Welcome to My, er, Our House.

"I can't believe I married him," Hermione said, repeating the sentence to herself over a cup of tea. "I can't." She glanced into the tea cup, a fond daydream of hers coming to mind, and souring immediately. She'd been imagining this scene ever since her mother had taken her to see her first muggle romance movie when she was a little girl.

Since that day, Hermione had dreamed of one day owning a small cottage where she would live once she got married. At night the entire family would gather in the sitting room, she and her husband discussing literature at the table while the children played on the floor. Now she winced, recalling that picture. The loving husband turned to a cold, brooding Snape, and the adorable children she had pictured all grew large, beaked noses and long, greasy hair.

Ginny, meanwhile, had been watching Hermione. "What's wrong?" She asked, noticing the expression on Hermione's face go from despair to complete horror.

"My children," Hermione said softly, and Ginny too immediately got a mental image of mini Snapes running around the house. She shuddered. "I think I'm going to just go to bed," Hermione added, rising. "I can't take thinking about this any longer."

Hermione trudged up to bed, leaving a guilty Ginny to contemplate a solution to the problem she had unwittingly caused with that bloody test.

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Hermione Granger. Hermione bloody Granger. Snape started into his glass of firewhiskey, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that kept repeating "Don't you mean Hermione Snape now?" Snape took a long swig from the glass, trying to drown out the voice.

"How did it go?" A pleased looking Dumbledore asked, stepping over the threshold into Snape's office. The Potions master had arrived back in the castle in a huff, but rather than snap at the rest of the staff during dinner, he had retired to his quarters. Dumbledore took this to be a sign that things were going well.

"I got married," Snape scowled, glaring at Dumbledore. It was all his fault! That meddling son-of-a–

"Excellent!" Dumbledore beamed, clasping his hands together. "Perhaps there is still enough time to arrange a little post-nuptial banquet, hmm?"

"I think not," Snape replied, darkening at the idea. What would they do? Toast to a marriage that nobody wanted in the first place? Snape cringed at the idea of having to meet his in-laws, and actually speak with the Prat-Who-Lived and the Weasley boy just after he'd married their best friend against her will. They'd hex him to next Tuesday. Or, he sneered, at least they'd try.

"Who is the lucky girl?" Dumbledore asked, a twinkle in his eye. "And when, pray tell, do I get to meet her?"

"You know her already," Snape growled, clenching his glass of firewhiskey so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "It's Hermione Granger."

Dumbledore raised a brow, though in all honesty he couldn't say that they weren't good for one another. "A wonderful girl, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said finally. "Or," he smiled, "should I say Mrs. Snape?"

Snape slammed his glass down on his desk. "My marriage to Miss Granger was, Albus, a mistake," he snarled. "An unfortunate mistake that cannot be remedied until the Wizarding laws are ammended."

"It is not so unfortunate, is it Severus?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "It may be difficult at first, but it will get easier. Especially once the children come and–"

Snape nearly choked on his firewhiskey, cutting Dumbledore off. "Children? You don't expect us to actually have children or any semblance of a real marriage, do you?" Images of miniature Grangers running amok in his dungeon chambers popped up in his head, and simply would not leave.

Dumbledore sighed. This scene was all to reminiscent of the last time he had spoken with Snape. "Very well then. I urge you and Miss Granger to have a go at this marriage, but in the end it is your decision."

Snape didn't even bother to respond, watching as Dumbledore slowly exited his room. Snape wasn't about to take his advice, not this time. Take the test, there are no obligations. Just look where Dumbledore's advice had gotten him already.

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Ginny had spent the night at Hermione's apartment, playing the role of the soothing best friend. She'd awoken during the very early hours of the morning, spying a large, tawny owl at the window. Uncomfortably rolling off her poorly transfigured bed, she'd opened the window and found, with some surprise, that the letter was addressed to her. In Albus Dumbledore's handwriting no less. As she read the letter, a plan hatched in her mind.

By the time Hermione had woken up, Ginny had perfected her plan. Timing everything so she and Hermione were both squeezed into the tiny kitchenette together, she casually said, "Hermione, I think it might be time to find you a new apartment."

Hermione glanced up from the toast she had been buttering, arching a brow.

"The thing is," Ginny continued, "It's a bit small–" Hermione snorted (or maybe grunted, Ginny's elbow was poking her in the ribs), "and I think you might have an infestation of–I forget what Muggles call them– termy-ites."

Hermione looked indifferent. "Termites. So we'll call the exterminator. They can spray, and the bugs will be gone in no time."

Ginny frowned, she hadn't thought of that! Of course Hermione would be well versed in Muggle bug treatments. "I heard that the stuff they use to get rid of the termy-ites is dangerous to humans," she said vaguely, improvising.

The older woman frowned. There was something extremely suspicious about the way Ginny was acting, but Hermione couldn't figure out what the girl was up to. Ginny wanted her out of the house, that was for sure. And the exterminator did need at least twenty-four hours to spray (although Hermione had never once seen a termite in the apartment, and she doubted Ginny even knew what a termite was).

Still, curiosity got the better of her and sighing, she said, "Fine, I guess I'll have to leave for a bit. But where should I go? You're apartment is even smaller than mine."

Ginny smiled inwardly, relieved. "My, uh, cousin's got a really lovely house in the country. She's going out of town for a few weeks, and uh," Ginny sputtered. This wasn't going as well as she had planned. Hermione was getting suspicious. "She needs someone to housesit for a week or two," Ginny finally spat out. "I was going to see if you were interested, but then I saw the termy-ites and–yeah," Ginny finished lamely.

"Why doesn't she ask one of your brothers to do it? Fred or George could stay there for a bit, or even Ron–"

Ginny snorted, cutting Hermione off. "Fred and George would probably blow up the house accidentally. And Ron, well, you know how Ron can't be left alone in a house with all the priceless antiques my cousin has." Hermione nodded, seeing Ginny's point.

"All right," Hermione said finally, "I suppose I can go for a few days." Ginny beamed. "It will be nice to have a quiet environment to get my work done in."

Ginny scribbled down an address on a piece of paper, shoving it in Hermione's hands. "I've got to run–I've got a meeting. This is the address. Flooing to it will be just fine. Don't forgot to owl me when you get there, alright?" A confused Hermione watched as Ginny dashed out of the kitchenette, and out of the apartment.

Something was definitely going on, and she did not like not being privy to it.

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When Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at Ginny's cousin's house, she knew something was wrong immediately. The room was dark, dusty, and hadn't been lived in in years. The furniture was antique, Ginny had been right about that. But this certainly wasn't the home of some maiden cousin living out in the countryside.

The room must have been some sort of sitting room, but it looked as if it was larger than Hermione's whole apartment. Her footsteps echoed in the empty room, sending shivers up her back. Looking at the wall opposite the fireplace, Hermione came face to face with a huge coat of arms. On its right, a portrait of an old-fashioned wizard scowled down at her.

"What the–?" Hermione began, recognizing the beaked nose and pale, peaked look.

"A joke of Dumbledore's," a voice said behind her. Hermione jumped. Speak of the devil. Snape, despite his billowing robes and the creaking floorboards, had managed to enter the room silently. "Welcome to my home," he added dryly.

"Your home?" Hermione repeated, staring wide-eyed at Snape. "But Ginny said this was her cousin's house," she said lamely.

"If you want to get technical, yes, we are distantly related. All Pureblood families are intertwined. But I suspect what she told you is similar to what Dumbledore told me." Hermione nodded mutely, still somewhat confused. "Dumbledore informed me that my living quarters were inhabitable, due to something or other they were planning on doing in the dungeons. He all but demanded that I vacate them, and live somewhere else during the summer break. And here I am."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "Ginny told me I was going to housesit for her cousin while she's away, because my apartment is infested with termites or some nonsense." Hermione rolled her eyes.

A flash of lightning briefly lit up the room, followed by the deafening crash of thunder. "I suppose now would be as good a time as any to inform you that you will be staying the night," Snape commented, glancing at the array of blankets he had already set out on one of the moth-eaten couches.

"What?"

"Dumbledore must have cast a similar charm on this building as there is on Hogwarts," Snape explained angrily. "We can't apparate out–I've tried it already. No floo powder, and we're miles from anyone. Unless you'd like to walk in that," he indicated the pouring rain, "we will have to stay here for the night."

Hermione eyes the couches distastefully. "Don't you have any bedrooms in this house?"

"Quite honestly, Miss Gr– or rather, Madam Snape," he corrected, smirking as she bristled, "I am not sure if the rest of the house is even habitable right now, and I am not inclined to check. The library, however, is in good condition. If you wish you may select a book to amuse yourself for the time being."

Silently adding 'Kill Ginny' to her mental list of things to do, Hermione wandered into the library, looking for anything that would distract her from the fact that she was stuck with Snape for the next few hours.

Oddly enough, however, hours later as Hermione drifted off to sleep, the last thing she noticed was how peaceful Snape looked quietly reading by the light of a solitary candle.

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The next morning, Snape awoke to the sound of pots and pans being rattled around the kitchen. Groggily he groped for his wand before remembering that Hermione stayed the night, and it wasn't an intruder. Yawning, he rolled off the couch, following the sound of the noise.

Hermione was in the kitchen, dutifully supervising the various chores that were being completed magically. A kettle on the stove whistled as the water boiled, pots that hadn't been used since his mother had finally died were being washed in the sink. A tantalizing aroma drifted his way, and he realized that Hermione had pancakes cooking as well.

"What are you doing?" he asked, spying Hermione carefully cleaning and organizing the cabinets. She glanced up, her hair in disarray and her face smudged with the dust that had accumulated over the years.

"Cleaning," she answered shortly. "This place is filthy."

"I can see that," Snape replied dryly. "But why are you cleaning?"

"Well," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "If we're going to live here, this place needs to be fixed up a bit. Especially for when the children come."

Snape, who'd been in the process of pouring himself a cup of tea, dropped the kettle on the counter with a BANG!

"The WHAT?!"

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Author's Note: I hope everybody enjoys reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. They are finally showing the faintest signs of being interested in each other–hopefully it will turn into something more soon enough. ;)