Through and Through

"Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us... It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore I trust Severus."

--Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Chapter 4

The girl was looking at him as if he'd said, "Welcome to the deepest circle of Hell!" then laughed maniacally while ceremonially slaughtering a goat.

Which he hadn't. He'd said "Welcome Home," and pointed to the dark dungeon surrounding them.

In hindsight, neither was probably the best way to get on his bride's good side.

Hermione was looking around with eyes as big as saucers in the dim light, anxiety and discomfort evident in her every move. A tense silence evolved around them, so Severus attempted to fill the emptiness.

"I suppose a tour would be beneficial?"

Hermione nodded, martyr like. He hoped she wouldn't be such a melodramatic Gryffindor all the time. Severus moved to reveal the space they were in, an open room that housed many books, the fireplace, a couch and two arm chairs, a rather thinning rug, two end tables and a coffee table.

"Sitting room?" Hermione gathered her voice to guess the obvious. Her eyes scanned the walls, which were bare if not busy shelving books.

Severus continued: "Through that door is the bathroom, the one to the right is my room. That archway further right is a small kitchen and dining area; through there is another door that goes to my private laboratory, which connects to the potions classroom. And through here--" he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to another door, which he opened—"is your room."

Both stepped through the doorway and into Hermione's room, which was the opposite of every room she'd seen so far. There were just as many bookshelves, but everything was sumptuous and perfect. It was decorated almost exactly as she had decorated her Head Girl's dorm, and already filled with most of her things.

"How… When did this get done?" Hermione stepped further into the room, touching what looked like home away from home.



"Dumbledore assisted in expanding the space; Minerva transfigured everything to coordinate with your other room, and the house elves moved some of your things while the ceremony was being conducted. The book shelves and extra-large desk there in the corner were my idea, as I had been forewarned of your ridiculous study habits."

"Ridiculous? You're a teacher, aren't you supposed to encourage the pursuit of knowledge?" Hermione's tone was combative; she'd been singled out for her hobby before.

"Yes, especially as the majority of my students are complete dunderheads. But you, Miss—Hermione, learn what they do with a quarter of the effort. What knowledge could you possibly be pursuing in all that extra time?"

"Mostly I finish assignments early and read ahead…"

"Mostly? What about at the end of the year?" His eyes were searching her face.

Hermione shrugged. "There's end of year exams, or OWLs or NEWTs to study for. There's always something next."

Severus let the silence hang for a moment. "Not after this year."

"What?"

"Let's suppose you read ahead all your days at Hogwarts. I'm sure you could have finished the curricula your fifth year, in spite of being stuck in the classes for longer. But at the very least, you've read through all your textbooks for this year, correct?"

She was facing him full on, trying to read him. "Yes. And?"

"And you've practiced what you read?"

"Most of it, but—"

"So you completed this years learning, I'd bet, this summer, perhaps early this fall. And yet the legend of Hermione Granger the Studier still persists. The homework assignments your teachers give you probably only take you an hour a night, at most. So what else are you studying?"

She walked over to the desk and sat in the chair in front of it. "I could be studying old material, drilling the information into my mind."

"You could be. But you aren't. You're Hermione Granger, the Insatiable. Your constant hand-raising is evidence of that. You always need to know everything, and prove it. You need to know more than everything."

For the first time that evening, Hermione looked neither apprehensive, nervous, or scared. She was wary, suspicious suddenly of her Potions Professor. "And when, Professor, did you have time to do this rather in-depth study of my character and study habits?"

There was a bite in her voice, and the acidity of her words amused him. "About the time the Dark Lord told me to marry you." He leaned against one of the posts of her bed with his arms crossed.

Hermione realized, too late, that he didn't correct her for using his proper title. She was abruptly far more apprehensive about calling him 'Severus'.

She cleared her throat, not knowing how to respond, then decided to change the subject. "The Dark Lord… how often do you meet with him?"

His eyes were active, in spite of his reclining pose. "He calls me at least twice a month, sometimes more frequently. But that's always for business; occasionally, I must attend functions by other Death Eaters to keep up pretenses."

She considered the wood grain on the desk. "Hm. He asked for this…" Hermione motioned to her left hand, emblazed by the black lines of his ring.

"Yes."

"Do you think—do you think he'll want to meet me?" Her eyes were occupied by the swirling patterns in the wood.

"It is a definite possibility. Eventually. I have no idea what his plans may be for us; he is a very mercurial being."

With a sudden change, Hermione turned in her chair, so that she was facing Severus. "Lately, I've been studying perceptive magic and blood magic."

Severus responded after a pause. "The only books Hogwarts has on blood magic are in the restricted section."

"Yes, I know; I have an open pass to access it. McGonagall got it for me, in light of my 'advanced studies'."

"You're aware that most blood magic is classified as a dark art?" His eyes were unreadable.

"Yes… it's just knowledge." She didn't like their positions: she sitting and he standing. He was too intimidating as it was.

"Just knowledge…" His face was unchanging as she abruptly stood and leaned on the wall facing him. "And this perceptive magic? I've never heard of it."

"Yes, it's very new. Ernest Yankowitz, a Polish magic researcher, has recently found a branch of magic that has been lost for centuries; it allows the caster to alter the perception of anyone he pleases without altering reality. Basically, you could make someone see a giant floating banana following them everywhere, which no one else would see, and they'd all think he was mad. It has more practical uses, of course, which are explored in Mr. Yankowitz's writings. He's written three books so far that I've sent away for—those are where I get my information from."

"How did you hear about this?"

"From Viktor Krum; I still write him occasionally. Apparently Durmstrang is planning on adding Perceptive Magic to the curriculum in a few years. They hope even to get Yankowitz to be a guest professor, if he's able. Viktor thought I'd be interested in it, which I was. I don't actually think the books have been published in Britain at all—I order mine from the continent, then do a translating spell, which works quite well ordinarily, but sometimes—"

"I forgot how talkative you can be. You were quieter earlier." Severus briefly reminisced.

"Earlier you were being intimidating and interrogating me!" Hermione accused hotly.

He replied slowly, as if the words were syrup dripping onto a pancake: "Well then, remind me to interrogate and intimidate you more often." With a smirk, Snape turned towards the door and went out the room, leaving Hermione to herself.

Walking to his bookshelves, Severus picked up an old tome with a smile on his face. His new wife wasn't a disappointment after all; she was already curious and very naïve.

Just what the Dark Lord ordered.

000000000000000000000000

Hermione woke the next morning slightly disoriented in her new room, not quite sure what had just happened.

She catalogued the events in her mind: dinner, getting ready, getting married, going to the dungeons—"home"—she remembered bitterly. Then a brief tour… then what?

Oh yes, her mind recalled. Then she was questioned by her husband, left by her husband, then she fell asleep on the surprisingly fluffy bed.

And now she was awake, with still more questions. She didn't really want to go into the main room, but it was the only way to get to the bathroom (which she needed, after last night's ron-esque meal) and she'd have to face Snape eventually.

Severus, she reminded herself, and shuddered lightly.

Hermione got dressed and headed towards the loo, nodding evasively when Snape muttered something about a "good morning". She made herself decent and emerged again before returning the sentiment.

"Good morning, Pr—"

He didn't even bother to lift his eyes from the newspaper he was reading as he smirked. "You're supposed call me Severus, you know."

"I know," she replied, in a tone that was just a bit too defensive.

"The house elves brought two trays of breakfast, if you're so inclined." He motioned over to the corner of the room. Hermione found the plate that hadn't been touched and brought it with her to the sofa.

"Did you sleep well?" Snape's voice was low as he folded up his paper.

"I never pegged you as one for small talk."

"I thought I should acclimate you to my… less tolerable social skills gradually. But as you have no expectation of common courtesy, I shall not attempt to delude you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Thank you, I guess." Clearing her throat, she continued, "I have a few questions."

"Hm. Do you intend to share them?"

"Yes."

"Proceed." He was preparing a cup of tea as she spoke.

"Well, you'd mentioned I'd have a way to and from my dorm? How does that work?"

"Basically, Albus and I gave your fireplace limited access to the Floo network; you can only travel to your dormitory from this room, and your dorm fireplace will only bring you here. You can get there by saying, 'Head Girl's Dorm, Hogwarts' as you floo; you don't need to speak at all to return here."

"Oh, alright… Thank you for going to all this trouble."

"I had no other choice."

"Oh. Well, yeah…" Once again, Hermione fell into silence. She continued to nibble at her breakfast for a while; she jumped in her seat when he spoke again.

"You said 'questions'."

"What?"

"Questions, plural, and so far you've asked only one. What else did you want to ask?" He took a sip of his tea, looking at her from over the cup's rim.

"Well, um, I just wanted to clarify that… well, you said that we have a month? To, you know…"

"Yes, I believe I do know."

"Right, well, that deadline… is it set in stone, or, I mean, what are the risks of waiting that long?"

Hermione felt that speaking to him about their eminent copulation was like talking to very old people about death: awkward because it will happen soon. She felt like an infant in experience, especially when Severus leaned back into his chair and gazed at her with eyes that had seen the world.

"According to the sources I found, the… punishment for not following the old muggleborn laws isn't all done in one fell swoop; the magic corrodes your powers until they are extricated from your soul gradually, in the attempt to make you comply. The whole process takes about three months, I believe. I am fairly certain that the month deadline I predicted is reliable. You shouldn't have any symptoms if the binding is completed before then."

"And if I do? Could I ever be the same again if a piece of my magic, a piece of my soul is ripped out of me?"

He paused for a moment, thinking over his words. "You could function after such a loss, as long as we quickly complete the binding soon afterwards. I have been researching how to restore you to full health, and I have found some promising leads… but as I said before, the month deadline is our deadline of safety; I am sure we will be safe within that timeframe."

"Sure?" Her clear Gryffindor stare overtook her earlier embarrassment.

"Yes." Severus looked at his wife, taking in her resolute expression, squared shoulders, and the vein of fear running through her eyes.

"I promise."