Bride Price
A dark, dystopic wizarding world where the marriage law is in effect with a sympathetic Severus Snape. How will our favorite Gryffindor respond? HGSS. As AU as you get.
Rated 'M' for mature subject matter and sexual situations.
Don't own it.
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::Gryffindor Courage::
Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione tried to draw courage from her reflection. All she could gather, however, was trepidation and fear. The words 'wedding night', 'consummation', and 'vaginal tearing' circling 'round and 'round in her thoughts.
And then there was her bridegroom. The man himself calling a few more words to mind: formidable, uncompromising, heartless.
Severus Snape, Master of Potions, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions professor, and she his student-bride.
Shaking her head once more at the surreal turn her life had taken, Hermione drew a deep breath and turned to face the door.
It was time to greet her new husband.
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Severus watched from his seated position as the shadow played along the thin strip of light on the floor where the closed bathroom door lay. He did not need occlumency to read his new bride's thoughts.
Bride.
And as of today, he now a husband.
What a farce.
He looked down at the glass of firewhiskey he held and contemplated having another but decided against it. He needed all his faculties intact for his wedding night.
His new bride deserved nothing less than this consideration.
Finishing the glass, he rose and began to undress. There would be no easy way to do this; it was going to be awkward for them both.
But he would spare her as much awkwardness and embarrassment as he could considering the circumstances.
It would surprise her, he knew, to know he was being considerate of her at all, but when Severus made a vow 'to have and to hold', he meant the words even if his bride—his child-bride—did not.
She was eighteen, barely a woman, but that did not stop the Ministry from auctioning off her innocence to the highest bidder.
However, these were the times in which they lived.
The wizarding world in the wake of Tom Riddle's demise was a terrifying place for pure-blooded, half-blooded, and muggle-born witches alike. The devastation from the war was vast; nearly four-fifths of the wizarding population in Great Britain had been obliterated in the time it took for Tom Riddle to breathe his last.
After all, no one had known about the spell hidden in the magical registry, and when all witches and wizards, except for those in hiding or those that had already pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord, signed the Ministry of Magic enforced registry during Pious Thickness's reign as Minister, little did they know they were signing their own death warrants.
Half-blooded, pure-blooded, muggle-born: if the registry was signed by name, be it by the actual signee or a legal guardian, then that person was dead when Tom Riddle died.
Severus closed his eyes, not wanting to remember, unable to stop remembering the sight of his colleagues and students falling all around him like marionettes with their strings cut as he stood by useless to aid them.
Breathing in deep, he dispelled his thoughts of that time. It was more than a year and gone now; the war if not yet a distant memory, then a memory all the same.
And he had survived it.
She had too.
And now, thanks to this Machiavellian ministerial regime, they were husband and wife until death do they part.
Hearing her shushing footfalls, he hurriedly unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed his cravat.
The hour was growing late, and they had much to accomplish this night.
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Steeling herself to what she must do, Hermione reached for the door with a trembling hand, her heart beating a frantic pace as she opened it, unsure of what she'd find.
She bit her lip.
He had his back to her—her professor—and even as she watched he was undoing one of the silver cuff-links at his sleeve. His back stiffened, and she knew he'd heard her open the door.
"Would you prefer the lights on or off, Miss Grang—Madam Snape?"
She gulped at his slip and at his use of her new title.
"Hermione please, professor," she said distantly, "And I'd like them on."
He turned around, his expression one of mild surprise. "Are you afraid of the dark, Miss Gra—girl? Or are you, in the spirit of Gryffindor, courageously bearding the serpent in his den."
"Yes," she answered succinctly, coming to stand by the bed and looking up at him.
"Well, which is it?" he asked testily.
"Both."
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She looked lost was Severus's first thought: her eyes too big and too innocent by half standing there in bare feet and with none but her night rail to guard against the chill of the dungeons.
His eyes narrowed. "Answer me honestly: what would you have me do? We must consummate our marriage, but it needn't be tonight. Would you rather wait until the end of the week?"
Pursing her lips, she immediately shook her head, not wanting to voice her thoughts.
"Very well," Severus said solemnly, "It's in the spirit of 'getting a bad job over and done' we will embark. Have you taken the fertility potion?" he asked with clinical detachment.
Hanging her head, Hermione nodded.
She would not cry. She would not cry.
Oh, damn call back the tears. God only knows what he'll say and do when he sees you weep, she thought panic-stricken.
"Sit here and drink this, girl." More gently than his tone indicated, Professor Snape led her to a wingback chair and bade her to sit, thrusting a tumbler of firewhiskey in her hand. "I will give you a calming draught if it will help."
She shook her head, unable to look up.
He lifted the glass to her lips. "Drink."
Hermione did so, feeling the slow burn of the alcohol wind its way down her throat to pool at her churning stomach. She prayed she wouldn't be sick.
Professor Snape seated himself across from her in the other wingback chair, and it was some minutes the two spent in quiet contemplation while Hermione tried to pull herself together.
At length, her eyes darted up to find she was the object of his intense scrutiny.
He shook his head, "Gryffindor bravery does have its place, Madam Snape, but it is not in my bed, not tonight. You and I will take the week to better acquaint ourselves with one another, and then… and then we will make our marriage complete in act as well as troth."
So saying, Professor Snape rose to his feet and left the room, leaving a very relieved Hermione Snape in his wake.
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