The Prusik Friction Hitch

Chapter Ten – The Prusik Friction Hitch

“The Prusik Friction Hitch - The Prusik is widely used as an ascending knot. The friction can be increased by adding … turn[s]. The prusik can cinch up tightly and the friction can be somewhat difficult to break after a load has been applied.” from Knot Knowledge

Hermione was practically growling as she glanced – for the fourth time – at her watch. He was now thirty minutes late. At that point, she was congratulating herself on telling him to be at Grimmauld Place forty-five minutes before they were expected at her parents’ house. With any luck, they’d be to Bedfordshire right on time. Then again, she realized with a jolt, he simply may not show up.

“It would be just like him to leave me to go by myself,” she muttered as she sank down to the landing, abandoning the idea of waiting near the door.

“Indeed it would,” Snape announced as he breezed into the foyer. The corner of the heavy oak door jabbed into her bum as he swung it open, but he gave this no notice. “However, I would rather get this monstrosity of an evening over sooner rather than later.”

Hermione rose from her seat on the stairs. “That makes two of us,” she said.

Snape smirked back at her but it faded from his face as she scanned him slowly.

“You’re not really wearing that, are you?” she asked incredulously.

He glanced quickly down at his robes – the unrelieved black robes that ended in a high neck, the stiff white shirt collar visible beneath, and the traveling cloak that were his typical fair – and scowled back at her. “I see nothing wrong with my attire.”

Hermione sighed heavily. “Prof— Sn-- … Severus.” She cleared her throat as he lifted an eyebrow at her. “My parents are Muggles.”

“And?”

“They live in a Muggle neighborhood.”

“And?”

“You can’t go into Muggle Britain looking like that,” she said. “You’ll terrify people.”

Snape’s smirk deepened.

“Not to mention stick out like a sore thumb.”

This time, it was Snape’s turn to sigh. He gave her a withering look before drawing his wand. “Will you be this insistent and obnoxiously relentless for the rest of our lives?”

“Most likely.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth briefly. “Mule,” he muttered.

“Horse’s arse.”

“Most likely,” Snape returned. Hermione smiled thinly. He sighed again and gestured towards his clothing with his wand. “I suppose you feel I should wear something akin to the dreadful outfit I wore on the day that Mr. Weas—”

“Yes,” Hermione interrupted before she could stop herself and immediately regretted it. She had several reasons for the response, each more grating than the rest. And from the sanctimonious expression on Snape’s face, she had a feeling he could guess what most of those reasons were.

It was really just to stop him from talking about Ron, Hermione told herself, but even as the words occurred to her, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. Something fluttered and kicked strangely in her chest as she remembered the way he had looked in the Pensieve. So insolent … so arrogant, sitting there in the well-worn jeans and mysterious black trench coat. He looked so haughty and enigmatic … so … bad. And she flushed as she recognized what a quiet thrill it was.

“Yes,” she repeated, clearing her throat and forcing confidence into her voice. “Yes, I think something similar to that outfit will do just nicely. But perhaps a bit more formal,” she added hastily. “I want to make a good impression.”

Snape’s features darkened and he lifted an eyebrow. She resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze as he laid the tip of his wand to his robes and muttered a charm. Eyebrow still in the air, Snape gave no indication that his gradual change of attire even registered for him. Hermione, however, saw fit to appraise him.

More to avoid his gaze than anything else, Hermione walked in a small circle around him, taking in his appearance. He had, apparently, the good sense to take her advice and dress slightly more formally. But only slightly, she thought with a wry smile. When Severus noticed her appraisal pattern, he made a good show of removing the black trench coat and following her with his head as she circled him. He was clad in a trim pair of black trousers and a button-down, collared shirt in a deep, stormy gray. Much to her surprise, he had left the shirt open at the neck. Hermione actually caught herself staring momentarily at his throat, fully certain that this was the most “undressed” she’d ever seen him.

Hermione laughed aloud when she glanced down at his feet and noticed he was wearing a thick-soled pair of combat boots.

“What in the world is so amusing about my choice of footwear?” he asked lazily.

For some reason, she had a sudden fit of the giggles. “I have no idea,” she managed. “I think it’s something to do with the idea of a friend from home.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow.

“A girl that lives round the corner from my parents is into the whole … erm … what do you call it? ‘Goth’ I think is the word. I just remember that she used to wear a trench coat and combat boots even in the dead of summer. It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that you would torture yourself similarly.” Hermione started chuckling again, but it died on her lips as Snape merely stared down his nose at her.

“Yes,” Hermione said, clearing her throat, “well … perhaps we better … get going.”

“Perhaps,” Snape said and pulled his trench over his shoulders. The pair strode silently into the square outside Grimmauld Place. Hermione was fishing in her handbag for money for the Underground (assuming, naturally, that if they were to dress as Muggles, they would be traveling as Muggles as well) when she felt Snape’s fingers close over her own. She squeaked in shock – unsure that he had ever even touched her before – but had no time to contemplate the matter, as she suddenly felt a tugging sensation and was whisked away into the evening.

Hermione’s knees buckled and she tumbled head first over the low wall outlining the front garden of her parents’ house. She rolled into a sitting position as quickly as possible and hurried to rearrange her clothing. Hermione swore as she brushed at the chafe marks on her knees and the palms of her hands. She turned around with a growl as she heard soft laughter behind her.

Snape walked easily through the gate onto the front path and offered her his hand to help her to her feet. Hermione scowled deeply. “You could have warned me that we were going to Apparate together. At least then I would have been a bit more prepared.” Hermione ignored the proffered hand and brushed at her clothing. She had taken such care to look nice and now she was all rumpled.

He stared at her, but a thick smile was plastered across his features. “And miss this lovely opportunity to witness your natural grace? Surely not.”

A growl rumbled low in her throat. “You are despicable.”

“Usually,” he returned.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him as they stepped up onto the front porch. “Please, whatever you do, don’t allow my parents to know what a bastard you have the capability to be.”

Before Snape could bite off a retort, Hermione lifted her hand and rapped on the door. She couldn’t help thinking, as she waited for her mother to answer, how absolutely bizarre it was to knock on her own door. But, then again, she rationalized, it would hardly do to just tromp into the house with him behind me. God knows what he’d do.

But before Hermione had the chance to contemplate the horrors of an impromptu meeting with Severus and her parents, the door swung open and, behind it, Hermione’s mother waited with a wide, warm grin. Her mother’s long, curly hair – a mirror of her own, though more controlled and just starting to streak with gray – was pulled away from her face in a low ponytail, a contrast to the usual tumble of spirals. Hermione’s mother brushed at the light blue polo shirt she was wearing and then at the apron tied loosely around her waist before pulling Hermione into a gentle hug, pressing her cheek against her daughter’s in lieu of a kiss.

“Welcome home, darling,” Hermione’s mother said, and beckoned them into the house with a wave of her cleanly manicured hand. “It’s so lovely to see you. And I’m so glad you’ve brought—” At this moment, Hermione’s mother noticed Severus. It was obvious from the slight double take that the woman experienced that she certainly hadn’t expected a teacher, but she covered it with graceful aplomb. With barely a break in her voice, she continued, “one of your teachers. We’ve never had a chance to meet any of them at your school.”

After a moment of uneasy silence, Severus cleared his throat loudly.

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked and then took a deep breath. “Mother, this is Severus Snape; he’s the Potions Master at Hogwarts. He’s … one of my teachers,” she finished uncertainly.

Hermione’s mother extended her hand towards Severus and favored him with a warm smile. “Welcome, Professor Snape. I’m Constance Granger, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. My husband, Elliot, is in the sitting room. You’re welcome to join him. I’m going to ask Hermione to help me a bit with dinner; make yourself comfortable, please, and let me take your coat.”

Through the entire introduction, Hermione’s heart was pounding wildly. Severus’s expression had not changed whatsoever to indicate that he’d even heard what her mother had said; but he did shake her hand lightly and nod as she reached for his coat. It wasn’t the bright meeting that Harry would have garnered, but she supposed it could have gone worse.

Snape glared at Hermione pointedly. When Hermione merely stared back, her throat tightening in anxiety, he rolled his eyes and placed a hand at her elbow.

“Perhaps, Miss Granger, you might show me to the sitting room and introduce me to your father.”

She recovered herself as quickly as possible. “Yes, of course,” she said quickly, and moved towards the sitting room.

“Be sure to get the Professor a drink, won’t you, darling?” Constance called over her shoulder as she moved back towards the kitchen.

Once the woman was out of earshot, Severus allowed Hermione to direct him down the small corridor towards the sitting room. “Your mother seems … polite. Although, I’d have to say it seems that the trait is not genetic. You are an appalling hostess.”

With already jangling nerves, Hermione felt stung by the insult. She whirled back to look at Snape.

“Don’t you dare start in on me again. If this whole evening is just going to be one little jaunt where you try to make me look a fool in front of my parents, I’ll save you the wasted hours, dump your drink on you now, and then thank you to leave the house and let me tell them on my own. I cannot put up with your particular brand of bullshit this evening!”

As Hermione’s speech had progressed, her words had not only gotten more vehement, but much faster as well. She rankled at the fact that he continued to look more and more amused as her comments went on. With her last furious whisper, she stood glaring at him and breathing heavily.

Snape reached down gracefully, picked up her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “Charmed, Miss Granger. How could I resist an evening of such warm and witty conversation?”

Hermione glowered dubiously at his expression. “Have you been drinking?”

When Severus laughed aloud, Hermione turned without another word and strode into the sitting room. If Severus Snape was standing there in her house, kissing her hand and laughing, this evening was going to be even worse than she thought.

Hermione’s father was reading the London Times when she led Severus into the room. At her approach, he practically leapt up from the chair and swept Hermione into a hug, turning in a dizzying circle until she squealed with delight.

“Hello, Dad,” she chortled as he set her on her feet.

“Hello, Dad,” he sing-songed back at her. “That’s hardly a way to greet the love of your life!”

She could feel Snape’s eyes on the back of her neck, surveying her as she laughed at the old joke between her and her father. “Well, you know, those boys at school may give you a run for your money yet, Darling Father,” she returned, as usual.

He smiled and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek as she ruffled his salt-and-pepper waves of hair. Hermione’s father pushed his glasses further up on his nose and surveyed Snape, who was still standing silent and stoic behind Hermione.

“Well, now,” Hermione’s father began, obviously pleased, “so nice to have you here, Sir. I assume you’re one of Hermione’s professors?” He extended his hand and, as Hermione stepped out of the way to allow Severus to take it, Severus cleared his throat and brushed his fingers over the front of his shirt before taking the proffered hand.

Hermione was suddenly struck with an absolutely strange realization: Snape was nervous! She tried to hold back a grin as she introduced the men.

“Father, this is my Potions Professor, Severus Snape. Professor Snape, my father, Elliot Granger.”

“A pleasure, Sir,” Snape said, though his expression said otherwise. Hermione groaned, sure of impending disaster, but her father seemed to be completely unaware of the cold greeting.

“Excellent,” Elliot replied and turned to Hermione. “Get us a drink, will you, Pumpkin?”

“Certainly,” Hermione replied, but in her head, she couldn’t help but think, Oh dear.

“A bloody Mary for me, dear, and for Severus …?”

Hermione held her breath. She could see Snape flinch at being immediately addressed by his first name, but she could also tell he was struggling to stay civil. “Just water,” he replied shortly.

Hermione made to leave, but her father said, “Oh come now, you must have something a little more powerful than that; a whiskey perhaps?”

Severus glared at Hermione witheringly, but when his voice came, it was even. “Thank you, a whiskey would be lovely.”

He was almost being pleasant. Almost.

Hermione didn’t actually taste a single morsel of the meal she imbibed; in fact, had she been quizzed afterwards, she was quite certain she wouldn’t have even been able to tell anyone what they had eaten. The actual act of eating had become automatic as she focused all of her attention on the dreadful pressure that was slamming down on her shoulders. Keep it light, she kept reminding herself. The conversation needs to be light, so that when they find out …

So far, the meal had not been a total disaster. True, Hermione’s parents did at least ninety percent of the talking – and she could see that they were straining to keep cheerful in the face of near complete silence from the opposite side of the table – but at least Severus hadn’t out-and-out insulted them. Yet.

She nearly sobbed into her peach cobbler when she heard her mother ask Severus, “So, Professor, are you married?”

A malicious smirk tugged at the corners of Severus’s mouth. He glanced pointedly at Hermione before answering. “I am not,” he started, “but I am engaged to be married late next month.”

Hermione’s parents both brightened visibly and gabbled congratulations.

“Oh, how lovely!” Constance chimed.

“When did you ask the lady, if it’s not prying to ask?” Elliot asked jovially.

“Actually,” Severus said smoothly, laying his fork against the dessert plate, “the marriage process works somewhat differently in the wizarding world these days. I petitioned for her hand.”

“Petitioned?” Constance asked, some of the happy chirp gone from her voice but a determinedly bright smile on her face.

Severus nodded, and as the smirk on his face grew, Hermione felt her limbs gel with fear. She closed her eyes and hoped for the best.

“You see,” he began with an air of one explaining something to a child, “I was required by law to marry within the next six months because of a declining rate of viable pregnancies in the pureblood wizarding community. In an effort to reinvigorate the wizarding world’s genetic lines, I am required to petition for the marriage of someone who has non-magic parents. Like Hermione.”

He said the last statement with great relish. Hermione’s stomach dropped away as a look of horror penetrated the perfectly polite visages of both of the Grangers. For one horrifying moment, Hermione prepared herself for the outrage that would accompany their realization.

“That’s … that’s,” her mother stammered. “That can’t be easy on you, Professor.”

“Indeed,” her father said. “Sort of barbaric isn’t it? Do they allow you any choice in the matter?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Severus said, with an affected downtrodden expression. “I did happen to get somewhat … bullied into a certain choice.”

“Oh dear,” Constance intoned, and patted Severus’s hand comfortingly.

Oh God, Hermione thought, her stomach lurching as if she might be sick all over the table. She clutched at it. I have to stop this before he says something hideous …

“Mother, Father,” Hermione said nervously, standing up from the table, “perhaps we could go into the sitting room?”

“Of course, Pumpkin,” Elliot replied. “Is there something wrong?”

“Well,” Hermione began, and then cleared her throat. “There is a specific reason why I am here this evening. I would just … we would … be more comfortable in the sitting room, I think.”

The men swiftly cleared the dishes from the table – Hermione’s father making a boisterous comment that ‘we should help the ladies every now and then, eh? They did such a lovely job.’ – and the four of them proceeded into the other room, where Hermione’s parents occupied two matching rocking chairs, leaving Hermione and Severus the sole choice of sitting side-by-side on the love seat across from them. Hermione couldn’t stop her knees from bouncing with nervousness. She’d rather have sat in a chair. Alone.

“Well,” she began, “erm … ah … Well, I suppose it’s just best to get right down to business –”

“We know you’re Head Girl, darling,” her father said, beaming.

“We got the letter yesterday,” her mother finished.

Hermione smiled weakly. “Oh yes … that. Well, yes, I am, but that’s not what I was …” She glanced nervously towards Severus, hoping for help, but received a stiff smile. He gestured towards her parents with a brief flick of his hand. From the look on his face, she needed no translation: Go ahead, have at it.

“Well, I …” she stammered. Probably best, she decided, to simply spit it out, get it over with, and then explain. “I’m … I’m getting married next month.”

Hermione’s parents sat frozen, the serenely happy expressions on their faces glazed and hardened as if they were, indeed, not her parents, but a photograph cleverly arranged. She charged on, figuring that as long as they were silent, she’d have the courage to talk about it.

And talk she did, only not about the Marriage Law. Hermione found that the words tumbling from her mouth were instead the history of her seven years at Hogwarts. Every summer, she’d come home and tried to word what happened to her at school, but that first summer when she was eleven, her mother practically had a stroke when Hermione mentioned breaking the rules to research Nicholas Flamel. So after that, Hermione had simply stopped telling. She had given her parents carefully padded stories of Harry and Ron that were so sanitized from all her danger and rule-breaking that they were only shadows of the truth. She had raged with guilt every summer that she couldn’t be truthful, but in the end she knew her parents wouldn’t understand the world she lived in during the year. And here she was, on a sunny August afternoon, spilling every incident she’d aided and abetted throughout her term at Hogwarts.

The faces of her parents became slowly more shocked and horrified as her stories continued, her father nearly spewing over with fury. Fury, however, was soon replaced with terror as Hermione began to recount the dark days since Voldemort’s rebirth. Her house in Bedfordshire had never been as silent as the few moments when Hermione, dry-faced, described the days surrounding Ron’s death.

And it was then that she surged into her description of the Marriage Law. She extracted the parchment containing the outlines of the law from her handbag and handed it over, talking slowly about her necessary movements because of the threat from Draco Malfoy as they scanned the contents of the paper with horror-struck faces.

“So that’s why I need to get married,” she finished, feeling the twinge of muscle cramps in her shoulders and lower back. The sun had long since set and she had been holding herself rigid with anxiety for the last two hours, at least. “For protection, you see. That’s why I’m marrying—”

“Who is it?” her father asked, his voice calm, but barbed.

“Well, I did bring him with me...”

Hermione’s mother seemed to understand. Her eyes drifted slowly to Severus, who had not spoken since they had risen from the table. Constance’s mouth opened and shut several times, no sound leaving her lips. Her father, however, rose from the chair and started to move towards the door.

“Well, ask him in for goodness sake, Hermione. Where are your manners, leaving someone outside for hours?”

Hermione made a move to stop him, but it was her mother that lifted a hand from the arm of her chair and grasped Elliot’s wrist before he could leave the room.

Hermione gathered a deep breath. “Father, Mother, I’d like to introduce to you my fiancé, Severus Snape.”

Severus’s head was suddenly pounding as his vision slid up from blurriness. He raised his hand, dabbed at his nose, and stared in confusion at the trickle of blood running down his fingers. Hermione was standing over him, her face worried. Severus blinked a few times. He couldn’t focus.

“Honestly, Elliot,” he could hear the woman chiding shrilly in the background, “is that any way to treat someone who is a guest in our house? Good grief!”

Severus clutched at his head. “Well, now I know where your daughter’s tendencies to be both a nagging harpy and a hotheaded prat come from,” he groused, still dabbing absently at his nose.

“Severus!” Hermione burst out, suddenly acutely aware that this was the first time she’d ever called him by his first name.

Snape rose to his feet as Elliot Granger struggled out from his wife’s grip and charged towards him again, fists raised. Severus produced his wand so quickly that Hermione hadn’t even gathered where he’d had it stowed and muttered a charm at her father. Elliot’s hands snapped together in front of him and Snape conjured a deep gray length of rope that encircled his wrist. Hermione cried out in anger, but Snape merely approached him calmly.

“If you touch me again, Muggle,” he spat, “I will have no qualms about separating your limbs from your body. Slowly.”

“Severus!” Hermione called again, outraged.

“You lecherous monster, you,” her father bit back, fuming and glaring back at him.

“Dad!”

Constance was wringing her hands as she moved across the room. “Gentleman, please, this can’t be helping.” She placed a light hand on Elliot’s chest and motioned for him to take his chair, which he did, reluctantly. When she delicately touched Severus’s arm, he jerked as if she’d soiled him somehow, but he resumed his seat.

“Behave,” Hermione hissed at him.

“You can’t get married,” her father raged the instant she sat down, “that’s all there is to it.”

Hermione put her head in her hands and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to massage away the tension there. “I have to, Father, I’ve told you that. I either marry or leave the wizarding world all together.”

“Then come home, darling,” her mother said.

Hermione’s head snapped up. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t. I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense,” Elliot said. “You belong here much more than with some … some horrid old man,” Snape scoffed at this, fully aware that he was actually younger than Elliot, “who hasn’t the heart to treat you right. You can’t marry him. You won’t; I won’t allow it.”

Severus smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione was already on her feet.

“You won’t allow it?” she trilled. “The last I checked, I was a legal adult! That’s what got me into this mess. I’m not just an adult in that world, Dad, I’m an adult in yours. So you have no business telling me what you will or will not allow. I’ll get married if it will keep me in the wizarding world and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”

“How dare you!” her father thundered, standing again. “You are just a little girl! Don’t you take that tone with me!”

“Elliot,” Constance started.

“Oh, be quiet and let me handle this,” he snapped. “If you do this, my girl, you join one world, but you most assuredly leave this one. Mark my words: if you marry this man, you never come back here again. Do you hear me?”

Severus stood up behind her suddenly and Hermione jumped when his hands came to her shoulders. His fingers were surprisingly gentle but firm as he clutched her. She looked back, curious, to see his eyes were ablaze with disgusted anger, but nevertheless, his hands on her were gentle. Hermione trembled.

“You disgust me,” Severus bit out through clenched teeth. “You Muggles never fail to disgust me. This is your daughter. She is a bright, intelligent, capable witch who is most likely the strongest of any to pass through Hogwarts in decades. And you would alienate her completely for something you don’t understand?”

Elliot started to retort, but Severus cut him off.

“And no doubt, you would cut off the offspring that will inevitably come from this union? Combined with her intelligence and power and my line of some of the strongest and most noble wizard blood in Europe, the children that come from us will no doubt be more powerful than any of their generation. And you would cut off your grandchildren without a second thought. You sicken me.”

“No child of yours is a grandchild of mine!” Elliot roared. “The idea of the two of you together is like some grotesque joke! Even imagining the two of you … together is ridiculous.”

“Indeed?” Severus asked lightly. She watched him smirk at her parents in defiance as he slid a hand down from her shoulder. Hermione yelped in surprise when Severus’s long, thin fingers slid over her breast. Elliot charged towards him again but jerked back when Severus yanked Hermione around and planted his lips on hers.

Too stunned to react, Hermione simply stood and allowed herself to be kissed as she heard her father yelling in the background. But it was as if someone had turned down the volume in the room. The only thing that registered to her was that Severus had slightly chapped lips.

And then it was over. He had pushed her away and she was stumbling to regain balance as Severus asked her father, “Ridiculous?” and then grasped her wrist.

Just before Severus made to Apparate away, Elliot called to Hermione. “Don’t do this, Pumpkin,” he pleaded. “Just stay here and we’ll pretend that none of this ever happened.”

Hermione drew herself up to her full height, pushed her chin higher in the air, and said, “I’ll send you an invitation to the ceremony.”

And then they were gone.