Esto Perpetua

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

It's said that all little girls picture their wedding day; they imagine big fairy-tale princess dresses, bouquets of flowers, and dancing with their perfect, handsome groom. Hermione must have missed that memo. Truth be told, she spent her early childhood up a tree, skinning her knees on roller-skates, and teaching her teddy bear Pud the rudiments of phonetics from a child-sized blackboard. Pud was a very well-educated bear.

When the magic moment to prepare for her own wedding arrived, Hermione was at a bit of a loss. Not that she felt sorry for herself or felt she was missing out on some sugary hearts and flowers moment. (Highly undesirable marriage proposals were still coming by way of owl.) More like she didn't exactly know how to best deal with what was traditionally supposed to be a romantic moment that was anything but. And honestly, she had two meetings, a conference call, and a sick half-Kneazle to deal with on the day of her wedding.

Hermione furiously tapped her foot while surveying the contents of her wardrobe. She was already running late and, to phrase it lightly, 'hadn't a damned thing to wear.' Already several dresses were discarded around the floor. When in doubt, Hermione stuck with a basic black dress, it was always the safe choice. And yet, that seemed unnecessarily insulting for both herself and her groom. Not that she was dressing for him... no, not at all; this was about civility and decorum. Probably.

It was mid September; the leaves hadn't gone brown and crispy yet, meaning autumnal colors were perfectly acceptable. That and, according to Witch Weekly, they were the shades that looked the best on her. This should have narrowed her selection down, and yet, it didn't, somehow. Hermione glanced at her bedside clock before swearing loudly. If she tarried any longer, she'd miss getting through prison security on time. If only the staff meeting hadn't run so long, but then, staff meetings always ran long.

Hermione didn't have time to think about this. She waved her wand over the small blue blotch from a potions spill on the camel wool work robes she was already wearing to get rid of it, threw on her cloak, made another attempt to give Crooks his pill, knowing full well that it was futile, picked up Snape's 'care packages,' and Disapparated. When she got through prison security, which took altogether much too long, they finally led her back into the same chamber where her marriage contract had been signed. This time, someone had the foresight to move the table and chairs against the wall.

Several minutes later, she was joined by the warden, a pale weedy man named Blotts, (of no relation to Blotts as in Flourish and Blotts) and a thoroughly unremarkable Ministry-appointed officiator, who looked curiously pleased by the proceedings. Hermione didn't bother with small talk, but waited for her groom to appear and tried not to tap her foot impatiently. He was late. Twenty minutes past the appointed time, Severus Snape was brought at wand-point into the room.

She scowled, taking in his appearance; honestly, would it have been too much trouble to wash? It's not like he had anything better to do all day. Not bothering to hide her disdain, Hermione flicked her wand at him, sending another Scourgify on his person. Severus was not amused.

"You're late."

He shrugged; time was a relative constraint. "No clock, Miss Granger."

"Snape, no doubt to both of our relief, it's been years since I was your student. You can drop the 'Miss Granger act' any day, now."

Hermione turned to the Ministry stooge. "Can we get this going? I'd like to get out of here."

"Yes, please hurry it up; my little Vixen can't wait to get me into my cell."

Before Severus had the opportunity to relish the effect his comment had on his bride, Hermione had her wand leveled squarely between his eyes. "Snape," she hissed, "I have no objections to becoming a widow, not when the Ministry is willing to grant me a year's grieving time as incentive."

"Now, Hermione," he said in a rumbling seductive purr, "that's enough foreplay; we'll have time to rip into each other later." Ignoring her wand completely, Severus turned his attentions to the Ministry official, who clearly enjoyed every minute of their banter.

He coughed a few times, ostensibly to clear his throat, and began, "Dearly beloved," Hermione and Snape both rolled their eyes, "we are gathered here to witness the marriage of Severus Theodore Snape and Hermione Jean Granger. If anyone here has any objections to their union, please speak now." He paused with a lifted eyebrow, waiting, it seemed, for someone to come to their senses before shaking his head and plowing on.

"And do you have the rings?"

Hermione pulled a plain, unadorned gold band from her pocket and tossed it to him. Really, she couldn't care less if the wizard ever bothered to wear it or not, but dutifully placed her own ring on her finger. There was no way she'd actually let him share the supposed romantic moment of exchanging rings. The whole wedding was too much a farce to desecrate how she actually felt about the sanctity of marriage.

"Will you, Severus Theodore Snape, pledge your steadfast and abiding love to Hermione, uphold the terms of your matrimonial contract, and support the Ministry-approved guidelines governing the sacred and holy bond of marriage?"

"I will."

"Will you, Hermione Jean Granger, pledge your steadfast and abiding love to Severus, uphold the terms of your matrimonial contract, and support the Ministry-approved guidelines governing the sacred and holy bond of marriage?"

"I will."

"Then, by the power invested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

"That's really not necessary..."

Hermione intended on saying more, but was summarily cut off. She found herself pulled quite forcefully into a hungry kiss by a man who stank, tasted badly, and felt dirty against her, but whose kisses were quite heavenly. It only took Hermione a second to recover before pushing him hastily away. Not caring how unladylike it was, she made a rather large display of spitting.

"That was completely uncalled for. I told you that I would never, ever touch you!"

Hermione looked helplessly to the prison warden for some form of salvation, but he just murmured loudly enough for the room to hear, "You married him."

And wasn't that a bitch?

Their marriage contract, which had been sitting idly by on the far table, glowed a golden color, the official signed his name, as did the warden, and it popped seemingly out of existence. And that was that. By Hermione's calculations, the entire process had taken no more than thirty minutes, most of which were spent waiting on her groom. Ergo, per stipulations of their contract, she was obliged to spend another thirty minutes with him to satisfy the full hour.

'Bugger,' she mumbled under her breath.

"Come, Vixen, our humble abode awaits." Severus held out his hand, goading her to take it, which Hermione did not. Didn't she know that he enjoyed her like this, all prissy and stuck up while consorting with vile criminals and humiliating herself in prison? Even if he never saw her again, it was precious enough to live off for the rest of his life.

He watched her from behind as they were led to his cell, amused at her stiff-legged strut, her head held imperiously high. She wanted the world to think her better than this, but the effort was wasted. Severus figured the truth was somewhere closer to her being a lost and scared little girl.

Good. She should be scared.

*****

Hermione paused in the doorway. The stench was back; already, her mind was clicking over the possibilities of a timed-release freshening charm and possibly how much money it could bring in. She wouldn't set foot over the threshold until she was satisfied that the funk was cleared away. The room didn't have to smell of lilacs or warm vanilla; actually, Hermione despised the overly floral scents and figured Snape was of the same opinion, but it did have to smell fresh. Or neutral, at least.

Once satisfied, she walked in, followed by her new husband and their guards, who were impolitely snickering about wedding night rituals. The guards were quickly shut out.

"Hmm..." she frowned. "It's not much." An understatement. The cell wasn't anything at all. Ignoring her husband, who lounged contentedly on the rotting cot, vaguely making a patting gesture as if she'd jump right in next to him, Hermione turned her attention to the room. She couldn't care less how the traitor was domiciled during his sentence, but since she'd have to grace his presence twice a week, changes were in order.

The small room had only a few unremarkable features: a cot, sporting a thin, nasty-smelling mattress and equally disgusting and stained bedding (both she and Severus had independently at separate times wondered just who exactly had died on it); a toilet that Hermione shuddered to think about.; a sink attached into the stone wall. And the sexy leather armchair that Hermione had left there the last time.

The only light source came from a solitary window a good ten feet above their heads.

That was where she started first; it made the most logical sense to start with the window. If the cell was cold in winter, stifling hot in summer, the climate charms were not holding. It was supposed to allow fresh air in and maintain a constant comfortable temperature. Nothing she would do to freshen the air would make a damn bit of difference if she couldn't get some airflow into the place.

It took Hermione the better part of twenty minutes to repair and reinforce the crumbling old charms; they were probably original to the building. The floor was next. The bare stone was slightly muddy from water dripping down the walls and the occasionally backed-up latrine. A simple Scourgify wasn't going to cut it. Hermione wasn't even going to bother looking too closely at the toilet, either; she just aimed her wand at it and blasted away.

Her attention immediately went to the accompanying sink as she wondered how much she could actually do for the rust in the water; certainly, it came from the piping system throughout the prison. The salt sea air was most likely the culprit, but it still turned her stomach. She scoured out every bit of the sink and as far into the taps as she could reach before charming it not to back up. That was as good as she could manage without ripping out the wall. Inspiration then hit, and she considered enlarging the shallow basin into a proper vanity. She toyed with stretching the tin-lined copper sink wider without making the metal paper thin, but couldn't get it quite right. It just needed reinforcing and perhaps a surround. Though maybe it was...

"Hermione," her name, softly whispered in her ear, drew her mind back from the place it went when she lost herself in a task. Severus was standing right behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth on her skin. And for a moment she could pretend he wasn't some unrepentant, effing Death Eater. He placed his hand hesitantly on her shoulder, and she immediately stiffened.

"I... I... don't know what overcame me." She nervously wrung her hands together. Why was she so damn nervous? "I almost forgot these; silly me." She was babbling now. Just great.

Hermione pulled four parcels out of her pockets, set them on his mattress, enlarged them and looked expectantly at him. What was she hoping for, his approval? Hermione shook her head and tried to separate the murdering Death Eater in the cell from the respected wizard she once knew.

*****

Severus picked through one of the boxes she had brought him. They hadn't exactly agreed when she would bring him what or really specifically what he needed, but Hermione was a keen girl. She'd figured it out. Actually, Hermione had thought about what she'd need if she were to go on a camping trip and went from there. It was quite easy; she had enough camping experience to last a lifetime and could safely admit that she had no desire to ever walk in the woods again.

He ran his fingers across the handle of a silver shaving razor; it was supremely elegant and charmed not to dull or nick the skin. It was much too fine and elegant for him. Not here. Not after what he'd done. Severus didn't know why he suddenly felt so vulnerable, but he didn't want to unwrap anything more.

Not bothering to look at her, Severus called out hoarsely, "You should go now."

"Damn it, I forgot to pack a mirror."

Severus winced. "Leave, Hermione," he said more loudly.

"Next time I'll remember to bring more fresh bedding; until then, I'll just clean ..."

"Get out, you stupid, stupid girl!"

Her eyes went wide and wild. She had let her guard down, turned her back on a man who'd probably not hesitate to Avada her.

Hermione pounded her fist violently on the cell door, screaming once again, "Let me out of here!"

As the door swung open on her command, she allowed herself a parting glance, just quick enough to see her husband slumped defeatedly on the cot, cradling his head in his hands. She was resolute; he didn't deserve her pity, and she wouldn't allow herself to feel anything but hatred towards him.

When the cool North Sea breeze hit her face minutes later, Hermione was surprised at how dark the sky had become in such a short amount of time, but a quick look at her wristwatch confirmed the time.

"Damn!" she swore. "How'd I let him connive me into staying two hours?"

A/N:

Chapter title: Esto Perpetua - It is eternal

Many thanks to Annie and Fer and the lovely staff at OWL, who do such a fantastic job helping me.