A law to herself

Chapter Three

In later years, whenever Hermione found herself feeling a little downhearted, or worried that whatever task she was facing was going to be too difficult, she would pull out the memory of the Headmaster’s face when she suggested she should marry Professor Snape and feel the faint shadow of the immense satisfaction – no, to be entirely accurate, the glee – she felt when he realised what she meant.

Of course, there were other victories that she could have rled led in, but this was the one that meant the most to her. It was this precise moment, though she didn’t realise it at the time, that set her to take her first, faltering steps on the path to freedom; the moment when she turned from a girl to a woman.

Of course, whenever he didn’t get his own way about something, Severus would always grumble that he knew that it was all Dumbledore’s fault, and that it was something else he should add to the list of his offences against humanity in general and Severus in particular.

And Hermione would smile a warm, inviting smile, and he would stop complaining, and simply smile back and sometimes add that maybe married life hadn’t been that bad, although Albus was still an annoying bastard.

Albus was an annoying bastard. An annoying, opportunistic bastard but he wasn’t entirely stupid.

He was bright enough not to pursue the matter of their betrothal in the face of such blank incomprehension. Being Headmaster did mean that you had less contact with the pupils, but he was by no means unaware of Hermione’s reputation for intelligence. Minerva, in particular, was quite forceful on the subject. Her misunderstanding could only be deliberate; he could take a hint. She was probably suffering from shock, and would need a little time to adjust to the new situation, and when she had done so, she would live up to her reputation for being a sensible girl and realise that his was the better offer.

Severus Snape indeed! As if he would make anyone a decent husband. Could you imagine facing that glowering countenance over the breakfast table every morning – it was enough to give you nightmares.

So Dumbledore shuffled off in the sure and certain knowledge that Hermione w see see sense, leaving behind a slightly hysterical Hermione who only managed not to burst out laughing because she had stuffed the blanket into her mouth.

She only managed to control herself when Madam Pomfrey’s worried face poked round the curtains to see how she was.

“Just what I thought,” she said, smoothing the sheets down. “A marriage proposal?”

Hermione nodded her agreement. She was concentrating on taking deep, calming breaths.

“Yes,” said Madam Pomfrey thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be the first muggleborn he’s made the suggestion to, either.”

Hermione feigned indiion.ion. “You mean I wasn’t the first; how very disappointing.” She was trying to be brave in the face of rising terror, but Madame Pomfrey’s next comment wiped all traces of amusement from her face.

“He seems very keen on doing his part to prevent the extinction of the Magical World.”

“Dear god; he wants to be a father? That’s revolting.” Hermione was struck by the image of her holding a baby in her arms, a baby almost entirely swallowed up by an enormous beard, and being surrounded on all sides by toddlers, all with the same, white flowing beard.

“What did you say? If you don’t mind me asking,” asked Pomfrey hesitantly.

“I gave the impression that I thought he meant Professor Snape, and that I was quite keen on the idea.”

Madam Pomfrey giggled. Hermione had ever seen the woman so much as smile before, let alone giggle in a way more suited to a schoolgirl. “Good for you,” she said.

Hermione gave her a weak, watery smile. “I’d rather marry eithalfoalfoy, both even, than a man old enough to be my great-grandfather.”

“Quite right, dear. Not to mention that beard; have you noticed how much food gets trapped in there. Frankly, it’s disgusting.”

They both shuddered.

Hermione had never thought about kissing Professor Dumbledore before, and now she was determined never to think about kissing him again. Even if he was theoretically a better choice than Draco, at least on the not-being-beaten-or-killed-or-subjected-to-Imperio front, there was no way she could ever contemplate having sex with him. Not without chloroform or a good stunning hex.

“Right,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I’m sure you’re off to the Library to see if you can find your way out of this somehow. I’ll send an Owl to my sister and see if there’s anything else she can pass on to us, and I’ll write you a sick note. I think that, whatever your illness is, it’s likely to be catching, and I’m sure young Harry and Ron will be sickening for it too. Nothing but light Library work for the three of you for the rest of the week. I’m not sure how much use they’ll be, but they’ll want to help anyway.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.” Hermione’s illness kept making her nose run. She sniffed again.

“There, there, dear. And call me Poppy; we women should stick together at a time like .”
.”

“Then, thank you Poppy.”

Hermione had always loved the library. She’d been so excited on her arrival at Hogwarts by the Great Hall, the moving staircases, and the whole strangeness of the new world opening up before her, that at first she had dismissed the library as being just like any other library.

As time passed, the wonder of the staircases, and even the Hall had faded into the background, hardly noticed anymore; and the Library had proved to be the greatest treasure of them all.

She just hoped that it wouldn’t let her down this time.

She ran a finger over the index to the books. That was what she wanted: ‘Prophylaxis: Charms and Potions’, the standard book on contraception. That would do for a start, then anything she could find on Wizarding Law, Wizard Marriage Law, Marriage Customs, and even a couple of books by feminist witches. There was nothing like a critical commentary of Wizarding culture to point out the realities of the situation facing her.

The Magical World seemed to have stopped in the Victorian Age, or earlier; she didn’t hold out great hope of there being some sort of protection for her. They, whoever they were, probably thought it was the job of the patriarch to look after his womenfolk, conveniently ignoring the fact that her dad wasn’t exactly equipped for the job.

Her dad versus Lucius Malfoy? She reckoned that would last about three minutes, most of which Lucius would spend playing with his victim.

What else? Ron’s comments that morning came back to her, and, with a faint sense of guilt, she also selected The Beginners’ Guide to Poisons. You never knew when it might become necessary to take direct action. Did she think she could poison Lucius Malfoy? Happily. She might hesitate to do the same to Draco, who seemed to be just as trapped in this nightmare as her, but Lucius and Dumbledore? Her hand wouldn’t even shake.

She took out her parchment and inkpot and settled down to read her first book: ‘Wizarding Marriage and Divorce’. She gave a small sigh of relief; at least there was divorce.


The boys came looking for her at lunchtime, and found her almost buried beneath a pile of books and paper, and a notebook almost full with notes in her neat, orderly handwriting.

“So, have you found a solution yet?” asked Ron casually, hitching one buttock onto the corner of the table next to her.

“I don’t know; maybe. I’ll need some help to go through it though.”

“After lunch,” Ron said cheerfully.

“You go on, there’s something interesting I want to read in Skirler.” She gestured in the direction of the Hall. “Go on, shoo.”

“What is it you always used to say to us?” asked Harry. “About how we should slow down, make sure that we ate properly, and got plenty of rest?”

“It’s called being hoist with your own petard, Hermione,” Ron chimed on. “Come on, we won’t take no for an answer.”

“Alright,” she said, standing up and working the knots out of her tense body. “I’m sure we’ll be able hinkhink better on a full stomach.”

“Nah,” said Harry. “Ron’ll probably just fall asleep, like he does in Divination.”

The boys kept up their er all tll through lunch whilst keeping a careful eye on Hermione to make sure that she ate something. She dutifully forced the stodgy food into her dry mouth and swallowed hard.

She had her mouth full of potato when Professor Snape loomed up behind the boys.

“Miss Granger, Madam Pomfrey informs me that you are unwell and cannot attend Potions this afternoon.”

All she could do is nod dumbly.

“She further informs me that your two cohorts are also suffering from the same illness, and also cannot attend Potions this afternoon.”

The boys were looking at her curiously; this was news to them. Fortunately, they had the sense to keep their mouths shut and follow her lead. She swallowed the potato and managed a demure, “Yes, Professor Snape.”

“I have to say that the three of you look virulently healthy, and, whilst you may be able to trespass on Madame Pomfrey’s good nature, you will find that I don’t have one.”

Hermione bit her lip to stop laughing as Ron mouthed ‘what a surprise’ at her.

“I strongly suspect you three of playing truant. Madame Pomfrey assures me that the three of you are fit to work in the Library, therefore I want a nine foot essay from each of you on the uses of the Vertates Potion, the Trigestes Potion, and the Euphragian Potion. By 8 pm tonight.”

He fixed them with a suspicious glare as they all mumbled a variation on the theme of ‘yes, Professor Snape’, before turning sharply on his hand and leaving the hall in a flurry of robes.

“What a bastard,” said Harry. “Now we’ll never get anything done at all.”

Hermione was staring blankly at the door. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Severus Snape was a bastard; he’d demonstrated the fact on too many occasions for it to be denied. However, this morning he had been sympathetic, and she refused to believe that he had changed his views so quickly. Which meant…

“I think we’d better have a good look at those three potions,” she said, looking meaningfully at Ron.

“You think he’s giving you a hint?” Harry said incredulously.

“Hmm,” she nodded. “I know that the Vertates Potion was used as a cure for Lung diseases, up until quite recently. They stopped when they realised that it had unwanted side effects.”

“Which were?” asked Ron.

“It affected fertility, didn’t it?” said Harry. “Good grief, you’re right Hermione, he is dropping hints.” He noticed the odd looks that the others were giving him. “What? What, is it so surprising that I remember some of the stuff I’ve been taught here?”


“Pretty much,” said Ron.

Hermione giggled. Some things never changed; no matter how dreadful the situation, Harry and Ron would always be playing sill buggers. It was oddly comforting.

The three of them made their way to the library, and Hermione divided up the tasks. “Since you’ve shown a sudden aptitude for potions, Harry, you can look up the ones Snape mentioned.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, giving a mock salute. “You don’t think he was serious about the essay, do you?”

“Harry, mate, of course he was serious about the essay. Even if he’s being helpful, he’s still Snape.”

“I’m afraid Ron’s right, you’ll have to do the essay. We’ll copy it from you, he’ll never notice.”

“You’re joking!” He eyed them warily, suspicious that they were having a joke at his expense. “You’re not joking are you?” He thought about it for a moment, dwelling on the many and various injustices that Snape had visited on them over the years. “You’re right. I’d better do the essay.”

Hermione smiled faintly. “Ron, if you’d have a look at the Skirler; there was something about entrenched rights that might be helpful.” He nodded and began the tedious task of trying to decipher the book’s meaning. The book was old, the pages were foxed, and the language was archaic. It wasn’t going to be an easy task.

Hermione pulled the copy of the Marriage (Muggleborns) Act 1998 towards her and began to read. “Be in hereinafter enacted that any Pureblood as defined in sch. 1 of this Act shall be entitled to petition for the hand in marriage of any Muggleborn as defined in sch. 2 of this Act.” She quickly flipped through the schedules; there was nothing there that could help her: they were both clearly within the definitions. She quickly scanned the rest of the document: two weeks to reply, had to be married by 18, but nothing about the magical contract that Madam Pomfrey mentioned.

Idly she wondered if it would be possible to marry someone without the Ministry-approved contract and still satisfy the terms of the Act. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. It couldn’t be that easy could it? She read down to the last couple of sections; she was sure she’d seen something.

There it was.

The answer.

It was staring her in the face. The Act applied the usual conflicts of laovisovisions. A marriage contracted under Muggle Law would be as valid as one contracted under Magical Law; it had to be, or there would be a string of new-made bastard half-bloods. And bastards couldn’t inherit under wills, and bastards couldn’t take their father’s names, and bastards couldn’t benefit under trusts. And that would be the end of Fudge’s career as Minister. He couldn’t change that rule, not and keep his job.

Oh yes.

All she had to do was marry a Pureblood according to Muggle Law, and she was safe.

Except, who was she going to marry?


A/N as if we don\'t know???