To have and to Hold

A prequel, of sorts, to "The Diary of a Provincial Potions Master"; the story of how an extremely down-to-earth Hermione ended up married to a clueless Snape.

Chapter 1 - In which Hermione makes a decision.

I had been working at Hogwart's for only a few months when I made the decision: Whatever it took, Professor Severus Snape - greasy git, irritable bastard, and all the rest of it - was going to be Mine.

Oh, it wasn't exactly a sudden decision. I didn't look at him one day and think "Aha! This is the man I am going to Marry!". I had, after all, known him for rather more than ten years by that time; from the very first Potions class, where his description of a "subtle science and exact art" sent shivers down my spine, through seven years of teaching, where I learned to respect his intelligence and his courage as much as I loathed his uncertain temper and irrational hatred of poor Harry; from the final Battle where he helped to finally bring down the Dark Lord, through my years at Flamel College, Oxford, where I studied for a double degree in Arithmancy and Potions and kept up a regular, if sporadic, correspondence with the man who had become my somewhat unlikely mentor - after I wrote to ask his opinion of one of my tutor's research methods, which I thought were rather lacking in integrity, and received a reply to the effect that "my opinion was no doubt correct but it would behove me, as this man's student, to appear to agree with his every word"; and so to the time when I graduated and took up my post as Professor of Arithmancy at Hogwart's.

Since my arrival, Severus and I had fallen, surprisingly, into a fairly comfortable relationship; at first, it comprised of no more than briefly exchanged words over a meal, on a general but impersonal subject - Potions, of course, or the behaviour of the students, or Dumbledore's latest scheme. After time, the discussions became more wide-ranging - we would discuss Art, or Music, or whatever, and he would let his well-hidden opinions of these things slip, even if it was only with a snort of disgust or a grunt of approval. It seemed to me that, for whatever reason - whether it was due to his up-bringing, which Harry had let slip was less than idyllic, or from his years of double-dealings with the Death Eaters - he was absolutely incapable of expressing any personal feelings or emotions. But I felt that we were becoming something more than colleagues; although, perhaps, a little less than friends.

By the time I made my decision, we were definitely friends, at least by my definition of the word. Almost every evening was spent together, in my rooms or his, talking, marking, or just sitting together in companionable silence. And by then, I was quite sure that I would rather be something a great deal more than friends; I couldn't say, for certain, that I had "fallen in love" with him, just that I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him - and what other way could I explain that feeling except to say that I loved him?; and I was pretty sure that he felt the same way, from the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't looking - I would occasionally catch his eye, and he would look away as though embarrassed; or I would see him looking at me with a thoughtful, almost wistful, look on his face. And, from him, that was tantamount to a public declaration of devotion.

I was, in fact, so sure of the way I felt about him - and about his feelings towards me, however well-hidden they may have been - that I came to that decision: He would be mine.

But how on Earth was I going to get him to cooperate?