A/N: Some important notes: I followed the story line of the books with a few important changes. First, Snape survives the bite from Nagini. Details will be discussed in the story. Second, instead of Fred dying in front of the trio, Ron dies instead. Third, Ron and Hermione figure out they like each other the summer before they hunt down the horcruxes, when Bill and Fleur get married. This changes subtle parts of their running and hunting. (But not Ron leaving back to home for a time like what happened in the book.)

Beyond that, I wanted to better explore the ideas I had in A Forced Love. Time and maturity and life events can change your perspective on events and relationships. I hope this creates a better story this time around.

She could barely hear the rain hitting the roof above her office. She paid it no mind, aware that the rest of the floor of cubicles had been bewitched to be almost completely silent. They were told it helped productivity. Hermione, though, needed sounds of some kind, some distraction from her thoughts when the work wasn't enough. Today, especially, the work was certainly not enough. He had always enjoyed the rain—at least once he learned how to protect himself from the biting cold of it. She flipped pages through her hands idly, not absorbing what was written. How ironic that it would rain, again, on his birthday. The fates were mocking her; she was sure, given the lovely weather yesterday. A sigh left her lips as she rededicated herself to the task before her.

"Hermione?" Percy asked again. "Did you hear me?"

She looked up quickly from the witness notes in her hands, her eyes widening when she saw the bright red hair. Inhaling a large, deep breath, she shook her head. It never would be Ron, she reminded herself. Habit was a bitch that refused to die sometimes, though.

Percy looked around deftly before moving into her small cubicle space. "I don't have much time. I just wanted to let you know…" He hesitated and searched her face for a moment. "It's ridiculous that they would even think about finalizing it on his birthday."

"Finalize what?" Hermione asked, her voice muted, wishing away the unwanted intrusion. People always seemed to find her at her weakest points. Perhaps she should be evaluated for an informant jinx of some kind. She glanced back down at the witness notes and jotted something lightly in the margin before looking back up at him.

Percy gulped. "Look, you can't tell anyone that I told you, alright? It's not my place. I could get in a lot of trouble."

Hermione nodded slowly. "What is it, Percy?" She needed to get back to her notes before real life crashed back down around her too soon. Third birthday since he'd been dead. How was that even possible? Her hands trembled the slightest amount, the only outward sign of her heart breaking all over again. Time demanded that wounds become healed. She had witnessed it on her friends' faces over the last few years. Sadness turned to apathy turned to anger turned to acceptance. And then, suddenly, they were all happy again, surrounding her with sunshine she couldn't feel. Her heart, for whatever sick game fate wanted to play, had frozen itself in between sadness and apathy. They couldn't understand her inability to move on. She had grown accustomed to hiding her torment.

"They finalized your courtship."

The words snaked out of his mouth, hitting her chest like a whip. She inhaled sharply.

"W-what?" Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "Do you know who…?"

Percy's eyes suddenly filled with torment. "I can't tell. I just… I can't be the one who tells you that. I just wanted to give you warning." He looked around the floor of offices again. "That's my cue. I need to get going. Come to the Burrow tonight? We'd all love to see you."

Her teeth bit into her lower lip. The Burrow held such haunting, damning memories. Even though she hadn't been there since Christmas—and then only because they all insisted she come, and they refused to gather at any of the other houses—she hesitated in obliging him. Slowly, she nodded.

"I'll come by when I can. Maybe for dinner?" She asked tentatively, unwilling to admit how much she actually missed them all. Grief could be such a bitch, too.

He nodded quickly, his smile brightening his face, before stepping out of her small space and dodging to the left.

Hermione returned to biting her lip, looking again at the witness notes. She scribbled another note in the margin of the text for use at trial. Time seemed to pass extraordinarily slower than before Percy's visit. Hermione found herself shuffling the paperwork, unable to read it, caught up in wondering about the news Percy had shared with her.

They'd finalized her courtship. She was now legally engaged to someone. On Ron's fucking birthday.

"Miss Granger," a voice came from next to her, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced up at the clock. Half past two. Only a few more hours before she would have to face the Burrow and its hauntings. She couldn't contain the small sigh that moved her chest. Slowly she cast her eyes to her left, taking in her visitor.

A middle-aged man clad in simple work robes stood in front of her desk. He looked at her with calm, knowing eyes. Her chest seized up mid breath. "The Department for Tracking Magical Bloodlines has assigned you a mate. Your presence is requested so that the details can be discussed. Your supervisor has been informed and has instructed me to tell you that you are, thus, relieved of your work duties for the remainder of the day." She noticed that his hands were empty—just the messenger, then. She slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. Another few minutes before she knew. Her eyes glanced around her, searching out something to calm her. Thank heavens that Percy had come by with his warning. She would have been blindsided by this otherwise.

With precise movements she arranged her work desk, restacking the papers she had read through. Another day, she could deal with them. Trial didn't start until Tuesday. She had Monday to catch up, she promised herself. She sighed again. She never would have allowed herself to become behind at Hogwarts. She stood up, her robes making little noise, and turned to follow the man who had summoned her.

He walked briskly, taking her off of the floor of cubicles where she worked, and to an elevator. He selected to go up, and it quickly obeyed. When the doors opened, she noted that they were on the same floor as the Magical Law Enforcement—and thus where Harry worked as an auror. He strode past the large offices of the senior officers and made his way to the back of the room, where a moderately sized room was tucked into the wall. The door opened obediently to a flick of his wand, and he motioned for her to walk inside.

The room held one large table surrounded by eight chairs. Two of the chairs opposite her were occupied. The woman was perhaps a few years older than Hermione. Small laughing lines danced around her cheeks, but the short, blunt cut of her hair gave off an air of blitheness. Hermione did not recognize her. To her right, a young man sat perfectly upright, his clasped hands resting lightly on the table. Paul Marvington—Head of the Department for Tracking Magical Bloodlines. A muggleborn, like herself, though he didn't study at Hogwarts. She couldn't recall the school he had attended. It had been in Wales. Between them, on the table, was a small file.

Her breath hitched.

"Miss Granger," said the woman. "Have a seat."

She strode up to the table and slowly pulled out one of the chairs. Carefully sitting herself, keeping her back straight, she looked at the woman. "I didn't think it was customary for these meetings to be done in pairs."

The woman shot a worried glance over to Marvington before looking back at Hermione. She reached for the file sitting between them. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. Who had they deemed her most suitable match?

"Miss Granger, your list of accomplishments is long and distinguished. You offer the wizarding world significant gifts." The lady started talking again, deciding to move on from her comment without answering it. She opened the file and scanned over it. "We have found you, under our study, to be studious, insightful, and given to empathy. You are consistent in your actions, not deviating from your morals even if it would be easier to do so. You are also tenacious and difficult to intimidate." She paused, lifting her eyes to meet Hermione's across the table. Hermione's fingers twisted in the skirt of her robes. "As such, the Department for Tracking Magical Bloodlines has deemed you a suitable fit for Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, aged 40."

Hermione pushed herself away from the table, standing up swiftly and backing away from them. "W-what?" She gulped, fisting her hands in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "You—This has to be a joke."

The lady glanced back over at Marvington, her lips turned down in a frown. "Our process of selection is meticulous. There has been no mistake made, Miss Granger. According to our data, he is the best match for your abilities and personality."

"But he—he—"

Marvington cut her off. "My team has worked diligently to ensure a sustainable match that offers the best advancement to the wizarding community was made. Their decision is a legally binding contract. There is no reason to continue, Miss Granger. Every match is run by me. It is I who has final say. I found this pairing to be of merit. I encourage you to look over the selection file if you have doubt."

Hermione stared at him, dumbstruck. Marry Snape?

The woman spoke again. "In accordance with the law, you will be escorted to the Hog's Head following this meeting to conduct your introductions. You will have thirty days to agree upon a date for the marriage ceremony, which must be completed by 1 December. If you have any further questions, you are welcome to ask me, as I am the Selector in charge of your match."

Hermione slowly made her way back to the table, sitting herself back down, as the reality of the lady's words crashed around her. She was to marry Snape. Dumbledore's killer, even if it had been planned between them. He hated muggleborns. Despised her. The woman turned the file around and slid it across the table until it was within Hermione's reach. She slowly reached out to touch it, her fingers pinning it to the table with the lightest of touches as if it might burn her. "Any—" She paused. She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. "Are there any other parts of this damned law I should know about?"

Marvington lifted his eyebrows. "I am also affected by this law, Miss Granger. It would do you well to mind your tongue." She glared at him. Everyone knew he was dating Astoria Greengrass, despite Draco Malfoy having pursued her first. Like hell he was affected by this law.

The woman spoke. "It is required that you live in the same residence, though that can be anywhere. Your household is expected to increase within five years, barring physical inabilities to do so, including carrying a child to term." Hermione's eyes widened. They were expected to have a child together? She bit back bile rising in her throat.

She looked back down at the file, glancing over the notes scrawled concerning her, noting her picture in the upper corner. It was from Bill and Fleur's wedding, before the Ministry fell to Voldemort, when she was in love with Ron. Her pictured eyes lit up, and she waved to those on the other side, her body shaking slightly from laughing at some unknown joke. She turned the page over quickly, tormented by the memories the picture stirred. She sucked in a hard breath—this page was full of notes about Snape, and, just like her own profile, included a picture of him in the upper corner. Despite her best intentions, she looked at it. He stood in a clearing, wearing the same robes she had always seen him wear. Lines webbed around his eyes, and his mouth was shut, unsmiling. His eyes bore into her, and his arms were crossed over his chest. She remembered seeing a similar photo in the Prophet when it had been announced he would continue to be Headmaster of Hogwarts.

The woman cleared her throat. "Any more questions at this time?" Hermione glanced back up, quickly closing the file.

"Uhh, no. No questions," Hermione mumbled, quickly getting back to her feet.

"Right. Then John will get you to the Hog's Head for your introductions," she said briskly, motioning for someone to come through the door. It was the same man who had summoned Hermione from her desk. Grabbing the file, she turned to follow him out of the door. She felt someone stand behind her.

Marvington came up beside her. "I will accompany you as well," he explained simply, ushering her out the door.

He strode quickly towards the Hog's Head, the damning file in his hand. He had assumed he would not be included in the Ministry's farce of a law. He was hardly young at this point, and he had no desire to suddenly settle down with some random woman. For the first time in ages, his only responsibility was to keep Hogwarts from burning down. No lies, no secrecy, no ulterior motives. Just make sure the kids didn't destroy the thousand year old castle. Easy enough.

Damn the Ministry and their stupid fucking laws. His hand pushed against the front door of the Hog's Head with too much force; it swung open quickly, slamming against the wall that stopped its trajectory. The patrons all looked up to see what caused the noise. A tense silence fell over the room as people quickly went back to whatever had been previously occupying them. Severus looked around, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of a young woman staring at him with wide eyes. He lifted one eyebrow in question. A blush lit her cheeks before she looked back down at the book on the table in front of her.

"Sir, they're waiting for you in the back room," Martin, the barkeeper, spoke into the silent room. Severus looked over quickly. Letting out a deep breath, he slowly nodded.

"Thank you, Martin," he responded quietly, turning himself towards the door at the back of the room. His hand tightened on the file in his hand. No matter who this woman was, the Ministry was out of their bloody minds if they thought he would actually play along. His chest fell as he pushed out a long sigh as he stepped up to the door at the back of the room. In one motion, he opened the door and walked in.

"Ah, there he is," a voice came from his right. A quick glance told him it was some bloke from the Ministry. He dismissed him and returned to the person sitting at the table, facing away from the door.

Her shoulders were hunched slightly, like she was trying to make herself smaller. The robes she wore were, at the best, a size too large—they fell across her body strangely due to the extra fabric. Her skin, though olive, was pointedly pale. Unnaturally so, he decided, from too much time inside and not enough good nutrition. Her hair was cut short, falling several inches above her shoulders. He could see her shoulder bones straining against her taught skin, the visible proof of her lack of weight. Post-War dealings had not done Miss Granger well.

"You're fucking joking," he spat in disbelief. He felt the door slam behind him.

"I will offer you the same explanation given to Miss Granger," a different voice cut through the silence. He glared at the man who sat across from her. Marvington. Of course it was. He had to have his filthy hands all over anything that might garner him more attention. "My Sorters have worked tirelessly to ensure balanced matches that offer the most to future generations. They are also legally binding." He sat back, putting one hand up onto the table, palm down.

Severus scowled, pulling his eyebrows down in disgust.

"You can make this as difficult as you would like, Severus. It's your own time you are wasting," Marvington stated, lifting one eyebrow.

Another sigh left his chest before he came up beside his apparent match. He slowly sat down, setting the file he had been given on the table in front of him, careful not to accidentally touch her. The silence stretched between them, encroaching on the room as a whole until its entirety had been swallowed in the melancholic air. He noted that she was shaking. Regret struck him, not so much because she was shaking, but rather that he had noticed. His whole body seemed to be screaming at him to take note of her. He forcefully ignored the tingling in his limbs—it must only be like this because they were legally required to wed.

"Right," Marvington continued. "Legally, you have thirty days to agree upon a date. However, due to the nature of this particular match, I'm quite aware that if I do not have a date from you before leaving here, I most likely will never get one."

Severus raised an eyebrow in disagreement. "I have no intentions of discussing any of this while your filthy self is present, Marvington," he hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm allowed thirty days. I will push back if you do not grant me the full damned law. You know I have a direct line with the Minister." Shacklebolt was slowly becoming an acquaintance. Snape couldn't blame him for the slow process; he had spent nearly twenty years pretending to be loyal to the Dark Lord. Even with the use of Veritiserum at his trial, those who were vocally faithful to the Order still kept their distance. In spite of this, the board of directors of Hogwarts had felt him the best person to move forward heading up the old school. Thank Merlin, too. It gave him something to think about other than her and her blasted son who somehow managed to become the fucking Messiah three years ago.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts. With chagrin filling his chest that he registered her at all, he honed in on her liftedinger head to look at him warily. Her eyebrows were pulled low on her forehead, and her lips puckered with unease. With a sigh, he forced himself to look away. Marvington caught his eyes instead, a glare plastered across his rat-like face.

"Fine," Marvington relented after several tense seconds. Fucking attention seeker—wanting to be the one to report to the Ministry so that his name would be published in The Prophet. "However, you are legally required for this to be supervised. As such—"

Snape cleared his throat and looked over at the mundane man from the Ministry. Raising an eyebrow again in question, he returned his attention to Marvington. "You can leave now, or you can leave in another fifteen minutes when you realize that I am not bluffing, Marvington." He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction when the stupid git made no move to leave. "It's your own time you are wasting," he repeated the phrase icily, letting it coil out from his mouth like a striking snake.

In one fluid motion, the department head stood up, his fists coming down to hit the table. "You will not disrespect me, Snape. I have earned this position, way more than you have earned yours."

Snape simply rolled his eyes. "Yes, hiding away in Paris until other people fought it out only to return and lie about your merits to secure a high ranking spot in the Ministry. Certainly screams earned to me."

Snape withdrew his wand from the chest pocket in his robes just as Marvington withdrew his and fired a jinx towards him. With a silent command, a shield charm exploded from his own wand, absorbing the energy of the high powered spell. He heard Granger suck in a hard breath. Deftly, he shot a retaliatory jinx that landed squarely on Marvington's chest. He flew back and hit the wall.

"I'll have you stand trial for this, Snape," he muttered as he regained his balance. A small amount of blood fell from his open lips.

Snape raised his eyebrows again, twitching his wand slightly. "I simply protected my own. If brought before trial, I'm sure I would not be found to be the guilty party." Marvington glared at him. "Now go, you conniving ass."

With one more glare towards him, Snape watched Marvington brush off his robes before circling the table and quickly exiting the room. The door slammed behind him. Granger jumped; he .

He looked over at the man from the Ministry. "I trust that you will document what is said here and report it back to the one actually in charge of our arrangement?"

"Yes, sir," the man nodded his head. "I will report directly to Margaret Taylor. Her information is listed in your information packet."

"Good," he murmured, turning to face his assigned mate.

"I do not wish to decide on a date today. Are you available Sunday evening?"

She sucked in a breath before pulling her eyes up to meet his. "Uh—" Her throat moved with her gulp. He watched it for a moment before making a point to focus on her face. "That's the evening after next, yes?"

He nodded.

"Y-Yes. I can meet with you. Here? Or—" She gulped again. He made sure not to look at the way her neck moved this time. Her hands twisted into the skirt of her oversized robes.

"Here is fine unless you would be more comfortable elsewhere. Perhaps the Three Broomsticks?"

"This works," she whispered.

He nodded, glanced back over at the man. "A few parameters. It must be in the summer so as not to disturb the school year. The end of August tends to be busy with preparations. I would prefer if it was at Hogwart's. Several of the courtyards would suffice, and they are in full bloom by summer."

"O-Okay," she accepted his requirements softly.

With another nod, he flicked his wand. A small piece of paper appeared in front of him, something small written on it. "If something comes up, this is the address of the fireplace in my office. Use it. It will be faster and less obtrusive than other methods."

She reached out and grabbed the piece of information and tucked it into the file she had been given. He noticed that the bones of her wrist shown through her skin. She was far too underweight. Why the hell hadn't the Order been caring for her? She pulled a small pocket watch from a pocket in her robes and sighed, biting her bottom lip. Her chair scraped against the ground as she stood up.

"I'm supposed to go to the…the Burrow tonight," she explained. She bit her lip again, her eyes roaming over his face. He resisted looking away. Why hadn't they taken the time to fix her? "Would you—" Her chest expanded with a large breath. "Do you want to... come... with me?"

He raised one eyebrow slowly. "When was the last time you were at the Burrow?" He felt he knew the answer. McGonagall and Longbottom regularly left on the weekend evenings to join the rest of the Order. Sometimes it was the Burrow, sometimes Grimmauld Place.

She swallowed, her hands shaking again. "Christmas," she whispered.

He grunted. It was worse than he had presumed. There was no way to help if she never even showed up. "Go alone. They are your friends. They deserve your time."

She slowly nodded, looking at the ground. He stood up from his chair and noted that the man did as well. He ushered her through the door, not touching her. The main dining area was surprisingly empty. Martin looked up as they exited their small room.

"I had everyone move upstairs when it sounded like hexes were happening. Glad I did. That moron from the Ministry came out here with blood running down his chin. I would have been stampeded," he explained. Snape nodded, refusing to apologize for someone else's idiocy.

"Hold the room for us Sunday evening, please. We will be here about this time," he requested calmly, setting a galleon on the counter. "Thank you for not making a scene about this."

Martin nodded and took the galleon. His eyes seemed to skate over Miss Granger before returning to his. They carried a burden of concern and compassion. Snape paused for a moment while she continued to the door. "You know that today was her lover's birthday, right?"

He made a face. "They fucking finalized this bullshit on Weasley's birthday?" Martin nodded. Snape cursed again, "Fuck. No wonder why she's a mess."

He shook his head and quickly followed her out the door. She glanced at him. "I'll…see you Sunday, sir."

He sighed lightly. "My name is Severus, Hermione."

She nodded, gulping again. Taking a breath, she gathered her robes against her before turning sharply to the left. He remained in front of the Hog's Head for a moment, waiting for the man from the Ministry to make his own return. Finally alone, he walked back towards the ancient castle, his thoughts swirling about him.