The Triple Crown Knot

Chapter Nine – The Triple Crown Knot

“Triple Crown Knot - The Triple Crown Knot is my favorite double splayed loop knot because … the loops definitely don't communicate.”

(Taken from Knot Knowledge)

The last few weeks of the summer were passing more slowly than Hermione would have thought possible. There were only a few days left until she would board the Hogwarts Express with her classmates, and yet, it felt like a millennium had passed since Ron had … passed. Had this been any other summer, Hermione would have been thoroughly thrilled to have the time with her friends so wonderfully lengthened. As it was, however, Hermione was down to her last friend: Harry. And even their relationship was strained to say the least. Neither of them could quite banish the grief they were feeling, and Hermione could only just barely keep her head above the current of resentment that was threatening to drag her under.

The only escape she could manage was of little joy. Hermione had taken to burying her nose into books regarding Wizarding marriage traditions. She was still determined to make the best wedding she could possibly scrape out despite the roiling wave of nausea crashing over her every time she thought of marrying Snape, so she tried to immerse herself in the duties and responsibilities of crafting a wedding, however undesirable the groom might be.

But that was mostly during the day.

The nights were when Hermione really suffered. Sharing a room with Ginny while the fiery redhead maintained her bitter silence was a challenge. In the end, Hermione resorted to either staying in the study reading long into the night – when she was certain Ginny would be sleeping and she could creep upstairs unnoticed – or going to bed at such an early hour that by the time her roommate reappeared for the night, Hermione could at least conjure up a good imitation of slumber. Even then, however, Hermione was haunted.

She saw Ron every night: his face, his eyes, the claw marks in Snape’s robes, his voice echoing in her head …

“Tell Hermione I love her …”

He haunted her in dreams and in waking hours every night as she lie in bed, staring at the wall. Sometimes she would awaken to find herself moaning or crying in her sleep and would spend the rest of the night with her back resting against her headboard, knees huddled to her chest, trying to forcibly remove the horrific images from the back of her mind. But every morning, she still woke haunted.

And she could tell that Harry did too. The ghost of it crept around his eyes, painting heavy gray-blue smudges under his lower lids; but more than that, his sparkling green eyes never quite lost the look of a guilty, hunted man. And Hermione could think of nothing to say.

Day by day, the two of them talked less. Her only escape was in the books she was using to plan the wedding, but every time Harry saw them, noticed what she was reading, he seemed to twitch or flinch just a tad more every day. She had trouble deciding whether this was because she was getting married, because she was getting married to someone other than Ron, because she was getting married to someone other than Ron and it was Snape, or because she was getting married and … and it wasn’t to him.

Even in her head she felt the arrogance of the statement. She tried to tell herself that his anger and sadness couldn’t possibly be just for her. It was too narcissistic to think that he would be this broken up over the loss of her. It was just not likely, being who she was and who he was. Being who she was to him.

But she couldn’t remove the thought from her head, no matter how hard she tried, every time Harry’s eyes met hers. They always seemed to journey from her own sad eyes … to her ring.

Hermione took a deep breath. The knowledge that it had to be done had settled like a lead weight in her stomach, and every time she thought about doing it, she felt a fresh burst of panicky sickness course through her. But now that she had done it, she really did feel at least marginally better knowing that the first real step had been taken towards getting this wretched event behind her. She had set a date for the wedding.

After two solid weeks of debating and three days of checking her calendar, she had finally decided on the last weekend in September. The weather would still be good and crisp, but not cold; and she had the added benefit that it was a Hogsmeade weekend. They couldn’t possibly afford the time or effort to do it anywhere other than Hogwarts, and Hermione had no desire to have the possibility of random students wandering into the wedding or reception. The possible results of that were too horrific to even imagine. So she had decided on September 25th at sundown, out near the lake. Now all she had to do was inform her fiancé.

And her parents.

As much as she was truly dreading the reactions of her fellow students, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what her parents would say. But first … first she had to inform her fiancé.

And, much to her dismay, as he burst into the kitchen and busily began pouring himself a cup of coffee, she had the opportunity to do just that. She dawdled at finishing her breakfast, chiding herself all along but still not in a rush to correct the situation. She chewed every bite rather more times than was strictly necessary, gathering the energy and courage to broach the subject.

Hermione looked around quickly. Only a few Order members remained in the kitchen, and they were all sufficiently busy doing other things. She supposed this was the best chance she would get at privacy. She walked slowly over to him on the pretense of placing her dishes in the sink to be washed. She threw a sideways glance at him as she stood in front of the sink and muttered, "Scourgify.”

He didn’t even cast a glance at her as she strolled over to him.

“I’d … er … I’d like to discuss,” she began, stuttering. She couldn’t seem to get her tongue under her any time she talked to him.

He slowly cast her an indifferently disdainful look. In fact, how he managed to look both indifferent and disdainful at the same time mystified her. But, she thought with a sigh, if anyone could do that, it’s Severus Snape.

This was the man she was marrying in little under a month.

“I’d like to discuss the wedding,” she said firmly.

“What about it?” he asked, sitting down at the table, drawing out a copy of the Daily Prophet and not even glancing in her direction.

“The date … er …,” she stuttered again. He still hadn’t looked at her. Frustration and annoyance welling up in her throat, she plunked down across from him at the table and snatched the newspaper out of his hands. He looked decidedly angry at her presumption and rudeness, but for a moment, she thought she saw just a flicker of amusement cross his face. And then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Spit it out, Granger,” Snape growled, “before I get unpleasant.”

Hermione snorted derisively. “I’ve set a date for the wedding.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, snorted back, and returned her glare step for step. “Is that so?” he said, sneering.

“September 25th,” she said firmly. “A Saturday.”

“Hmmph,” he replied, seemingly without a nasty comment. He snatched his paper back from her and resumed his scan of the articles. Much to his surprise, Hermione snatched it back.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin, the least you could do is pretend to care that I’ve got something to say,” she spat angrily.

Snape folded his hands in front of him and stared at her intently. Hermione wasn’t at all certain she preferred this to complete indifference. She sensed that he knew this, however, because he had now smeared a curious and interested look on his face, mocking her with every inch of his being. She decided the best thing to do was to beat him at own game.

“Much better,” she cooed sweetly, and launched into a fifteen-minute elaboration of the plans she had established so far. She watched in amusement as his eyes glazed over and the disdainful sneer returned. She smirked. At least she had gained a step or two on him. Just when she knew he was starting to tune her out entirely, she casually dropped the bomb in his lap to see how he would react.

“--so that’s why I was thinking that perhaps you would like to accompany me to my parents’ house tomorrow evening,” she said quickly, and then hastily added, “so they can meet their future son-in-law.”

Unfortunately, Hermione hadn’t counted on the fact that he’d been listening to every word, and grimaced as he slickly responded, “I’ll do no such thing.”

Hermione, however, was ready for this type of answer. “Would you prefer to meet them now? Or wait until a year or two down the road when we have to explain to them why I’m pregnant with my former teacher’s child?”

As much as the statement left a bitter taste in her mouth and a sick, swooping feeling in her stomach, it achieved the desired result: Snape sighed and grumbled as he got up and left the room.

“All right, fine,” he called grudgingly on his way out, “Tomorrow evening I shall accompany you to your parents’ home.”

Hermione smiled in triumph, but she felt the familiar plummeting stomach as she thought about the repercussions of this: for the first time ever, she was bringing someone home to meet her parents. And it was Snape.

She was bringing Snape home to her parents.

“Oh, Holy Jesus,” Hermione breathed, allowing her head to dropped onto her folded arms. “This is going to be disastrous.”

Mum,

I hope this isn’t too terribly sudden, but I’m going

to be coming home for dinner tomorrow

evening. Also, if it’s not too big an imposition,

I’ll be bringing a friend

someone special someone from

school with me as well. I have some exciting

interesting big news for you and Dad.

Please return owl and let me know

if this is all right.

Love from

Hermione

Hermione dear,

That’s no problem, Love. Your father and I will

be working late so dinner will be at 8:00. Hope

your little friend likes pork chops! Is this the

handsome young man whom we’ve heard so

much about? Harry? I’ll make your father promise

not to embarrass you …

What’s this about big news? Does this mean

you’ve gotten the Head Girl position?

I suppose I’ll have to wait until tomorrow

to find out.

See you then, Pumpkin.

Love from

Your Mother

Hermione couldn’t stop her fingers from fidgeting with her skirt as she stood in the entranceway of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. From every angle she possibly looked at the situation, she couldn’t imagine a worse pickle she’d ever been in. And the worst part was, it wasn’t entirely of her own making, so she hadn’t a clue whom to blame. Not that blaming someone would help the situation. But it would certainly would be easier when explaining to her parents if she had somewhere to place the blame.

Hermione sighed and fussed at her hair and outfit while peering grumpily into the hall mirror. He was ten minutes late and she was a nervous wreck. She had changed her outfit four times before settling on a mint green skirt and jumper set with a dark green tank top underneath. She was certain that she looked well enough to befit the situation of introducing her fiancé to her parents. The problem was, she didn’t want to look too nice. She had originally picked out a rather nice looking suit that she kept for important occasions (because she was certain that Snape would criticize her if she went comfortable with her usual jean shorts and a T-shirt), but she knew that if she had worn the outfit that her parents had last seen on her at her cousin Marissa’s wedding, they would know something was up.

As Hermione leaned closer to examine the light makeup she had applied, she reaffirmed to herself her choice that things would go the best this evening if they were to ease into the subject. If her parents suspected that anything was amiss, Severus would get his hackles up, and then someone would end up bruised or bloodied … and it was likely to be her. No, she told herself again, things would indeed go smoothest if she could introduce the topic easily and gently.

The one x-factor was Severus.

The man could be predicted about as easily as he could be restrained. And Hermione could only keep things light and casual to a certain point, as she’d be accompanied to dinner by a man who had all the warmth of a glacier, all the endearing charm of a cactus, and all the social skills of a man-eating shark. She sighed heavily. She was dealing with a man who would more than likely insult her parents out of their skins. If he didn’t injure them. And if her sister Genny had not yet left for her own school, Severus may well terrorize the younger girl within an inch of her sanity just for good measure. Her mother thought she was bringing Harry home with her.

And Hermione heartily wished this were the truth. Even if she were forced to endure this wretched situation that she had to explain to her parents, it would be so much kinder and easier if she were able to bring Harry home with her. Harry. A kind, sensible, courteous sort of boy, who, while somewhat flighty at times, would be respectable and nice, well mannered and courteous to her parents. He may even have shown her little scraps of affection … a hand held, a patted knee … perhaps, if he were feeling particularly generous, he may have even kissed her cheek … something to show her parents that their daughter would not be left emotionally adrift for the remainder of her days in a world they didn’t understand. Harry would have handled the situation marvelously.

Almost as if her thoughts had been broadcast aloud, Hermione noticed Harry’s bright emerald eyes gazing at her in the mirror. He stood at the end of the hall, watching her silently, sadly. He spoke no words because he needed none. As Hermione turned to gaze at him, he walked slowly to her, his eyes never leaving her face. When he was only an arm’s reach away, Harry gazed down at her outfit.

She watched as his eyes raked her – across the green heeled Mary Janes that were her favorite, the modest, knee-length mint skirt and it’s matching cardigan with the emerald green piping, the emerald tank top that was the same shade as his eyes – and finally returned to her face. Without a word, he reached to her side where her arms hung limply, grasped her hand and brought it up in front of her. With a light movement of his hands, he turned her engagement ring under to the palm of her hand and gently laid his lips across the top, just under her wrist.

He did not look at her again before climbing the stairs. Hermione jumped slightly when she heard the door at the top of the landing slam shut.