Summit Negotiations

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

Many, many thanks to my beta, Dacian Goddess, who helped me make this chapter better.

I hope I have not counted my chickens before they are hatched by announcing my wedding with Hermione. There's only one way to be sure of it: to pay her a visit. I Apparate in front of her door and enter her flat without knocking. A simple Alohomora is enough to open the door. She hasn't added further defences; it's as if she has forgotten that I already came here on Friday evening. I find her asleep on the sofa; her neck will be stiff when she wakes up. There's a pile of books on the coffee table in front of her. I can't help but smirk: books on marriage, wizarding customs, contracts and "new couples." You're doing your homework too late, Hermione! That's enough nonsense; it's time to wake her up. I point my wand at her. She starts and is outraged to see me.

"You! What are you doing here? How did you come in?"

"Hello, Hermione. I wanted to visit my fiancée, and I came in through the door."

"I'm not your fiancée!"

"Then, would you care to explain why you didn't come and let me know earlier today? Did you forget to go to the Ministry?"

She blushes and looks away. She's sitting and I'm standing. I savour this power I wield over her. At last, she looks at me, but her eyes don't reflect defeat... yet.

"No, I didn't forget," she hisses through gritted teeth. "The contract is valid. But you can still change your mind."

"Don't count on it. Now that the matter of our betrothal is settled, I insist that you call me Severus."

Of course, I have in mind her "friends'" expression when they note the familiarity between us.

"I refuse!"

This time I grab her wrists and draw her up against me. I can see fear on her face.

"How will you explain that you have signed that promise of marriage? You very well know that those documents cannot be fooled: you signed willingly. Would you want everybody to believe that Hermione Granger willingly signed a promise of marriage but tried to back-pedal afterwards? Hum, I wonder how it would make you look...you, the scourge of oppression upon the weak, who reluctantly weds a repentant Death Eater. You would confirm by your acts your refusal of a second chance for those who have made a mistake in their past."

I let my eyes drift toward her breast, which nearly brushes my chest. I will probably take great pleasure in exploring it when she is my wife. When I look at her face again, I can see that my words have reached their mark: she's biting her lower lip.

"Besides, Hermione"...I take malicious pleasure in insisting on her first name..."our wedding will take place on March 18th at the Ministry. I took the liberty of inviting my employers. Of course, you can invite whomever you want to, without restriction."

"Your... employers?"

Her voice has become disagreeably strident. Then she carries on in a more acceptable tone.

"Fred and George know? But then, it means that the Weasleys... and Harry..."

She's groping for words as she bites her lower lip with renewed vigour, and superb tears, as beautiful and round as raindrops, slide down her cheeks.

"I don't see where the problem is. One day or another, people will know."

"You... you could have asked me about the date! I could have had a S.P.E.W. meeting that day!"

"We'll get married in the morning. You'll be able to have all the meetings in the world in the evening, after the consummation of our wedding is complete."

She doesn't like my allusion to that event at all. Too bad; the event has to happen.

"I'm not very fond of special occasions. We'll have a simple, civil ceremony before we get back home. You should make arrangements to give your flat back. My house is better than this dump."

She looks rebellious.

"I receive friends sometimes, Harry for example, and Dobby and Winky to organize things for S.P.E.W. I will go on receiving who I want in my home."

I had wondered when she would start to quibble.

"You can receive your... acquaintances in the lounge, provided they don't go into the other rooms so that we don't have to meet."

"I'll have to introduce you to my parents. They will attend the ceremony of course."

"If they must."

"I don't have any money for a gown. I know, I know, we don't want a fancy ceremony, but I don't have a gown worthy of the occasion."

Her voice expresses the sarcasm lacking in her words. Her attempts to disgust me from her by using all these ridiculous requests entertain me. Clearly, she doesn't remember who she's dealing with. I pull a Gringotts parchment out of my pocket and sign an allowance for a two hundred Galleon withdrawal from my account. Her eyes seem willing to bulge out at that.

"This should cover the expense for our wedding. If you need more to move out, you only need to ask."

She protests, and her spit lands at her feet...and mine.

"But... but... I am not a kept woman! I can manage by myself very well!"

"Then, who's paying for your flat?"

She blushes. Anger and shame vie for the front place on the stage that is her emotions. I've hit the mark. Someone, Potter or her family, is helping her.

"I could find a job easily if I wanted to! I got excellent results with my NEWTs."

"And when was that?"

"Last June. It's just, I didn't have time to look for a job."

"That is of no matter. I earn enough for the both of us. You won't have to work if you don't want to."

She will have found a job in less than two months if her rebellious pout is any indication. This way, I will be able to keep my Galleons for myself and buy on the black market those expensive books so unjustly forbidden by the Ministry.

"Perhaps. Right now, since we're going to live together, we could establish some ground rules?"

Some what rules? Her unctuous voice suggests that I won't like what she is going to say.

"Would you care to elaborate what you mean by 'ground rules'?" I ask cautiously.

"I won't mix my books with yours; I want a room for myself that I can use as an office, provided with a telephone and electricity for my computer. We'll share the household chores such as housework, cooking, etc. fairly. You won't try to get me to stop my activities with S.P.E.W., and we'll sleep in separate bedrooms."

"I can convert the second bedroom into an office where you'll be able to put your books. My father was a Muggle, and so the whole house is equipped with electricity. Having the telephone set up won't be any trouble at all. We'll discuss the chores later. However, we will not sleep in separate bedrooms. On the one hand, the marriage has to be consummated to be valid. On the other hand, I have no intention to live as a eunuch while married."

The idea seems to make her a bit nauseous.

"That would be rape!" she retorts.

"I don't think so, my dear. I can be extremely persuasive, you know."

I acquired quite a lot of experience with women after I'd killed Dumbledore; that gesture had made me very popular with the female supporters of the Dark Lord. I am sure that I can bend her to my will when it comes to bedroom matters. But I can see that she's taking a hold of herself.

"I insist on establishing a marriage contract in which we'll write how our living together will be organized. And it will be a magical contract!"

Well, well, well, the know-it-all has at least learnt something useful: never trust others blindly.

"This condition is acceptable. I'll tell my lawyer about it and inform you of the date for the appointment."

I went back home a bit upset; Hermione Granger showed herself more hard-headed than I had expected her to be. Admittedly, she isn't that difficult to manipulate. However, I fear that, with time, she may become a bit too cunning. It's too late to go back on the promise of marriage that I too have signed. My only hope is that those ninety percent carry a real meaning.

At least I managed to write my article for S.P.E.W. yesterday, and I found a slogan. It will be: Freedom Concerns All. I've sent both of them to the Daily Prophet and to The Quibbler, and now, all I have to do is to watch out for its publication. I've thought about my situation a lot as well, and with a clearer mind. I think I'm coming to terms with it; well, coming to terms with it is a bit much actually, but I can't do nothing but feel sorry for myself. I don't like what has happened to me, that much is true. However, I've decided to make as much of it as possible. I'll stick to my plan: to drive Snape to divorce. It looks like he's decided to "consummate" our wedding, but I do have other means at my disposal: sterility, adultery (even if I'm the one to commit it), and violence are among them. I give myself one year to succeed.

Also, I'm going to take care of what he's put a painful finger on: my unemployment. No political activism can hide my status. I'm going to remedy the situation. It's out of the question that I remain at my husband's mercy when it comes to money.

Last but not least: I must take care of the delicate file "How to tell one's parents and friends about my nuptials to come?" My parents first, before Saturday...before we meet Severus's lawyer.

"Hello, Dad!"

My father eyes me with confusion, and then moves away from the door to let me in. I must admit that I've put a lot of enthusiasm in my greeting. With me, that shows that I am nervous.

"Hello, Hermione. Come in, my dear."

My mother hugs me tightly, and her enthusiasm is genuine.

"Hermione! What a good surprise!"

We sit and share a cup of tea in the comfortable and bourgeois lounge of my parents' house.

"So, my dear, what brings you here?"

I sigh deeply before I launch into a lengthy explanation about the YLC, the tests with Ron, our breaking-off. I cry a lot, use three packets of tissues and take comfort from them like when I was a little girl. It's good to confide in someone.

I nonetheless take a great care to embellish what happened next.

"The YLC then proposed for me to meet one of their customers, whose tests showed a very high compatibility rate between us. I was rather reluctant, but the contract I'd signed imposed me to meet him. We talked several times since that first meeting, and he's convinced me to sign a promise of marriage with him."

"Be careful not to get married out of spite," my mother admonishes me with kindness.

"No, Mum, I'm not doing it out of spite. He isn't the man I'm in love with, but he's intelligent and he makes a very good living."

Their shocked expressions inform me that I've just made a blunder. I must make up for it straight away.

"I'm not marrying him for his money. Anyway, I intend to work and be self-sufficient. But, you see, wizarding customs are a bit different from the Muggle ones. It's not unusual to meet arranged couples."

"But that's medieval," my father exclaims.

"No, Dad, it's just... different. It is my world now, and I have every intention to respect its customs."

They still look justifiably sceptical. I gloss over the fact Severus Snape tricked me into marriage, that I could have lived as a couple with any other wizard without being married, and I totally conceal that I intend to get divorced next year. I'm confident that I'll find an excuse until then, or I'll shift the blame onto Snape.

"I suppose our opinion doesn't count," my father sighs. "You'll need to introduce your... I suppose I can say fiancé, to us."

"I suppose, given that we're getting married on March 18th."

"Splendid. We have an entire year to prepare everything."

My mother is already planning the booking of a hall, the buying of dresses and bouquets, the sending of dozens of invitations, etc.

"Er, no, Mum, not in a year. We're getting married on March 18th next, in two weeks, at the Ministry for Magic. I'd like you to be there."

That will make two persons to support me in the room.

"Why being so hasty? Would you be pregnant?"

I can't help but think that my mother has an abrupt way of putting things.

"No. Why would you think that? But my 'fiancé' (the word burns my mouth) didn't want to wait. He's a bit older than me, you see, and... he'd like to settle down as quickly as possible."

My explanation rings hollow to me. My parents managed not to look too upset.

"I suppose we'll have to contend ourselves with marriage announcements to the family. None of them know that you're a witch, and with a wedding taking place at the Ministry..."

My mother is interrupted by my father.

"What's our son-in-law-to-be's name?"

I can feel the catastrophe coming.

"Severus Snape."

They scowl. It's only a matter of minutes before their memory provides them with the right data. My mother is the first to react.

"Didn't you have a teacher at Hogwarts whose name was Snape?"

I nod. This seems to trigger my father's memory.

"That one who killed the Headmaster two years ago, isn't he?"

"He's been acquitted. It seems he did it at the Headmaster's orders."

My parents' eyes widen. Really, that wizarding world has strange values.

"Is he related to your Snape?"

Be brave, Hermione. You faced Voldemort, damn it!

"They're the same."

"What?" they shout in unison. "You're going to marry a murderer?"

"He's been pardoned!"

We confront one another with deathly stares, but my parents already know that they've lost. They always lose when it comes to the wizarding world.

"If you think that you'll be happy with him, we won't hold it against you, Hermione. You'll always be welcome in our home, whatever happens. We love you too much, your father and I, to do things another way."

I take comfort from them like a little girl for the second time in two hours.

I arrive at the lawyer's early so that I could explain the situation to him before my fiancée arrives. She is right on time as usual. Mr Minutes settle us around a table in a small room adjacent to his office and we start the negotiations.

"Miss Granger, mister Snape, what clauses would you like to put into your marriage contract?"

"I want it to stipulate the basic rules of our common life," Hermione states firmly.

"Very well. Would you like to deal with your possessions and incomes in it as well?"

"Yes."

This time, I am the one to answer.

This part is easy to negotiate. Very soon, it appears that we share the same point of view on the subject. None of us wants to share their books; I don't want to share my Potions laboratory, and she doesn't want to share her computer. Each of us will contribute to the household expenses in proportion with our own income. The sharing out of the chores (She insists on it being in our wedding contract. "I won't be your own personal house-elf," she says.) is more difficult to manage than an international treaty about flying carpets, but we come to a satisfying agreement after two hours. And lastly, we promise not to interfere in the other's choice of career and professional life. Mr Minutes is a very gifted negotiator. Without him, we'd have been at it the whole week-end. When we leave the office, it's already the middle of the afternoon, and Diagon Alley is swarming with people.