Hermione Snape. The combination of words made her cringe. And now, this was her. Her new name as of today. Her stomach was full of seasick butterflies, or maybe the butterflies were drunk, as they continually crashed into each other and into the lining of her stomach.

She would be the laughingstock of the whole school. The sixth grade wife of a professor, the barely-of age-wife of the bat of the dungeons. The child bride of the greasy git. A witch who did anything to get good grades, even marrying a teacher twenty years her senior. Hermione groaned on the inside, taking great care to not make any, audible sound.

She was absolutely sure everyone in the school, including her teachers, would snigger at her sex life – her having sex with her Professor – when they saw her next. Those who were cheeky enough would even ask her. The thing was, right now, she wondered herself. What, exactly, would it be like? Hermione shuddered. Hermione Snape. It was awful.

She realized that she hadn't turned a page in almost half an hour. Here she was, in an unfamiliar room, in her husband's quarters. The rooms were better than she had expected, she supposed: Lots of books, many, many more than she had imagined, neatly organized after subject and alphabetical order on shelves that spanned the considerable height of the dungeon room. Still, the room was almost cave-like, and the only window spread a greenish, murky light, filtered through the waters of the Hogwarts lake.

She was sitting in a well-used, crinkled black leather chair, comfortable enough, but oh-so-very bachelor-looking in front of a blazing fire. Hermione guessed the room would be icy cold without the fire in the cavernous fireplace, big enough for a man as tall as Snape to stand comfortably in it when Flooing. Still, the stone walls emitted a chill from the early November frost outside. Beside her chair, there was a small, ornate wooden table, currently holding a tumbler filled half-way to the brim with smoking Firewhisky. It wasn't hers, because on the other side of the table, he was sitting in a chair similar to her own, longs legs stretched out in direction of the fireplace, reading the newest edition of Potions Monthly, obviously with great interest and concentration. At least, he hadn't said a word since they had entered the room. Not a single word since their marriage ceremony was completed.

Her eyes shied away from him. Sweet Morgana, she was married to Snape. What had she ever done to deserve this? What would life be, married to Snape? What did married people really do together? She tried to picture her parents: Happy, smiling, doing each other little favours like making coffee for each other, serving breakfast in bed to the one sleeping in, giving back rubs or massaging tired shoulders… No, she just couldn't picture Snape doing any of those things, especially not with herself.

Hermione wondered: Did he ever go on holidays? She tried to picture him, lounging comfortably, sunbathing beside the pool at the hotel in Bretagne where her family usually stayed. The image almost made her smile, trying to depict her stern Professor in black – it had to be black – swim shorts with sunglasses on his nose. What with him being so pale, he'd get a sunburn in no time. Hermione almost sniggered to herself, but then she got queasy by the thought of herself rubbing him in with sun screen lotion. Merlin, touching Snape's naked body…

Blinking feverishly to herself to clear her mind from those images, not wanting a reminder on what would happen in a very short while, she imagined going to a museum with him instead. Yes, that would be safe enough. She could picture him and herself browsing paintings and sculptures. But then, the image was disturbed by him lecturing her on what they'd see. Not like a husband, but very much like a teacher. Her teacher, as he indeed was.

Oh gods, how did this come about? Everything was fine, just this morning!

Xxxx

As she had entered the Great Hall at breakfast with Harry and Ron, they quickly became aware of whispers, muttering and people engaged in heated conversation all across the Hall, some seventh years crying. But they hadn't been worried before seeing that the teachers themselves were gathered around the Headmaster, many of them looking angry and scared, and the Headmaster himself – oh, she had never seen Albus Dumbledore look so old, tired and so frail.

Uncertainly, they had sat down on their usual seats, and then the news hit them, blaring across the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Minister Scrimgeour declares Marriage Law to combat extinction. All witches and wizards past seventeen and underneath 60 years of age must marry and produce offspring. As from today, it's prohibited for Pure-bloods to marry each other, and all Muggleborns must marry a Pure-blood or a half-blood within three months…

She felt herself become green, and she stared wide-eyed at Harry and Ron. Ron stared back at her, mouth hanging open, before he paled.

"Blimey, Hermione! You're seventeen, already!" he croaked out.

"I know," she said, feeling as she was walking on the edge of disaster.

"You have to marry within three months!"

"Yes," she said dumbly, but she thought: Nonononononono. Ron won't be seventeen for four months. Then it hit her, Ron might not want to marry her at all. Maybe he'd prefer Lavender for the long run too. Hermione wasn't exactly in love with him, but somehow, she had always expected to end up with Ron. Now, it was clearly not happening.

A flicker of grief for a dream gone wrong tore through her. She tried to swallow a sob, but still it came out as a low wail: "What should I do?"

Harry patted her back awkwardly, and Ron hugged her, both looking bewildered and sad. As she lifted her head, Dumbledore was staring right at her, like he had heard her muffled, little wail. He beckoned her to the Head table, and she shuffled forward, feeling more confused, lost and cheated than ever before in her life.

When she approached, the Headmaster said kindly: "You find yourself in quite a predicament this morning, Miss Granger, along with all our seventh years and some of our staff. I would like to see you in my office right away."

"Yes, sir," she whispered quietly, as a wild hope blossomed in her chest. Dumbledore would set it right. He would protect her from this farce of a law. Hermione felt her curiosity piqued by the chance of seeing the Head's office for herself, but she only wished the occasion was different.

She spun, striding out of the Great Hall with a new spring in her steps, followed by the Headmaster himself and oddly enough, both Professors Snape and McGonagall. Her Head of House was so upset that her pointed hat sat all askew on her head, but Snape's robe billowed behind him like always, like a dark thundercloud.

Well inside the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore offered her a bowl of sweets, asking: "Lemon drops, my dear?"

From behind the Headmaster, she saw McGonagall shake her head and repeatedly mimed "No" at her, while Snape scowled at nothing in particular.

She shook her head, and said politely: "No thanks, Headmaster."

"Oh well, dear, you don't know what you're missing out. Severus – Minerva, can I tempt you?" Dumbledore said, offering the sweets to her teachers. Minerva declined with a sickly grin, while Snape just rolled his eyes with a curt "As always, the answer is no, Albus."

As Dumbledore lowered himself gingerly into his chair, she peered eagerly around in the office. Those silvery whirring instruments that Harry had told her about was clearly visible, and she ached to examine them to find out just what they did. A fair amount of books made her nod approvingly, and the furniture was more or less as expected. Seeing Fawkes on his perch made her smile a little, and the bird sleepily opened an eye to acknowledge her interest.

"Please sit," the Headmaster gestured at Snape and McGonagall too. "You'll need it," he added drily.

Hermione furrowed her brow, and looked more closely at Dumbledore. No, he did not look like a man who was happy with a solution. In fact, he seemed almost bitter and angry.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, rubbing his eyes a little. "I'll have you know that the Order wasn't aware of the plans for this Marriage Law. It came as a complete surprise to me this morning, and it's forcing my hand."

Pursing his lips, looking speculatively at the dark, foreboding expression on Snape's face, the Headmaster continued: "I can only surmise that this was a top secret plan hatched inside the Ministry itself, possibly supported by Tom Riddle, though it goes against everything he stands for. However, this is a dire threat to the safety and secrecy of two of the most valuable members of the Order. Namely yourself, Miss Granger, and Professor Snape."

Snape made a jerky motion with his hand, head swiveling swiftly towards her and then back to the Headmaster, black eyes suddenly blazing. "Now hold on, Albus! If you're suggesting what I think, then you'd better back down immediately! It's out of the question!"

"Indeed," McGonagall added, pinching her lips as she narrowed her eyes at the Headmaster, crossing her arms, looking both determined and angry.

Hermione felt as if there was something she didn't quite grasp, but Dumbledore broke smoothly in: "As you unfortunately are aware of, Miss Granger, you're at great risk from the Death Eaters, sadly proven by the terrible attack on your parents."

Hermione felt her lip tremble. Her parents had been brutally Cruciated, and then left for dead in Muggle London just after the Hogwarts Express had left on 1th of September. Her poor Mum and Dad, those sweet, innocent darlings, helpless before the wands of the Death Eaters. It felt like her heart was breaking anew every time she was reminded of them. Drying her eyes with the back of her hand, she refused to cry, looking steadfastly at the Headmaster.

He gave deep sigh, and said, his voice wavering a little: "Severus' position as an Order member and a Death Eater spy must not be compromised. It must be kept secret. That's why he has to marry within the Order, to ensure that no one on the outside learn of his role as a spy. It is vital to our chances of winning that Severus can keep his secrets. And there aren't all that many single witches in the Order to choose from."

As if from far away, she heard McGonagall suck the breath in between her teeth, and Snape banged his fist on the arm of his chair, leaning forward, lank hair swinging with the motion, his magic crackling dangerously around him.

Dumbledore warded off their attempts to interrupt with a wave of his hand, voice clearer and ringing with command: "I've decided to kill two birds with one stone. You, Miss Granger, will get a husband who'll be able to protect you against Death Eater attacks, and Severus will have a wife that are aware of his affiliations and his duty – one who even might raise his standing with Tom Riddle, lulling him into the belief that he can control Harry's friends too."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Surely he didn't mean… Just like it didn't concern her, she heard Professor McGonagall shriek with outrage, and Professor Snape bellowed furiously in that deep voice of his. No, no, nononononononono. It wasn't happening. It wasn't. And then it was.

Xxxx

Dumbledore wasted no time, and by noon, he had summoned a wedding official and drawn up the necessary legal documents. The actual wedding was set to be at four pm, and Hermione had been allowed to invite Molly and Arthur Weasley as witnesses. She no longer needed a legal guardian, but they had been acting in her stead in those few days after her parents were killed and until she was of legal age in the wizarding world.

Hermione still felt as if everything happened to someone else. She was numb, unfocused, not feeling really grounded in her own body, her thoughts flowing slowly like they were stuck in a syrupy mass. Everyone seemed to move slowly, sluggishly around her, their words registering in her brain a tad too late.

"My dear," Mrs. Weasley almost sobbed, embracing her and clutching her into her ample bosom. "A marriage shouldn't be hurried and forced like this. It should be an occasion of joy and happiness. I just hope you and Severus find a way to be happy together."

Inside, she felt like sobbing herself, but on the outside, all she managed was a wooden grimace of a smile.

"Oh dear," Molly Weasley said after taking on look at her face, "it'll be alright, it'll work itself out, darling." She lowered her voice, whispering in her ear: "If you wonder about anything, or have any questions at all, not just for tonight, you can always ask. I'm sure you wonder about a lot of things right now."

Even in her strange, out-of-the-body- feeling, Hermione cringed. To ask Ron's mother about sex, oh gods, that was just not something she'd ever do. Especially not about sex with a teacher. She managed a stiff, polite smile, saying: "Thanks, I appreciate that."

Then Arthur Weasley drew her aside, saying earnestly, with a worried look in his blue eyes: "I believe Severus is a good man at the bottom, Hermione. But still, if there's ever anything you need help with, if he doesn't treat you well, don't hesitate to call on us. We'll gladly act in your parents stead to protect you, like you were our own daughter. It's not that easy for such a young witch as you to marry a wizard twenty years her senior, especially one as powerful, strong-willed and strict as Severus. Please, please, do tell if you need help or just a shoulder to cry on. As you know, a wizard gets a good amount of power over his wife during the marriage ceremony. Most men does not take advantage of that, but some does. Please tell us if he ever makes you uncomfortable, Hermione!"

That almost got a reaction out of her. Did the Weasleys have any reason to think Snape would molest her in some way? Didn't they trust him? She shuddered again as she sneaked a look on her glowering, angry husband-to-be, standing in a corner with Dumbledore, and she caught a little of their whispered conversation "With what I have to do, with what you made me promise, Albus, this is utter madness. What should I do with the girl when… after…" Vaguely, she wondered what that was about, but her curiosity couldn't be piqued enough to listen in.

At the start of the ceremony, all she took in was Ron's blotched, angry face, Harry pale with worries, McGonagall's pained expression and the two older Weasleys holding hands with looks of frustration and concern on their faces. She didn't dare to look at Snape, though she was very much aware of him looming over her at her side.

The ceremony seemed to last forever, until Snape suddenly interrupted the official, saying: "I want to include a vow of fidelity."

Hurt and furious, she turned to glare at him. Did the bastard believe she would be cheating on him, too?

At that, the hard glower in his eyes softened a little, and he explained, a little haltingly: "Not for your sake, Miss Granger. For me. For what I might be…" his voice dropped to a silky whisper in her ear: "expected to do in other circumstances."

She stared wide-eyed at him, before she blushed furiously, biting her lip. Oh gods, did Voldemort make his followers shag each other? Or even worse, did he expect Snape to rape someone? Was her husband a rapist? Hermione gave a brief, jerky nod, and averted her eyes from his face again. It felt safer to not meet his eyes. Her mind shied away from the thoughts like a skittish horse, and her lips trembled as they gave their vows, a reddish bond with golden-flecked hues snaking around their wrists, sinking into their flesh.

Suddenly, time kickstarted itself again, speeding up into a fast, inevitable movement, the official said something about sealing the bond, and Professor Snape leaned down to press lips to hers. His lips were warm, dry and hard, like he was making sure that she wouldn't get an impression of him being anything resembling soft – as if she ever would have thought that.

Xxxx

And now she was here, in his rooms, the wedding night looming larger and larger in her mind. Would he hurt her? Would he be brutal and unfeeling? What if he really WAS a rapist? She wanted to whimper, to curl up, but instead she sat stiffly on her chair – and then she lost the grip on her book. It thumped onto the floor, the sound incredibly loud in the stillness of the dungeon room, causing Snape to look up from his magazine. Seeing her there made a grimace fly over his face, and then he said sourly: "It's time for bed." Cocking his head at her, black eyes unreadable, he said: "Undress."

At her shocked expression, he said impatiently: "Now, Miss Granger, not tomorrow. Let me have a look at you before we do … this."

Mortified, she stood up slowly, shaking hands unbuttoning her robes. Her shirt fell to the floor and her skirt followed, and there was still no sound from him. She stopped, not wanting to embarrass herself further, but irritation laced his voice as he continued: "Did I tell you to stop, Granger? Undress, I said!"

Does he think I'm cattle? A horse, where he can inspect the teeth before buying? Such a shame, then, he's already stuck with me! Defiantly, she stripped down, standing furious and blushing in front of him, holding one arm across her breasts and the other hand in front of her crotch. Staring back at him, insolently, assessing him too.

Oh, she knew his looks well. Tall, thin, but with broad shoulders, shirt sleeves rolled up to show his thin, but muscular arms. Eyes dark, deep-set, nose too big with that impossible hook, mouth thin and hard, teeth crooked, cheeks sallow and pale. And that hair – did he ever wash it? Lank and greasy, though she supposed it wouldn't be half as bad if he bothered to wash it. And oh sweet mother Morgana, did he wash other body parts? She almost blanched with disgust. A little relieved, she remembered that she had never thought him to smell bad in class. Quite the opposite, actually. He usually smelt good - something spicy, a little leather, a whisky note, laudanum and mandarin…

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and his eyes seemed to widen slightly as he let his gaze travel her body. Leering, she rather thought. Mumbling to himself, she thought she heard him say: "Well, then, at least one thing in this farce won't be difficult." Then he cleared his throat, and instructed her: "Go inside the bedroom, and wait for me."

She put on a show of defiance, tossing her head and walking proudly towards the bedroom. On the inside, she felt like a small, cowering child, ready to cry at a moment's notice.

Gods, that bed. It was gigantic, with carved, mahogany bedposts, predictably with a pattern of entwined snakes. The sheets were black too, and a heavy, ornamented dresser stood in a corner. Her trunk looked small and insignificant beside it. She wondered if he'd allow her to move her things out of the trunk and into the dresser, and a small sob escaped her. She supposed she would be staying here for a long time. The thought – the rest of my life – flitted over her mind, and she felt like screaming, panic rising inside her.

Right now, she was facing the fact that her stern Professor would take her to bed, to shove his … penis … inside her, exercising his full right to do so as her husband. Sourly, she promised herself to make an effort to change the wizarding world's marriage vows and that stupid Marriage Law, but as for now, she was bound by someone's antiquated idea of giving the wizard rights to do almost whatever he wanted to his witch.

She shuddered at the thought. What would he do to her? Hermione were aware that other witches in her year, like Lavender and Parvati, had fancied Snape briefly, claiming that he had a sort of sexy darkness to him, but not her, not at all. Though there had been, she admitted to herself, one or two hot and inexplicable dreams about him, but that was about it. She had never wanted the real thing.

The door slammed, making her jump, and he entered the bedroom, still scowling. Thank Merlin, she was sitting demurely with her legs pressed together. What she really wanted to do, was to stretch out on the bed, crying into the pillows. Preferably alone.

Snape stood before her, tall and menacing, unbuttoning his shirt, and she just couldn't keep her eyes away, it was like they were glued to his form. The buttons felt like a countdown to something she didn't want to experience. Twelve – eleven – ten – nine … Her heart fluttered in her chest, fearfully. What would it be like?

He finished unbuttoning, baring his chest. Snape was just as pale as she had imagined, with hard, pectoral muscles, and a smattering of black hair on his chest, tapering down into a distinct line disappearing into his trousers.

Shrugging off his shirt, he stopped, looking searchingly at her. "Granger," his deep voice oddly hesitant, "you've done this before, right?"

"What?" she said, blinking in surprise to the fact that he had addressed her. Then she blushed. "Oh, you mean… sex?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, shifting his stance slightly.

"Ah, well, no." she replied, looking down on the stone floor in embarrassment. Trying to distract herself from the overwhelming feeling of wanting to sink into the ground, she tried to memorize the pattern of the floor. The colour was a dark grey, like it was hewn from the Scottish mountains. Grey, a mix of the black of his robes and the paleness of his skin, she thought whimsically.

He sighed with a sudden movement that made her look up. "Why me?" he muttered. Then he seemed to make an effort to compose himself, sitting down beside her, knees spread, twirling his wand between his fingers.

After a short while, he said: "Granger. It won't be comfortable for you, but I won't hurt you. It might get better with time, when we're more… acquainted with each other, and when you're not this nervous. But for tonight, let's just get this over and done with. I'll make it quick."

"Ok," she whispered, in a way relieved. He said he won't hurt me. How bad can it be?

He rose again, kicking off his boots, and pushing down his pants. Her jaw fell down, and she just stared. This was not what she expected. That thing looked awfully big, and she really, really didn't want to… Ok, maybe she was a tiny bit curious, wondering how it would feel to touch it…

He twitched in surprise, as she, without any conscious decision, reached out her hand, stroking him slightly. She once again felt like she was outside of her body, watching herself, feeling horrified at the liberty she took – her damned curiosity couldn't have found a worse time for rearing its ugly head!

Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips as it swelled and grew between her hands, rising up to stand erect. It was silky, so soft on the outside, and so hard, like it was an iron rod beneath the layer of soft skin. Snape's breath became faster, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Curious, eh?" he said, voice a little hoarse.

She nodded, still shocked by her own forwardness, her hand still touching that strange thing. Curious, yes, but she realized her emotions bordered on a somewhat thrilled expectation, too, coupled with nervousness. His wand flew to his hand, and he whispered a spell at her: "Lubricatem". She sucked in a breath, like she was suddenly back inside her body, feeling moisture pool quickly and unexpectedly between her legs. Snape moved forward, pushing her back on the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

She noted, his breath was now fast and uneven, and he murmured into her ear: "I'd never thought I'd stoop so low as to say this to a student, but you look delicious, Granger. The Marriage Law might force us to couple once a week, but I tell you this, I'll avail myself of the opportunity to have a hot young witch in my bed. You better get used to this, Granger, because every night, I'll fuck you into the mattress."

Those last words came out as a growl, and she gasped a little at his coarseness, feeling a small lick of flame racing through her belly. Then he was there, at her entrance, guiding himself with one hand.

That big, swollen, blunt head butted at her, lubricating itself in her moisture created by his spell. He thrust sharply with his hips, and she whimpered in pain in the same instant as he emitted a groan of pleasure. Sweet Morgana, this was painful! She felt mind-boggled: Merlin – her Professor, her husband, her teacher, her spouse was buried inside her to his balls.

Her walls were stretched out around him, and it burned. That burning feeling subsided slowly, and he held himself still, breath rasping as he held himself up on his arms, eyes closed with an expression of bliss.

Inside her, she could feel that hard, long part of him almost quiver, and he grunted: "I need to move, Granger, but I'll try to be careful."

Breathlessly, she nodded, and braced herself for more pain by tightening her muscles. His eyes widened, and he let out a shaky breath, laughing slightly as he said: "Gods, Granger, if you continue to do that, this will be over very soon. This feels good for me."

She tried experimentally to clench her abdomen again, and he groaned torturously, hips thrusting against her as he slid his cock slowly in and out of her, picking up his pace as he went. His upper body came down, resting on her lightly, and he buried his head in her neck, kissing and nibbling at her. It felt good, at least better than she had expected, she thought with some surprise, though there weren't any instant bliss like she had read about. His cock brushed against her sex, his pelvis moving over her clit, and she felt a pleasant tremor in her belly as she clenched around him again. Soon, Snape murmured incoherently against her as he slammed his cock into her, his long, black hair tickling her face: "Gods, so tight, so good, Granger, you feel so tight, your cunt squeezing, do it again, oh, I'll fuck you hard, little witch, OH!"

With a shudder, he stiffened and arched his back, thrusting harshly into her a few more times. His breath came in heaving gasps, and he rolled off her to his back, staring up into the ceiling. Something sticky dribbled out of her, and her inner voice gibbered in panic: I'm full of Professors Snape's semen. He came inside me, Professor Snape had an orgasm inside me! Blushing, she realized that in eight hours or so, she would be sitting in his class, listening to him lecturing, with his sperm still swimming around inside her. And the Slytherins would be laughing so hard.

Feeling mortified and foolishly shocked by the strange feeling of the runny substance between her legs – though, what had she really expected, him coming inside her was a natural result of sex – Hermione rose quickly from the bed, causing even more of the sticky fluid to rush out of her. At the same time, she winced at the soreness between her legs. Sweet mother Morgana, she felt like her thighs had moved several inches apart from each other. Walking normally would be a challenge, she could tell. Silent and embarrassed, she hobbled towards the bathroom, hoping that she'd reach inside before it started to drip from her legs and onto the floor, making a mess out of everything. Turning in the doorway, she could see his dark eyes following her, a guarded, but also shame-filled expression on his face. The only thing she managed to think was: This … is awkward.

A/N: The Marriage Law trope makes for very awkward situations. I wanted to write a forced, rushed wedding, without any unrealistic, mind-shattering sexual bliss on Hermione's part (really, she's young, inexperienced and partnered with someone she doesn't particularly like), and with an unwilling, but fairly responsible Severus. With this in mind, I tried to make the whole experience awkward, but not too bad, because I want to believe there could be happiness for those two later. And I killed off Hermione's parents to up the Death Eater threats to her life.

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