A law to herself

Hermione had been so busy sorting out her marriage and settling into her quarters, that she’d really not been concentrating on overturning the Marriage Law. Truth to tell, she hadn\'t got the faintest idea what to do about it. It was all very well to talk about campaigns and protests and chaining herself to the Ministry steps but she was still a schoolgirl. How likely was it that anyone would listen to her? Nor was she filled with confidence that her career as a political agitator was going to be any more successful this time round; her attempts to get people to take an interest in the plight of the House Elves hadn’t been that successful.

She couldn’t see Dumbledore being supportive either. He would doubtless have something to say about any overt campaign; he could even expel her, if she did anything too outrageous. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to sit there and wait for others to sort things out. Something had to be done, which meant she was the Someone to do the Something.

There was a solid hour between the end of classes and dinner, and Severus wasn’t in his quarters, which meant she would have a bit of peace and quiet in which to think. She felt mildly guilty about sitting at his desk and using his quill, but it was uncomfortable to write anything longer than a quick note when sprawled over the bed.

She drew a piece of parchment to her, and began organising her thoughts.

1. The Marriage contract. Poppy had said something about her sister finding out more about what it involved. Perhaps there would be something useful about it in the book Lucius sent.

To Do: See Poppy. Read Sex Magick for Beginners.

It was nice to have a legitimate reason to read the book. Not that there was anything wrong with being interested in sex, but at least now, if Severus found her reading the damned thing, she had her excuse all ready and prepared.

2. Contraception potions. More research needed on which ones might be possible to slip past the Ministry. What about Muggle contraceptives, especially barrier methods that left no residue in the body? How could they be distributed?

To Do: talk to Severus.

She noted mentally not to attempt any discussions on a Tuesday as he was always in especially bad moods then. It would probably be best to leave any chat until at least ten minutes of Crookshanks creeping, and probably the offer of Cockroach Clusters. She would have to remember to buy a stock in next weekend, although it might be worthwhile investigating whether Honeydukes did Owl Order bearing in mind the number of favours she would be asking for.

3. Politics. Review history notes for anything useful. Legal books in library? Was there some other loophole that she could find to help others? Fudge has another three years in office, before re-election, is there something that can be done to speed this up? Vote of no confidence?

To do: research (obviously) and investigate the members of the Wizengamot. Were they Pureblood or Muggleborn, and had they supported Voldemort. Talk to Severus.

4. Who’d been caught by the Law so far? Not seen notices in Daily Prophet. Didn’t mean there hadn\'t been marriages. Perhaps Poppy could find out through her sister, or maybe Ron could find something out through Percy. What about other students? What do they think? Is anyone else thinking of trying to get the damned law overturned. She couldn’t be the only one that thought it was slavery by any other name. The Wizarding World may be backwards, but it wasn’t inhumane.

To Do: Talk to Poppy and Ron / Percy. Compile list of Muggleborns in her year and a couple of years above (Library?) and contact them about the Law. Harry and Ron could help with that.

5. What the fuck did Fudge think he was up to? Obviously he thought there was some political advantage in what he was doing. Did he really believe it was necessary to save the Wizarding World or was there some other reason for what he was doing. Was there some research that actually showed Purebloods were inbred or was it just cobblers.

To Do: Talk to Poppy. Buy Muggle books on genetics – Mum and Dad could get them. Wonder if any of the Muggleborns have parents that are doctors or scientists.


She rubbed at the small of her back absent-mindedly, bending over the desk had given her backache, but it was worth it. She was pleased with her efforts: there was enough to be going on with that she would feel she was doing something, but nothing that was going to get her into trouble. She could use her time left at the school profitably, and then, once free of the Old Fart’s control, she could put everything into motion.

That was the secret of successful planning: break things down into manageable portions, do them one at a time, and then, before you knew it, the impossible task had become a series of difficult tasks.

She wondered whether Voldemort had had a to do list: Tuesday – suborn the Ministry; Wednesday – kill Potter; Thursday – eliminate Muggleborn scum; Friday – after-coup party. Had someone explained all about management techniques to him? Sorry Voldy you can’t go straight to killing Potter, you’ve got to break it all down in to easy steps, it makes it all easier.

Mind you, he didn’t have to fit his plans for world domination in round his bloody homework, did he? Couldn’t she just arrange for Fudge to be poisoned so she could get on with her Newts?

Bastard.

The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that it was time for dinner, and that she was going to be late if she didn’t hurry. She scrabbled her papers together, dropped them onto her bed to sort out later, and scurried off.


She was mildly surprised to find Lavender sitting next to Ron at the table. That was usually Harry’s spot. He’d been relegated to a seat over the table, and just a little down from them. Hermione slipped into the seat next to Harry and started helping herself to the roast potatoes. She smiled a little at the thought of her parents, who would deplore her appalling manners, but at Hogwarts it was the quick and the starving. If you didn’t get your spoon in the trough first, then you might go short, especially if you weren’t one of the house elves’ favourites. Somehow her polite requests for seconds always seemed to get forgotten about.

She would never understand them, never. She was grateful for the fact that they were near invisible, because these days she found herself almost hating them for their revolting eagerness to be enslaved. Is this what muggleborn witches would be reduced to in fifty years if the law wasn’t overturned? Calling their husbands master, and being pathetically grateful if their owners gave them a kind word or two.

And would she be Dobby or Kreacher?

The potato lodged in her throat, and she swallowed with difficulty. Reaching for a glass of water, she caught Ron watching her with a worried expression. She was about to reassure him that she was fine really, and not to worry about her, when he said, “Erm, Hermione, I was wondering…..”

“Yes, Ron?” she replied. That last time she’d seen Ron look like that he’d been just about to tell her that he’d spilled pumpkin juice on the notes he had borrowed from her. Harry was very, very busy eating his dinner, and hadn\'t looked up when Ron spoke. Something was very clearly up, and that something involved Lavender.

“Well, you know that erm well you remember when Snape…”

Hermione interrupted. “Professor Snape.” Really, was that so hard to remember?

Ron gave her an irritated look. “Well you remember when Professor Snape gave Lavender that Chattering Potion?”

She nodded. Of course she remembered it. She remembered it in loving detail.

“Well, I … erm … we … erm … we sort of got talking after the class and I asked her whether she thought my arse really was cute and she was still under the influence of the potion and she had to tell me what she thought, and she did, and well one thing led to another and … erm … well … I asked her out and she said yes.” Ron was looking at her with anxious, puppy eyes, hoping to avoid being kicked.

“So you and Lavender are an item now?” Hermione said.

Harry’s concentrated consumption of his meal paused briefly. He hated arguments between Hermione and Ron, and tended to keep out of them as much as possible, worried that one day he’d be forced to choose between them.

“Er, yes,” Ron replied cautiously.

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?” she said in exasperation.

Ron bridled. “It’s none of you business who I go out with.”

“Exactly,” Hermione snapped. “What did you think I was going to do? Stamp my foot and forbid you to do it?”

Lavender looked shamefaced. It appeared that she at least had expected Hermione to do precisely that. Ron opened and shut his mouth several times, before finally realising that she wasn’t upset about his choice of girlfriend, just that he’d been keeping secrets from her. Grinning, he said, “Nah, but you’d have given me that look, you know, the one my Mum gives me when I’ve done something she disapproves of.”

Hermione gave him a mock glare before smiling. “I am nothing like your mother.”

Harry appeared to choke on his dinner but offered no other opinion.

“Anyway,” Ron continued blithely, determined to jump into the fire after successfully escaping the frying pan. “I though it might be a good idea to let you calm down a bit first before we told you.”

“Did you?” Hermione said frostily. She didn’t like the implication that she had been in some way unreasonable in being annoyed at having the whole school take an interest in her life.

Lavender reached out and patted Ron’s hand. “What Ron is trying to say, is that it would be rubbing your nose in things a bit to tell you when you’d just moved in with Professor Snape.”

Ron was looking at Hermione with so much hope that things that would be alright that she hadn\'t the heart to say anything, though hot words trembled on her lips. Lavender took her silence as encouragement, and her courage in her hands, and said, “I am sorry that you ended up having to live with him. I didn’t think that a bit of harmless gossip would lead to that, or I would have kept my mouth shut.”

There was a first time for everything then, Hermione thought sourly. “It’s not your fault the law has been passed,” she said, “Or that the Ministry are a bunch of reactionary pigs. It’s just next time, and there will be a next time, try and think about the consequences will you? This is going to get bloody before it’s over, and all it’ll take is one slip and I’m going to be in real trouble. This time it’s living with Professor Snape, next time it might be Azkaban.”

Ron snorted. “There isn’t that much difference, if you ask me.”

Hermione threw a bread roll at him, which he ducked easily. “I’ve told you before Ronald Weasley. Only I get to insult Professor Snape.”

Ron let out a huge sigh of relief at having negotiated the peace settlement, and began talking about – of course – Quidditch. Lavender looked thoughtful and seemed to taking the warning seriously, and Hermione could only hope that Lavender would master the art of being discreet. The tentative truce was accepted with a glance of sympathy from Hermione, and an answering roll of the eyes from Lavender, before she turned all her attention on Ron.

Hermione watched them surreptitiously for a few minutes. Ron clearly blossomed under Lavender’s interest: she was even asking sensible questions about Quidditch that had to be illustrated with condiments.

They seemed contented together, which filled her with a spark of envy. It was all so bloody unfair that they could have what was denied to her. It made her wonder if there was such a thing as fate, guiding couples together. Which was just silly; it was Snape that had brought them together, and he definitely wasn’t the hand of fate, or worse, Cupid. Cupid Snape. How he would hate that.

Obviously, she’d have to tell him all about it.

Up on the High Table, Severus was surprised to see his young wife smiling broadly up at him, and he smiled faintly in return before remembering that this was entirely inappropriate. Hermione’s gaze seemed to soften into something approaching affection, before Ron said something that took her attention back to the table.

“I’m glad to see that you and Mrs Snape being so friendly,” Minerva said, having observed the interaction with interest.

Severus frowned, causing his Slytherins to feel mildly guilty, wondering which of their wrongdoings he had discovered. “We’re not friends,” he objected, horrified at the notion. “Miss Granger and I have achieved a form of détente, nothing more.”

“But you could be,” Minerva replied. “The poor thing needs more than détente to get her through these difficult times. She’s always had a tendency to take on too much, and I can’t imagine she’ll be letting her schoolwork slip merely because she’s planning a revolution.”

“She has her two friends to turn to for help. If anyone is experiencing difficult times, Minerva, it is me.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Minerva scoffed. “Hermione is a very sensible girl.”

“I grant you she isn’t under foot quite as much as I had expected.”

“Oh Severus, you disappoint me.”

“Don’t you oh Severus me,” he said with some bitterness. “What do you expect me to do? Take afternoon tea with her every Sunday and talk about how her week has gone.”

“That’s exactly what I expect you to do,” Minerva replied forcefully.

“She is still a student, may I remind you. That would be entirely inappropriate.”

“Don’t be a goose, Severus. The circumstances are already beyond appropriate. I don’t see how your treating your wife as a human being can actually make things worse,” Minreva said robustly. “I don’t mean that you shouldn’t have married her, you did the right thing there,” she waved away his protests before he had a chance to object. “I mean that, given you’re married, you may as well make the best of it. Yes, she’s young, which is why she needs all the help she can get.”

“I can’t be seen to favour her,” he said stubbornly. “How would I keep discipline?”

Minerva’s hand was tapping irritably on the table top. “I fail to understand why you should be so worried about the proprieties when you’ve spent your entire teaching career favouring your Slytherins in the most obvious way imaginable. Would it help if you were to think of her as an honorary Slytherin?”

Severus ignored the dig about his treatment of his House; she was just as bad about her Gryffindors, or Harry Potter would have been out on his arse within the first two weeks of his Hogwarts career. God knew, he’d suggested it to Albus often enough.

He couldn’t help feeling that there was something horrible and wrong about living with a student, even with the faint patina of respectability created by their Marriage. Still, Minerva was the sternest critic he knew, and if she thought it was not only proper but desirable that he should spend more time with his wife, then he probably ought to. If only to stop the constant nagging that would be directed at him until he gave in. In small doses she was almost bearable. “I suppose I could use it as an excuse to get out of taking detentions,” he mused, throwing a mildly irritable glance at Flitwick who was notorious for using his family obligations to get out of doing anything he didn’t want to.

“That’s my boy,” said Minerva fondly.

Hermione made her excuses after dinner finished. She would rather spend her evening tucked away in her tiny bedroom than be forced to watch another minute of Ron and Lavender being sweet together.

She was fine about it, really, but she just needed a bit of time for all of her to come to terms with just how fine she was about it, which was a process best conducted in the calm of her own room.

She felt an immense sense of relief when she crossed the threshold to their quarters. She still pined for the Head Girl’s room occasionally, but the loss of space in which to spread herself was offset by the advantage of privacy.

Hermione may have been a compulsive list maker, but that organisation didn’t spill over into the rest of her life. She was naturally untidy. There was too much to do to spend time picking things up and why put something away when you were bound to need it again soon. Besides, just because her notes were in heaps on the floor it didn’t mean that there wasn’t a place for everything, and everything its place.

She knew where everything was, it was just that no one else did.

This tendency to sprawl and expand into all available space did mean that her new room felt a little cramped and confined, but at least she was spared the constant stream of visitors coming to her with academic queries, and demands that she sort out their lives for them. For some reason, people felt wholly unable to make the extra journey down to the dungeons to see her. Bearing in mind the stupidity of the questions she used to be asked, it was surprising that the school had managed to survive her exile. Perhaps some of them had developed a backbone?

She eyed the blazing fire wistfully, but Severus was sitting at his desk busily marking, parchment swathed with acidic comments in red ink. She was destined for an evening in her room then.

Severus put down his quill and cocked an eyebrow at her. “I though you’d be in the Common Room…”

“I didn’t feel like it tonight,” she replied.

“Too noisy?”

“You might say that. I certainly didn’t fancy listening to Ron and Lavender telling each other how wonderful they were.”

“Love’s young dream getting on your nerves?” he asked sympathetically, mindful of Minerva’s instructions.

“Just a bit.” The sense of injustice that had been bubbling away since she’d heard the news, prompted her to honesty. She could tell Severus what she really felt. He wouldn’t make her guilty about being mean spirited and selfish, or tell her that she was being a bad friend. “It’s barely a couple of months since he was offering to marry me, and telling me we were meant to be together, and then he takes up with her of all people.”

“And you feel slighted?” asked the man who knew all there was to know about that.

“Bloody right I do.” She was aware she sounded sulky, but damn it, she felt sulky.

“Seventeen year old boys are hardly known for their good taste or constancy.”

“Still,” she said. “He should have waited a bit longer. Until next term at least.”

“I’m sure if you wanted him back all you’d have to do is snap your fingers and he’d come running. I must ask you not to do that though, as I really couldn’t bear to see my wife being slobbered over by Young Weasley.”

Hermione smiled faintly at that but she looked tired and dispirited. Ron’s defection had hit her disproportionately hard. He didn’t generally look at his pupils, other than to make sure they weren’t up to something, but Minerva’s comments had pricked – or eased – his conscience. He was allowed to notice his wife; he was supposed to notice his wife. He was also supposed to be nice to her. “I’m sure that the sofa in here would be more comfortable than your room, if you’d like to sit out here instead.”

“Erm, yes, I’d like to,” she said. “That’d be nice. If it wouldn’t be a bother.”

“If it were a bother, Hermione, I wouldn’t make the offer.”

Vintage Severus she thought as she changed out of her uniform in her room; social niceties were wasted on him, and yet he could be really kind under that brusque exterior. It was as if he was afraid that being nice would see him being taken advantage of, being taken for granted, so he had to make sure there was some recognition of the great favour he was conferring on you.

Which brought you to some very unpleasant conclusions about his parents, and his time at Hogwarts.

He was still marking when she came out of her room, so she settled herself on the sofa with her book: Sex Magic for Beginners. He was bound to notice eventually, which would allow her to raise the topic of what he was going to do to help bring about the end of the Marriage Law.

Well, once the shouting had stopped anyway.

She’d managed to read nearly half of the book by the time he registered what she was reading. She was a quick reader, and it was an interesting book in many ways, though disappointingly vanilla for her purposes. She’d started at the back, reasoning that the really advanced stuff would be there, and had found nothing more interesting than a series of lust potions, and a couple of charms to enhance the duration of erections.

She was now browsing the middle section, which was much more interesting, dealing with sensory enhancement potions and some rather complicated positions that seemed to require exceptional balance and bendiness.

“Hermione,” he thundered, “What on earth are you reading?”

“Lucius’ wedding present,” she replied.

There was a fraught moment when she thought he was going to shout at her, but then he flopped down into one of the armchairs. He pinched the bridge of his nose in silence for several minutes, and then said, “I suppose you have a good reason for this.”

“Other than titillation?” she asked cheerfully.

“Other than titillation. If you were solely interested in titillation you would be reading it in the privacy of your own room, and perhaps trying some of the charms in chapter 10. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to read it in front of me, and risk having it confiscated.”

Hermione grinned unrepentantly, deciding that chapter 10 could well be worth revisiting. “You’re not wrong there. I was thinking that there might be something in here about the magics involved in the marriage contracts.”

The fingers went back to the bridge of the nose again. “Hermione,” he said with tones of infinite patience, “You really would have done better to have consulted Hreiter’s On Binding.”

“And where would I find a copy of that?”

Severus removed his fingers from his face, and gazed at the ceiling for several, long minutes. “You would find a copy on my bookshelves.”

“Would I?” she said, letting the question hang there. She wanted to be sure that he meant what she thought he meant. Borrowing books wasn’t something to be undertaken lightly.

“The third case along, the second shelf down, disguised as a very dull book on Potions. The disguising charm was chosen before you moved in, I hasten to add: no doubt you would have found the potions book fascinating.”

Hermione found the book with little difficulty. It stood out like a sore thumb: a potions book wedged in among advanced charms textbooks. “Strenker’s Intermediate Potions? I’ve already read that one. Anyway, you said the books were out of bounds, so I haven’t even looked at your bookcases.”

“So you’re quite happy purloining potions ingredients from me, but you draw the line at books?”

“Of course,” she said absently, frowning down at the book. “Books are important.” Now she had it, she wasn’t certain she wanted to read it.

“It won’t bite you know,” Severus said. Adding more gently, “If it contained matter I didn’t think … suitable for you to read, I wouldn’t have allowed you to see it. I suspect that chapter fifteen would be the most sensible place to start.”

Hermione flipped through the book. This one wasn’t illustrated with anything more risqué than a couple of diagrams of wand movements. The contents were much more disturbing though. The other book had been about pleasure; this one was about control.

Had he ever ...?

She had no right to ask, she told herself firmly.

She sat on the sofa, and started to read. The first few pages were bad enough: Hermione could think of little worse than not being in full possession of your mind, but they were at least temporary. The later charms were permanent; an indelible shadow on your mind that could never be removed.

And the more she read, the more sickened she became, and the more she needed to know whether he had ever used these on anyone. But how could you ask that question? Excuse me, husband of several months standing, but have you ever used the Dark Arts on someone? And she knew that the answer was probably yes, but she’d never really thought about it before. Now, with this book in front of her, what sorts of Dark Arts exactly had he used seemed a rather pressing question.

He’d touched her. He’d kissed her.

She looked at him, and for the first time in months saw what the boys did: an ugly, old man with a vicious tongue, and a very shady past.

His reputation for being a mind reader was justified. She could see the precise moment when he realised what she was thinking: his eyelids veiled his eyes, and his lips twisted in a wry, savage smile. “Well, well, well, Miss Granger. Why are you looking so pale? Can it be that you have finally realised what sort of man you married?” His voice took on that poisonous tone so familiar to Neville in potions. “A naïve and trusting little Gryffindor tied to a foul old man, and nothing she can do about it. And it’s not as if you can go running off to Dumbledore for protection this time, is it? You really are at my mercy.”

For an instant she believed him. For an instant she doubted all the assumptions she’d ever made about him being a fundamentally decent, if foul-tempered, human being. Dumbledore trusted him, but how much was that worth? He was no more a reliable a guide to character than Trelawney, less so: at least she’d never hired Quirrel. But it was hard to reconcile this kind of filth with that fumbling, almost shy man who’d regarded bedding a student with such horror.

“Don’t be silly,” she said steadily. “You’re not like that. Not like that at all.”

He rose abruptly to his feet, and stood over her, using his height to dominate her. “Are you sure, Miss Granger? Are you really sure?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him earnestly. “Just because you’ve got this book doesn’t mean anything. I’ve got four books on poisons, and several on Dark Arts hexes, and I’ve never used them for practical purposes. I’m sure you had a very good reason for reading this book.”

He turned sharply, and took several steps away from her. “The Dark Mark,” he said, his back still to her. “I thought it might help me break the Dark Mark.”

“Oh.” She put the book down, took the few steps necessary to reach his side, and put a gentle hand on his arm. “That’s why you decided to help me, isn’t it?”

He looked at her, his face a blank mask. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know what it’s like to be owned.”

Something flashed in his dark eyes, and then he nodded, obviously reluctant to say anything more.

“Oh, Severus.” Impulsively she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know whether she was apologising for doubting him, or for his past, or some combination of the two, but uncertainly and awkwardly he returned her embrace. She was short enough for her head to tuck under his chin, and her hair was tickling him. “You do know I’m really glad you agreed to marry me, don’t you?” she said into his chest.

“No gentleman could leave you to face the terrible fate of marrying a Weasley,” he replied, carefully but tactfully extricating himself from her embrace. “Though there was a strong element of self interest. The way that the Weasley’s breed, there would have been twins and triplets turning up here in eleven years time with red hair and the same propensity in getting into trouble as most of the Weasleys but with the added finesse of Granger brains. I’d have had to retire.”

Hermione giggled. It was a little watery as giggles go, but it was pleasant to see her smile again.

“Tea?” he offered.

“That would be nice.”

Hermione sat on the sofa and watched Severus busy himself with the tea things. It was a very domestic scene, one that was played out in homes across the country. She accepted her cup of tea gratefully, and took a sip. He took his own cup over to the armchair and sat down, looking a little awkward.

“You do realised,” she said, “we’ve had our first domestic quarrel.”

He snorted. “I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t throw things.”

“Perhaps you should point out which ornaments you don’t like, so that if I am tempted to throw things next time, I don’t pick one of your favourites.”

There was a faint smile before he said, “I’m sure there was something in the marriage agreement about me sharing all my worldly goods, that means you’re entitled to throw anything you like.”

“Even your books?”

“Even my books, though I’d prefer you to read them and not throw them.”

“Really?”

“This is your home now, Hermione, and I suppose I shall have to get used to that. Even to the point of lending you books. Erm, you don’t suppose I could borrow some of yours, do you?”

Severus wasn’t used to people beaming at him with undisguised happiness, and found it a little unnerving. He consoled himself with the thought that it wasn’t likely to happen too often. He was sure that married life would return to normal soon, and they would be glaring at each other across the breakfast table.