that she thought that there would be time to think of another solution. She could meet someone, fall in love, and decide to marry them; Severus could do the same. A thousand and one things could happen in the next ten years, which, as far as she could see put them in the same category as any other married couple starting out.

But she did need to talk this over with Severus. Her mother was right about one thing, she hadn’t considered his feelings or his future at all when she prop, an, and it was about time someone did.

He was sitting in the conservatory, with yet another nice cup of tea, gazing out at the garden with faint bewilderment. He’d never seen a suburban garden before: all neat lawn and edges, and formal borders.

She sat next to him, and, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the lawn, said, “Severus, do you know why I asked you to marry you?” It seemed easier to have the conversation when she wasn’t looking at him.

“Being free of Ministry influence?” he offered. It was certainly what she’d said.

“That,” she agreed, “but something else as well, something more important. It’s about you being Slytherin, I suppose. I couldn’t think of anyone less likely to do something for me because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. You don’t do Gryffindor self-sacrifice; if you didn’t want to do it, you wouldn’t.”

He snorted at that.

“And I want you to promise me that will always be the case.”

He turned his head toward her, weighing her words carefully. “Your mother hasn’t persuaded you to let me off the hook, has she?” Hermione could be mistaken, but there seemed to be an undertone of bitterness to the question.

“Not really. She didn’t think I was being fair to you; I think she might be right. I’ve been thinking of this as a stop-gap, but what if things don’t change?”

She’d seen that expression before, usually when Dumbledore was spouting a platitude and he was waiting for the sting in the tail. She took a deep breath. “What happens if you meet the witch of your dreams? What happens if you don’t? I mean, did you want to have child”
”

“I hardly think that the witch of my dreams, as you so romantically put it, will turn up now.”

“Don’t be silly, of course she could.” Severus looked surprised, probably at being called silly. “You’ve spent the last twenty years of your life involved in spying, you’ve hardly been in a position to get a girlfriend. The war’s over now; it could happen. What then?”

He turned that over; it was possible, he supposed. Unlikely, but possible, and it was typical Hermione to want to provide for remote possibilities.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “What I can promise is it won’t consist of me suffering in silence. If I develop tender feelings for someone else, I will inform you and we’ll try and find another solution.” Severus sounded amused. “After all, I hardly supposed you were anticipating that either of us would be faithful to each other.”

“No,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “or rather, I hadn’t given it much thought. Romance hasn’t been a large part of my life recently, but you’re right, fidelity would be stupid.”

“Though I’d be grateful if you … restrained …yourself until you left school. I don’t think my dignity would stand for Mrs Snape to be sleeping with a fellow student.”

“Fair enough, provided you agree to the same. Mrs Snape wouldn’t like to hear that her husband has been playing around either. I think, if either of us is about to embark on the perilous seas of romance, it would be polite if they were to inform the other, before nasty gossip did it for them.”

Severus nodded. That seemed sensible.

“What about children?”

He thought about it. Would he like to have children? He was surprised to find that there was a faint, sentimental hope in some dark recess of his heart that would like a child. Someone bright, and enquiring; he could watch his first steps - or hers, he didn’t mind – and the them avoid all the mistakes he made. “I think I would,” he said, aware he sounded wistful, and vaguely resenting her for making him aware of this.

ht. ht. Well, I think I might like children myself. Eventually.”

“I won’t raise another man’s bastard,” he said coldly.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” she replied calmly. “I’m saying that if we were both agreeable, we might consider the possibility of having children together at some later date.” Preferably using whatever the magical equivalent of a turkey baster would be, she thought, or a fertility potion so they wouldn’t have to have sex more than once.

He was floored. He felt a tendril of something warm settle in his stomach. Hermione had already suggested there could be a friendship between them; she had spoken up on his behalf, and he couldn’t remember a time when anyone had ever done that without expecting something in return; and now she was saying that there could be a some sort of cooperation between them, at least on the parenting side of things.

Most of his parents’ generation had arranged marriages, and not all of them had been disastrous. After all, after ten yeaf maf marriage, theirs would be like any love match: a couple of kids and no sex. It was a lot less than she would have expected from life, and a lot more than he had expected. Somewhere in the middle ground there might ossiossibilities. It wouldn’t be a perfect future, but there could be small happinesses along the way.

He pulled himself together; it was foolish to think along these lines.

“I don’t see why we’re discussing this; it’s more likely that the law will be repealed before that happens.” He could have cursed himself for giving away just how much he might like a family, a nice, normal life like the one everyone else seemed to manage so easily.

“You may be right,” she said lightly, turning the conversation away from areas he clearly didn’t want to talk about, and she didn’t want to know about. “If you are, we’ll have the biggest divorce party ever, and we’ll invite all the prettiest witches and we’ll pick one out for you. I’m not handing you over to just anyone.”

The idea was ridiculous. Mind you, bearing in mind her methodical approach, it was just possible she would find a way to make it happen. There would be a long list of potential girlfriends he supposed, ranked according to appearance, intellect, and availability, and she would work her way through them until she had a shortlist for the party.

“Perhaps a nice blonde?” he mused.

Hermione gave a sharp crack of laughter. “Oh yes, a blonde with large breasts. Boys, you’re all the same.”

Severus didn’t deny it.


A/N The poem that Severus is reading is by Vachel Lindsay – The Leaden Eyed

Let not young souls be smothered out before
They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.
It is the world\'s one crime that its babes grow dull,
Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.

Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly,
Not that they sow, but that they so seldom reap,
Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve,
Not that they die, but that they die like sheep