Chapter Five

V.

...

"Professor Snape. Will you please accompany me to my office?"

Severus hadn't expected to be met by the Headmaster in the front hall the moment he entered the castle. Nodding his acquiescence, he followed the white-bearded old wizard up to the corridor with the gargoyle statue. It took effort to not roll his eyes at the muttered password of 'marshmallows', but somehow the Potions Master refrained. He also restrained himself from asking why he had been summoned like this. Something in his employer's tone of voice and curt, if polite, words told him this wasn't simply because the older man knew they'd have to discuss the success or failure of what had happened down at the Three Broomsticks.

Indeed, the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts were all awake and aware when he entered the Headmaster's office, instead of pretending to be dozing in their chairs. That was not their usual method of operation. But after closing the door behind them and activating a ward against spying, Albus gestured him to a chair by the hearth, not over to his desk. So this was still a somewhat serious matter, but not a formal, official one.

Removing his cloak and settling himself in one of the seats, Severus composed himself, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on the padded leather arms, allowing him to lace his fingers lightly over his frock-coated stomach. A stomach which growled, but that was mostly because it was almost lunchtime. "What did you wish to discuss with me, Headmaster?"

"Hogwarts School Charter, under Article VII, the Teacher's Code of Conduct...Section C, Paragraph 4, sub-section a," Albus clarified when the younger wizard's forehead pinched into a puzzled frown. "In specific, Thou Shalt Not Snog Thy Students...to paraphrase the legal jargon."

He flushed and looked down at his clasped hands. "Oh."

"I do realize this was not even considered, let alone discussed, when we were plotting out how to go about saving Miss Granger from the prophesied Cuorum Curse," Albus allowed. "But it nevertheless remains a problem that, the moment you crossed onto the school grounds, the fact that you have kissed Miss Granger...and a little bit more besides...registered in the spells set long ago to sense such things. Spells set to alert the Headmaster of any student-professor transgressions. Which they have done."

Severus didn't know what to say, other than an uncomfortable, muttered, "...Bugger."

"No, that one didn't show up in the report I received," the Headmaster corrected him, gesturing at one of the silvery instruments whirring and whirling on one of the nearby shelves.

He flushed harder. "I didn't mean it like that, Albus."

Blue eyes twinkled briefly at him over half-moon spectacles, though his employer's expression was still quite sober. "I know you didn't, Severus. That was merely my pathetic attempt at injecting humor into the moment. The allegations are unfortunately quite serious. Now, there are some sub-clauses that are normally used to guide the Headmaster in how to handle a situation like this, once it has been investigated to make sure it was consensual on both sides. I presume it was consensual on both sides?"

Clearing his throat, Severus nodded, damning his burning cheeks. "Yes. Yes, it was consensual on both sides."

"I will take your word for it, given that I do know the unusual background of this matter. The first and most commonly used method for handling for cases of mutual, erm...corruption of the proper student-teacher relationship is, of course, termination of employment for the teacher, and expulsion for the student...but we cannot afford to do that, since that would put both you and Miss Granger in grave danger. Though it is true the School Charter does make allowances for VII.C.4.a, in those instances of Magical Mistake Management governed under the rules of IX.C.4...I do not think that sort of will suffice."

"Section H Magical Mistake Management?" Severus enquired, arching a brow. He mostly knew that section of the Charter because of having to fill out all those bloody requisition forms to replace all the equipment Longbottom had destroyed through the years, before finally having the good graces to drop out of Potions after his abysmal O.W.L. scores. He knew it had also covered the Weasley twins' version of magical mayhem...but it covered sexual situations, too? "MMM actually covers a sexual situation?"

"Well, they had to amend the rules after a certain incident in 1417, when a couple of Advanced Potions students spiked the ipicrys at Christmas-tide with an aphrodisiac, which everyone, staff and students alike, drank unwittingly. In large quantities, apparently because the addition made it, ah, extra-tasty," Albus related delicately, clearing his own throat. "And there have been a few other incidents throughout the centuries, all with utterly mitigating circumstances...but they have all been related to magical mistakes, mishaps and mayhem made here on the school grounds, which MMM covers. And it does so for those activities in a way that is post-fact...not pre-fact, unfortunately.

"Alas, the situation you and Miss Granger are in is not due to a magically-made mistake. It is a preventative measure...and the Hogwarts Charter does not cover preventative measures. Sexual relations between a teacher and a student are forbidden. A kiss, an embrace, these are disciplinary measures. But though my instruments tell me Miss Granger is still...er, physically undamaged..." another delicate cough, "...they also tell me that both of you...ah...enjoyed a moment of bliss, shall we say? And your, erm, moment of mutual bliss in her presence, I am afraid to say, is specifically listed as one of the grounds for termination of employment as a professor of this school. However you may have gone about it, and regardless of her lingering physical...intactness. Because it was mutual, consensual...and intentional, the rules are very clear on what must happen next."

"Ah." Chest tight, Severus eyed his employer. His soon to be ex-employer. "Headmaster, I assure you, I've never been even marginally tempted before, so I never bothered to do more than skim through Section C Paragraph 4. If I had known...if I had realized..."

"Yes, yes, you wouldn't have done it; I believe you, Severus," Albus dismissed. In doing so, his casualness was reassurance enough for the younger wizard on that point. As were his next words. "If there is one thing I can rely upon, it is your innate sense of honor in such matters. In fact, I'd forgotten about it myself, until the instruments started clattering and clanging for my attention. After all, there hasn't been a case of VII.C.4.a here at Hogwarts in over twenty years.

"The point is, there's only one provision left in the damned Charter that'll side-step my having to fire you. And we both know we cannot afford to lose you as the Potions Master. Voldemort..." Severus winced at the name even as Albus continued calmly, "...needs you to spy upon me, and I need you to spy upon him. If you're fired, you won't be able to spy for him upon me, even if it's only to give him carefully falsified information. Which means you'll lose your effectiveness in the Dark Lord's inner circle, and that means you won't be able to effectively spy upon him for me."

"Yes, yes, I know how perilous my situation is. What is the cure, Headmaster? Or is there one?" Severus enquired dryly. "Don't bother to sugar-coat it, or take forever to get around to it. The sooner we fix the problem, the better. Assuming there is a fix, which is the only reason I can think why you haven't just sacked me and finished the matter, already."

Albus Dumbledore swallowed. Even with the beard blocking any view of his throat, the action was both visible, and audible. "Yes. The, ah, cure. You, er..." He coughed, cleared his throat...and under the threat of Severus' impatiently arched brow, blurted, "...You have to marry Miss Granger. Today. Before night falls."

Severus stared. He felt as if he'd been smacked in the back of the head with a Bludger bat...and smacked in the chest and gut with a Bludger. Or maybe he was the ruddy Bludger, being battered about by the long-departed Weasley twins. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound came out.

"It's quite simple," his employer stated, giving him a sympathetic look. "The Charter was written back in a day and age of arranged marriages. Sometimes those marriages took place while some of the students were still at school...sixteen was usually the age picked for finalizing the wedding arrangements, and if the intended spouse of a particular student happened to be a teacher as the wedding-day drew near, well, allowances had to be made. Of course, some of the rituals and ceremonies involved in the means and methods of marrying someone back in those days included the possibility of having the, er, consummation before the ceremony itself," Albus hastily enlightened him, almost babbling in his effort to fill the Potions Master's stunned silence. "But always, the ceremony and the consummation took place on the same day.

"Now, I realize you don't have much time left, given that it's almost the winter solstice and the sun will be setting at around half past three this afternoon, and that I don't known how well things have progressed between you and Miss Granger, relationship-wise...though one would think from what the wards and instruments have told me that..."

"...Enough."

The single word, accompanied by the flick of his palm quickly raised, cut off the older wizard's monologue. Albus fell silent, thankfully, though he did eye his young colleague warily. Severus lifted his fingers to his temple, closing his eyes as he massaged at the migraine threatening to form. If it was a migraine, what he needed was a few hours in a quiet location, with a bottle of the bitter but effective remedy he usually brewed for such moments.

What he would get would be an acceleration of his and Hermione's relationship akin to the kick of a Firebolt thrown from a dead stop into full, breath-stealing speed, when one was expecting the smooth, steady, reliable acceleration of a Clean Sweep 7. If he could get her to agree to the marriage. He thought she might agree to it, if she knew his job was at stake...but he hated the thought of her feeling pressured into such a drastic step by mere circumstances. She was enough like him, he'd learnt through their correspondence, that he knew she would feel the same way.

Still, there wasn't much choice in the matter. Save for one thing. Opening his eyes, Severus regarded his employer. "How do we keep it secret from the wizarding world? If the Dark Lord gets wind of this...if any of his Death Eaters hear about it..."

"...Gretna Green."

Severus frowned and twisted his head to glance at the portrait of the Headmistress who had spoken. The painting said Isolde Marsh-Leighton, 1789-1874. "What did you say, madam?"

The woman, lean and striking with steely grey strands streaking her dark, chignon-pinned hair, gave him an impatient look. "You marry over the anvil down in Gretna Green. It's just north of the border between Scotland and England, and it has been a very popular place for eloping couples to marry for centuries. In fact, it's the way how I married my own husband, since my odious uncle-in-law was trying to force me to marry his bastard son, to keep control of my late mother's finances. The Muggle ceremony is perfectly legal in the wizarding world, and is supported by the Ministry of Magic to help further wizard-Muggle relations, and pacify all the Muggle-borns out there who want Muggle-style marriage ceremonies, but no one in the wizarding world ever pays any attention to what actually happens in the Muggle world, so no one will be checking the civil records, and thus no one will likely never notice your names in the registry files.

"The best thing about Gretna Green," she continued briskly, "is that there's no waiting period. Just an appearance before the civil clerk to get the paperwork, a visit to one of the chapels, a return visit to the clerk to hand back in the pertinent papers, and voila! You're married in less than an hour, if you don't hit any long queues at some point along the way. You'd better get going, too, young man, if you expect to be able to make the sundown curfew," she added tartly, eyeing Severus with a speculative look. "It may be almost noon, but as Albus said, sunset comes early in Scotland, this close to the solstice. Oh, and don't forget to wear Muggle clothes, if you don't want to stand out while you're down there. The more the two of you can blend in with the other Muggles, the less likely you'll be remembered by anyone."

Severus glanced at Albus. The aging wizard shrugged, spreading his hands. "It makes sense to me. One question does beg to be answered first, however: did your meeting with Miss Granger end in an amicable enough manner that she would be willing to go through with such a, er, drastic measure?"

Brow pinching, Severus mulled it over for a moment, then sighed. "...If nothing else, she'll do it out of a sense of duty and loyalty."

"Yes, I do believe we can count on her to do the sensible thing, especially if it's the right thing to do," Albus agreed.

"This situation isn't exactly romantic, though," Severus grimaced, thinking of how he could possibly approach the Head Girl without making a mess of the situation. Two years ago, he'd have hexed anyone who would've claimed he'd one day say the word 'romantic' in the context of a relationship that he himself was involved in, and maybe even use an Unforgivable if they suggested he actually mean it. Now, it was simply a useful word, a fact and a facet of his quest to save Miss Granger from a fate worse than the Killing Curse.

Indeed, Severus had held monthly discussions with the older wizard for the last year-plus, on how his relationship with Hermione was progressing. At first they'd been painful to relate, since he wasn't one to divulge the details of his personal life to anyone, but by now it was simply a habit to dissect the matter with his employer and friend, even if it was such a formerly loathsome and awkward subject as romance. It was important, though, since losing or keeping his job would greatly impact the outcome of the war, and failing to complete the Withering-Heart cure would equally impact the war.

No one else in the Order was placed as high in the Dark Lord's organization as Severus was; his position was too valuable to lose to an archaic technicality. No one could deny, either, the strength of the impact of Hermione's relationship with Potter. Between her and Ronald Weasley, they were the other two points of the triangle of strength on which the Boy Who Lived depended in his escapades. Without her at his side, Harry Potter would indeed weaken, falter, and fail. They had the mysterious man in grey to thank for knowing in advance about that.

"I do worry how it will impact our relationship later," he added, glancing at his aging friend as he pulled himself out of his thoughts. "She might agree to it out of a sense of duty, but she is a young woman. Being female, she needs some romance to reassure her feelings for me, and being young, she needs some romance on a second level to reassure her of my own feelings for her. Being told we have to get married or she'll be expelled and I'll lose my job and my position in the war-effort isn't nearly romantic enough. Yet she's too smart to think I'd ask her to marry me in a sudden, grand fit of passion."

Albus coughed abruptly at that last bit. Severus gave him a brief, dirty look, but didn't argue the point. He knew well that most people would choke, too, at the thought of Severus Snape and 'fit of passion' coexisting in the same sentence, never mind a 'grand' one. The real irony was...she made him feel that way, sometimes...the 'fit of passion', that was. The 'grand' part hadn't existed until today, but then that was what had gotten him into this latest trouble, apparently.

"...Well, I'm sure you'll be able to handle it adequately, my boy," Albus demurred, albeit with an apologetic look as he finished clearing his throat. "I'm afraid you haven't got enough time to handle it spectacularly, if you're to make the deadline."

" 'Adequate' is unacceptable, when it comes to seducing Miss Granger's heart," Severus stated bluntly. He was too much a perfectionist to aim for anything less. It had taken him a bit of adjustment to come to terms with being her potion-proven true love, but he'd accepted it. Rising from his seat, he adjusted his frock-coat, picked up the cloak he had draped over the back of the wing-chair, and nodded his head to his employer. "But as I have no choice, I shall have to improvise. You may wish me luck, this time; I fear I shall actually need it."

"Hmph. Amusing," Albus' voice chased after him as he strode toward the door. "You never ask for luck when you go off to face the Dark Lord, but you do when you go off to face the Head Girl. That's twice today that I've had to wish you 'good luck'. And good luck a third time, too, which is the 'charm', according to the Muggle world."

"Best you alert Filius to this new form of magic," Severus retorted, settling his cloak on his shoulders after clasping it in place. He reached for the handle, but the Headmaster's exclamation caught him off-guard.

"Oh! You'll need a Portkey to take you to Gretna Green, since it's unlikely either of you have ever been there before. Hold on just a moment...let's see...ah, this will do... Portus." Carrying the object over to him, Albus handed it to Severus. The Potions Master glanced at the Portkey and pocketed it as Dumbledore explained. "It's set to take you to an alley behind the clerk's office, and within walking distance of the various chapels. When you're done with it, the Portkey will bring you back to wherever you departed from, and then cease functioning. Be discreet, when activating it. We don't want the Ministry of Magic noticing any unauthorized Portkey usage."

"I will be careful," Severus promised.

"One more thing," Albus added, and muttered a summoning spell. Opening the box that wafted into his hands from one of the shelves lining his large study, he pulled out a wad of cash. "Some Muggle-pounds, to pay for everything. Consider it a wedding-gift, of sorts..."

Severus wasn't very familiar with Muggle currency, so he couldn't tell how much he'd just been handed. Still, there was a lot of it. Stuffing the thick stack of paper into his robes actually required him to break it up into three smaller packets to hide the unruly lump of it. He would have to pass it to Hermione to count and manage. "Thank you, Albus. If there's any left over from paying the clerk and the vicar..."

"...You will buy her something nice," Albus directed him firmly, shooing him out the door. "Go find the young lady, Severus. You've got less than four hours to make her your wife, and secure the future of the wizarding world."

...

"Miss Granger."

Hermione jumped, flushing. Her heart thudded in her chest, as much for the coldness in that familiar voice as for the warmth it conversely flooded through her. Setting down her mug, she glanced over her shoulder, peering up at the Potions Master. "Erm, yes, Professor? Can I help you?"

"The Headmaster wishes to see you."

Puzzled, Hermione blinked down at her plate. She'd just been served a grilled chicken-swiss-and-avocado-on-sourdough sandwich, seasoned chips, and a mug of hot chocolate with a generous dollop of whipped cream. The kitchen staff here at the Three Broomsticks was not adverse to the occasional special order, and they almost managed to make her favourite sandwich taste exactly like her mum could make it. After her unusual tea with Severus, and all the side-stepping she'd had to do to get Harry, and later Ron, off the scent of her mysterious 'old friend', she'd been in the need of a little comfort food.

"...Now, sir?" she asked, glancing up at him again. "I've just sat down to lunch."

"Now, Miss Granger. You may pack it up for the walk back to the school, if you cannot bear to be parted from your...sustenance." The disdainful look he raked over the seasoned chips and pan-toasted sandwich was not lost on her tablemates, which included not only her two best friends, but a handful of other Hogwarts students.

"What's she in trouble for?" Ron dared to ask, clearly ready to leap to her defense.

"The Headmaster's reason for summoning her is none of your business, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape returned curtly. "Had he wanted you to know, he would have included you in the invitation. Hurry it up, Miss Granger. I have other, more important things to do today besides escorting you across half of Scotland."

"It's hardly half of Scotland, between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade," Ginny Weasley muttered, as Hermione fished a handkerchief out of a pocket and used it to wrap up her food. From the dark look the Potions Master gave the redheaded girl, she hadn't muttered it quietly enough, but he didn't comment.

Standing, Hermione murmured her farewells to the others, promising to meet up with them later. A moment to tuck the food into a pocket of her cloak, another to pull out her woolly cap and settled it on her head, and she was ready to go. Following Professor Snape out of the pub, she fastened the cloak over her shoulders, wincing at the bright sunshine glinting off the snow-draped landscape as they left the shadows of the village behind. No one was on the road to or from the school, thankfully, and when they were well out of earshot of the last possible building, she cleared her throat and spoke. "So, erm...Professor. What's this summoning about?"

"We have a problem in need of handling."

"Oh? The Headmaster isn't upset at our...relationship, is he?" Hermione asked him furtively, barely muttering the words as she glanced about, making sure they were still alone. The only sounds were the crunching of snow under their boots, and the distant twitterings of birds as they hopped about the icy lacework of branches in the trees lining one side of the path. The other side showed the iced-over lake that snaked from the banks of Hogsmeade all the way to the foot of the cliffs defining Hogwarts.

"No. But the School Charter is." The tall, dark, enigmatic man striding beside her sighed heavily. "Hermione...I wasn't going to ask this until after you had graduated, when the ethical implications weren't quite so severe. Ethical implications by modern standards, that is. But then we're not dealing with modern standards at the moment and...and I'm bloody well babbling, aren't I, Mione?"

"Yes, you are," she admitted gently, bemused by the sight of his slightly flushed cheeks. "What's wrong, Rus?"

"Article VII, Section C, Paragraph 4, sub-section a. Thou Shalt Not Snog..."

"...Thy Students," she finished in tandem with him, flushing a little herself. "I'd forgotten about that one."

The look in his eyes as he glanced at her showed relief and puzzlement. "...You know about that?"

"It was mentioned a couple of times in Hogwarts: A History. Starting with the Infamous Ipicrys Incident of 1417," Hermione confessed, smirking slightly. Harry and Ron had always underestimated the value of reading that book, and now it seemed as if Severus had, too. Her smile faded a little, as she recalled the impact of VII.C.4.a on their own situation. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, chewing on it a little. His brow was pinched in an unhappy frown, and all she could think of was how to find a way to make it smooth out again. "So...you've got two choices. Either be fired, or...or marry me."

"Before sundown," he agreed grimly, and glanced at her as they trudged along. His dark gaze almost looked grey, in the bright light. Almost. Certainly his sincerity pierced all the more sharply, despite the harsh white light reflecting off the snow-banks around them. "I would give you more time to make up your mind, if I could. But I will let it be your choice. I can find a way to survive and still be of some use to the Order..."

"Alright."

Severus stopped in his tracks. Hermione did so as well, politely turning to face him. He stared down at her. "You don't want to marry me?"

"...No, sorry," she blushed, speaking quickly. "I meant 'alright' as in 'yes, I'll marry you'. If...if that's alright with you."

He studied her, blinking. "You agree, as quickly as that?"

She shrugged. "You wrote back on my birthday that you wanted to increase the intimacy of our relationship beyond the platonic level, but that you also had honourable intentions in mind as your ultimate goal, at the same time. I know it's a bit of a leap of faith, considering I'm still reconciling Rus with Severus...but I choose to place my faith in you. Or rather, in us."

"Mione..." he whispered, staring down at her with a dazed look in his eyes.

"I've already considered carefully what it might be like to marry the man I conversed with, in all those letters. And I have contrasted what differences there are between Rus and Severus. There aren't that many of them," Hermione admitted with a shrug. "Certainly none of them important enough to quibble over, now that I've given it some thought."

"It's...it's not very romantic, when you put it like that," he startled her by protesting, wrinkling his beak of a nose a little.

"Romantic?" Hermione enquired carefully, eyeing him askance. "You didn't strike me as overly romantic, in your letters. And certainly not in person. Charming, when you put your mind to it, but not romantic."

"It's not for me; it's for you," he corrected her. Then hesitated, flushed a bit, and muttered, "Though I wouldn't be adverse to a little romance, now and again."

The corner of her mouth quirked. Severus Snape, closet romantic...who knew? Then again, he is a self-motivated matchmaker, too... A glance around them proved the pair of them out of immediate sight of anything sentient. Gryffindor courage, and a touch of Gryffindor recklessness, made her catch and lift his gloved hand in her own. Pressing it to her sternum, moulding it to the upper swell of her breasts, she smiled coyly at him. "Severus Snape, would you do me the honor of consenting to be my husband this day?"

His mouth parted, closed, parted, and closed again. Licking his lips, he finally managed to say, "Yes. I would like that very much. Even without the Charter pressing the matter. But...you have my reassurances that I will not press the matter, once the legalities are complete."

Is he saying what I think he's saying? That he won't touch me? That this will just be a marriage of bloody convenience? How...how positively Victorian! Torn between wanting to laugh in his face, and throw his offer...however gentlemanly...in his face, Hermione confined herself to quirked brows, a bemused smile, and a pat of the hand pressed to her breasts. "...We'll talk about that after we're married. Speaking of which, where are we going? Vegas?"

"Where?" he asked, frowning in confusion as she released his gloved palm.

"Las Vegas, Nevada, home of the drive-thru wedding chapel?" she clarified.

"No, Gretna Green. We'll marry over the anvil. There's no waiting period in Scotland. And...it's a traditional location for Muggle elopements. Which this essentially is, since we cannot risk anyone getting wind of a wizarding ceremony," he added, gesturing for her to trudge further up the road with him. "Both are legal in the wizarding world, but the Muggle side of things is usually overlooked by our kind, and Gretna Green was suggested as the best place to handle the matter swiftly and discreetly. Albus has crafted a Portkey to get us there and back. I was thinking we could use it from within his office, to further the fiction that he sent me down to the village to fetch you for a meeting."

"That was clever of you; I honestly thought Professor Dumbledore wanted to see me for some reason," Hermione admitted, trudging over the footprint-packed snow, glad he wasn't making her stretch her legs to keep up with him on the somewhat slippery footing. "I suppose we'll have to manufacture a reason for him summoning and detaining me for so long, in case the others ask."

"Actually, I thought of an excellent excuse on the walk down to the village," he offered. "A legitimate one, too. A few days ago, the Headmaster discussed with me the possibility of your submitting certain of your essays as theorem papers to some of the trade journals of the wizarding world. Your take on using that new shortcut in Arithmancy to calculate the probable outcomes of various ingredient substitutions in the art of potions-making was quite advanced. Rife with possibilities. You really should polish up some of your ideas and get them published for others in the fields of Potions and Arithmancy and so forth to experiment with and dissect, to see if the theorem holds true regardless of the proportions and the ingredients. You may still be a student at the moment, but you're fully capable of becoming a colleague, in my opinion."

His undiluted praise made her feels as if she were glowing brighter than the sun on the snow. A distant crunching alerted both of them to the approach of someone from the school, a quartet of Hufflepuffs bundled up against the cold, making the trek down to Hogsmeade. Hermione schooled her expression into blankness, then into a slightly worried, somewhat pinched frown. A glance at the Potions Master showed him glancing down at her. A brief, slight nod of approval for her expression, and he pinched his own brow into a scowl. The Hufflepuffs spotted them, started a little with nervousness when they recognized the Potions Master, then gave Hermione sympathetic looks as the two groups passed each other.

Nothing more was said between the two of them, as they returned to the school. Making their way up to the gargoyle entrance, Severus murmured the password and swept up the stairs as they started spiraling upwards. Hermione followed, but when they stepped into the short hallway at the top, he held her back from the Headmaster's office with his arm. In fact, he touched her sleeve and guided her to one side, into an alcove painted with an unmoving fresco of a flock of dragons in full, flaming flight.

"We'll use the Portkey from here, and return to here," he told her, fishing a fist-sized disc from his pocket. She recognized it after a moment as a cork coaster, the kind of thing one would slip under a mug or a glass to keep it from dripping condensate all over an heirloom table. "And...we should dress in Muggle clothes. Would you Transfigure something appropriate for me, since you would know better what that would be?"

Nodding, Hermione drew her wand. A rumbling growl stopped her. Glancing around, she looked for the source. It rumbled again; belatedly she realized it was his stomach. "Er...I take it you're hungry?"

"Yes. I have the biscuits from our tea in my pocket...and you have your sandwich and chips in your own. It's not much of a wedding-luncheon, but it might suffice to pass the time, if we have to wait in a queue somewhere...I will treat you to something better than an impromptu picnic, when it is finally safe for us to do so," he promised her.

His earnest, sober words made her smile wistfully. "I'm not ashamed to be seen with you in public, Severus, whatever you may have tried to tell me about your appearance. But you're right; it'll have to wait until the Enemy is firmly dead. Now, hold still; I'm going to give you Muggle clothes."

"Must you look so gleeful at the prospect?" he asked her warily.

She smirked, doing her best to copy his trademark version. "Oh, I've been dying to get my wand on your wardrobe for years, Rus. Ever since fourth-year, when Professor McGonagall loaned me that book on how to Transfigure clothes. And I have the perfect outfit in mind!"

Whipping her wand through the air, she concentrated and muttered. Transfiguration was more about mental discipline, not about fancy words, which was the province of Charms. A wizard or witch had to firmly and forcefully picture in their mind what they wanted the object at hand to become at the end of the Transfiguration; the words were just a conduit for the spell. She was very good at Transfigurations, and had been practically from the start. Six-plus years of diligent, disciplined practice had only added to her skills. So, when she envisioned Severus in his new clothes, his old ones obeyed with alacrity.

His black wool cloak altered into a black, calf-length leather duster with a shoulder-cape, more classic in cut than trendy, but still attractive all the same. His frock coat became a shorter sports-coat, his trousers black slacks, and his white shirt a black turtle-neck jumper. A swish of her wand over herself, and her own clothes also transformed. Her black school cloak became a knee-length grey wool coat, her burgundy jumper into a fuzzy, cream-knit, ankle-length dress, the kind with a soft roll for the neckline, and her jeans shifted into thick, woolly tights patterned in a darker shade of cream. Her snow-boots she transformed into nicer looking leather ones, changing the colour to a buttery-gold cream that complimented the dress. As a final touch, she Transfigured the woolly cap she'd tucked over her curls into a much more charming, foxfur-brimmed pillbox hat.

The appreciative look in his eyes as he assessed her change in clothing reassured Hermione. She thought the dress would be warm and comfortable, and it was, yet the cling of the knit flattered the modest curves of her figure. It also looked just special enough for impromptu wedding-attire. His own garments would pass muster for an elopement as well, she decided, yet not stand out too much on a wintry Saturday. Nodding to herself, Hermione tucked her wand back out of sight. "Shall we go?"

He checked his coat pockets, and nodded, holding out the coaster for her to touch. When she had grasped it, he enquired, "...Ready? Implera!"

They banged and swooshed, jerked by the Portkey across half the length of Scotland. More than half the length, really. Landing in a snow-dusted alleyway, both of them quickly looked around, making sure they'd arrived unnoticed. Satisfied, Hermione released the coaster, and daringly tucked her arms around Severus' elbow as he tucked the coaster back into his pocket, out of sight. Once that was out of the way, they looked like any other Muggle couple on the winding streets of the little town.