Chapter 5: What's Love Got To Do With It?

Chapter 5

What's Love Got To Do With It?

For the third time in two weeks, Hermione entered the visiting room at Azkaban Prison. Severus Snape sat at the table, his black eyes coolly assessing her as she crossed the floor. Feeling herself to be in a position of some power with him for the first time, Hermione slipped into the seat across from him and gave him a face of polite attention. Neither of them spoke and the minutes ticked past.

Staring across the Rubicon of the visiting room table at Severus Snape, Hermione knew that a part of her determination to help him was that she was still trying to win his approval. There was a portion of her brain screaming that it was insane to enter into an Unbreakable Marriage Covenant for such an end, but she didn't care, because it wasn't her only reason. She had always thought there was something a little too calculated in his insults, as if there was less emotion and more contrivance involved than others realised. For that reason, she had taken his derision as her teacher with a very large pinch of salt. In a vague way, she had supposed that one day, when she was an adult and the war was over, when he no longer had to dissemble and to pretend to be a loyal Death Eater, that she and he would be natural friends. Both of them were of a serious turn of mind, light years ahead of their contemporaries in sheer intelligence, neither of them had many friends – andshefanciedhim.

All right, she fancied him. Not in a heart-stopping, die-one-thousand-deaths sort of way, but matter-of-factly, as Muggle women fancied cinema stars and pop singers. She wasn't so dim that she didn't realise that no one else she knew saw Professor Snape in that way, but she wasn't fussed by it – she valued many things that no one else of her acquaintance could understand. She knew that in a roomful of her peers – other straight, smart women with healthy sex drives and an appreciation of devastatingly intelligent men – that her calm assumption of Severus Snape's charisma would be promptly vindicated.

Given the opportunity, she believed that they could have a pleasant relationship – she wasn't fool enough to sacrifice herself to an untenable life of misery with someone for whom she could never envision feeling attraction or affection.

'Miss Granger.'

He spoke with some force, and she realised that this was not the first time he had spoken her name. 'Yes?'

'Perhaps you could summarize your proposition again.'

'I don't believe that's necessary.'

One eyebrow rose.

She added, 'I was perfectly clear the first time.'

He leant back and studied her again, the tip of his index finger tracing his thin lips. 'I see,' he murmured. 'Perhaps, then, you would not be averse to outlining your expectations for such a union.'

Hermione considered for a moment. 'That's a very broad question,' she said, holding up a hand to forestall his acidic rejoinder. 'Nevertheless, I will attempt to answer you.

'I expect that we will be married, you will be released from here, we will go to our flat, we will consummate the marriage, and our lives as married persons will begin. I will go to work for the company which offered me employment and you will ... do as you see fit.'

For the first time since she had known him, Hermione felt as if she had Severus Snape's full attention. His gaze was fixed unblinkingly upon her face and there was no suggestion in his manner that he was either wishing she would stop talking, or that his mind was mulling over something other than what she was saying. She found the spotlight simultaneously riveting and unnerving.

After a moment, he inquired reasonably, 'What are your expectations of me, Miss Granger, as your husband? What do expect for me to do?'

Hermione looked into the fathomless dark eyes and saw only inquiry. 'I expect for you to treat me with civility and to make an effort to make our partnership a successful one.'

'Is that all you require?' They might have been discussing the assignment of a complex homework project.

Hermione sighed and said, 'It is a broad sketch; until we have lived together for a while, I don't see how I can be expected to anticipate everything I might want or require from you.'

'You did not, perhaps, expect romance?'

Hermione felt the flush rise up her throat to her cheeks, but she held her ground, keeping her eyes on his. 'I do not expect romance; we are not marrying for love. I do not, however, despair of us coming to feel affection for one another.'

He continued to watch her, his expression unchanged. 'May I tell you my tentative plans?'

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded once, steeling herself for his comments.

'We will be married here; it is a Ministry requirement. The Ministry official will perform the binding. It is customary for a time period of twenty-four hours to be imposed upon those who enter into the Unbreakable Covenant, in which the Covenant is to be ratified by the consummation. In our case, however, Minerva McGonagall has used her contacts at the Ministry to receive an extension for us; we will have seven days to effect the consummation.'

As Hermione listened to him, she began to feel somewhat light-headed; Severus Snape was speaking to her about their marriage – it was nothing less than surreal, really. It had been one thing to make her proposal to him as one might present a paper to one's professor; it was entirely another to hear him speak to her of such an intimate thing as consummating a marriage between them. She wished desperately that she could whip parchment and quill out of her bag to take notes, for she feared that she would not remember everything he said to her in this state of unreality.

'The reason for the delay to is give me an opportunity to acclimate myself to being out of Azkaban for a day or two before we begin to accustom ourselves to marriage. Are you amenable to this plan?'

Hermione nodded once – it sounded like a rational request ...

'I will go to stay as a guest at Professor McGonagall's flat in Kensington; as it is in the period of our honeymoon, my whereabouts will not be investigated by the Ministry. You, on the other hand, will go to my – to our home – and begin to make yourself comfortable. I will come to you there before the week is out so that the Covenant can be finalised.'

Hermione bit her lip and began to feel flustered. Now that his mind was made up, things were moving ahead too quickly – there were preparations to be made which she could not even begin yet – not without borrowing yet more money from Harry. In a voice which demonstrated her agitation, she said, 'Wait – I haven't even accepted the job offer I received, and I haven't begun to work yet – I don't have a place for us to live...'

'Miss Granger.'

He spoke forcefully and she quieted immediately, somewhat amazed to find that she still responded to that tone in his voice as a student responds to her teacher. That will have to be sorted, she thought. I can't be snapping to attention like a schoolgirl every time he grumbles – which is likely to be often.

There was the tiniest glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if he was aware of her chagrin. 'I own a house in London; it is in Spinner's End. If it is not to your taste, we may consider procuring a different house in the future – but it will suffice to be getting on with.'

'Oh – well, that's a relief,' Hermione said, the conversation seeming more surreal than ever. 'Then all I need to do is accept the job that was offered to me ...'

'No, I would rather you did not.'

'Why not?'

'It is my wish that you continue your education, Miss Granger. There is no immediate need for you to begin to work. In fact,' he added his gaze becoming more speculative still, 'you may, if you wish, choose not to work at all.'

Hermione stared at him for a moment; she was beginning to doubt her hearing. 'I'm sorry – I don't mean to be slow – but are you saying that you are independently wealthy?'

'Not at all,' he replied. 'I do, however, have savings which will allow us to set up house, as the saying goes – and I have a job, which will provide for us adequately.'

Now Hermione's mouth dropped open. 'You – you have a job? What about spending your days "down the pub?"'

In a rather captious tone he said, 'I was exploring how far your imaginings had brought you in your plan to "save" me from prison. Not very far, as it turned out.'

It was the first hint of disparagement she had heard from him, and she fired up immediately. 'Yet I believe you will find that our marriage will be sufficient to procure your salvation from prison – regardless of how poor you consider my planning to be.'

She noted a narrowing of his eyes which, in the past, had often presaged the loss of his temper, but after a moment, he simply sat back, his voice becoming once again smooth, his manner detached.

'Let us be clear, Miss Granger,' he said, his nostrils flared as if in distaste. 'I am marrying you to get my wand back – that is your worth to me. You are marrying me for a home and a living – that is my worth to you. We are intelligent adults and will both, I trust, endeavour to behave civilly. I am a man who keeps his word – even when striking a bargain with the devil himself. I will uphold my end of the agreement.'

Even though she knew his words were just and true, Hermione was slightly hurt by his personal indifference to her and stung by his total lack of regard for her feelings in the matter. She pressed her lips firmly together, preventing herself from blurting the angry words seething in her mind. The man was infuriating!

He startled and further enraged her by chuckling, a sound which she had never heard from him before. 'Come – we have reached an accommodation – let us shake hands and call friend. For magical folk, we are young, yet – one hundred plus years is a long time.' He stood, causing the leg chains to clank together, and extended his hand to her.

Her emotions swinging swiftly from anger to confusion, Hermione stood as well, nonplussed. Because he had stepped to the side of the table, she did as well, and for the first time, there was no barrier between them. She tilted her head to look up at his face, placing her hand within his. As if to complete her befuddlement, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

The wiry black hairs growing above his lips all but hid his mouth from her sight, and they rasped roughly against the skin on the back of her hand. 'Will you – will you shave the beard?' she asked tentatively.

He was openly amused now. 'What is your preference?' he asked her, the silken intimacy of his words rippling unexpectedly down her spine.

'I like your face clean-shaven,' she answered, feeling the unwelcome blush burning in her cheeks.

'Then you are the first,' he murmured.

Without resuming their seats, they amicably set the date for Sunday next, and Hermione left, in far more turmoil now that her plan had succeeded than she would have believed possible.

On Saturday night, Harry opened the door and stared into the pretty face of Ginny Weasley. 'Hi,' he said stupidly, thinking he would kill Hermione for not warning him of their visitor.

'Hi, Harry,' she said, breezing past him.

He closed the door and turned to look at her, the achingly familiar flaming hair shining like copper in the hallway candlelight.

'Hermione invited me,' Ginny explained, returning his gaze with a frank appraisal of her own.

'Right,' Harry said. 'How have you been?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Oh, busy at work, you know. And you?'

'I'm good,' he assured her, his mind flailing for another topic to keep her in the entrance hall. 'Are you going to Ron's wedding?'

'Yes – you know Mum – the whole family is going, even the kids; she won't take "no" for an answer. You're best man, right?' Ginny showed no embarrassment; she seemed quite content to stand about in the hallway chatting with Harry.

'Yeah – Lola seems like a nice girl.' Harry tried to keep his eyes on her face, but her casual Muggle clothing emphasised the ways her body had matured since the last time he had held her, four years before. When he dragged his gaze back to her face, Ginny's lips were twitching – oh, God, he was rumbled – but she didn't seem to mind. Impulsively, he blurted, 'Ginny, do you think you might –'

Steps sounded on the basement stairs and Hermione appeared, carrying a tray laden with drinks and snacks. 'Hi, Ginny!' she said brightly. 'Shall we go to my room?'

'You'll be more comfortable in the sitting room,' Harry said quietly. 'I'll stay out of your way.'

Hermione's mouth twisted in a moue of slight distress. 'You are very welcome to sit with us and drink and talk, Harry – but I can't have you bad-mouthing my husband.'

'He's not your husband yet, the slimy git!' Harry said in the tone of one who has had this discussion before. 'It's not too late to give up this stupid scheme, Hermione.'

Ginny stepped between them as Hermione shrugged and headed up to the sitting room. Ginny said, 'I think that's the kind of bad-mouthing she was talking about.'

Harry transferred his angry look from Hermione's retreating back to Ginny's freckled face, and his glare faded.

She continued, 'Hermione has to settle for just me for her "hen party." If you can be supportive rather than a prat – well, you've been her best friend since first year – there's no one else she'd rather have with her tonight.'

Harry dragged his oft-mended spectacles from his face and rubbed the place his scar used to be. 'She's throwing herself away.'

Ginny crossed her arms. 'I'm not disagreeing with you – but she's going to do it, no matter what we say. Both of us have told her why we think it's a bad idea – now it's time to stick by her, anyway. How many times did she do that for you?'

Harry's mouth dropped open. 'Shite,' he whispered.

'Exactly,' Ginny said, turning from him to lead the way upstairs.

The three friends snacked, drank, and talked well into the night, lounging about the dimly-lit sitting room.

'But how does the Ministry know when Hermione shags Snape?' Harry asked, setting down his glass of firewhisky and slopping some of it onto the table. He ignored the spill and grabbed a handful of crisps.

Hermione lobbed a small cushion at him, barely missing the glass and knocking the crisps onto the rug. 'Don't say it like that!' she protested.

'You lot had best behave, or I'll separate you,' Ginny bossed, Vanishing the crisps from the floor and passing the packet to Harry, who had looked up in alarm, thinking that Molly was in the room.

'He's being lewd,' Hermione objected, accepting another Avada Colada from Ginny and taking a fortifying sip.

'Well, you know you have to shag him, or the Ministry will put him back in prison,' Harry pointed out, retrieving his firewhisky again.

'The way the Ministry will know,' Ginny said firmly, speaking over Hermione's new objection, 'is similar to the way it is known when a magical child is born.'

'Magic qu-quill?' Harry inquired knowledgably with only a small hiccup.

'Not exactly,' Ginny replied, settling back in the corner of the settee, drawing Harry's unabashedly admiring gaze. 'There are two forms of marriage for wizards and witches: the Unbreakable Covenant, which involves fidelity charms and is irrevocable, and common marriage. The common marriage doesn't require consummation to be considered valid, and it's not tracked by the Ministry. The common marriage certificate is just filed in the Ministry Bureau of Statistics, and the marriage can be terminated by divorce.' Ginny paused to sip at her goblet of honey mead. 'All of the people in my family are bound by the Unbreakable Covenant; the other form of marriage is considered to be little better than a Muggle union to most pure-bloods and to other old-fashioned folks. With the Covenant, the marriage certificate is filed with the Ministry Bureau of Statistics in a pending folder; when the consummation takes place, the Ministry seal magically appears on the parchment and a Bureau of Statistics employee removes the certificate to the permanent file. The marriage then appears on the Registry of Marriages.'

Hermione frowned, fishing a piece of pineapple out of her Avada Colada and popping it into her mouth. 'What happens to the certificate if the marriage isn't consummated?'

Ginny's eyes reflected the light from oil lamp as she gazed into the flame. 'At the very moment when the time period for consummation expires, the certificate explodes into flames and disappears. At that point, if the couple wants to be united under the Covenant, they have to begin the entire process over again.'

Harry hiccupped again. 'But how would anyone know? Anyone who wasn't there when the thing explodes?'

Ginny shrugged. 'No one would know, but if the Registry was checked, that couple wouldn't be on it.' She placed her goblet on a side table and stood, stretching her hands to the ceiling with a sigh before speaking again. 'With Professor Snape, you can bet that people will be watching for any excuse to put him back in jail. There are plenty of people who would be only too happy to see him shipped off to Siberia for the next twenty years – sorry, Hermione.'

Hermione nodded morosely. 'It's all right – I know some people want to see him stay in prison. But they're wrong – he's a good person.'

Harry and Ginny exchanged long-suffering looks.

'I saw that!' Hermione said, tossing an olive at Harry.

'Me?' Harry objected, snagging the olive neatly and dropping it into his mouth. 'What about her?' He indicated Ginny, who was staring at him.

'If you can catch something that small in this light, drunk off your arse, think what you could be doing in professional Quidditch,' Ginny said admiringly.

'What, shagging his way through the groupies?' Hermione said waspishly.

Ginny turned a measuring eye on Hermione, then walked over and took the empty glass from her, tugging her up from her chair. 'It's to bed with the bride,' she said, a loving smile upon her mouth. 'Come on up, and I'll tuck you in.'

Harry watched the girls as they walked out of the room, his gaze lingering over-long on Ginny's swaying hips.

'We're leaving at nine in the morning, Harry,' Ginny said, turning and catching him checking her out. She gave him an impudent smile. 'Don't oversleep!'

The next morning, Severus sat patiently in the warden's office as Minerva fussed over him, a mocking expression in his eyes. 'You know there's not a blasted thing you can do about my appearance, old woman – give over!'

Minerva huffed at him and resumed her seat as the sycophantic warden entered with the Ministry official in his wake. Severus felt, rather than saw Minerva's reaction to the entrance of none other than Cornelius Fudge.

'You!' Minerva spat contemptuously.

'Good morning, Minerva,' Fudge effused, behaving as if she had not spoken. He turned his officious attention to Severus then and said, 'Snape.'

'Fudge,' Severus acknowledged evenly.

Fudge, who now bore the title of Special Advisor to the Minister of Magic, seated himself at the warden's desk and placed a briefcase of lime-green dyed dragon hide before him. He removed several documents, then looked up at Severus. 'I have here the probation agreement, as well as the paperwork for the Unbreakable Covenant.'

'And my wand, Fudge?' Severus interrupted in a low, menacing tone.

Fudge shifted nervously, avoiding Severus' eye. He reached back into his case and removed a length of rowan wood.

Severus saw the pale-coloured wand – fourteen and one-quarter inches, dragon heartstring core – with a physical pang of longing which took all his skill to conceal from the avid attention of Cornelius Fudge. Nodding once, Severus said, 'You may proceed,' and the tedious business of going over the paperwork commenced.

Hermione entered the visitor's room, her heart flopping uncomfortably in her chest. The table and its chains had been removed; the room was bare save for the people present. Standing at the top of the room, looking self-important in his pin-striped robes, was Cornelius Fudge. To his right stood the warden. Professor McGonagall, dressed in tailored black robes, stood before Fudge, beside the groom.

Hermione's soon-to-be husband turned when she entered the room, his glittering black eyes pinning her where she stood. The slick appearance of his hair was not due to wetness; apparently the every-other-Saturday-rule for showers held, regardless of whether one was to be married that weekend. The prison-issue robes adorned his person, as on each of her other visits; the only difference was his feet, which were bare in deference to their binding ceremony.

She was only too aware of the way his eyes travelled slowly down her body to her feet. Her hair bore a wreath of white wild flowers, set about her brow and in no way controlling the unmanageable mass of her bushy brown hair, loose down her back. She wore a simple calf-length garment of white, heavily embroidered at the hem and the sleeves in silver thread with ancient wedding runes. Her feet were bare, although Ginny had been unable to dissuade her from wearing a thin gold anklet about her left ankle; Hermione was certain that Severus' eyes lingered on her ankle before rising again to her face. At that moment, Harry spoke and Ginny placed a hand at the small of Hermione's back, urging her to move into the room so that they could follow her in and close the door.

With her friends trailing her, Hermione crossed the room to stand at the side of her groom, who acknowledged her with a polite nod of his head, which she returned.

In times to come, it would be difficult for Hermione to remember much about her wedding. She was acutely aware of the near-stranger standing on her left, who spoke his responses in a firm, resonant voice, but she was barely cognizant of the words spoken over them by Cornelius Fudge. At one point, Fudge told Severus to place a ring upon her finger, which he did, speaking his vow.

'I, Severus Xerxes Snape Prince, do take thee, Hermione Jane Granger ...'

Her hand tightened upon his so convulsively that Severus looked down into her eyes, comprehension coming immediately. With a very nearly apologetic look, he returned the pressure of her hand and gave an imperceptible nod – she had heard the name correctly.

Ginny dropped Severus' ring into Hermione's hand when she reached for it, a simple band, plain but for the engraving within: SS/HG 24/6/2001. She slipped the ring upon his finger, obediently reciting, 'I, Hermione Jane Granger, do take thee, Severus Xerxes Snape Prince ...'

At last the ceremony ended and Fudge commanded the groom to kiss the bride. Briefly wondering if no shower meant no toothbrush, as well, Hermione braced herself for her husband's first kiss, leaning willingly into him as he reached for her. The scent of cloves told her that he had been able to obtain something to freshen his breath, then his lips were pressed firmly to her own, for a period long enough to escape the stigma of being too short a time, but not long enough for her to obtain any sort of idea regarding his kissing skills.

When Severus released her, Ginny stepped in and hugged her fiercely, whispering, 'You'll make it good, Hermione.'

Then Harry pulled Hermione into his arms and pressed a kiss to her hair. 'You will always have a home with me,' he murmured to her, loudly enough for those who were paying attention to hear him.

Minerva McGonagall next claimed Hermione in an uncharacteristically emotional embrace. As Hermione returned McGonagall's hug, she saw Severus and Harry staring into one another's eyes from the distance of ten paces. Nervously, she detached herself from her old Transfiguration professor, but it was needless; Cornelius Fudge had claimed the entirety of Severus' attention by placing a thin length of light-coloured wood in his out-stretched hand.

The look upon her husband's face as he regained custody of his wand was like a crash course in Snape – or should she say Prince? – study. For the first time in this entire ordeal she considered what must have been his feelings about relinquishing his wand into the keeping of people whom he despised, and she was stricken to the core.

'Hermione?' Harry was at her side, his hand upon her arm. 'Are you all right?'

'Perhaps you would allow me a moment with my wife, Mr Potter.' The cool voice spoke from behind them.

Harry moved his hand from her arm to her shoulder as he turned to address his former nemesis. 'She is my best friend, Snape. I will be watching her very closely for any sign of unhappiness.'

For a moment, Severus regarded Harry and Hermione before saying, 'That is only to be expected.' Then he took Hermione's elbow and steered her away from the knot of murmuring people.

'This is the key to my – to our home,' he said, pressing it into her hand. 'It is at number eleven, Spinner's End, in Hackney. You will need the password, as well, to enter. It is "piaculum." Do you need to write it down?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Go there now – it is your home, as well as mine. You have my leave to make whatever changes you wish, although I will ask that you not remove anything from the house without consulting me about it first. I would prefer that you not invite guests until after I have returned. If you need me before then, an owl will find me at Minerva's flat. Do you have any questions?'

Hermione looked up at the man's lank, greasy hair; piercing eyes; long, hooked nose; Hagrid-like wild beard – and felt a bubble of near-panic rising within her. This was her husband – but this was like no wedding night of which she had ever dreamt.

'If I think of any questions, I will owl you,' she said faintly.

The warden escorted Fudge from the room, leaving the door open. McGonagall moved to the door, conversing quietly with Harry and Ginny, and Severus indicated that Hermione should precede him into the corridor, which she did, still feeling as if she was in a dream.

After traversing two further corridors and passing through no fewer than five locked and warded doors, they stood in the small Portkey area before the prison entrance. As they had progressed through each door, Hermione had sensed Severus growing more confident, until he stepped into sunlight for the first time in two years. It seemed to her that he took a very deep breath of the salty sea air before he looked down at her with something very near a smile in his eyes.

'Let's go, Hermione,' Harry called. 'Portkey leaves in two minutes!'

The smile disappeared and annoyance touched Severus' eyes as he glared at Harry. Hermione made as if to move away, but Severus detained her with a touch to her shoulder. She stopped and looked up at him, feeling bewildered and inexplicably near tears.

'Fifty points from Gryffindor,' he snapped.

'What?' Hermione gasped, every fibre of her being infused with sudden indignation.

An odd expression of satisfaction touched her husband's face. 'There she is,' he purred. Very deliberately, he took Hermione's hand and brought it to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. 'I will come to you at our home before the week is out, Hermione,' he said softly. 'Until then, I am only an owl away.'

He released her and stepped over to join McGonagall, then the two former professors Portkeyed away.

Hermione allowed Harry and Ginny to place her hand upon their Portkey, and with a jerk behind her navel, she left Azkaban Prison – her wedding chapel – far behind.

A/N: The English to Latin translator says that piaculum is the Latin word for 'atonement.' I have placed Spinner's End in London in spite of all evidence to the contrary.