The Amans Revelare

Author's Note: I just want to let you know that I will try to post once a week, as I have 14 completed chapters total, but it depends on my beta. Also, if I feel that I am catching up to myself too quickly (I'm such a slow writer!) I will have to slow down my updates. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

Beta's Note: She will not be posting once a week; it will more likely be closer to every other week once she starts school.

The weeks of waiting for the Ministry's response were even more unbearable than Hermione had expected. She found herself unusually distracted from lessons and stared off into space while the teachers lectured instead of taking her usual diligent notes. She wondered who the Ministry would foist upon her – which wizard who had been as unable to find a match as she had, what man she could quite possibly be stuck with for the rest of her life. When not pondering that, she obsessed over what would happen if she couldn't find anybody at all, if the Ministry sent her a letter telling her they had been unable to pair her up with someone and she would be left on her own....

The deadline came and went. No response from the Ministry came. Hermione's performance in her classes dropped to an all-time low; on Monday she brewed the worst Essence of Insanity in the class, causing Snape to look down at her potion with a mixture of surprise and leering satisfaction in his glittering black eyes.

"A zero then, Granger," Snape said, clearing away her potion with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you aren't as perfect as you'd like to believe."

Hermione's jaw clenched in anger as he turned away, but she said nothing. Ginny made a rude hand gesture at his retreating back.

"Why hasn't the Ministry owled me back?" Hermione asked for the hundredth time as they made their way up to lunch. "They said the sixteenth – it's the eighteenth! I have less than two weeks left!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure lots of people sent in applications and they're just a bit behind," Ginny said in an effort to console her. "It'll be there in the morning. I'm sure of it."

But it wasn't. Hermione watched anxiously at breakfast the next morning for an owl heading her way, but the only one that landed in front of her was the one carrying her morning issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Tomorrow, then," Ginny said, laying her hand on Hermione's arm. "They wouldn't just leave you hanging. They'd at least send you a letter if... you know... they couldn't....." Her voice trailed away at the look on Hermione's face.

"I'm going to spend my free period in the library." Hermione's voice sounded nervously high-pitched even to her own ears. "Lots of homework to do."

She stumbled out of the Great Hall, across the entrance hall, and up the Grand Staircase. She hardly knew where she was going until she nearly ran into Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Granger, do watch where you're going!" the headmistress exclaimed, preventing Hermione from colliding with her by throwing out her hands.

"I'm so sorry, Professor." Hermione felt dazed as she looked up at the older woman. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"That much is evident. Fortunately, I was looking for you."

"L-looking for me?" Hermione asked. Her mind immediately jumped to the worst-possible conclusion: the Ministry had owled McGonagall to tell her they couldn't find anyone for Hermione, and they wanted the headmistress to tell her in person. The thought made a cold sweat break out all over her body.

"Yes, I was. Follow me, Miss Granger," McGonagall said briskly.

Hermione followed the headmistress up several staircases and down the seventh-floor corridor to the gargoyle guarding her office.

"Sugar Quill," McGonagall said, and the gargoyle leapt aside; up the spiral staircase they went, and then through the shining oak door. McGonagall walked around her desk and sat down, gesturing for Hermione to follow suit.

"Why did you need to see me, Professor?" Hermione asked nervously, looking around her as she sat down. The office looked much the same as it had when Dumbledore was headmaster: spindly little tables held smoking silver instruments; the Sorting Hat and the Sword of Gryffindor sat on shelves behind the desk. The only differences were the absence of Fawkes and his perch – and the new portrait hanging behind McGonagall's head.

Hermione stopped looking around the circular office and focused on the headmistress. She'd never seen McGonagall look so uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, the older woman folded her hands on top of the desk and took a deep, steeling breath before fixing Hermione with a wary stare.

"Miss Granger, as you know, the Ministry recently passed a decree that will force all of age witches and wizards to wed before the end of the year," she began.

"Yes... because of the law Voldemort passed at the beginning of the year. There's a curse on it," Hermione said.

"Yes. You-Know-Who instated that law to purify the Wizarding community, as well as to create his own future army in the form of newborn infants raised to believe his doctrine. A new generation of brainwashed witches and wizards to serve his every whim." McGonagall gave a grim smile. "He thought the sooner it was done, the better."

Hermione nodded, wondering where McGonagall was going with this.

"The Ministry does not yet know what curse was placed on it. It is possible that it merely has a Detection Charm that would draw Death Eaters to those who did not follow the law, much like when You-Know-Who's name was Tabooed last year. Or it could be something much, much more sinister, which is what Professor Snape believes. Until we can discover the curse in question, the Ministry has decided it would be best to comply, at least for the time being."

"But," ...Hermione straightened in her chair, knowing that what she was about to propose was probably useless... "the decree only mentioned witches and wizards with Blood Status. I'm Muggle-born. Doesn't that mean I'm exempted?"

McGonagall was shaking her head even before Hermione had finished.

"No. Now that the Ministry has been re-instated, all witches and wizards have the equivalent of Blood Status that only purebloods and half-bloods had in You-Know-Who's days. You-Know-Who ordained that all Muggle-borns were not in actuality witches and wizards at all, but thieves who stole magic. Now that you are officially a witch again, I'm afraid the law pertains to you also."

Hermione sank back in her wooden chair with a deep sigh, her last hope gone. "I couldn't find anyone. I mean, I had proposals, but I... I turned them down. It was stupid of me. I know how important this is."

McGonagall nodded solemnly. "Quite understandable. Many of us were hoping a solution would present itself before it came to this. There is nothing more regretful than being forced to marry someone for reasons other than love."

There was a brief silence, then Hermione hesitantly opened her mouth again. "I... I filled out the application. I was supposed to hear back from the Ministry a few days ago, but I haven't heard anything. Does that mean....?"

"Ah." McGonagall looked uncomfortable again. She shifted in her chair and straightened a stack of parchment in front of her. "There is no need to worry, Miss Granger. A... er... match has been found for you, but there were certain... complications."

"A match has been found for me?" Hermione sat straight up. "Who? And what do you mean, 'complications'?"

McGonagall reached into the midst of a pile of letters on her desk and withdrew a sheaf of parchment. She looked down at it for a moment, then back up at Hermione.

"Before I show this to you, I must explain something," she said. "The Ministry would never, of course, pair you up with someone you wouldn't be compatible with. They are trying their best to make this situation easier for everyone."

"But how can they decide who's right for me?" Hermione blurted out, remembering what little information they'd demanded from her. "They know nothing about me!"

"There is a section in the Department of Mysteries devoted to the study of love, which is considered by many to be the most powerful magic of all," McGonagall explained. "The wizards working in this department have been in charge of matching up of age witches and wizards. They performed a complex spell on each person's application to reveal their, for lack of a better word, 'soul mate.'"

"Soul mate?" Hermione echoed, a frown forming.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Soul mate. So bear in mind when you see this that there is a very good reason for this... selection. Even if you... er... don't immediately grasp it."

Glancing down at the piece of parchment again, McGonagall slowly leaned forward and handed it to Hermione.

Once the smooth bit of paper was in her hand, Hermione took a deep breath and looked down at it.

Dear Hermione Jean Granger,

The Ministry of Magic is pleased to inform you that they have found you a suitable match in accordance with Decree Number 612-B. This person has been found compatible with you by the casting of the Amans Revelare spell. Information on this match can be found below:

Name: Severus Tobias Snape

Gender: Male

Occupation/Current School of Attendance: Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Age: 38

It is of the utmost importance that you wed and move in with the above person before the stroke of midnight on the night of the 31st of December. Kindly register with the Ministry at the time of the wedding.

Hermione lowered the parchment and stared up at Professor McGonagall, who watched her expectantly.

"You can't be serious," she said, voice flat, her hands shaking as they gripped the letter.

"I'm afraid I am, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall replied gravely.

"Can't I request someone else?" Hermione dropped the letter on the desk as if the parchment had burned her.

"You cannot. The decision is final." McGonagall looked at Hermione with sympathy. "I know this must be a shock to you, but..."

"A shock?" Hermione's voice was pitched higher than usual. "A shock? I don't understand! I thought you said 'soul mates...'"

"Yes, and apparently Professor Snape was the most suitable candidate for you," the headmistress said. "I'm sure you will find you two... er... have something in common...."

"I'm nothing like him!" Hermione hadn't even realized she'd stood up until Professor McGonagall did so too, the taller woman towering over her. "There must be a mistake! He's a horrible person, I don't understand how anyone could think we'd be a good match!"

"Professor Snape is not a horrible person," McGonagall said sternly. "He is merely a man who has faced a very disappointing and bitter life."

"You haven't seen him in his classes, Professor! You can't honestly think that I...that we...could possibly get... get...." Hermione couldn't even finish the sentence. Her, married to Professor Snape? The idea was unbearable, unthinkable! There had to be a mistake! Snape, the foulest, most evil teacher to ever roam the halls of Hogwarts, her soul mate?

She was breathing heavily, her fists clenched at her sides. It took her a moment to realize Professor McGonagall was speaking again.

"While the idea may be less than welcome, you have little choice, Miss Granger. With any luck, this arrangement will only be temporary. Now, please sit back down." Once Hermione had resumed her seat, McGonagall sat back down and continued. "I have been corresponding with the Ministry for the last few days on this subject. Obviously, the fact that Professor Snape is your Potions teacher is a problem. While I do not think Professor Snape would succumb to favoritism," ...here, Hermione scoffed rather loudly, but McGonagall chose to ignore it and raised her voice further... "a marriage between a professor and a student is unprecedented and certainly against school rules. The Ministry contacted me to gain my permission to allow the union and to explain the precarious situation to the two of you. You are not, of course, to expect this to affect your Potions grade, and..."

"I haven't agreed to it yet!" Hermione interrupted shrilly.

"Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's eyes flashed behind her square spectacles. "I have allowed you a certain amount of leniency thus far, given the upsetting nature of the news I have just imparted to you, but I must remind you that I am still your headmistress, and I demand a certain level of respect from my students, no matter how many Dark wizards they have helped to defeat. I do understand how you must feel, but this is not a situation in which you have much choice. It is either accept the match the Ministry has deemed appropriate for you, or suffer the effects of the as-yet unknown curse."

Hermione was now fighting back tears as she stared down at the floor. She nodded mutely to show McGonagall she understood.

"Now." McGonagall's voice was brisk again as she sat up straight in her chair. "I expect that..."

But she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Throwing Hermione a fleeting look, she said, "Enter."

Hermione turned in her chair as the oaken door opened and a tall figure dressed in black robes entered the office. "You called for me, Headmistress?" said the familiar, sneering voice.

"Ah, yes, Severus. Do sit down."

Snape looked at Hermione, his eyes narrowed with curiosity as he sat in the empty seat beside her. She glared in return.

"What is this about?" he asked, turning to McGonagall. "I have a lesson to prepare for."

Clearing her throat, the headmistress leaned forward, picked up the letter Hermione had read minutes before, and passed it to Snape. Hermione looked resolutely away as he read it, watching the sunlight dancing on the glass case housing the Sword of Gryffindor instead.

There was a rustle of paper as Snape set the letter down. Hermione looked around to watch him; Snape's top lip was curled as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Absolutely not."

Despite her own reluctance to marry the Potions master, Hermione bristled at this, her pride stung.

"I don't find the idea particularly appealing either," she said stiffly.

"At least we are agreed on that point, Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice cool.

"Severus," McGonagall began warningly, "you know there is little choice."

"Other than the fact that Miss Granger is my student..."

"Something which can be overlooked in this circumstance, I believe," McGonagall said.

"There are innumerable reasons for why I would not want to take Miss Granger as my wife."

Hermione's pride felt more than stung at this; it was as though he'd stomped all over it.

"And I'm just thrilled," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "at the idea of marrying my teacher, who is twenty years older than I am and a real..."

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall cut in, as if she knew exactly what Hermione had been about to call Snape.

Hermione fell silent, her arms folded over her chest as she stared at the Sorting Hat.

"And so you two would rather just let the curse take you both, then?" McGonagall asked, as if expecting them to protest at the idea.

"Yes," they replied in unison, each refusing to look at the other.

McGonagall looked dumbfounded for a moment, then pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Miss Granger, you have class in five minutes. You may go. I must speak to Professor Snape alone."

Hermione grabbed her bag and stood. She walked out of the office without another glance back, slamming the door shut behind her as she went.

XXXXX

Once the echo of the slammed door had faded away and Granger's footsteps could no longer be heard on the spiral staircase outside, the headmistress spoke, her voice low and anxious.

"Severus, you know as well as I do that it must be done. Whatever your reservations may be..."

"My reservations are many," Snape said. "She is far too young for me. Far too immature. Far too full of herself and her abilities. Far too..."

"Miss Granger is twice as mature as most witches her age – and much more talented than many much older than she is. In fact, Severus, in many ways she reminds me of you when you were a student here. She prizes learning above all else and is always striving to rise above her classmates. She's much too brilliant for her own good..."

"We are nothing alike," Snape said, affronted by the comparison.

"The Amans Revelare spell disagrees," McGonagall said with a wry smile, "and you know it is quite accurate."

Snape folded his hands together before him and looked across the desk at the headmistress.

"I am sure Miss Granger can find someone else. Someone who is a much more appropriate match."

"There is no one else. Everyone has found a partner. Perhaps you do not care what happens to yourself, Severus, but what about her? Do not allow her to suffer on your account."

"You heard Miss Granger. She wants no more to do with me than I do with her."

"A compromise must be made, Severus!" McGonagall's eyebrows drew together with frustration as she leaned across the desk toward him. "Would Albus have wanted Hermione Granger to..."

"Do not use Dumbledore against me," Snape snapped, standing up. Fury coursed through him as he glared down at the headmistress. "It does not matter what he would have wanted; he is not here."

He turned with a swish of his black robes and strode to the door. As he opened it, McGonagall cried out.

"Will you at least consider it?!"

He slammed the door behind him without replying and started down the stairs. Seething, he barely knew where he was going until he suddenly found himself in front of the door of his office. Once he was inside with the door shut firmly behind him, he began to pace the length of the dim, shadowy chamber. His robes billowed behind him, and his boots echoed on the stone floor.

He knew perfectly well that his choices were limited. It was either marry the Granger girl or suffer whatever atrocity the Dark Lord had placed on the decree. Neither option appealed to him.

Granger... His lip curled at the very thought of her. Granger, the insufferable know-it-all, always parroting passages of text books verbatim in an annoyingly smug manner. Granger, the formerly buck-toothed Gryffindor. Granger, the best friend of Harry Potter... How could the damned spell have named them soul mates?

He'd known he would be stuck with someone, but he had expected it to be a complete stranger. He hadn't even bothered to search for a wife when the Ministry sent out the notice, but had immediately filled out the application and sent it in. He hadn't cared who he ended up with; it would make no difference to him, not if it wasn't her....

Snape stopped his pacing as the memory of a red-haired young woman with green almond-shaped eyes floated to the surface of his mind. He allowed the usual mixture of guilt and grief to roll over him for a moment, then quickly employed the same technique used in Occlumency to stifle the unwanted emotions.

He stood there a moment, staring unseeingly around at the potion-filled glass jars sitting on the shelves all around the office. Now that he had mastered himself, he could think more clearly. Raising one hand, he touched his side where, under the layers of robes, there were several scars made by the fangs of a giant snake. Nagini's venom had prevented the wounds from being magically healed, resulting in the disfiguring marks, but they did not bother him. He was lucky to have even survived them.

One would think, Snape thought bitterly as his hand dropped back to his side, that I have done enough in my lifetime for others. One would think I had repaid my debt by now.

Again, he found himself struggling against the memory of Lily Evans – for he never, ever called her Lily Potter in his thoughts. But no sooner had he banished her from his mind's eye than the face of Albus Dumbledore succeeded hers.

Cursing under his breath as he sat down behind his desk, he knew that his decision had already been made.