TWO

The Malfoy manor was not a favorite destination for anyone. A dark miasma hung over it, shadows of evil and—if one listened to persistent rumors—death. The Ministry's appointed Betrothal Contract contact shivered in the front receiving room. He crouched his small frame close to the fire but noticed no perceptible warmth from the burgeoning flames.

The door shut, almost inaudibly.

 He turned to face Lucius Malfoy.

"Ah, finally." The smooth, cold face contorted into an exaggerated grimace. The Ministry man shivered. It was all too easy to imagine this man doing the worst.

"Well? Where is the list?"

He almost dropped the scroll as he handed it over.

Malfoy unrolled the parchment smoothly. He sat upright, the very definition of aristocratic expectancy. Somehow, though, there had been a much truer sense of greatness about Lord Snape, the man thought. Though not a very popular man, by any means, his Lordship had at least welcomed him with warmth and treated him as a wizard, not a house-elf.

"What is this?" Malfoy's voice, cold and imperious, cut through the man's musing.

"What's what?"

"Where is Granger? She was on this list."

"Oh. Hermione Granger. She was chosen this morning, actually." He smiled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his robe to hide their tremor. "She must be quite popular."

"Hellfire!" Malfoy launched the scroll into the fire.

"Hey!" A hasty spell called the singed scroll back to the man's hands. He blew on it, examining the parchment for damage. "That's Ministry Property, Mister Malfoy."

"Lord Malfoy," Lucius correct in icy tones.

"L…Lord Malfoy," the man stammered. "Um."

"Oh get out!"

"Yes, did you want me to leave…" He hesitated, not wanting to leave the list out of his sight.

"Get out! I'll find my son a bride without your be-damned list!"

"Y.. Yes, Mister… Lord Malfoy!"

He ran out the front door. He had to shake himself three times before he felt capable of apparating, and even then he was teased by his colleagues for years about his prompt collapse to the floor after he arrived back at the Ministry.

Severus was no better off for being unable to find his father—he would have been worried, had he not known the old wizard so well. Erasmus had probably taken off to some unplottable location in an attempt to head off the discussion that Severus was so determined to begin.

"The man is insane," he told Albus later, in the sanctity of his rooms. "Selecting a bride for me." He shook his head.

"He wants your happiness," Albus said.

"He wants me to go insane." Severus glared into the flames in the hearth. "And why in the name of Merlin did he choose Her?"

"Miss Granger is a very smart young woman. One might even say brilliant."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"She asked me if she could use some quotes from her end-of-term reports last year. I didn't consider what she might use them for, but I did give her permission."

"And?"

"I believe you referred to her skills in Potions as 'quite proficient.' While such a comment pales beside the praise Miss Granger receives from her other teachers, she may have felt it .. well-rounded of her to include it."

"If my father saw that…." Severus buried his face in his hands.

"Your father does know your tendency for understatement," Albus agreed. "It may have been a factor in his decision."

"He'll think her a goddess of the cauldron," Severus said, "that's what he'll think."

"I never did understand why you gave Malfoy higher marks last term. You described his work as 'needing improvement,' and," Albus furrowed his brow and fended off Severus' attempts to explain Draco's superior knowledge. "Didn't you ask me to bill Lucius for the entire set of standard ingredients—twice over, if I'm not mistaken—because of his 'heavy usage'?"

Severus sneered half-heartedly.

"Well," Albus said, getting to his feet. "I've got to get back to my office. Have a meeting scheduled with Pomfrey regarding her budget for the year. You will be available to brew her list of required potions for the term, correct?"

"It depends on if I can get my father to break this Betrothal Contract actually. I may be buried in research on how to do it myself if I can't unearth the man."

"I'll tell her yes, then," the Headmaster said. He nodded fondly, patted Severus' shoulder, and left the room.

Severus closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his chair. "Betrothed," he muttered. "To Hermione 'know-it-all' Granger. What else can go wrong?"

Hermione received her copy of the Betrothal Contract back by owl-post at the Morning Meal.

Snape was conspicuously absent, which started off her day rather nicely, given that she was dreading the upcoming Advanced Potions class where, it was sure to bet, there would be a test on the reading she was supposed to have done the night before. She had been too upset to comprehend the assigned chapter, though she had read it through three times over.

When the owls started their descent she looked upward hopefully, sighing in relief when she spotted Pig among the incoming flock.

The small owl darted straight-away to Ginny's plate, dropping the letter neatly in the girl's lap. Hermione shivered with anticipation when she recognized Mrs. Weasley's handwriting on the envelope.

Ginny's eyes met hers. Though shadowed, they were excited. Hermione understood perfectly. She didn't want to marry Ron any more than she wanted to marry Percy—she had been raised to believe in love. She had given it up thinking that she would marry some man who Wanted a wife, not a boy forced into it to save her from a fate most unwanted.

Ginny's mouth moved as she read the note, but not enough that Hermione knew what she was reading. Heart in her mouth, she didn't notice the owl hovering above her until it dropped the wrapped scroll on her head.

"Ouch!" She rubbed the sore spot, and bent to retrieve the scroll. It was stamped with the Ministry's seal.

Her eyes met Ginny's once more. Wide, fearful, Hermione knew that the news was not good.

Her fingers shook as she broke the seal. She fumbled the scroll as she unrolled it, finally gathering the attention of her tablemates with her pathetic attempts. She stopped breathing when she read the contents.

"Hermione! Please, hold up!"

Severus ducked out of the way from the running girls, sinking into the shadows. He watched Hermione Granger slow to a halt and lean against the windows at the corner.

"Hermione. I know what's happened." The Weasley chit. He should have known. "You've been matched already. That's what my father wrote. Who is it?"

Why did it hurt him to see the tears coursing down the girl's face? It shouldn't. She was his betrothed, but also his student. A loud, obnoxious girl who had very bad taste in friends. Still… it hurt that she cried so over her fate. Was he that bad a man, for all his cultivated coldness?

Could it be possible that he wanted her to be agreeable to the match?

"Oh Ginny!" Granger fell into the red-haired girl's arms.

"It's horrible isn't it?" By now even Weasley as in tears. What was it with women?

Granger lifted her head, and Severus was shocked into total immobility by what he saw there. Hermione Granger was smiling.

"Hermione?"

Hermione wiped the tears away with unsteady hands. "It's wonderful, Ginny. Better even than Ron or Percy!"

Ginny twisted her head. "I don't know whether to be glad to upset about that comment, actually."

"It's an impossible match, though. Totally impossible. It's perfect!"

"What are you talking about?"
"It's Snape, Ginny!"

"Snape?"

"Yes, yes. Don't you see! I'll get to stay in school, and Dumbledore will make sure that he doesn't lock me in the dungeons and starve me. Well, while I'm a student at least."

"Um… Hermione…."

Hermione stared out the beveled windows. The sun was shining over the Quidditch pitch in the far distance, and her mood seemed to hover with the clouds floating high overhead. It was perfect. Snape would not be a man would ever have seen herself married to, but she knew him. He was honorable, though he might have a distinct bias for his Slytherins. She could work with him, at least.

"I know, I know," she said. "Old Ways and all. It's Snape, though. He doesn't need anyone—let alone Me! Can you even imagine it? But it's an unbreakable Contract! He's stuck with me for the rest of his life!"
"And on that note, I believe we have some issues to discuss," Professor Snape said, tongue as acidic as it had ever been.

Hermione turned slowly, trying frantically to remember what she had been saying. Ginny shrugged apologetically and slunk away.

"Miss Weasley," Professor Snape said, not taking his eyes away from Hermione's. "This will remain between us—or Gryffindor will most certainly be last in year-end totals, and you will be discovering new levels of disgust as you scrub every bathroom in this Castle. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Professor," Ginny said.

She fled in a whirl of school robes.

"Now."

"Professor. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"You most certainly did mean to. But for now—Hush. There are too many ears here for my comfort."

He led her, predictably enough, to the dungeons. The walls were especially damp, running with moisture. Hermione heard the echoing laughter from the well-hidden Slytherin Dormitory, but Snape pulled her past the laughter and down into a corridor so dark that she would not have ventured there on her own, no matter what the reason.

"In," he said, pushing her unceremoniously toward a blank wall.

She fell past the illusion and stumbled into yet another corridor. This one, at least, had torches stationed at regular intervals so that she could see. Snape passed her, striding up the corridor smartly.

He halted at a hewn door and murmured at it. It opened obligingly.

"These are my private rooms," he said.

She could have guessed. It wasn't a large room by any means, but it was lived-in, for all its coldness. Books were strewn about and the remains of a fire burned in the hearth. Snape frowned and, with a heavy sigh, shifted a chair back toward the fire. The house-elves, she surmised, had already been in to clean.

"Sit."
She sat. Uncomfortable, she folded her hands on her lap and wove her fingers together.

"As you have guessed, this was not my choice," he started. "However, that does not dismiss it."

"I never thought it would!"

"Miss Granger, please contain your comments!" Snape frowned. "Nevertheless, this is my father's doing. Yes, the Snapes do follow the Old Ways. I have hopes, however, of illuminating this issue."

"You're going to talk to your father?"

"Exactly. He is not an easy man to find, though, especially when he does not want to be found."

"What do you mean? He's run off?"

"Not that it is your place to speak of it."

"It certainly is my place! I'm … I'm going to be your wife."

"Not if I can help it. Now," he turned to the door, "if you would leave. I believe you have a Potions quiz in a little over ten minutes."

"That's it?"
"What do you expect, a confession of undying love?"

"We didn't discuss anything!"

"Miss Granger!" He snapped. "How much more is there? You do not want this… betrothal. I do not either. I am endeavoring to obtain us both our freedom. That's all there is!"
"Well… what happens next?"
"Next?" His dark eyes were unreadable. He stalked right up beside her. She had never been so close to him, even in Potions class. "Next you try your hardest to stay out of trouble, that's what! You do realize that this is your fault? Had you not signed onto that bedamned list…"
"You'd be free?" Hermione sniffed. She wasn't going to cry. Years before she had sworn that she would never cry in front of him again, and by god she'd keep that vow.

"Yes," he said harshly. "I would be free. Alone. Not betrothed," he spat the word, "and certainly not to a sniveling Muggle-born wench!"

Hermione felt her lungs freeze and her stomach wrench. "You're awful," she said, voice shaking terribly. "Truly awful."

He just glared at her, and her knees felt the heat of his gaze. She turned, wobbling, until she could put her hand on the knob to steady herself. "I didn't want this to happen, Professor. If I could take it back, I would. But… no matter how mean you are," she turned around defiantly. "I'm glad it's you. Because as hateful as you can be, I know that you're still Professor Snape."

She left without another word.