The Heaving Line Knot

Chapter Thirteen – The Heaving Line Knot

"Heaving Line Knot: The Heaving line knot can be used to add weight to the end of the rope to give mass to it when you want to throw it." from Knot Knowledge

Hermione bounced her wand off her knee, unaware that it was emitting a fall of silver sparks as she did so. She stared out the window, miles of English country-side whipping by her; she didn't really see any of it. Harry and Neville sat across from her, discussing their summer and – occasionally, and under the protection of several Muffliato spells – plans with the Order of the Phoenix. Ginny sat next to her, pouring over a Quibbler article with Luna, who kept furtively glancing at the two boys. Harry's Head Boy badge, pinned crookedly on the lapel of his robes, winked the bleary sunlight from the window onto her shoulder. She didn't really see those things either. What she did see was the gaping hole on the boys' seat where Ron should have been, which they had all intentionally – and yet, silently – left open. She also saw the two bright green dress bags from Madam Malkin's sitting atop her trunk on the luggage rack. She couldn't take her eyes off the tag that bore her own careful handwriting.

H. C. Granger

In less than a month, that tag wouldn't be correct any more. The tag would have to read a different last name; even now, in her own head, she still couldn't think of those two names joined. She kept staring at the dress bag because she couldn't take her mind of it and it wasn't until Ginny nudged her to remind her that she, Hermione and Harry had to make patrol in the corridors that Hermione let her mind return to the present on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione remained silent as the train chugged along through a haze of clouds and the now drizzly rain. The weather mirrored her mood. For the first time in recorded memory, Hermione dread her return to school and that, in and of itself, upset her greatly. School – especially Hogwarts – had always been a haven of peace, excitement and growth for her; now it merely drew her closer to the ruination of all her aspirations and dreams. Married at 18 and to a beast of a man that she barely considered capable of proper human emotion.

"Come on, love," Ginny said, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder as they walked. "Buck up, it won't be that bad."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror and her lips worked soundlessly. Not that bad?!

To her surprise, Ginny's eyes pricked with tears. "I know. I miss him, too. It'll be so strange without Ron here. Must be awful for you and Harry ... you lot have been together from the start."

Hermione nodded quickly and hung her head, ashamed. She hadn't even been considering what it would be like without Ron, but now that she had, her shoulders sunk even lower and tears streamed from underneath her clenched eyelids. Ginny threw her arms around the older girl's shoulders, stroking her head as she cried. Without Ron, she and Harry would barely be whole. And back in their compartment, folded up in her trunk was a list of far too many others who wouldn't be returning. She would have to spend the year coaching other students through coping with their losses. Hermione began to sob. What about her loss? Did anyone really care that her life was crashing down around her ears?

After a moment, Hermione forcibly pulled herself together when people in neighboring compartments began to stare at the weepy Head Girl just outside. She struggled to throw out normal conversation as they walked. The train was so quiet; she couldn't help noticing how many seats stood empty. From the look on Harry's face, he noticed it, too. The friendly green eyes darkened and his face clouded with sadness and anger. She knew without looking that his fist clenched around his wand. Seeing no solution for it but to press on and act normal, Hermione made her voice as business-like as possible and tried to discuss start-of-term practices and duties with her best friend and Head Boy and her girlfriend-cum-prefect.

As the hours passed, Hermione felt her mettle waning. She began taking constitutionals throughout the corridors just to avoid staring at the empty seat across from her. Late in the day, Hermione commenced with the usual knocking on doors to remind first years to put on their robes and breaking apart the odd squabble here and there. Just in the middle of dressing down a particularly sullen pair of third years for trying to duel in the space between cars, Hermione let out a surprised squawk as a burst of flame dropped a golden feather and scroll onto the floor at her feet. With a hurried scold to the third years about getting detention before classes even began, she shooed them on their way, then snatched up the feather and scroll. With as much decorum as she could muster, Hermione rushed to the one place on the train that she knew would guarantee privacy.

"I feel a perfect fool," she muttered to herself as she closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, smiling ruefully at the walls of the Express's tiny loo. Her fingers shaking, she examined the feather that had dropped with the tightly-furled scroll. She could only think of one thing that could have caused the occurrence – a phoenix delivering a message – so she knew it could only have come from one person. Hermione suddenly felt glad for her chosen hideout; she thought she might sick up from nervousness. Trembles racked her as she unwound the parchment and read.

Miss Granger,

PS – Lemon drops spark my fancy this evening. No need to inform Mr. Potter.

Hermione couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or cry; perhaps both. The Head Girl's business would be depressing enough, but the wedding? She couldn't think of anything she cared to talk about less, unless maybe the extended history of Quidditch or Ron's death. Thankfully, though, Dumbledore seemed to have indicated that Harry didn't need to be included on the discussion of Head duties. He instinctively understood, she believed, the havoc that would arise from shooing Harry out of the office to discuss the wedding with Snape. When she laid her head in her upturned hands, Hermione felt something bubble up in her throat. Far from the sobs she expected, laughter – mirthless and mad – erupted out and refused to be contained.

*****

Ginny held Hermione's hand as Dumbledore spoke after the feast. Each Head of House had chosen one student from their ranks to come to the head table, read the names and light a candle for each place setting left empty to remember the dead. Much to her surprise, Hermione had been McGonagall's choice, not Harry. She hadn't expected to be asked something this large so soon. Out of respect, Dumbledore had said when he swooped down upon her during the feast, and for the support needed from peers at a time like this.

"I can do it, Professor," Harry had said when Hermione's face froze in shock.

"That's very noble of you, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, acknowledging his offer with a slight inclination of his head, "but no. To have you light the candles would be to assign their deaths to you. You are not at fault."

"You know me too well," Harry muttered, half scowling, half smiling.

Dumbledore merely smiled, then turned to Hermione. "Will you recognize your fellow students, Miss Granger?"

What a dirty trick! her heart was screaming. She knew what he was up to and thought it far too harsh of him. Announcing Ron's death to the entire school? Harry wouldn't be thought to be at fault, she would! It was unfair and low of him to do that to her. But if she didn't do it, it would look cowardly. She nodded stiffly.

Dumbledore spoke for a few minutes about courage, unity, and hope, but Hermione wasn't really taking it in. She kept looking between Dumbledore's podium and the empty plate on her left, between Harry and Neville, across from her and Ginny. Signaled by Professor Sprout rising from her seat, Hannah Abbott marched to the podium as if being led to a hangman's noose once Dumbledore had vacated it. Halfway into Hufflepuff's list – at least twice over again as long as any other house's – she began to sob and had to be supported by Professor Sprout while Ernie MacMillan finished the list for her. When he was done, Hannah drew her sleeve across her leaky eyes, pointed an unsteady wandhand towards the Hufflepuff table and cried, "Lumos Veneratio!" In front of each empty place setting, a candle rose over the table, its flame burning as purely white as its wax was ebony black. Something shimmered oddly over each candle, but Hermione could not quite make it out.

Next, Professor Snape rose from his seat. Hermione's stomach dropped away for a moment, but calmed when he merely nodded toward the Slytherin table. She knew she wasn't the only one who stared when a tiny little bit of a girl with a close cap of golden curls around her head stood and walked to the front of the hall. She could barely see over the podium, but her high voice was surprisingly strong when she said, "Daphne Greengrass." The girl pointed her wand up over her head to clear the podium, and pointed it towards the table she'd come from a few moments before. Her "Lumos Veneratio!" was almost defiant. When a single candle burned down at the end of the Slytherin table, she turned to Snape and, for the first time, looked helpless. She stared at her professor, who loomed stern and forbidding behind the staff table. Hermione watched in fascination as he straightened his shoulders pointedly, thrust his chin upwards just a bit and then nodded down at the girl. In an almost identical parody that Hermione might have found funny had the situation been different, the girl squared her tiny frame underneath the much larger black robes and strode back to the Slytherin table, head held ruthlessly high. Many eyes – including Hermione's–locked onto her as she moved, her pace never flagging, to the very end of the table where she surrounded herself with empty seats, save one, above which gracefully floated the black candle.

When the little girl was seated, Professor Flitwick stood on his chair and motioned to Terry Boot, who followed the procedure for Ravenclaw house. Hermione was staggered at the number of names that had been recited tonight, and only three out of the four houses had been covered. Which meant that it was her turn now. Hermione's legs wobbled as she rose and walked to the front of the Great Hall. Her heart stuck in her throat as she gained the podium and looked out at the sea of faces. Too many flickering flames lit the Hall. Behind her, she caught Professor McGonagall flicking her wand towards her, and a fresh sheaf of parchment, covered with names, settled on the board in front of her. With great effort, she raised her voice.

"Euan Abercrombie. Evangeline Dickinson. Marissa Eggleston. Julianna Westinghouse. Nathaniel Westinghouse," Hermione spoke, as clearly and calmly as she could. Too late did she realize that these names had been ordered by year; instinctively she knew why. One particular name would be last. She felt her voice hitch when she realized it, but plowed through.

"Colin Creevey. Seamus Finnigan," someone at the Gryffindor table swore, "Parvati Patil," Lavender Brown began to sob, "Dean Thomas." Hermione had to stop a minute, swallow hard for the reaction she knew was coming, before she read the last name. "Ronald Weasley." Gasps of surprise and small cries echoed throughout the hall at this last. Hermione clenched her eyes shut against the sight and against the stream of tears now flowing freely from her eyes. She raised a trembling hand. "Lumos Veneratio!"

A wave of candles sprung up from the Gryffindor table. Hermione made her way back to her seat in silence, barely seeing anything around her, especially not the gaping stares or offers of pity and condolences. Ginny's arm wrapped around her shoulders and the two girls stood, crying silently. Harry's face was dry, but devoid of color. Dumbledore rose to his feet when Hermione reached her place and somehow, everyone else knew to rise as well. With a gentle wave of his hand, all sources of light in the room winked out save for the wavering beams coming from the honorarium for the dead. And with a shuddering cry, Hermione realized, along with the rest of the hall, the odd shimmering that had appeared with the enchanted candle flames. In the darkness of the hall, each candle sparkled not only with a pure flame, but glittering gold words written on the air, announcing the name of each of the remembered dead. Hermione would not have needed Colin Creevey's camera to capture the sight. She stared so long at the gently shimmering words that she believed that "Ronald Weasley" would be forever branded across the back of her eyes.

*****

She could barely stand the silence. All around her, the school rumbled with the noises of shuffling feet and the buzz of chattering voices of students heading back to their dormitories after the feast. But the silence between her and the man walking next to her was enough to make her think she'd temporarily gone deaf. She picked at the stitches inside one of her cuffs and tried not to think about how loud the clack of her shoes was against the stone. He hadn't said a word since they'd inadvertently met at the bottom of the stone staircase, just outside the Great Hall. She'd been so distracted that she'd nearly missed the trick stair on the fourth floor case and she had started quite alarmingly when he'd merely grabbed her upper arm, heaved her up a step and continued without even breaking his pace. Just the feeling of his long-fingered hand on her (even through the inches-thick barrier of school robes) made her want to run mad. He hadn't even cleared his throat or breathed loudly or made any of the myriad little noises that normal people made in the general course of human life. She had to do or say something before she went bonkers.

"So," she said, overloud, casting around for a topic. He glared down at her and slowly raised an eyebrow. She started to quail into silence before remembering something that had tickled her brain at the feast. "Who was the Slytherin in the memorial ceremony?"

His eyes narrowed, but he betrayed nothing else on his face. "That was Miss Greengrass," Snape answered, his dark eyes sweeping the hall. She had a feeling they missed extraordinarily little.

"No," she said, "not the name. The little girl who lit the candle. Who was she?"

This time, he directed the probing glare at her. But he never slowed his paced. "I dislike repeating myself. You will remember that for future reference," he replied, his voice smooth. It was the sort of smooth that epitomized a snake ready to strike. "The Slytherin was Miss Greengrass. She is a first year."

Hermione digested this information for a moment before surprise took her. "Daphne had a sister?"

He nodded.

More to herself than Snape, she replied, "I didn't know Daphne had any siblings."

"And when was the last time you engaged a Slytherin in conversation, other than to bandy petty insults with that sniveling worm, Malfoy, and his band of gormless cohorts?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort hotly, accustomed to his ruthless biased towards his own House, but then shut her jaw with an audible snap. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd just talked to a Slytherin. Even in class. Hermione couldn't hide her vexation at this; she'd always considered herself to be quite fair and unbiased. Certainly the most so of any of her friends.

"But she was all alone!" Hermione said, thinking of the little girl surrounded by empty seats.

Snape had been smirking smugly but his face quickly became serious again. "Miss Greengrass has a right to form quite a grudge against her House: her sister was murdered for refusing when the Death Eaters came to ... recruit. Those were her sister's robes she was wearing. The elder Miss Greengrass was killed by a member of her own House."

It took a moment for this to sink in with Hermione. "You mean ... Death Eaters are in Slytherin?! Right now? Here in Hogwarts? Why don't you do something?"

Snape looked genuinely puzzled. "What would you have me do?"

"Bring them to Dumbledore! You must know who they are! Expel them; punish them; give them detention! Something!"

A scowl reappeared on the tall wizard's face. "Typical Gryffindor: all bravado and no thought. Tell me, oh Mistress of Intrigue, how would one of the Dark Lord's most loyal servants expel a member of his own House for following in his wizened footsteps ... without blowing his cover?"

Hermione was quiet and Snape nodded firmly, snorting a bit and looking quite satisfied with himself. "Lemon drops," he said, causing her to jump.

Hermione hadn't even realized that they'd reached the gargoyles guarding the stairs to the Headmaster's office. Suddenly being forced to be so close to Snape was unsettling, to say the least. Without a word, he seemed to sense this, standing aside to allow her to pass onto the case ahead of him. This resulted in the rather less pleasant effect of Snape's upper torso looming dark and imposing behind her, throwing a shadow across her shoulders. When the case lurched into motion, she felt herself rock backward and she felt a sick swoop in her stomach when the surly professor reached out a hand to her back to steady her, lest she fall backwards against his chest. She stiffened and had to fight the urge to move a stair up away from him. Try as she might, Hermione couldn't stop herself from fidgeting the entirety of the short ride to Dumbledore's office. Snape had returned to his former silent looming presence and Hermione just couldn't help being uneasy around him. As soon as the set of stairs had stopped, she took a quick, noticeable step away from him before raising her hand to knock. Before she had laid her knuckles to the carved wooden surface, she heard Dumbledore call from within, "Enter, Miss Granger, please enter."

A bemused smile on her face, Hermione pushed the door open. Even more puzzled when she noted that the wizened professor was standing quite a distance away, petting Fawkes, she couldn't help but ask, "Now, how did you know it was me when you're all the way over there?"

Dumbledore straightened and smiled at her, his eyes lighting with mischief and amusement. "I heard the stairs, and you were the only person I was expecting this evening. Quite a simple deduction."

"What if it had been someone you weren't expecting?"

"I gather they'd be in much more of a hurry to knock than you were." Dumbledore smiled again and crossed the office, seating himself in the throne-like chair behind his desk. "But that is neither here nor there." As if standing behind the much shorter student had camouflaged his presence, the dark-haired Potions professor stepping out from behind his future wife caused Dumbledore to raise his eyebrows in apparent delighted surprise. "Severus! I hadn't expected you until a bit later ... did Miss Granger bring you with her?"

Hermione flushed crimson and began to answer, but Severus beat her to an explanation.

"Certainly not," he said in a tight, clipped voice. "Being Head Girl, I'm sure she's quite capable of finding her way here on her own. I merely saw no reason in dallying to meet with you for another half hour and came here directly. I'm sure Miss Granger will not mind the extra presence for the beginning of her appointment."

At this statement, he cast a dark look in Hermione's direction that clearly stated that he was staying whether she minded or not. Hermione shook her head and managed a quick, "Of course not, Professor."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "And furthermore, after we discuss my first order of business, we can continue straight on to the next topic without having to wait for you to arrive later, Severus. And that conversation most definitely concerns both of you."

Hermione blanched. Thinking of the wedding in any form or function made her feel slightly ill even now. She felt she had, at least, gotten used to the idea, but she still couldn't make herself calm about it. Shaking her head, Hermione began to drop into a chair but then realized she hadn't yet been asked to sit, so she started to rise again. But then she unconsciously looked to Snape, who leered at her as if she were a simpleton, so she sat down and glared back defiantly. Dumbledore, who appeared to have taken no notice of this interaction, nodded gently and smiled. His face sobered, though, when he handed her a sheaf of parchment. The first page appeared to her at first to be a listing of all her classes, but there were blanks next to each one and spaces with dates immediately following. The next few pages seemed to be calendars, with empty time slots for each day of the week until the end of term. Each weekly calendar had her name at the top. She looked up, confused.

"Miss Granger, I think you'll agree with me when I state that the issues of both the war with Lord Voldemort and the Marriage Law have presented some very complicated realities that must be dealt with here at Hogwarts. First of all, the ceremony in the Great Hall has made it obvious to everyone exactly how devastating the war has been on Hogwarts' student population. We have lost far too many fine pupils tragically; I fear we are certain to lose more before this business ends."

Hermione nodded, but with Ron's face so fresh in her mind she could do nothing else.

"Naturally, this has already begun to take an emotional toll on our remaining students. I believe that all of your peers here need guidance and support; they are, and will continue to be, in need of words of love and advice, or in some cases, simply an ear to receive their grief, confusion and fear. In order to better provide for our students, I have requested that a counselor be sent from St. Mungo's to help our student population cope with grief and impending difficulties, but she suggested – and I quite agree – that it would benefit all of our students to also have the option of someone their own age to speak to in times of sorrow and crisis. They need someone confident, open, intelligent and trustworthy. I could think of no one better for this task than you."

A few moments passed before it occurred to Hermione what Dumbledore was saying. "You want me to act as a grief counselor for other students?"

"In a manner of speaking. I believe that our students know that they can trust you and that you will listen. Your absolutely voracious mind, I have no doubt, will devour the chance to observe and puzzle out the human psyche in crisis, and I have every confidence that your boundless compassion will glory in being able to help every soul you can."

She knew she was blushing under the weight of such heavy compliments, but when she collected herself, she opened her mouth to respond. Tears were welling in her eyes and her throat squeezed. "Sir, thank you so much for such overwhelming compliments, but ... given the current circumstances..."

Dumbledore spoke over her gently. "And I believe that helping others will aid you in coming to terms with and assuaging your guilt from Mr. Weasley's untimely end."

Hermione hiccupped as she tried to stifle a sob. "That was low, sir."

Dumbledore sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry for it. But it is, in my humble opinion, still the truth." After another sigh and a few moments of silence, he continued. "If you are amenable to this position of Peer Counselor, then you can set up 'office hours' of sorts at your convenience."

Hermione patted her pockets as she sniffled, then reached out for the proffered handkerchief that Dumbledore had placed on the desk in front of her. "But sir," she said, with only a small hitch in her voice, "when could I possibly have time to do all this?"

Dumbledore nodded even before she had finished speaking. "Ah, this brings me to the next issue you will have to face, and in many ways, I'm sure, you have not anticipated. Though we have seen several of the obvious methods in which the Marriage Law has shaken your life and many others, there are some very tricky factors that must be taken into account as well. You are marrying a professor at this school."

"Yes, sir," she said, but wanted to growl, 'no bloody kidding!'

Across the room, Snape stiffened at the fire place. She had nearly forgotten that he was standing there, but his sudden movement reacquainted her with his presence.

"Not only that, but a professor in whose class you are currently enrolled."

Hermione's face darkened and she nodded.

"I believe you're beginning to see the problem I speak of, Miss Granger. There are many in this school who would challenge the idea of a student taking a grade-bearing course – especially one in a testing year – from their own spouse. Preferential treatment would, in many eyes, be almost unavoidable."

Hermione scoffed loudly; she couldn't help it. If anyone was less likely to give her preference over other students than Snape, it could only possibly be Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore seemed to take her indignance as something on Snape's behalf.

"Yes, I believe that Severus is an ethical enough professor not to fall prey to such petty tactics as favoritism..." Hermione laughed outright at this, but Dumbledore ignored both this and the murderous glare Snape had given her in response, "...but many would not agree. And I certainly wouldn't want you or Severus to open yourself up to such criticism. Students and parents alike can be cruel."

Hermione stayed quiet on this point; she knew only too well how cruel students could be and could only in her most horrific nightmares imagine what would befall her should she remain in Snape's class once they were married. The fact that she had been a good student all along would be ignored handily and for every raised hand, every minute compliment, every hard-earned grade, she would earn sneers, jeers and most likely much more. As if Potions hadn't been difficult to begin with, it would now be practically impossible for her to achieve to her own ruthless standards.

"So I'll have to drop Potions then?" She didn't want to look over at Snape; she already knew he'd be grinning. Hideous as he'd made the class for her, she didn't want to back out of it.

"Not necessarily," Dumbledore responded to her frown. "I have been in contact with Griselda Marchbanks, the witch in charge of Wizarding Examinations Authority at the Ministry. She remembers you quite well from your high achievement on your O.W.L.s and feels, much as I do, that you have excelled far beyond your peers and necessitate special arrangements for your N.E.W.T.s. Madam Marchbanks and I have come to the agreement that you should be allowed to use your discretion to determine which subjects you feel strongest in and you could participate in a sort of accelerated program. You see on the parchment I have given a listing of all your classes; with my approval, you may mark the subjects that you feel you could complete early testing in and the remaining subjects you may pursue either in class or, as with what I feel best for your Potions tutelage, you may seek independent study with the individual professor. Provided that the professor approves, of course."

At this, Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape, who was staring intently into the fire. Eventually, Hermione dragged her gaze away from her class list and looked to her moody fiancé as well. She was certain he had heard every word but he gave not a twitch to indicate that he had absorbed any, even after a loud clearing of her throat.

"Prof...Sev...Professor?" She still couldn't decide what to call him, even though they were due to be married within a month, so she resorted to what she thought would be the most likely to garner his favor.

Severus turned his gaze away from the hearth and glared down at the girl who would, shortly, be his wife. His rankled just thinking the word. He smirked as she quailed in her chair, but after a moment, she collected herself.

"Would it be agreeable to you that I study Potions with you independently?"

"Of course, grades would still have to be submitted," Dumbledore said, before Snape could answer, "but if you were discreet about when and where you held your sessions, no one but the three of us even need know you were taking the lessons at all."

The moody professor made an indistinguishable grumbling noise in his throat but did not give a firm answer. After a few moments, Hermione stood and walked over to him. Her legs were shaking, her hands trembling, but she refused to lose this chance to show him that she could match him if she liked. Resisting the urge to clear her throat, Hermione steeled herself and, in a clear voice, said, "Severus?"

That got his attention. Severus raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the girl. The handful of times she had used his given name she had either been incensed at him or had said it so meekly that it was painfully clear she had used it only because she had thought she should. Finally, he thought, some courage!

"I suppose," he said lazily, "that I would agree to private study. Should you keep up with my challenging standards, of course."

"And then some," Hermione answered, just a touch of indignance in her voice. His blank expression melted into a bit of a sneer, but she didn't let it faze her. Instead, she turned her back to him and returned to the desk to plan for each of her lessons. She smiled to herself, pleased that she seemed to have gained a step on Snape at last.

*****

After fifteen minutes of mumbling, scribbled notes on the parchment containing her classes, and conferring with Dumbledore, Hermione felt that she'd worked out a reasonable course of action. She was fairly certain she could test out of Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, and Ancient Runes immediately, as she'd read the entirety of the all her textbooks twice over this summer. For Transfiguration and Arithmancy, she'd approach Professors McGonagall and Vector to request independent study; she was certain that with an accelerated curriculum and the lack of other peers to hold her back, she could sit the exams in December before the holidays and do quite well. Defense Against the Dark Arts she'd continue in class with her peers, for several reasons: first of all, she reasoned, it was a practical subject and would be best studied when in a position to gain a hands-on approach; secondly, she didn't want to miss the chance of having Tonks for a professor; thirdly, she wanted a chance to actually see her peers, especially Harry. Though she hadn't mentioned this to Dumbledore, she knew she would be lonely if she removed herself from all her classes. She was certain that once she was married, her fellow Gryffindors would feel uncomfortable around her. If she didn't have a chance to prove that she was still a student just like them, she'd never fit in at all. Plus, she wanted a chance to work with Harry, just as if nothing had ever gone wrong.

"Well," Hermione said when the plans were final, "this will definitely give me a lot more time to be open to meeting with students as a counselor. Only one set class time will free up my day considerably, so I'll be able to speak with people whenever they're free."

"And it will give the other students the chance to see that you did, indeed, earn your status as Head Girl. Without such, it would be easy for jealous parties to say that you had gained it simply through an advantageous marriage, but this will allow people to see that you are working for your title."

With a last nod and promise to speak to McGonagall and Vector regarding private study, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the dark-haired man who'd stayed silent for the majority of the last hour.

"Severus, please join us," he said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk to Hermione's left. "Now that Miss Granger's Head Girl and student responsibilities are taken care of, we have matters to attend to that concern you both."

Severus moved swiftly to the vacant chair and sat, smoothly laying one long leg across the other. He didn't spare Hermione a glance, merely stared straight ahead at the older wizard behind the desk. Hermione couldn't help but stare at him for a moment, wondering if anyone ever managed to crack that stern, imposing façade long enough to see anything more than anger, disdain, dislike or disinterest. He began to tap his fingertips on his knee when Dumbledore did not break the silence. Hermione dragged her gaze back to the Headmaster.

"We must discuss the details of your wedding..."

"Oh, honestly, Albus," Snape bit off almost immediately, "I don't see why that's something that has to be discussed here. It's a private ceremony, not a school function."

"That's not entirely true," Hermione said and fought not to wince at Severus's glare. She continued, more strongly, "Well, it's not. I mean, neither of us have the time, inclination or resources to have the wedding anywhere other than here at Hogwarts. And even if we did, it makes the most sense. It would be the most efficient, the quickest, require the least amount of extra work, and would allow us to do planning and preparation in the course of our daily lives."

Severus raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Miss Granger is quite right. Hogwarts would certainly be the most logical place to have the ceremony. Which bears the questions of where, when, and what considerations need to be taken?" Dumbledore responded.

With an uncertain glance at her fiancé, Hermione fished her hands into her robe pockets and retrieved and enlarged the notebook she'd taken to carrying with her at all times. She tended to be the sort of person to have ideas at odd times and found that shrinking her binder of notes and taking it with her always to be a prudent measure.

"Well ... erm ... assuming that Prof...Severus," she only stumbled a bit this time, "has no objections, I do have some plans. First of all," she flipped a few pages in the notebook to where she had penciled out a diagram, "I'd like to have the ceremony itself out by the Black Lake, at sunset."

"How lovely!" Dumbledore said, obviously delighted.

Hermione paused for a moment, waiting to see if Severus would respond. When he didn't even so much as look at the diagram she had gestured to, Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. With a slight roll of his eyes, Snape leaned forward minutely, gazed at the diagram and settled back into his chair.

"Is that acceptable to you?" Hermione asked.

He sighed and muttered, "I suppose so."

Hermione tried not to be frustrated at his purposeful indifference and charged on. "I'm not certain, though, about the location for the reception."

At the mention of this, Snape started to growl low in his throat. Hermione threw him a steely glare and continued.

"The house elves' cooking is, of course, impeccable and would do nicely. I don't have so large a family that it would put them out too much to make dinner, especially as there won't be a lot of guests. The problem is that I'd like to use the Great Hall, but that leaves nowhere for the students to have dinner. It is a Hogsmeade day, but that's only older students and most are back by the last half of dinner."

"Perhaps the Room of Requirement, then?" Dumbledore suggested when Severus stayed resolutely silent. "It would conform to fit your needs, the house elves know where to bring things to serve, and it would be removed from the general student traffic, so as to avoid the potential for unpleasant party-crashing."

Hermione's stomach took a sick, dizzy swoop. She couldn't decide what was worse: marrying Snape or having her peers walk in while it was going on. Trying to collect herself, she nodded her head. "Yes, I think that will do nicely, as long as someone is there far enough ahead of time to allow the room to prepare." She turned to her future husband, whose blank look was beginning to grate on her nerves. "Severus? Do you have an opinion?"

The lanky Potions Master smirked. "Many. Simply none that are appropriate for this particular conversation."

Dumbledore shook his head and Hermione scowled and sighed.

"Well fine then," she groused. "Don't complain to me that you don't like the arrangements if you're not going to participate in the decisions."

Severus's lips curled again as she turned back to the headmaster, and this time, it was a genuine smile. At least the girl was beginning to show spirit.

*****

What seemed like eons of discussion later, Severus unfolded himself from the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, convinced that they had ironed out as many details of the ceremony as could be planned, for now. And not a moment too soon, Severus thought angrily. If he'd had to hear one more word about invitations or sleeping arrangements for her family or guests, he would have had to satisfy a base need and slapped one of the two of them soundly. Perhaps both of them. The girl stashed her binder back in a pocket of her robe, so Severus felt it safe to move towards the door.

"If that's it then," he said and turned to leave.

"Just a moment, Severus," Dumbledore said, raising a hand. "There is one more thing to discuss. Something crucial, I fear."

"What now?" he said gruffly. "The color of the napkin rings?" Severus felt a hot and steely glare land on him from the direction of his future wife, but he ignored it pointedly.

"No," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with a sigh. "This is something much more important; something that could jeopardize the possibility of your getting married at all."

Hermione gasped. "Why didn't you bring this up sooner?"

Without answering, Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk and removed a tightly curled scroll with a thick seal of dark green wax. As he handed it over to the taller, younger wizard, Hermione caught a glance of a seal containing a series of incomprehensible squiggles. Something about it looked strangely familiar. She felt the pit of her stomach begin to drop away.

"Oh, bollocks," Severus said harshly, snatching it out of the older wizard's hand and striding to the fireplace.

"I believe you have an inkling of what this could mean, then?"

Severus growled low in his throat and split the seal with his wand, his face darkening as he read.

"Then would somebody clue me in, please?" Hermione squealed, her voice just this side of hysterical. She hadn't gone through this much trouble and heartache and danger to become marginally okay with the idea of marrying her professor just to have it all erased now.

"It's from my father," Snape replied. His face twisted into a mask of annoyance and blatant hatred. "Apparently he thinks that he may treat me as if I'm still under the age of consent. He states that because he has not met you and been given the chance to sanction the marriage, he threatens to pull his support and disallow our union."

Hermione felt she might be sick. Not now. "Can he do that?" Her voice was hysterical now. "He can't do that .... Can he do that?"

Severus growled again and crumpled the scroll in his fist. "He certainly seems to think so."

A/N – Lumos Veneratio – (very) rough translation from Latin: "A light for remembrance"