The Fourth Year: The Reluctant Bride

The Fourth Year: The Reluctant Bride

I was becoming quite accustomed to the annual ham from the Derbyshire Witches' Defense League, just as the holidays weren't the holidays without my usual proposal of marriage from the Cornwall spinster. One of these days, I thought, I'd write back and put her out of her misery. Meanwhile, it was one of the small things that provided structure to my year.

On Boxing Day, the headlines in the Daily Prophet read: Harry Potter to Marry School Sweetheart, leading me to assume that it was a slow news day. I had already been alerted to the impending announcement anyway, as Potter had stated his intentions in the Christmas card he sent me. I skipped the article about the pending nuptials in search of what might actually pass for real news of the day. After finding little of substance to hold my interest, I was about to chuck the newspaper in the fireplace and head back downstairs to my lab when the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to find a bundled up, rosy-cheeked Hermione Granger standing in several inches of snow and bearing an enormous basket of holiday sweets.

"You needn't have," I said as she thrust the basket into my arms.

Hermione merely smiled and tucked her gloved hands into her pockets. "I know, but I wanted to. We wanted to."

"We?"

"It's from my parents and me."

"I see. Won't you come in?" Being as it was the holiday season, I thought I would be appropriately polite. Besides, it had been months since I last saw the girl – woman, I told myself – and I had unexpectedly missed seeing her. Evidently, helping Hermione to right the wrongs of the wizarding world had turned me soft in the head.

"Actually," Granger said, tapping a booted toe nervously, "I wondered if you were in the midst of anything. I'd like to take you to lunch."

"It's a bit early, isn't it? It's just after ten o'clock." The mere fact that I was considering Granger's offer instead of slamming the door in her face was a sign of how much I had changed over the last few years.

"Tea, then?"

There was a note of desperation in Hermione's voice that intrigued me. "I can take a break from what I was working on," I admitted. "Allow me to collect my cloak."

We went to Wands and Wizards, the Manchester area wizarding pub, and found a quiet table. The pub was not terribly busy at this hour; most people, it seemed, were busy returning unwanted Christmas items or recovering from the holiday. As I did the honors pouring the tea, Granger got right to the point.

"Harry and Ginny are engaged," she said. "He asked her yesterday and gave her a ring."

"Old news. Obviously you haven't read the headlines in today's Prophet."

"It's in the Prophet?" Hermione asked, her expression obviously glum.

"Surely you wouldn't expect news like that to get past the Skeeter woman. Tell me, is there a problem? Don't say that you have secretly lusted after Potter all these years."

"Don't be an arse," she snapped. "Of course I haven't."

"Then you look like this because you're genuinely pleased for him?"

Granger shot me a filthy glare. I'd been about to take a sip of tea; instead, I sighed and placed the cup back on the saucer. "Is this a guessing game?" I inquired. "If so, I'll need a few more clues as to why you seem to be so distressed."

Hermione opened her mouth, seemingly on the verge of retorting to my sarcastic comment. And then her shoulders slumped and she sagged backwards in her seat.

"Harry and Ginny are so happy, they're simply on cloud nine. Meanwhile, Ron and I are engaged, and I'm ready to bite his head off. I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, looking utterly miserable.

I glanced down at Granger's hand and saw, for the first time, that she was no longer wearing her hideous engagement ring. She caught me looking and turned bright red.

"All right, I admit it," she muttered. "I never wear that ugly thing unless I have to."

I smiled – I couldn't help myself – and Granger scowled immediately.

"Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you. In fact, I rather applaud your move as a mark of good taste."

She took a deep breath. "Look, Severus, I need an objective view of things, and I know that you can provide that. Could you take a stab at it? Please?"

I hesitated, and she took the brief silence for agreement.

"Do you," Hermione asked, evidently choosing her words with great care, "think that I'm doing the right thing in marrying Ron? Is this just simple premarital jitters, or is there something more to it?"

I propped my elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning inwardly.

"Granger, this is ridiculous. You've told me before that you always fancied Weasley and that it was perfectly natural that the two of you should get together some day, and now you're worried because the two of you aren't mooning over each other like two brainless idiots. You've been engaged for – how long, now?"

"A year," she admitted.

"So obviously the first glow of romance is gone. Why not just set a date and have done with it?"

"We have, actually. The third of August."

"You don't say." The news took me by surprise. The fact that a firm date had been set caused a small gobbet of dismay to lodge in my gut. I ignored it. "Then I would guess that you are suffering from premarital jitters, as you said."

"I suppose." Granger stared off into space, tapping the scarred wooden table of the booth with the fingers of one hand. She took a deep breath. "But could you possibly tell me what you, personally, think of my marrying Ron?"

"What I think is my business. Why should it make a difference to you what I think?"

Hermione was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry. I only thought that you would understand."

"Why in the name of Merlin's false teeth would you think I know anything about love and romance? I can hardly imagine that –" I broke off, a chill trickling through me. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the memories I gave Potter, would it? Did he show them to you?" I demanded coldly.

Hermione's eyes widened. "No, he didn't, I swear it! But he told me some things... He told me that you really loved his mother. I thought... if you knew how that felt... maybe you could help me."

"That doesn't make me an expert," I retorted. "All I learned is this: that when you have something wonderful, you treat it with respect, because once it's gone, it's gone."

She studied me, looked about to say something, then shook her head. Granger sat up resolutely in her chair. "Thank you for listening. Why don't we talk about something else?"

"A good idea. How is your mother?" I asked at once, delighted to accommodate her wish.

"Better. I really do think so. I'll have to take her back to New York for a follow-up visit sometime in this spring, but I believe she might be able to start back to work this summer."

"That is good news, then. Will I be under your auspices again this year? Another picnic for the house-elves, or have we moved on to other abused creatures?"

She ignored the mockery. "I do want to try another picnic; I'm sure that the Hogwarts elves must have told others about it and what fun it was. Surely we'll have a better turnout this year."

The look of overeager, dedicated anticipation to The Cause was back on Granger's face, but at least it was a welcome change from the confused, anxious woman of moments earlier.

***

I learned soon enough that I would indeed be performing my community service under Granger's direction again this year. It came as no surprise that she remained intent on another house-elf picnic, given what she'd told me on Boxing Day. Whether this year's picnic would be any more successful than last year's remained to be seen.

Planning for the picnic began in earnest in March, but thankfully, I was not forced to sit in on the committee meetings again. Hermione was determined to see attendance increase, which meant soliciting any elves that were not allied with Hogwarts or Harry Potter. It therefore included soliciting the elves' owners, most of whom did not appreciate Granger's enlightened policy toward their servants. We sent out picnic invitations and followed them up with visits to make certain that the owners knew we had their best interests at heart. This meant assuring them that the Ministry had no intention of liberating elves or forcing the owners to start paying wages. The latter was a hard pill for Granger to swallow, yet she kept at it, certain that life for house-elves would improve somewhere down the road.

As for Hermione's state of mind as her wedding drew nearer, she seemed to have reconciled herself to the idea. The only reason I thought this was that she didn't mention the event at all, which – from what little I knew of soon-to-be-wed females – did not seem to be the norm. Being 'reconciled' to her fate was surely not the best way to begin married life, but again, I had no point of reference.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter's June wedding drew nearer. I received an invitation – which was rather remarkable in itself – but I had not quite made up my mind whether I would attend. Potter and I might be on something of a friendly basis, but I was still no one's idea of a man who belonged on the A-list of social invitees. I had yet to send my R.S.V.P. when a panicked Hermione Granger knocked at my door one May evening. She stormed inside the house before I had any chance to invite her inside.

"Don't tell me you're having second thought about your wedding again," I remarked, closing the door behind her.

"What? No, don't be silly." Granger slumped down on my sofa. "Severus, I need to ask you an enormous favor."

"A favor?" Surely she knew that I was almost never in the habit of doing favors for anyone.

"I just received word that my mother's appointment in New York is on June first. They won't change it. She has to be there, or she'll no longer be eligible for the experimental potion program. And she's been doing so well with the potion, I can't bear to think of her relapsing in some way!"

I must have looked mystified, for Hermione continued, wailing, "That's the day of Harry and Ginny's wedding. I can't miss Harry and Ginny's wedding, I just can't! I'm Ginny's maid of honor!"

"I see. And you want me to do what, exactly?" I already had an idea what the favor would be, and if so, the answer of whether to attend the wedding myself had just been answered for me.

Granger gulped, evidently steeling herself. "Is there any chance that you could escort my mother to New York?"

I was tempted to point out that I was invited to the wedding as well, but chose not to. Instead, I did some mental gymnastics to determine what potions I had contracted to prepare and when I had promised delivery. The truth was that I was rather interested in the idea of seeing the famed Experimental Potions Lab for myself. This was a golden opportunity.

"I believe that may be possible," I said.

"Really?" Disbelieving, Hermione stared blankly at me.

"I'll need to check my order list, but I think there's a good chance I might be able to help you."

"Severus..." For a change, Granger appeared almost at a loss for words. "That – that would be wonderful," she stammered. "I can't thank you enough."

"Let me check first," I repeated, frowning at her.

But she was smiling as though she'd been given the world on a silver platter.

***

Three weeks later, I accompanied Lynette Granger to New York City for her twelve-month follow up at the Experimental Potions Laboratory. Mrs. Granger was a personable woman, the sort who had developed a knack for making pleasant small talk without nattering on about nothing. I presume it was a result of years of one-sided conversations with dental patients, who were rendered speechless by the presence of her hands in their mouths. At any rate, the long airplane trip passed relatively quickly.

While Mrs. Granger spent the first day of June being poked and prodded and tested by the Institute's researchers, I was given a VIP tour of the facilities. It didn't take long to see that St. Mungo's looked amateurish and backwards in comparison. I then passed a pleasant hour with Leonard Littlelark, Director of Research, and we drank coffee and compared notes on the latest developments in the potions field. By the time Mrs. Granger's testing was completed the following day, I'd been offered a job any time I chose to relocate across the Atlantic.

It was something to keep in mind. Although I was a decorated war hero, even though my small mail order potions business was doing well enough, no one was likely to forget that I had killed Albus Dumbledore. Whether at his request or a result of my own impulse, Dumbledore – a wizarding icon if there ever was one – was dead, and I would always be known as a man who was capable of murder if the circumstances were right.

Personally, there was little to keep me in Britain. Harry Potter and I shared a strange bond through his mother, but it was definitely not a real friendship. And I'd trod on too many toes during my time as Hogwarts Headmaster to expect my former colleagues to seek out my companionship. Oddly, the closest thing I had to a real friendship was my relationship with Hermione Granger, and as she was getting married, there was little likelihood that we would remain close after my community service sentence ended.

It wasn't as if I'd ruled out the idea of finding romance. Over the years, I'd made various half-hearted attempts at seeking out romantic relationships with women, but was always defeated by the fact that none were remotely comparable to Lily Evans. Ever since my after-death encounter with Lily, I no longer felt the burden of her ghost in my life, but that didn't change the fact that every woman I met seemed remarkably vapid. Muggle women were obsessed with learning if I'd been 'tested', whatever that meant. And every witch of legal age in Britain knew all about me and my sordid past, unless they'd been comatose for the past twenty-plus years. It appeared more than likely that I was not meant to live happily ever after with female companionship – or possibly any companionship whatsoever.

Yes, I would definitely entertain the notion of leaving Britain.

***

Given last year's Elf Fest fiasco, I had low expectations for this year's event. Surprisingly, it went off much more smoothly. Ten new house-elves attended, which meant that all our work in recruiting guests and soothing their masters had not been in vain. The success of the picnic, Granger said, was proof that the wizarding world was changing. She was elated.

Although I spent several interminable days filing reports in a windowless room at the Ministry, the picnic basically marked the end of my community service for the year. One more year, I thought, and I would have completed my obligation to the Wizengamot. Another thought came, completely unbidden: that by that time I began my last year of community service, Hermione Granger would be Hermione Weasley.

She had informed me that I would be invited to the wedding, and in early July I received my invitation. The wedding would be held at the Burrow. The original plan, Granger had told me, was for her to be married in her parents' garden. The logistics involved in hiding a large assemblage of wizards proved to be rather difficult.

"Really?" I had smirked. "Or did you simply not care to have your wizarding guests show up in their bizarre versions of Muggle dress?"

From the expression on her face, I knew I'd hit rather close to the mark.

As they day of the wedding approached, I began to wonder if I should have given Granger my frank opinion last Boxing Day. Ronald Weasley was in no way her equal, with the exception that he was born to ride a broomstick, whereas Hermione was reputed to have blanched on the top rung of a ladder. And while they had shared seven years of adventures with Potter, I couldn't help but wonder what they had in common now.

The speculation left me thoroughly depressed. As one who knows what it's like to throw one's life away, I hated to see that happen to a woman as brilliant as Hermione Granger. And yet, what could I do? She had made her choice, had left the pre-wedding jitters behind, had set firmly on her course.

***

The August sky was a brilliant shade of blue when I arrived at the Burrow. I was directed to my seat by Percy Weasley and settled in for what should be a thoroughly depressing afternoon. Moments later, Minerva McGonagall was seated in the chair next to me.

"Severus! How are you? You look well."

"Fine, Minerva. How are things at Hogwarts?"

She waved a lace-encrusted arm in the air. "The usual. Getting prepared for the start of term." Minerva rightly assumed that I had no wish to discuss preparations for teaching and launched into a discussion of which Hogwarts graduates had married each other in years past, how she'd known all along that they were meant for each other, and that Hermione and Weasley were the latest proof of her perceptions. I was bored to tears.

All the while, an orchestra played soft music in the background. But when they broke into the wedding march, I found myself having a visceral reaction to what was about to take place. How dare Ron Weasley compromise the life of the brightest witch in a generation, a woman who deserved better than he ever dreamed of becoming? For that matter, how dare Hermione throw her life away like this? Meanwhile, the wedding guests were craning their necks to see the wedding party walk down the aisle, but I sat facing forward, scowling as I hadn't scowled in years.

The music continued eight more beats. Sixteen more beats. A full minute passed. The musicians began to cast quizzical, then nervous, glances at one another. The guests started to murmur.

"What in the world is going on?" Minerva whispered.

Just then, Martin Granger slipped inside the tent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment? For those who don't know me, I'm Martin Granger, Hermione's father. She has asked me to give you her heartfelt apologies, but she and Ron have had last minute thoughts about what they're about to do. There will be no wedding today, but everyone is invited to stay and enjoy the wonderful Weasley hospitality."

Amid the moment of shocked silence, I began to chuckle. "Well done, Hermione," I murmured quietly, "well done!"

"What? What do you mean? Whatever could have gone wrong?" McGonagall turned to me, stunned.

"On the contrary, Minerva. I believe things have gone very right."

"What are you talking about, Severus?"

The crowd began to rise and shuffle about in nervous, noisy indecision, sparing me the need to provide an answer. Through the maze of bright hats and robes, one person struggled to move against the tide.

"Professor Snape?" Ginny Weasley Potter, clutching a small piece of parchment, finally pushed her way through to where Minerva and I were standing. "I have a message for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter." I took the parchment and opened it while McGonagall peppered Ginny with nosy questions.

I need to talk to you. My flat, 608 Glenwood Close, 6 p.m.

―HJG

***

The flat might have been charming if it had the appearance that somebody actually lived there. As it was, boxes were stacked everywhere, as the occupant was clearly intending to move out. When I followed Granger into her parlor, I passed at least ten boxes marked 'books'.

"Have a seat," she said, waving in the direction of a sofa.

I sat. Hermione dropped on the far end of the sofa. She was clad in Muggle running trousers, an oversized green tee-shirt that said Magical Creatures: It's the Rights Thing to Do, and a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, although the carefully controlled ringlets which sprang from it indicated an earlier, elaborate style gone awry. One look at her eyes told me that she had spent the day shedding quite a few tears.

"How are you?" I asked simply.

"Fine," she said, then added with a rather woeful smile, "really. Better than I look, I'm sure."

I hesitated for a moment, wondering how my next remark would be treated. "Full marks on your performance today, Miss Granger."

Granger's mouth twitched. "Things wouldn't have gotten to this point if you'd given me a straight answer back on Boxing Day, you know."

"And spare you the pleasure of reaching your own conclusions? Would you have listened to me then?"

"I would have listened," she insisted. "I might not have agreed with you, but I would have listened."

"What happened today to change your mind?"

Granger leaned back, pulling her legs up and hugging them to her. "I woke up," she said with a sigh. "I've been out of sorts all week, but I still thought it was nerves. Then today, I had just put on my wedding gown and Mum wanted to take my picture, and while she was fiddling with the camera, I happened to glance out the window. Ron and Harry were standing outside, sort of joking around, shoving each other, that sort of thing."

"Rather like a pair of First Years," I remarked.

"Exactly like a pair of First Years. And then Ron made this stupid, revolting comment." Hermione's lips pursed and her eyes darkened in anger. "He asked Harry if Ginny was pregnant yet – even though he knows that Harry and Ginny aren't planning any children for a few years – and said that the way Weasley men are, I'd probably be pregnant by tomorrow morning."

What did she expect? Ronald Weasley was an ignorant yokel. "A rather crude piece of male bravado," I commented.

"A completely crude piece of male bravado," Granger corrected fiercely. "And I thought, 'yes, I know the way Weasley men are, and I especially know the way Weasley boys are.' I was stupid to believe that Ron would ever develop even the tiniest shred of sensitivity. I love him, but certainly not enough to live with that for the rest of my life."

"I see." So she did love him. She still loved Weasley, and I was here strictly as an Agony Aunt. The good mood which had begun five hours ago with Martin Granger's announcement evaporated abruptly.

"Anyway," Hermione summed up, "I took the gown off, and then all hell broke loose."

"How did Weasley take the news?" I asked, hoping that he was suffering mightily.

"He thought I was joking. Can you believe that?" Granger's laugh echoed in the near-empty room. "But when I pointed out all my concerns, he suddenly decided that I wasn't good enough, and that he wasn't about to marry someone who was 'settling' for him."

"Not good enough? Please," I muttered, "that is hardly the case – quite the opposite, as a matter of fact."

There was a faint glint of something in Granger's eyes. "Thank you for that," she said softly.

"And how has everyone else taken this turn of events?"

"About as you'd expect," Hermione said, sighing once more. "Arthur and Molly are completely bewildered, while my parents are surprised but totally supportive. They've always been that way – when I first received my Hogwarts letter, when I came home each summer and told them what I'd been up to, even during the war... They've always trusted me, you see."

"That's because you're a mature, sensible young woman."

"As for Harry and Ginny... I don't know. They're confused, because right now they think they need to side with one of us, and they don't know who's right. In time, I think they'll see that Ron and I weren't that well-suited after all."

Her voice trailed off as she took a long look around the room.

"Meanwhile," Granger continued, "now I'm stuck with this."

"You'll be unpacking, I take it?"

"I can't. The place is already let to someone else. I need to be out by the fifteenth."

"Where will you go?"

"I'll bunk with my parents for a while if there's nothing else immediately available. I'm going to check both the Times and the weekend edition of the Prophet in the morning." Hermione shrugged. "I suppose this'll make the headlines in Rita Skeeter's column, won't it?"

"A falling-out between two war heroes? She'll be elated. It wouldn't surprise me if they have to do a second printing."

"Thank goodness. I wouldn't want dear Rita to run out of scandals." Granger's smile wavered, and she suddenly seemed afraid to meet my eyes. "Severus, there's something I wanted to tell you."

"Oh?" Out of nowhere, anticipation twisted in my gut. I had no idea where this was going, but I had a feeling that my world was about to be shaken to its very foundations.

And then – cruelly, as if the gods had looked down at that very moment and laughed at the hope blossoming in my chest – the doorbell rang.

"Damn it!" Hermione cried, hurling herself off the sofa and towards the door.

I could hear voices: Potter's, his wife's. I had no idea what either of them might say if they found me here, and I didn't intend to find out. It was time for me to go. After all, Hermione had invited me here strictly as a sounding board; it wasn't as if I actually had a place in her life.

While Hermione was welcoming her latest guests, I Disapparated to my home.