The Rolling Hitch

Chapter Twelve – The Rolling Hitch

Rolling Hitch – The Rolling Hitch is one of the most underrated knots in . . . Guiding; the Rolling Hitch is used to attach one rope to a second, in such a manner that the first rope can be easily slid along the second . . . When tension is applied and the ropes form a straight line, the rolling hitch will lock onto the first rope. When the tension is released, the hitch can be loosened and slid along the first rope to a new location. The tension must be applied on the side of the knot with the extra turn." from Get Knotted!

If Severus had thought about it, he may have been indignant or even outraged at the pity that surged up in his throat as he looked down his nose at his soon-to-be bride while she sat alone at the large kitchen table of Grimmauld Place, surrounded by stacks of wizarding tradition books and bridal magazines from the Muggle world. If he had even considered his reaction, he most certainly wouldn't have sighed as he passed her; she commenced dabbing at the orange juice that had dribbled across the page she had dog-eared in a Muggle magazine as she poured over a description of a wizarding fidelity charm. He may have even spoken to her about this reaction had the kitchen not been filled with the other members of the Order, milling about and eating their breakfast. If he were a different man, he may have sat down next to her to keep the process from being so lonely; if he'd had it in him, he may have even offered help. But it wasn't in him. So he simply picked up his mug of coffee, looked down his nose at her as she muttered to herself - scratching notes in the margins of the book - and strode out of the kitchen to have a cigarette on the porch.

*****

Hermione sifted through the books she had set out in a wide arc around her at the table, looking for a passage she had read somewhere about the magical connection between the wands of spouses. It was an option - and repercussion - of this marriage that she certainly didn't want to ignore. From what she had read, the theories posited the idea that certain marital links between magical people could strengthen each spouse's magical powers and that at times they could even share powers. Hermione wasn't certain that she wished to share powers with Snape; God only knew what the man was capable of, and Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to be privy to that.

She sighed as she glanced around the kitchen. There was a circle of silence around her. Though no one was being unfriendly, there was definitely an air of discomfort that permeated the atmosphere. No one knew how to talk to her anymore except Harry, who had kept a careful distance since the incident with Ginny. Hermione found herself more alone than ever. Ginny was maintaining a stony silence even more tenacious than before. In the days and weeks following Ron's death, the girl she'd once considered her closest (if not only) female friend had not only not spoken to her, but had been aggressively angry in gesture and aura. Now, it was if any room that Hermione occupied was empty. Hermione sighed again. This whole process wasn't even her idea, and it certainly wasn't something she'd choose to pursue if she had the option. Which she didn't.

So she just sighed again and went back to her work, muttering about the rebounds of a fidelity charm and dabbing at the orange juice she had spilled on a page containing the dress style she thought most suited her body type. She made a concerted effort not to look up when she felt Snape's eyes on her for a long time, certain that she'd find him scowling down at the silliness of bridal magazines. And, for that matter, of brides. But then she heard a sigh. She knew it was him and was almost certain that it sounded sad. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand reach out towards her just the tiniest bit and she froze, closing her eyes. Her heart raced as she considered the idea that maybe .... Maybe he would sit. She couldn't decide if she wanted him to sit or not. Would it be less awful, or more so? Maybe it wouldn't be awful anymore. She felt his eyes on her still. With a small, hopeful smile on her face, she raised her head and opened her eyes.

He was gone.

*****

"Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs, "hurry up, will you? If you want to go to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies with the whole group, we're leaving in five minutes!"

Hermione gulped hard and willed herself to stop stalling. She didn't want to go to Diagon Alley because of what it meant. It meant that she'd be heading back to school tomorrow where she'd have to face all the empty chairs and empty desks and empty beds. It meant that she'd see people from Hogwarts. It meant they'd be asking questions and offering sympathy she wasn't prepared to accept. It meant she'd be going back to where she couldn't hide from memories of the past and horrors of the future. Where she'd have to face today. Where she'd have to face Snape. It meant she was really getting married.

She looked in the mirror with a sigh, telling herself to finish grooming quickly but not really moving any faster. There were still dark circles lingering under her eyes, more prominent now as she pulled her hair back away from her face. Ron's voice still echoed through her head every time she closed her eyes, chased by Ginny's cat-like growl of anger and the haunted pucker to Harry's face. The irate fuming of her roommate had slid into a bitter and stoic silence and Hermione nearly crumbled at the thought of facing all the questions and glances and whispered rumors without Ginny. Harry was no help these days either. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and bit down on her lip as her chest hiccupped with the effort needed to restrain the sobs.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley called again.

In rising from her chair and heading towards the door with her cloak and moneybag in hand, Hermione's stomach swooped in sickly anticipation. More heavy coins populated her purse than usual. This might be the last chance she had to shop before the end of the month, and there were many supplies she needed to get to prepare for the thing. She couldn't even think the word just yet.

The hall a few floors below her filled with the sound of shuffling feet. "Coming," she responded, and Hermione started at the sound of her own voice. There seemed to be nothing of her left in it.

*****

As the lot of them began to meander their separate ways through the bustling throng of the winding street, Hermione sifted her fingers again through the sack of money resting in her cloak pocket. She was alone for the first time all day. In a moment of energy and humor all too rare these days, Harry had stayed back at the Leaky Cauldron after lunch (offering to mind her bags) to have a chat and a few butterbeers with Neville, whom he and Hermione had bumped into during their excursion in Flourish and Blotts. Despite a bit of wariness in his eyes, Neville had seemed to fair well the remainder of the summer since they'd seen each other last; he even had appeared to have lost some weight round the middle and gained a little bit of spring in his step. Hermione smiled absently as she thought of how well he looked. Perhaps he'd end up better in this whole marriage law business than she'd thought.

This brought her crashing back to the reason she was standing in front of this shop window, staring into the display as if it held the secrets to life itself. With effort, Hermione straightened her back and pushed into the shop, hearing the echoes of tinkling bells somewhere beyond her. She had fibbed to Mrs. Weasley, saying that her old dressing gown was beyond repair and a new one was in order; the real reason for the trip was the last bit of purchases she needed for the event she was trying to deny the existence of entirely. Without the dress, she could pretend she wasn't really getting married. It wasn't official until she had a dress.

Fighting the urge to look around to see who might be watching her, Hermione made her way over to the section of formal wear. A sad commentary on the times, Hermione thought, was the staggering growth to the bridal section; last year there had not been a quarter of the gowns in stock that there now were, and some in such small sizes that she had to remind herself that the law really did state that no one under 18 could be married. She shook her head as she pawed through the racks.

Her heart sunk lower and lower as she fingered the endless choices. Every gown she came across seemed garish and unfitting. They were all too ...she didn't know what, but whatever it was they seemed to her, every gown had too much of it. A peal of laughter hit her ears and she turned to regard whoever had issued it. In the corner of the bridal section kitty-corner from her was a woman not too much older than she, standing with what must have been her best friend or possibly a sister. Hermione's stomach plummeted when she realized that she recognized the girl. She didn't know the girl well – her name was something flighty and silly that Hermione never remembered; she was a Hufflepuff and had only ever been in only one of Hermione's classes – but the sparkle in her smile and laughter told Hermione that she did not suffer an unpleasant choice of fiancé. Hermione surmised that from what she knew of the girl, she was most likely marrying the boy she'd been seeing for the last year or so: a Chaser on the Ravenclaw team and a Muggle-born wizard. Hermione fought down nausea at the look of complete bliss on the girl's face. The blonde girl looped the bend of a hanger around the back of her neck, allowing an off-the-shoulder set of snow-white bridal robes to drape across her front. Admiring the effect in a nearby mirror and spurred on by the giggles of her friend, the girl spun in odd pirouettes, gauging the twinkle of the sequins across the neckline. It was then that Hermione realized what the gowns had that turned her stomach: they were all too happy. She wished suddenly, stupidly, that she could marry Snape in black robes, to match her mood.

As it was, she picked out the plainest robes on the rack, a trim and simple cream-colored affair with a square, but not unflattering neckline, and held it up against her. The robes did not exactly thrill her, but they were classy and understated, fitting – in her mind – the nature of her wedding. No frills, just simple. Convenient. Just bearable. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, allowed herself that hazy mental picture of her perfect wedding and her perfect gown – long and flowing, lace soft as a whisper – and her perfect dark-haired groom.

"Having a fall wedding, are we?"

Hermione shrieked slightly at the voice that had suddenly appeared at her ear. She hadn't even heard the proprietor of the store, Madam Malkin, walk over to her and was more than a little startled at her jerking Hermione from her reverie.

"Uh, yes," Hermione said quietly. "The twenty-fifth of this month, actually."

"Lovely," the woman said, smiling warmly. "You have a perfect complexion for a fall wedding. Your hair and eyes would match so wonderfully with the reds and oranges and greens of the season."

"Thank you," Hermione managed with a weak smile and turned back to regard the look of the plain robes against her.

"Still in school, are you?" Madam Malkin inquired.

Hermione had the instinct to tell her to mind her own sodding business. Every store she had been to today to purchase supplies for her wedding had produced the same reaction. Every shop owner or clerk she had spoken to had either laughed or gasped when she began to explain that she needed this or that thing for her wedding, telling her she was far too young, and what was a girl like her getting married for when she was still in school and had so much ahead of her? She had barely kept her tongue in check at the last store, and had only done so because Harry had not had as much restraint. She bit her lip. Every witch or wizard must know of the Marriage Law by now, why must they torment every poor girl involved?

But none of this was Madam Malkin's fault; the woman merely waited for an answer with a polite smile. "Yes," Hermione replied. "Yes, I'm in my seventh year. Head Girl, actually."

"Oh, congratulations, darling. But aren't you a bit...?" she started.

"Yes, very young for it," Hermione interrupted before she could hear the end of the sentence. "But it's not as if I have a choice..."

Madam Malkin just interrupted smoothly and pointed to the robes.

"...Conservative in your choice of attire here? Every woman wants to be a princess on her wedding day. Not that there's anything wrong with these robes, dear, but it does nothing for your face or figure. Here," she said and grabbed Hermione by the wrist, dragging her to a different corner of the formal section, "I have something that I just know you'll love."

Hermione's protests went either unheard or ignored because Madam Malkin simply steered Hermione to a corner and heaved a set of dress robes from the top rack. When the round woman held them up for Hermione to inspect, a lump stuck hard and painful at the back of her throat.

She couldn't help but reach out a hand to the fabric and smile. She was sure that the fabric wasn't silk – it was much sturdier than silk – but the yards of ivory were so soft to the touch that she couldn't name what it might be. The robes had a tank-top with a delicately scooping neckline, but at what would be the mid-bicep had it not been on a hanger, sleeves made of a thick, antique lace draped down into a delicate bell. At an empire waist, the thick lace began again, splitting in the front to reveal a wide panel of the ivory fabric and draping down to form just a bit of a train in the back. Hermione felt tears prick her eyes. If it were any closer to her dream gown, she'd be convinced she was asleep.

"Perfect," Hermione whispered.

Madam Malkin nodded. "I knew it. Go try it on, love, and we'll see how she goes."

Barely restraining a sob, Hermione shook her head. "I can't."

"Why ever not? It would compliment you perfectly in face and figure, and if it's the price you're worried about, why we could work something out, I'm sure..."

"No, no," Hermione responded and forced a smile. "You're more than generous, Madam Malkin, but it's not that. It's just that this wedding ... well, it's not really that type of wedding, you see. Something this fancy would be out of place, you understand, and I just want it to be..."

"Nonsense," Madam Malkin said. "Every woman wants to be a princess on her wedding day, and you said yourself that it's perfect; now go try it on. No," she held up a hand to stop a protest from Hermione, "now you heard me. There's no sense in refusing to even put it on. If you try it out and still think it won't work, then I'll be happy to sell you the sensible robes."

As she could both see the logic of the response and the fact that she would never win an argument with the seasoned saleswoman, Hermione allowed the older woman to herd her into one of the changing rooms with the gown. Even though she knew it was silly to do so, Hermione closed her eyes as she slipped the robes over her head. She was almost afraid to see it on; afraid not that they wouldn't fit and wouldn't be the robes of her dreams, but more so, that they would fit and she'd want to buy them. Hermione just wasn't certain she could wear these robes to that wedding when there would be so little joy in the wedding itself. It seemed an unfair standard to set.

She knew it was a bit foolish to do so, but she stubbornly kept her eyes shut as she pushed the gown in place. She would take one look, and one look only, once everything was in place and then she would take the gown off as quickly as possible. Of course, that was if she could get the bloody thing done up. Hermione wriggled around helplessly, trying to reach the low set clasps in the back, but no matter whether her eyes were open or shut, she still couldn't force her arms to reach the clasps. She let her head droop forward onto the cold mirror on the wall away from the door of the changing room and called out wearily.

"Madam Malkin? I could use a bit of help, please."

She heard the woman call out from across the store, but couldn't quite make out the words. Even as she heard the curtain pull back just the slightest bit, Hermione didn't raise her head or her eyes. "Thank you," she muttered as she felt nimble hands hook the last few clasps together at the back. "It's gorgeous and it feels perfect, but I just don't know if I have the heart to look."

The older woman said nothing, but Hermione heard her drop to a squat behind her to adjust the train. Her eyes still closed, Hermione let her hands drift over the soft drape of material just under her bared shoulders.

"You see," Hermione started quietly, "I was supposed to marry someone else." Her throat tightened and though she had no idea why, she felt as if she had to tell the older woman or she'd burst. "I was supposed to marry my best friend and he was attacked," Hermione let her head droop towards her chest, tears spilling from her eyes, "and now he's gone and I just can't wear robes like this to my wedding because it's just so perfect and this wedding is so not perfect. And Ron would have loved these robes so much."

Hermione finished sobbing, her voice reduced to choked hiccups that weren't even words. She felt the woman stiffen behind her, hands frozen at Hermione's shoulders. The fingers pressed down more forcefully than Hermione thought proper and she could hear the woman floundering for words.

"I'm sorry," Hermione managed after a second, "I'm so sorry." She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "I shouldn't have gone to pieces so, I just ... this is just so..."

"Perfect," a voice behind her whispered. Hermione knew at once that it wasn't Madam Malkin's voice.

Madam Malkin's voice now came from outside the booth. "Good heavens, dear, whatever is the matter? What with those robes looking so well on you, I'd have thought you'd be pleased! Is this your Maid of Honor?"

Hermione raised her head so quickly she could have gotten whiplash. She looked into the mirror, barely believing the site of a pair of brown eyes staring back at her from behind the shock of red hair. Tears glistened on her cheeks as Ginny's hands softened at Hermione's shoulders.

"My what?" Hermione managed as she left her eyes drift to Madam Malkin's reflection.

"Your Maid of Honor, dear? I figured she must be, what with helping you into the robes."

Hermione turned and looked to Ginny, searching her eyes for some kind of answer. There was still a steely glint of pain in them, but the anger was gone. She opened her mouth for a moment and Hermione leaned in, anxious for an answer.

"Yes," Ginny said. "Yes, I'm the Maid of Honor."

Though her voice was strong, there was just a hint of a question in it.

"Yes," Hermione said quickly, and put a soft arm around Ginny's waist. "Yes, this is my Maid of Honor. What do you think I should do about the robes?"

"They're perfect," Ginny said softly. After a moment, she bit her lip and then smiled. "Ron would want you to wear this."

Ginny quickly pulled Hermione into a hug and then, sensing the curious eyes of the shopkeeper, pulled back and with a laugh asked her, "Is there anything matching for me in maybe a nice green color?"

Madam Malkin bustled away, bubbling with energy and determined to find the perfect compliment for the delicate gown. Hermione turned and wordlessly allowed Ginny to help her out of the gown.

"Gin, I..."

"I was a full-out arse," Ginny said quickly and gruffly. Hermione grinned, hearing Ron's influence in her husky apology. "And I shouldn't have said what I said. Or hurt you with the ring."

Hermione nodded as she slipped her jumper back over her head and wriggled into her jeans. "It's all right, really, I understood why you did. But I want you to know that the night with Harry..."

"Was none of my business," Ginny said quickly, "and I don't think you're a whore. Or a slut. Or whatever it was that I called you." Ginny grinned and playfully cuffed Hermione on the arm.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, but honestly," Hermione drew a deep breath, "you were right. I shouldn't have let things get so carried away. And I don't know how I feel about Harry. I just ... don't know. He offered me something that I haven't ever had before and I just took it because it was there. I shouldn't have. But I can't change it now."

"It's all right," Ginny said, but there was still something pained in her voice. "It hurts, but it's all right. I probably would have done the same thing."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not, but Ginny, I promise you, I won't jerk him around. I don't have the luxury."

Ginny nodded shortly and looked up to the older girl. "So what are you going to do about Snape then?"

Hermione sighed. "Marry him, I suppose. What else is there to do?"

"And after the wedding?"

Hermione closed her eyes and scrubbed both hands over her face. "I don't know, Ginny. I'll just have to hope there's more to him than meets the eye, I suppose."

Ginny quirked a mischievous grin for a moment and regarded her oddly. "Let's hope so, or that wedding night won't be much of an adventure! Stare at the ceiling and think of England and all that."

"Oh God, Gin, I think I'm going to vomit if you mention that again."

Ginny cackled for a moment and said, "Better you than me," before moving out to try on the coordinating dress robes that Madam Malkin had unearthed from the back of the shop.

Hermione tried to laugh along with Ginny, but as soon as the redhead left the stall, her stomach nearly overtook her with nausea, and Hermione had to drop to her knees before her head stopped spinning.

"Better you than me," she said to her reflection.