A Dish Served Cold

Chapter 9 – Lessons

“So the age of a family and their closeness to the Merlin line determines how deeply you bow to their patriarch, and then ranking in the family determines the depth of the bow to individual members.” Hermione repeated back to Snape, trying to fix the concepts in her mind. His brusque nod would have seemed impatient to her even a few days ago, but after spending as much time with him as she had, it just seemed accepting.

The dim office with its jars of strange and eerie substances was equally familiar to her now. Three days spent being lectured and quizzed on the intricate and cutthroat politics of the pureblood world had forced her into intimate acquaintance with both the office and its sole living inhabitant. She was finding both to be far less intimidating as familiarity wore the edges off of her apprehensions.

“Correct, now which family lines are closest to Merlin’s?” he quizzed her.

“The Dumbledores are the closest, the Potters are next and the Malfoys come third, which must irritate them no end!” Hermione chuckled. Snape raised an eyebrow at her and looked as though he wanted to scold her for a moment then, lightning-quick, he shifted moods and nodded.

“Indeed, one of the reasons that the Malfoys have long hated the Potters is because of their unwillingness to cross with them.” Hermione propped her head in her hands and looked expectantly at Snape who sighed. “Very well, Miss Granger.” He gave in to her unspoken request almost gracefully and to her delight elucidated. “To be honest, Albus and his brother are the last of the Dumbledore line; when they pass away, if they do not provide offspring, the Potter line will be the premier family in Britain.

“The Malfoys have long coveted that position for themselves. I have no doubt that they hoped to have Lucius’ sister Augusta marry James Potter and I do know that his decision to marry a muggle-born was seen as a direct insult to them.”

Hermione frowned.

“How on earth did they ever expect him to marry a Slytherin? He was the uber-Gryffindor, from everything I have heard,” Hermione asked in confusion, forgetting for a moment that her fiancé was himself a Slytherin.

“I never said it was likely or even possible, and yes, James was a pattern card for Gryffindor virtues.” The last bit came out rather sourly but Hermione found her lips twitching in humor instead of annoyance. Harry’s revelations of James’ character had dimmed the glow of the elder Potter’s memory for all of them.

“I hope not. Harry said he was an utter jerk in school and having Sirius think you were perfect is not much of a recommendation,” she shot back and was startled by the look of fury that crossed Snape’s face.

“What did Mr. Potter say about his father’s school days?” he asked with his simmering wrath close to spilling over. Hermione gaped at him in surprise, completely baffled by his sudden anger.

“Just that he tormented other students and broke rules even more than we did and for far less reason,” Hermione sputtered out. As quickly as it came, the anger was gone and Snape was carefully under control again.

“He said nothing else?” The tone was even though there was strain under it.

“No, nothing. It was just that I had picked up the impression that he was really upset at his father and disappointed,” Hermione replied, more calm herself now that his rage was gone.

“Hmm,” Snape shrugged as though unwilling to think about Harry at all, his shoulders moving as if to shift the thought away from him. “In any case, the Malfoys have been irritated at the fact that they are likely to be third in ranking for some time. Especially as the first and second slots are filled by families that they deem unworthy.” His return to the lesson topic was an obvious sign that he did not want to discuss the Potters, father or son, anymore and Hermione gave in to it. If she hoped to reconcile her future husband to her best friend and vice versa, it would have to be a gradual process and to be honest, not one she expected to have much success with.

Severus was unsure as to whether Miss Granger was a good liar or Harry Potter had really passed up the opportunity to parade his teacher’s embarrassment in front of his friends. Her shock at his temper had seemed genuine and her responses unselfconscious. He turned the thought over in his mind, trying to figure out Potter’s angle. Was he holding back the information to use it against Severus at a later time? Was he concerned that his father’s image would be shattered? Possibly… yes, that was more likely. Miss Granger had said that he was disappointed; he obviously did not want to tarnish his father’s reputation.

Satisfied that he had figured out Potter’s motives, he returned his full attention to the lesson. The wedding was tomorrow and a great many purebloods would be attending. He had to see to it that she was polite, but still raw enough to make his excuses to Voldemort believable.

“Do try to make a few mistakes, Miss Granger, and please make an attempt to look both frightened and disgusted,” he instructed with a dry tone.

“I have no doubt that being around all those people will be scary enough,” Hermione answered and Snape frowned.

“I meant that you should be scared of me,” he snapped and her eyes widened in surprise. He sighed as the sudden understanding illuminated her face; she was slow figuring this out, for he had noticed her change of behavior two days ago.

She wasn’t afraid of him. It came as a shock to her. For nearly seven years she had feared and hated him, not as virulently as Harry or as openly as Ron, but his sarcasm and cruelty had been the bane of her existence for so long that it seemed strange to feel that lack of antipathy. It was like losing a limb or something. She saw the bitter amusement in his eyes and wondered what it must be like to be feared and reviled by almost everyone.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” she blurted without thinking and then braced herself for the explosion. To her surprise, he gave a sharp bark of laughter; it was as though she had surprised the sound from him though, because he looked irritated right after he regained his composure.

“Between Voldemort, the Death Eaters and the Hogwarts staff, I could only pray to be lonely, Miss Granger.” There was that bitterness again.

“Were you summoned after the announcement of our betrothal?” she asked the next question that popped into her mind and was answered with a frown.

“No, which I find decidedly odd.” Had he been the type to show his feelings, Hermione thought that she might have glimpsed a touch of fear, but she couldn’t be sure.

Helena sat in the window seat and contemplated her future, or lack thereof. Draco Malfoy was widely known to be a pillock. His father was in Azkaban for being a Death Eater, which wasn’t something that inspired her to confidence in her future husband. His mother was one of the hoi polloi of pureblood society and Helena, while very well raised, was still only a half-blood, a stigma that she had lived with all her life.
She had held off on signing the solitary bid that had come in for her, but it was only a matter of time before she had to give in.
It seemed that she was doomed to a life of misery.

Neville sat in the chair across from the Headmaster and felt his curiosity gnawing at him. The last few months he had noticed his teachers eyeing him with greater interest. He had been taking extra lessons in Defense and doing little “errands” for the Headmaster lately. He had a sense that he was being groomed for greater things and knowing what they were up against, the thought that he might play a bigger part alternately excited and terrified the young man.

“Mr. Longbottom, you know that Voldemort has been using the Marriage Law to drive muggle-borns and half-bloods from the Wizarding World,” the Headmaster began and Neville blinked at him in surprise. The Marriage Law? He was a pureblood, what did the law have to do with him? He had a full month to start bidding for girls and he had no doubt that he would be turned down for quite some time to come. He could even ensure that by bidding for the really popular girls, knowing that there would be multiples and that one Neville Longbottom would be bottom of every pile. There were some uses to being the laughingstock of Gryffindor, he thought grimly. So why was the Headmaster discussing the Marriage Law with him?

“Yes, sir,” he replied, knowing full well that his perplexed expression was not one to inspire confidence. He knew that when confused he looked a little like a stunned mullet. He had been practicing more noble expressions in the mirror, but felt he was still lacking in the qualities that made someone heroic. For instance, he was still slightly pudgy despite all efforts at eating less and exercising more. He couldn’t think of any heroes of myth and legend who were pale, pudgy and rather round-eyed in surprise for most of their adventures.

“I have a problem, Mr. Longbottom. One of my very carefully placed spies has become vulnerable. I cannot afford for this person to be vulnerable and moreover I cannot allow an innocent girl to be dragged into this war to be used as a pawn against us. It is unfair and cruel to her and dangerous for us.” Neville was listening to the Headmaster’s words but they seemed to have no connection to him or to the conversation that preceded it.

“Sounds awful, sir.” Neville was unsure of what to say so he stuck with something neutral.

“I need your help to resolve this, Mr. Longbottom. I know it is asking a very great deal, but it is critical to the war effort that this young lady does not fall into the wrong hands.” Neville nodded, still confused but getting a tiny glimmer of an idea as to where the conversation was going.

“He-who-must-not-be-named is marrying this girl off to someone and you want me to bid for her instead?” he ventured tentatively while praying he was reading the situation wrong. The Headmaster’s smile sent that hope screaming off into a corner of his soul to weep inconsolably, so much for Neville’s plans to evade wedlock.

“Precisely, Mr. Longbottom!” Dumbledore nodded happily at him and Neville had a momentary urge to flee the room. He thought over what the Headmaster had just said and realized he had some questions,

“Who is she being forced to marry?”

“Draco Malfoy,” came the response and Neville felt the soft, gooey center of his soul congealing into something more resembling a hard candy. No one should be stuck with that prat Malfoy.

“I’ll do it, sir,” he answered with firm resolve.

The Headmaster pushed a petition towards him and he signed it quickly, before his nerve failed. It was only as the parchment began to float away that he saw the name of the proposed bride.

Helena Therese Snape.

Neville promptly fainted.