An Inconvenient Marriage

An Inconvenient Marriage

By Imhilien

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything to do with Harry Potter, not me.

Warning: Story comes with angst and a lemon alert……..

I was so engrossed in a book (A Historie of Sixth Ceh Century Magick, Vol. XII) that at first I didn’t hear my name called. But then I heard footsteps approaching me swiftly and I looked up to see Severus in front of me, a barely-concealed look of want and desire in his eyes as his black robes swirled around him like restless wings.

“Hermione, would yome ome with me,” he said through gritted teeth as he seized my wrist and pulled me to my feet, as though it hurt him to say the words. With my other hand I hastily managed to put the book down on the couch rather than let it fall upon the floor, for it was a rare and valuable text I had found in his main library. I knew what he wanted and the thought occurred to me (not for the first time) that I could refuse him, and let whatever inevitable end that would happen to him, happen. He knew I had the will to refuse him if I wanted to, and this infuriated him, to rely on my consent in this way.

He knew though (as I knew) that I could not refuse him out of pity as well as desire, and so he paradoxically scorned me for my ‘weakness’.

Really, it was both of us in the end who were trapped by Malfoy’s curse.

I managed to keep up with his swift strides for he practically dragged me to his rooms at these times, and so I had learnt to walk quickly. I found myself hoping that this time Severus would be……different, afterwards. As time went by I was coming to realise that this was starting to be a vain hope, as my practical nature pointed out. But today I grimly held on to that hope as Severus was grimly holding my hand.

Severus, my husband. His home was now my home.

His breathing had started to become ragged as we reached his chambers, a starkly bare room with a magnificent four-poster bed draped with dark green velvet. The room was furnished with the bare minimum of furniture carved from oak that was shiny from previous generations of Snape hands. Besides a door that led to his bathroom there was another door that I knew led to his private laboratory and study, though that was barred to me.

Severus led me to the bed and kissed me this time, which he usually didn’t bother to do. His mouth was hungry and demanding against mine and I felt myself melt against him, hoping that his kissing was a good sign on his part. I dared to twine my arms around his neck. Oh, please want me for myself as well this time. He made a sound that could have been pleasure or irritation as he scooped me up in his arms and deposited me unceremosly sly upon the bed. Then he quickly swooped down to pin my slim body to the bed with his as he kissed me again fiercely, his eyes darkly feverish.

He was always clothed in his black robes, and aside from our consummation when we were married, did not care to see me undressed either. His hands plucked at me and his body moved sensuously over mine as he always did at these times, tormenting me in this way until I felt myself moan and squirm in need under him, the hard pressure of his body nudging against my belly. I could not help but like it, and he knew it. He lifted his dark head and smiled triumphantly down at me when he heard me moan.

“You want me, don’t you my wife?” he said softly. “As I want you.”

Without waiting for an answer he tugged my robe up and after yanking off my panties he reached down to fumble at his robes. As always I willingly spread my legs for him, and then with a hiss his body nudged against my warmth impatiently and thrust hard into me, filling me. The ragged pants of his breathing by my neck soon filled the room as Severus pounded into me and I gasped in pleasure (I could not help myself), locking my legs around his waist. He growled and increased his pace, moving insistently against me until I shuddered under him and cried out as I came. At that he gave a harsh cry and shuddered in his turn, spilling hotly into my womb and then collapsing upon me.

Catching my breath I reached to brush a hand against his tangled black hair, hoping he would accept the gesture. But he abruptly pulled away, turning from me to quickly rearrange his robes. I dropped the hand, angrily blinking away a tear I hope he wouldn’t see. He stood up and looked down at me on the bed, his face and his bearing coldly composed again as he looked at my still-tangled robes, a faint curl to his mouth as if he had succeeded in forgetting that he had brought me to this wanton state. He nodded curtly to the small beaker filled with green liqon ton the small table besides the bed.

“Drink it, then you can go.”

“Severus……”, I said softly as I gazed steadily at him, trying to get through to him. Again. Don’t do this to me. Please.

His eyes seemed to hesitate for a moment then they hardened. “Do it.”

I had failed again, it seemed.

I put my panties back on and after straightening my robes I slowly sat up and reached for the beaker, his watchful gaze making sure I drank down every drop of the sweet liquid. He was skilled at potion making, and he certainly knew how to brew a potion to ensure I would never bear him a heir (Muggle forms of contraception were anathema to him).

I grimly put the beaker back on the table, stood up and left the room without a backwards glance, my head held high, for I had my pride and would never let him cow me.

This wasn’t the way I had imagined my marriage would be. But then, there were a lot of people in marriages now who hadn’t expected them to be that way, either.

In the privacy of my chambers I cursed the Ministry again for their damned Marriage Law, and cursed the Malfoy’s again as well.

____________

It was in my sixth year at Hogwarts that I noticed my feelings of respect and admiration for the Potions Master slowly deepen into something more. He had a brilliant mind, and despite his sarcastic attitude and constant couldn’t-give-a-damn attitude he had sacrificed much to aid the war. I admired that and his elegant demeanour entranced me. I could see he was always on the outside at Hogwarts, only really paid attention to when his skills were needed.

Just like me.

Oh sure, I had friends at Hogwarts such as Harry and Ron. But I was bookish and plain and somehow it came to be I was never invited to private parties anymore, only given attention when my knowledge was needed. As for dates? You had to be joking, surely. There was Viktor Krum, but when his attentions became too aggressive one time he scowled at my angry protests and dropped me like a hot potato.

It was ironic that the best friend I had was Fern Weathergold, a Ravenclaw witch from San Francisco who had come over in the Wizard Student Exchange Programme for a year in my Sixth Year. She was rich, raucous and plump in a Mother Earth-type way with a merry smile. Everyone was surprised when she became friends with me but we had the greatest of times and I missed her when she left, Fern leaving a few broken hearts behind her as well. We kept in constant correspondence though, and I dreamed of visiting her one day.

In my seventh year as part of Advanced Potions I took on an assignment under Professor Snape’s keen eye in the evenings. It was stimulating, because for once the Potions Master actually spoke to me as someone who could be his equal, not a servant. I found myself talking to him about all kinds of academic subjects and he didn’t sneer but actually listened to me. He unbent enough to actually be civil and I wondered if maybe, just maybe, that could be the start of something special.

That was my mistake.

The wizarding world was thrown into chaos when in the next month the idiotic Marriage Law was announced. If they had had trouble with inbreeding in the pureblood families as badly as the Minister had announced, why hadn’t they kept proper genealogy records to prevent such thingslam had thought in disgust.

Now it was that no single Muggle-born witch over 17 (a fact that caused more panic) was safe from a pure-blooded head of a family or wizard petitioning witches like me for the hand in marriage to a child of theirs.

Within days I had petitions from the fathers of Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. I did not kid myself it was because of my looks – no, it was because of my brains. For once being clever was a distinct liability. I adamantly refused to accept Draco’s hand, for I had seen the way he had looked at me when he thought I hadn’t noticed. Marriage to him would end with me in a grave as soon I had provided a heir and a spare. No thanks.

To tell the truth, marriage to Severus appealed to me more if I was given a choice. Surely if we married we could have a marriage built on the tentative friendship we had established? Severus though, was furious at being pushed into a corner by the father he hated and it was only out of duty that he offered me his hand in marriage. Certainly Dumbledore had pointed out that in refusing Draco’s hand I would be in danger, and only a strong wizard like Severus could ensure my very survival. I had looked at Severus, hoping to see a hint in his eyes that perhaps one day he would come to treat me as, well, a wife. But any feelings towards me on his part had been overridden by his fury at being ‘trapped’ and his black eyes were cold as they looked at me.

My friends were appalled and other students stared at me out of the corner of their eyes, shocked that I had chosen to marry the ‘Greasy Git’.

I felt something in my heart start to break when Severus grimly informed me that our marriage would be one of convenience only until he found a way to get the ‘damn law appealed’.

That particular news quickly spread around as well and to my humiliation the other students sniggered behind their hands. How low could you be when even the Greasy Git didn’t want to sleep with you?

My parents had died years ago in a Deatheater attack and so it was that Dumbledore gave me away at my sparsely attended marriage after I had graduated, people preferring to send gifts rather than attend.

It was the custom that after taking the marriage vows the new couple both ate a small, special cake that symbolised the fulfilment of marriage.

I don’t know how, but it was Lucius Malfoy who cursed the cake Severus wo eao eat with a Constant Desire curse in revenge. Even a powerful wizard such as Severus hadn’t realised what had happened. Having been bested by Severus in court when Lucius had contested our marriage going ahead (Severus had grimly seen it as his duty to defend his decision, willing or not), Malfoy Senior had seen it as the perfect revenge to make Severus desire me whether he wanted to or not.

I had no idea of this at the time – all I know that after both of our cakes were eaten I found myself taken back to Severus’ home, a chilly, gloomy manor, where to my bewilderment my suddenly passion-filled husband stripped and bedded me thoroughly. Despite my inexperienced state I found myself responding. Had Severus changed somehow and truly wanted me? However, my sleepy daze afterwards was shattered when a well-satiated Severus pulled away from me with self-loathing on his face, snarled and snapped that his damn cake had been tampered with for Merlin’s sake and promptly locked himself in his laboratory.

I’m sure you can understand how it felt for me the next day when my husband informed me that he had established that due to a Constant Desire curse that had been put into his marriage cake, he would constantly feel the urge to mate with me. Especially when the word ‘mate’ was said in the way of an act described as disgusting. Fortunately (hah!) he had concocted a potion for him to counteract this, so that the urge could be controlled, until a proper cure could be found. He handed me a beaker full of green liquid and informed me in no uncertain terms that until that time I was to take a contraceptive potion after each ‘encounter’, and we would both live in separate quarters. He could tolerate me, he said coldly, but he would not tolerate a heir from me who was only half Slytherin, no matter what the Ministry said. What he did not say is that he would not tolerate a heir who had Muggle blood as well, and for a moment I loathed him with all my heart.

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest automatically, then I stopped, my face tight and another part of my innocence faded as I drank down the potion. No child would surely want to live in a home such as this in the current situation. But that night I wept on my lone bed for what had become of me, a woman truly wanted by no man, least of all my husband.

I put two and two together when I heard Lucius Malfoy had contracted a rare disease, so it was said, that would leave him impotent for the rest of his life.

I should have hated Severus, but found it was not in me for though it was not true love, I did care for him on some level. I could not hate when pity came to me more naturally as well, for he was well and truly trapped into our sham of a marriage. But I found myself awaiting the times – usually every two or three weeks – when the effects of the Constant Desire curse would overwhelm Severus and he would hasten me to his quarters (never mine) and take me in often grim passion until he was satiated enough to be able to withstand the ‘need’ for me. I always felt myself responding to his touch, for there was something about him that made me crave it like a drug. He referred to it once with a sneer as my ‘Gryffindor wantonness’ but after a quick, almost ashamed look at my white face he had never said that again. I made myself though take care not to seem too eager when he came for me. I know he certainly spent much of his spare time to produce a ‘cure’, often working late into nig night in his own laboratory.

I have to say that my quarters were richly appointed, for I had all that a studious bookworm could want. While my husband loathed having to touch me, he did not actively hate me and encouraged me to continue studying or brewing potions in a laboratory set aside for my use. Or perhaps he felt it was better if I was safely occupied while he was teaching at Hogwarts during the day. I was allowed access to the main library and stubbornly determined (despite myself) to make a connection with my husband, I would initiate conversation at our occasional and formal dinners about various books I had read. I think he felt it was neutral ground for him and would sometimes unbend to discuss a few things with me. We did have our love of knowledge as common ground, after all. He managed to control his temper when he was around me, for he found out the hard way that I would not be a meek wife to stand by while he ordered me around. My temper could be just as volatile as his and in some way Severus respected me for standing up to him.

I saw rienriends infrequently in those days, neither of us knew how to talk to each other anymore, certainly Harry and Ron were still horrified at some level that I was ‘Mrs Snape’.

My days would have been depressingly lonely if I had not thrown myself with a vengeance into my private studies (I had always excelled in Potions and still nursed the dream that I could do something with this one day) and my outpourings in letters to Fern, whose returned sympathies about the unhappy marriage I was in kept me sane. I was a Gryffindor, damn it, I would not break.

Then one day Severus announced he had made the antidote, a triumphant look upon his face……

To be continued………….