The Cat Is Out Of The Bag

Disclaimer: see first chapter

Chapter reread by my precious beta, Dacian Goddess

What a horrible week-end! I wonder what is worse: being separated from Ron or being the target of Severus Snape's matrimonial project. I tried to take his ring off several times. I've tried soap and lubricating Potions to make it glide along my finger easily. I've tried to break the spell that holds it in place. Nothing did the trick. I've decided to let it go for now and to research marriage and magical contracts in the wizarding world.

Being a Muggle-born has been a disadvantage to me when it comes to the most ordinary aspects of the wizarding world. Why hadn't I researched marriage until now? I know the answer to my question: I thought that things happened like in the Muggle world. Well, not exactly. I've found out that marriage is in itself a magical contract. Who says magical contract says penalty (translation: Azkaban) for the one who breaks it unilaterally without observing the procedures. Like any magical contract, it can only be dissolved by consent of both parties or by the Wizengamot if only one of the spouses wishes to divorce. In this case, divorce is possible only in case of adultery, violence from one spouse against the other, sterility, non-consummation of the wedding, etc. In short, getting a divorce is not that difficult from a legal point of view. Where the shoe pinches is the precarious social situation of the divorcees. Illicit studies show that divorcees never reach important positions or easily lose the job they had once they separated from their spouse. However, I'm reassured by the increasing number of non-married couples. I feel hopeful that this disapproval from another age will fade with time. Now I know what to expect if I don't marry Snape...or if I do marry him. Besides, I have a plan:

1/I prove that the promise of marriage isn't valid: end of my torment.

2/The promise of marriage turns out to be valid: I marry Snape, then I drive him to be violent toward me, or to be unfaithful, or I'll find an idea, and I ask for a divorce. My fight for S.P.E.W. shouldn't suffer much from my status as a divorcee.

3/If point two doesn't work, I'm deep in it.

I should have guessed that Miss Granger...no, Hermione...would find the flaw in my plan. I'm pretty sure the contract is valid, but if it isn't, what will I do? I can point out that she's wearing my ring, a Prince family heirloom. I think I have read somewhere that wearing a magical betrothal ring is akin to a promise of marriage. However, this argument might not be foolproof; she only needs to produce her memory of the moment when I put it on her finger in a Pensieve, and it will be clear to everyone that I didn't leave her much of a choice. If the Ministry declares that the contract is not valid, I will have no other alternative that to resume my search for a wife. It would be very annoying; I am already accustomed to the idea of having Hermione as my fiancée. She doesn't have a regular income...at least for now...which would make her dependant on me and perhaps a little more docile...no, that would be a dream. She doesn't give me the impression of being a complete idiot, she has the status of war heroine, and she will want to avoid me as much as possible in our everyday interaction. She's physically acceptable, which is another point in her favour, in spite of her too visible teeth and tousled hair. Really, it would be my best interest if she were obliged to marry me.

Monday morning. It's still early, but I haven't slept sleep well anyway. I arrive at the Ministry at the same hour that the employees start working. The receptionist has barely finished examining my wand that my impatience pushes me to run down the corridors to the Department of Magical Equipment Control. The Ministry workers are just arriving at their office when I dash into the place, puffing and panting, red-faced, hair flying in every direction. I don't leave them time enough to drink a coffee.

"Good morning, sir. I need to know if a parchment is a magical contract. Can someone help me?"

They look at me, taken aback, annoyed that I interrupt their daily routine with work to do as soon as they arrive. They take upon themselves quickly though.

"Of course, Miss," one of them says to me. "Follow me, please."

He takes me to a small office overflowing with shelves and cupboards full of documents.

"Please, have a seat."

Once we're installed, I give him my parchment. He draws his wand out and begins a series of movements above the document while mumbling incomprehensible words. A weak red glow emanates from the contract. I hold my breath.

"This is a real magical contract, Miss. The red colour proves it. Granted, it's a bit pale, but undeniably red. Maybe you were out of sorts when you signed it?"

"I was..."

I stop before I admit that I was drunk.

"Does this mean that the magic considered me lucid enough not to sign, had I wanted not to?"

"Quite, Miss. There's no doubt about it. If you've signed this contract, you're bound by it."

I bury my face into my hands so that I have time to breathe deeply two or three times and to swallow the lump in my throat, then I raise my head.

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day."

"Goodbye, Miss, and a good day to you too."

I go straight back home. I'm not going to get very far in my work on my promotional insert today. I sit down in my colour-faded, hand-me-down sofa and cry. I cry for what seems to be hours. I think of everything I've lived through so far: the discovery that I was a witch; Hogwarts; my friendship with Harry and Ron; my relationship with Ron; the YLC; and now, the wedding that's awaiting me. I had a bright future in front of me; "the most brilliant witch of her age," people said relentlessly. Where am I today? In a lousy studio flat in a modest...and Muggle...area, leading a political fight for a cause that interests only two house-elves and myself, crying for a lost love and earning less money than a hermit in a desert. I feel pathetic. I think of killing myself or of becoming a Muggle. Deep down, I know that I won't do any of these things, but I toy with the idea. I imagine the most efficient or harebrained ways to commit suicide, or what I would do if I'd split my wand in two and renounce my status as a witch. My sleep-deprived body finally betrays me and I fall asleep among all these not so innocent fantasies.

Monday morning. I arrive at work at WWW. I hardly have time to put a foot into the shop that the twins are upon me.

"Well? Is it done? Is it signed?"

I sigh openly.

"Yes, the applicant has signed a promise of marriage, but some details remain to be settled."

"Who is she? When will we be able to meet her?"

"You will know in due course. For now, I do have work to do, so a good day to you."

I walk out on them and lock myself in my laboratory. However, I have the greatest difficulty in concentrating on the pink rabbit cream, which is supposed to have similar effects as the canary cream and change those who would eat it into giant pink rabbits. Unerringly, my thoughts go back to Hermione and her will to ruin our betrothal. I am persuaded that she went to the Ministry at dawn, after a sleepless night, and stood and waited in front of the door of the Department of Magical Equipment Control long before the first employee arrived. As far as I know the Ministry's habits, I'd say the employees begin their work day at the same time as I. I only have to wait. The more time flows without me seeing her, the more chances I have to get married since she won't have obtained what she wanted.

An hour later, I'm so distracted that I've nearly stained my robe with pink colouring agent.

Two hours later, I've burnt the bottom of a cauldron because I had forgotten to extinguish the fire beneath it.

Three hours later, the content of the cauldron has exploded. I had to clean up the mess and explain to Weasley and Weasley that everything was fine.

Four hours later, I no longer even try to pretend that I don't care and pace in the fifteen square metres of my laboratory.

I can't eat my lunch. I wait the whole afternoon for her to come, a triumphant expression on her face, and to shake the torn parchment under my eyes...or to light a symbolic stake right in the middle of Diagon Alley. But no, nothing; no news. At five p.m., I come out of my laboratory, a triumphant smile on my lips. Of course, this fact hasn't escaped Fred Weasley, whom I've unfortunately met in the back of the shop.

"So, Snape, everything's all right for you, it seems?"

I feel so satisfied that I answer him.

"Absolutely."

"Is your lady friend the reason for your cheerfulness?"

"One could say so. You won't lose your head of laboratory after all."

"She must be very special. Not that many people can get a smile out of you."

I cannot resist. I anticipate with pleasure the shock he'll receive when he finds out that the girl his brother's in love with but has let go will land in the bed of a man he absolutely detests but whom he needs most.

"Indeed. The YLC had me meet a young lady whose compatibility rate with me is ninety percent."

The carp look suits him. He whistles.

"Ninety percent! I'd never have believed that... I understand why you wouldn't let her slip through your fingers."

"I must admit that I had never considered that young person that way. I now see her in a completely new light."

"She's someone you already knew?"

I gaze at my nails with falsely disinterested eyes. I gave up on taking innocent airs long ago; nobody would believe them.

"Absolutely. I think that you know her as well. However, unlike a certain Weasley, I am able to discern the pearl that Miss Granger is."

"Mis Gr...? Hermione! You're going to marry Hermione! You old pervert! You're old enough to be her father! Besides, she isn't in love with you."

"You forget, Mister Weasley, that this wedding...yours and your brother's idea, by the way...is not the result of love, but is the condition for the future development of your company, and that the one she is in 'love' with chose to move away from her."

He goes white, red, green; the rainbow parades on his face. If it was not so contrary to my image, I would burst out laughing. Finally, his voice comes back to him.

"What did you do to her? Did you force her?"

"Miss Granger has signed a promise of marriage in due form. You know that the promissories signed through the YLC's action are magical contracts, which means that her will could not have been violated."

He can't think of something to answer. I go past him, walk a little, then turn my head to the side to watch him over my shoulder.

"I forgot. The wedding will take place on Saturday, March 18th at ten a.m. at the Ministry. You and your brother are invited of course."