A Dish Served Cold

Chapter 8 – Contention

Severus responded to Albus’ summons with dread. He knew that his grandmother Sarit had arrived that morning with the family in tow and had been settled into a guest suite. The Grangers had been ushered in only an hour before and he wasn’t sure which he was more loath to face, his formidable grandmother or Miss Granger’s parents.

He gave the password to the gargoyle and stepped onto the moving staircase just as Miss Granger came panting into sight. She had obviously run from Gryffindor Tower and he frowned at her disheveled appearance. She screeched to a halt when she spotted him and whipped out her wand. Three quick charms later she looked cool and collected and he nodded his approval at her as she stepped onto the staircase and rode up behind him.

He was satisfied that she looked acceptably neat, though her school uniform could only emphasize the age difference and all the other chasms that separated them so completely. He wished he had time to transfigure her clothing to something more … mature, but it didn’t matter really. It wasn’t as though anyone in the room would not know the girl’s age.

His first surprise as he stepped through the doorway into the Headmaster’s office was the sheer number of people in the room. Not only had Grandmother Sarit, her jet black hair pulled back into a bun so tight that it gave her eyes a vaguely oriental cast, brought the entire Yidoni clan with her, but the staff of Hogwarts was also amply represented by Poppy Pomfrey, Sprout, Minerva, Georgian Tamarind and Madam Hooch. The Grangers were seated stiffly on one of the couches in front of the fireplace and a strange woman who looked vaguely familiar was sitting equally as rigidly in one of the armchairs.

The woman rose as conversation died and he frowned before he took Miss Granger’s arm and escorted her into the room. She started a bit at that and he concealed his dismay at how jumpy she was at being near him. The wedding night would be unpleasant at best if she was unable to bear his touch.

His arm linking with her own had made her jump from the unusual courtesy. Hermione never associated Snape with polite manners and gallantry but the approving gleam in the Headmaster’s eyes and the way the two older women and the staff of the school responded to the gesture made her guess that it was expected somehow. Snape didn’t strike her as the type to do what was expected either; however the Headmaster’s eye was stern beneath the approval. Even Snape was susceptible to blackmail she supposed.

Still there was something comforting in the escort, the feeling that he would protect her from the formidable old women in the center of the room. They were staring at her with measuring looks, which made her nervous. She felt like a brood mare being paraded before purchasers and in the case of the tiny dark-haired woman, it was obvious that she was being found woefully inadequate for the task.

“Grandmother Sarit.” Severus gave a sharp nod to the tiny termagant who gave her grandson a sour look in return.

“Severus.” Her heavily accented voice did nothing to disguise her disapproval of the whole setup, the room, the people in it and Hermione herself, most of all.

He gave the other woman a look of enquiry and she smiled slightly, her eyebrow sardonic.

“I am your grandmother Sabine Snape.” The properly upper crust voice declaimed and Snape stiffened under her arm. Hermione guessed the woman’s presence came as an unpleasant surprise and she found herself annoyed at the woman for no other reason than that Snape hardly needed more drama being heaped upon him. She nearly laughed aloud as she realized that she had had a spurt of sympathy for Snape of all people.

An hour later found Hermione sitting beside Professor Snape in the tense and remarkably crowded room, feeling like a bone tossed between too many dogs. Between his family and her family, the staff and the Headmaster, she was finding it hard to keep up with the debate. Her head was moving back and forth as if she was watching a five-sided tennis match and she was a trifle dizzy.

First she contemplated the grandmothers. She had never really considered where Snape had come from; she had sort of imagined him as having been always fully-grown, sprung from the brow of a particularly nasty god. But looking at the two diametrically opposed old women who were bickering like fishwives; she was beginning to understand why he was so bitter and hateful.

Sarit Yidoni was slender, small, dark-skinned and black-haired. She spoke English with a decided Hebrew accent and much waving of her hands. She wore a startlingly white robe with blue and silver banding and lots of silver jewelry. From what Hermione had gathered, she was Severus’ mother’s mother. She also brought with her a small crowd of silent, rather miserable looking people that she introduced as her children and grandchildren without giving any names. On the whole, Hermione found her a little overwhelming and rather creepy.

Sabine Snape was a tall, very English-looking woman with a tweed cape over serviceable brown wool robes. She had a no-nonsense look about her; in fact she reminded Hermione of McGonagall in a way, only if the transfigurations teacher had no sense of humor at all. She was crisp and precise in her enunciation and stood still as she spoke. The two women arguing looked quite comical as the perpetually in motion Sarit circled the ramrod straight Sabine. Hermione had never felt less like smiling.

“You raised that brute that killed my daughter; do you think that I would ever allow you to determine my grandchild’s future?” Sarit spat out in fury.

“You keep your entire family cowed and miserable; what right do you have to determine my grandson’s fate?” Sabine retorted contemptuously, her eyes glancing at the huddled group of Sarit’s family.

“Ladies, neither of you has any say in the matter. It is done and there is no changing it,” Dumbledore tried yet again to stop the bickering between the two women.

“Ridiculous!” Sabine snorted.

“Impossible!” Sarit scowled at the Headmaster.

“Well, there is one thing that they agree on,” Hermione muttered under her breath to the pawn in question. Snape coughed, trying to hide his snort of amusement and Hermione felt a strange kinship to him in that moment of shared mirth. They were both victims in this little drama, but they could at least find the humor in it.

“She is muggle-born; no child of my line will stoop so low!” Sarit was glaring at Hermione and her brief bubble of amusement fled before the cold-eyed gaze of the old woman.

“That will be enough.” Severus stood and stepped between Hermione and Sarit. The old woman stepped back as he towered over her with ice dripping from his words. “Regardless of how this was arranged, she is my fiancée and you will treat her with respect. I do not want to hear another word on the subject of her birth.” Hermione felt a rush of warmth for Snape as he shielded her. Part of her knew that he was being protective of his own honor and position in the pureblood world, but the result was that Sarit stopped glaring at her and backed down. Snape settled back into the chair beside her and they shared a look of long-suffering between them.

Hermione noted that her own parents were glaring at Sarit with venomous dislike and she sighed. Family gatherings would be … interesting. She only hoped that Severus’ family would vanish as fast as they had arrived. She couldn’t imagine sitting around the Christmas table with these people.

“Her birth isn’t the issue.” Sabine Snape spared her a small tight smile that Hermione hoped was a sign of potential acceptance; her next words dashed that hope. “It is the manner in which they have been forced to marry and the fact that she is merely seventeen. She is a student at this school; surely you cannot condone this?” The last was addressed to Dumbledore who sighed and gave a rather sad smile to the old woman.

“Mrs. Snape, I have no say in this either. The Ministry passed that law and your son made the choice for all of us.” Sabine flinched at that and Hermione felt a tiny welling of pity for the stiff, rather formal woman. Dumbledore was trying to be kind but it was an opening for Sarit.

“Your son! Your son, who destroyed my daughter’s life and is now destroying my grandson’s!” she hissed, her whole body moving forward, like a cobra striking.

“My life is hardly destroyed.” Snape shifted in the chair and the drawling tone of his voice, laced with boredom, was more potent than Sarit’s hysterics. When his nasty sarcasm wasn’t pointed at her, Hermione could appreciate the effectiveness of that razor precise weapon. Sarit shot him a calculating look and subsided.

“I will allow your optimism to prevail at the moment,” she shot back and Snape stiffened but remained silent. Hermione wanted to laugh again; Snape was the least likely candidate for optimist of anyone in the room.

“Look, I don’t understand how any of you let it get this far.” Hermione heard her mother’s tone and winced. She knew just where this particular lecture was going. “Haven’t any of you sense enough to keep an eye on these things? How could you all allow such a foolish law to be enacted in the first place?”

“We were taken by surprise, Dr. Granger,” Dumbledore admitted. “We were looking at the bigger picture and Minister Fudge slipped this one by us.” Dumbledore was watching the muggle woman with tolerable composure, but Hermione just hoped her parents wouldn’t embarrass her too much.

“How on earth does a government slip this sort of law by the entire populace?” her father broke in, bouncing to his feet and looking irritably at the assembled witches and wizards. “Where was all your protesting and outrage when this stupid law was being passed?”

“The Ministry has the right to enact emergency measures in times of crises without putting it to a vote,” McGonagall answered him with her usual briskness, but with an underlying gentleness that warmed Hermione. “Minister Fudge declared that the low birth rates and the number of squibs being born to pureblood families had reached emergency levels. The numbers indicate that in another generation there will be no fertile purebloods left. If nothing was done, the whole Wizarding World would be in jeopardy.” Hermione found herself nodding, she too had checked the research and it really was as dire as all that.

“However, as you have seen,” Dumbledore nodded at the still fuming Sarit, “There is so much antipathy to mixing lineages that only such a law could force the pureblood families to take action.” Before her father could start yelling again Dumbledore continued. “I hate the consequences of this law but I understand its necessity. I only wish that Minister Fudge had had more foresight and drafted a less cruel solution to the problem.”

There was a period of silence and then Mrs. Snape walked over to Hermione and extended her hand to her. Hermione rose and took the large dry hand in her own. She was forced to look up at the woman who had given her height to Snape.

“Welcome to the family, dear,” Mrs. Snape said gravely.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hermione replied with equal gravity. Sarit swept from the room in a rage, her coterie of family members scurrying after her like lemmings rushing to find the nearest cliff.

Mrs. Snape bowed to the Headmaster and then she too left with stately grace and dignity.

The staff filed out after her, obviously eager to get down to some very juicy gossiping, Hermione thought sourly, that left only McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, herself and her parents in the Headmaster’s office. The urge to hide behind the towering figure of Snape was almost overwhelming, but she squelched it firmly.

There was a long moment and then her mother opened her arms to her and Hermione crossed the distance in three quick steps and took the offered comfort. Enfolded in her mother’s embrace, Hermione felt young and safe again, at least for a moment.

“How is all of this going to work?” her father asked with simmering resentment. “We’ve read this bloody law and she has to have children! How is she going to finish school?”

“We are setting up a childcare facility for all the children born of this law, Dr. Granger. Seeing to it that the students are able to complete their studies is a high priority for us.” Dumbledore sounded tired and resigned, two things that startled Hermione no end. She looked up from her mother’s arms and caught a slightly wistful look on Snape’s face that flitted away so quickly that she wasn’t sure she had seen it at all. She wasn’t sure if the look was for the way her mother was embracing her or due to some other cause entirely, but it tugged at her heart.

“Professor Snape has already arranged for childcare once I take up my apprenticeship as well so I can complete my training.” Hermione heard the slightly pleading tone in her own voice and hated it, but her father could make all of their lives a misery if he chose to. He was the one she had to reconcile to this marriage.

“You had better be good to her, Professor,” her father snarled at the Potions Master. Hermione waited for a cutting remark to come slicing her father to shreds but Snape just looked at the other man with an expression of weariness.

“I will make an effort, Dr. Granger, but as I have never been a nice man and the situation is not one that I am at all experienced with, I have no doubt I will be autocratic, irritable and resentful from time to time. I have never been full of bonhomie and I doubt I will ever be a pleasant companion, but I can at least assure you that I will make an effort to minimize the misery she will inevitably experience as my wife.” Had that speech been delivered in anything else but a tone of tired resignation, it would have come off as confrontational. As it was, it was just a brutally honest assessment of his own character that made Dumbledore wince and her mother stare at Snape with dawning horror.

“As bad as all that?” her father asked Snape with a touch of rueful amusement. He was looking at the Professor with an expression that could almost be called compassion if it weren’t tinged with so much suspicion and worry. There might have been a flash of humor in Snape’s eyes for a moment but his answer was quite serious.

“Yes, Dr. Granger, as bad as all that.” Hermione heard the bleakness in Snape’s voice and vowed that whatever happened, she would always try to remember that he had never lied to her. The least she could do was to take her medicine with as good a will as possible. After all, in four days they would be irrevocably bound.

“Good gracious, an honest man. Whoever would have thought?” Her father was looking at Snape rather speculatively and Hermione felt a tiny hope in her heart. Maybe this mess could untangle in time.