Severus tossed his favorite quill with a little more force than he intended. It bounced against the parchment, staining the blank area below his spidery script, then clattered against the antique desk blotter and rolled until it plummeted to the handwoven carpet beneath. Landing barb down, it spent its remaining ink into the cream and emerald fibers, leaving them as sullied as the heroines in the tawdry tomes Lucius deemed appropriate research material. With any luck, Elphick and Croglang, the house-elves assigned to the headmaster's chambers, wouldn't berate him too much for his carelessness. Perhaps a new tea towel each would assuage any irritation they might harbor. They were reasonable beings after all.

Unlike a certain blond-haired pure-blood.

Severus leapt to his feet and tromped to the large window overlooking the private gardens. What had his friend been thinking providing him with such rubbish? He studied the pattern of garden mums and pansies as their beds encircled the gazebo at the very center of the boxwood maze. Following the design with his eyes did little to clear his mind. Surely this wasn't the way Lucius learned the art of seduction.

Images of Malfoy's father, Abraxas, rolled across his mind and a new light dawned. The austere and very proper wizard was the epitome of Victorian morality. Even the most innocent innuendo was greeted with a fierce glare and an intense berating of the speaker. He could imagine the Malfoy patriarch withholding all but the most basic information from his heir.

Severus glanced again at the volumes piled near the corner of his desk and smiled. Many of them were ancient, with tooled leather covers and gilded pages filled with illuminated script. Others were glossy and new, bearing such nom de plumes as Barbara Cartland and Charlotte Lamb beneath titles like Lovers in Lisbon and Scandalous. Knowing Lucius voracious mind, and his need to rebel against parental constraints, he would have sought out every source on the subject he could—including those found in the Muggle world.

Turning back to the view from the window, Severus pondered again why this was so important to him. After all, the Ministry merely required the act not the prelude, the postlude, or the intimacy. Beneath him, a mated pair of swans, the female the familiar white of the mute species and the male as black as ebony with a crimson bill, glided across the small pond. They weren't supposed to be. Weren't supposed to mix across species. She was supposed to stick to her kind, and he to his. Yet somehow, whether by divine design or nature's magic, they found one another. Defied the logical selections and chose each other. Just like he and Hermione.

He watched five tiny cygnets swimming in their parents' wake. The Snapes may have been forced together by the Ministry's mandate and their friends' well-meaning interference, but they chose to give their situation a chance. To cultivate at least mutual respect if not something… more.

He smiled softly. It had became something so much more than he ever imagined. At least after the initial stand-off that marked the first week of their marriage.

He leaned against the leaded glass panes, the cool surface soothing his ragged nerves. Like the fiery autumnal colors of the landscape, Hermione's eyes had sparked with ambers and russets and golds when she finally had her fill of his arrogance and stood up to him.

"How dare you," she snarled, turning to face him like an enraged lioness. "How dare you continue with this petulance. Whether you like it or not, I am your wife. Not some sniveling student you can abuse with your sneers and jeers, but your wife. Your equal. Your partner."

She closed with distance between them in three strides, her index finger poking him in the chest with enough force he was afraid she would fracture the fragile digit against his pectoral muscle. He fought the wince along with the desire to haul her against him and kiss her until her exalted intelligence was little more than impassioned gibberish inside her skull. "You will speak to me with respect. You will allow me to be your friend and befriend me in return." The anger in her eyes resolved into something soft and wonderful and warm. "And one day, you will fall as deeply in love with me as I have with you."

The scratch of wood against glass closed the memory. He watched, entranced, as the October breeze batted the oak limbs against the window. He'd be buffeted by her declaration. Yet he'd survived the apology he'd offered her. Thrived afterwards in a way he never thought possible after Lily. Then again, Hermione accepted his petition for forgiveness. In fact, unlike his former obsession, his wife accepted him for who he was. All of him. The good, the bad, and the—

"Severus?"

He turned to find Minerva loitering near the stack of books with his quill dangling from her fingertips. The look of concern mingled with amusement on her features twisted his stomach into tiny knots. Clearing his throat, he strolled back toward his desk, fighting for composure with each step. There was little doubt she'd been in his office long enough to take note of the titles and the list. Perhaps even long enough to read at least a portion of his spidery script. She was, after all, in possession of every ounce of curiosity ascribed to her Animagus form.

She gestured at the amalgamation on his desk, using his quill like a ruddy pointer to illuminate the scantily clad couple on the cover of the topmost volume. "What is all of this?"

Severus drew a breath, then darted his eyes from Minerva to the illicit tome she'd indicated and back again. Like a child caught with the forbidden biscuit clutched in his fingers, he fidgeted just a bit beneath the witch's piercing gaze. A small untruth was surely expected in these cases was it not? In fact, he was very nearly required to offer at least a minor fabrication. Straightening, he averted his gaze slightly, looking at her from beneath his brow. "It is but a bit of—"

"Don't you dare say research, Severus Snape," Minerva laughed. "Not about this drivel." She handed the quill back to him, then leaned closer to the parchment spread on his desk blotter. Heat raced to his cheeks when she glanced at him with a little more seriousness in her eyes. "Unfortunately." She pinched the corner of paper between her thumb and index finger, lifting it as if it were a handkerchief used by a snotty-nosed student. "This might suggest otherwise."

"What I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted," he growled, jerking the page from her fingers, attempting to cover his mortification with righteous indignation, "was that it was none of your business, Minerva."

The former headmistress-turned-deputy crossed her arms and glared. Threats of bodily harm if he continued his deceit radiated from her strict posture. "If this concerns your attempts to woo your wife, my boy, then it most assuredly does concern me." She arched her brows, her pinched features demanding honest. "And that is what this is about."

Severus deflated, flopped into his chair, and buried his face in his hands. "Bloody hell, Minerva." He tugged on his hair until he was sure a few of the strands detached from his scalp. "How else am I supposed to make a successful attempt at—"

"Loving her?"

He peeked at her through the space between his palms, hoping she couldn't detect the amount of awe flooding his mind at her ability to suss out his true emotions. Even when he wasn't convinced of them himself. "How do you know I wasn't going to say fu—"

"Because," she cut across him, reprimanding with a glower and a raised finger. "It is quite obvious you are absolutely besotted with her." Minerva's smile, when offered with compassion, could warm even the chilliest of concerns. "As she is with you."

"That's what Lucius said," he groaned.

Minerva chuckled. "I always thought him a very perceptive wizard," she declared with a nod.

Severus lifted his head and stared at the woman he'd viewed as a mother since long before his own had been taken from this realm. A slow smile curved his lips. "If memory serves, you always thought him a bleeding wanker." He straightened a little more as confidence reasserted itself. "In fact, weren't you the one who pronounced him the world's biggest—"

A raised palm staunched his speech. "Opinions change, Severus." She quirked her eyebrows at him, daring him to disagree. He acknowledged the point with a slight nod. With a smile, she continued the interrogation. "And do you find yourself finally agreeing with ours? Are you ready to accept that your heart, and hers, is engaged?"

"Minerva," he warned. But one glance at him with that particular gleam in her eyes, he knew resistance was futile. Still, it wasn't the Slytherin way to speak plainly. He waved in the direction of the books. "Would I be exposing myself to such if it were not?"

The older witch nodded and smiled. "Good." Quite quickly though, the upward curve of her mouth melted into a more neutral line. "Of course, you could always forgo all this for the more simple answer."

Severus lifted an eyebrow, his smirk as natural as breathing. "And what do you consider the simple answer?" He perched on the corner of his desk, mischief dancing in his belly with enough effusion to almost elicit a burst of childlike giggles. Almost. "A visit to Knockturn Alley, perhaps? Pay for a little private tutelage from one of Madam Medusa's more upstanding employees?" A study of his fingernails kept up the appearance of detachment while allowing a covert observation of the color change in his colleague's cheeks. Vermillion was such a lovely shade. "I've been told that some of them specialize in—"

"That is not what I mean Severus Snape, and you know it."

She was such an easy mark. Suppressing his smile, he tilted his head enough to meet her gaze. "Then what do you suggest?"

Minerva wasn't buying his innocent act for a moment. She rarely did. Yet instead of storming out of his office with an indignant huff and swirl of her tartan robes, she seemed determined to stand her ground by settling into one of the visitor's chairs. "The truth, Severus."

She leaned across the desk and rested her hand atop his. Her warmth seeped into his skin as her eyes conveyed the kind of compassion he'd come to expect from this formidable witch. In her eyes, he was her son in all but blood. And he was humbled. "Simply the truth. Hermione, and you, deserve nothing less."

Emotions threatened to strangle the breath from his chest. Swallowing, he diverted his gaze. "Unfortunately, in this case, that is not a prudent choice."

"Why?"

Severus jerked away from Minerva's touch and all but vaulted off the desk. She'd voiced the one question that perpetually bombarded him each time he considered his position on the matter. "Because Hermione is so vastly more experienced than I am. If she were to know I am still a virgin…" he shook his head slowly, discomfort undulating in his gut. "I don't need a pity fuck, Minerva."

Lily had made that offer not too long before they ended their friendship. He'd detested her for it. Like curdling milk, it soured him. Made it easier for the filthy word to escape his tongue when she'd attempted to defend him a few days later. He couldn't allow that to happen with his wife. Couldn't allow the sweetness of Hermione's presence to turn bitter and acidic. "I need her to want me. To desire only me. She deserves to be pleasured in the way she has most likely become accustomed to, and I can't—"

Minerva's laughter alternately broke his heart and fired his anger. Spinning on the witch, he glared at her, ready to hex mirth from her body and damn the consequences. Then he saw the softness in the depths of her blue eyes, and he knew. Without the use of Legilimency, he knew. She wasn't laughing at him, but at the absurdity of the situation. Still, his pride stung. "I am glad to be of some amusement for you, madam."

"Oh, my dear boy." Minerva retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of her robes and dabbed her eyes. "For someone with the cleverness of a Ravenclaw, the bravery of a Gryffindor, and the cunning of Slytherin, you can be as obtuse as a Hufflepuff."

The rigidity of his spine started at the base and shimmied rapidly toward the base of his skull. "I beg your pardon?!"

The Transfiguration mistress met Severus' glare without flinching. Her smile never wavered, though it did soften. "She's as inexperienced as you are."

Severus blinked, doubt waring with something akin to hope in his chest. Another breath, and insecurity entered the fray and tainted battle with anxiety. "There's no way." He faltered slightly, his gaze darting to the pile of books then back to his friend. There was not a flicker of duplicity in the way the old witch stood. "The way she touched…" Disbelief outflanked the hesitant relief rising from somewhere deep inside his core. "The way she slid against…" He shook his head as the memories of Hermione's departure for their chambers just hours before attempted to add confusion to the dizzying thoughts circling behind his eyes. "There just simply isn't any way—"

"She's a Gryffindor Muggle-born, Severus." Minerva's fingers wrapped around his hand, and his tension ebbed slightly. "She hasn't been removed from the non-magical world long enough to be free of its influence. Books, the cinema, the telly," Minerva sighed. "They've changed considerably in recent years." She settled back into the embrace of the leather bergère. "Add in the brashness you are so quick to append to my house, it is a marvel she hasn't stripped you to your pants and demanded you prove your virility by pounding her into the bed frame."

Those words from the usually prim and proper deputy head nearly gave Severus' corpus callosum whiplash. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to quiet the neural storm in his head. Did she really just… "But—"

"Do you remember the spell Lucius, Kingsley and I used to determine the best match for you?"

Still dumbfounded, he could only nod.

"And do you recall what is required for the spell to be successful?"

Bloody hell. He barely knew his own name at the moment let alone the particulars of some arcane bit of binding magic. Still, he wasn't about to let her know how discombobulated he was. Determined to answer, he opened his mouth, but only a confused gurgle managed an exit.

Minerva's smile could have easily been directed at a disoriented toddler. "When cast by a trio devoted to only the best interest of the witch or wizard to be bound," she declared, "the spell will bind the purest and truest souls. The match will be all-consuming and, as long as honesty exists between them, no other forces are needed to aid in the perfect synchronization of their minds, their hearts, their souls, and their bodies. It will be as if they have always been." Her cheeks colored slightly though the twinkle in her blue eyes only intensified. "In other words, my boy, tell each other the truth and you will not need the research." She patted his hand once more. "And the fireworks in the bedroom will put the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs to shame. Trust me on that," she added with a wink.