Disclaimer: The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet.

Scars 2

The requisition form had been staring at him for some time. And those officials were slowly tightening the noose around his neck. He was exonerated for his crimes. He was free, like that was what he wanted from them. He wanted to flee this god damned place. Seclude himself in the wilderness if he could help it. And he knew. He wasn't a consummated spy just by the drop of a hat. Right there, behind their beady eyes, he could see the trapdoor.

They told him in quiet, crisp and plain language. He should consider signing up the form. Should give himself up for marriage. There has been a law passed by the Minister, all single men, and women, between the age of 15-45 were required to sign up the form. They have come up with some system based on algorithm and arithmancy, which is going to decide the compatibility ratio. Some loser's game is it!

And if he is to deny it…well they will not put him in Azkaban. They will break his wand instead. And he will have high restrictions on the usage of magic. Heavy enough to pass him for a squib.

So, there he is. Standing beside his godson. Those ministry high collars are to decide the fate of the brain of the golden trio first, and then perhaps Draco's or his. He does not see Potter. There was a story that Wonder Boy has taken off. Vanished in thin air. This is a circus. Three prominent figures coming out from the war, alive. Granger he understands. Heroine. Brightest Witch of the Age. With her taking the first blow of this pathetic law, they will make an example. And she is a muggle-born. It is clear enough; a war cannot wipe off the rust of outdated doctrines. And they are tackling that with recognizing, inbreeding as a nuisance practice. Mix them and play pick and choose.

Then in a high pitch voice and small diminutive plump woman has gushed about the ministry algorithm and arithmancy system calculating an ideal absolute compatibility result. 100%. Draco has stiffened beside him. The boy is here to set yet another kind of example. A standing pique for the later generations- how the fallen from grace are treated like dust below the feet of the ministry.

And he is here because they have simply decided to switch those manacles from Azkaban and place marriage binding spells on him. From one unwanted cage to another undesiring domestic arrest.

Things have jolted him and suck his breath numerous times. Severus Snape and Hermione Granger 100% compatible. Draco has heaved a sigh of relief and he does see a ghost of a smile over his cracked lips. He remembers that Unbreakable Vow. He stands up, walks up to the dais, and in swift penmanship signs his name and fate to the oblivion. The girl is in automation. She has walked up, stood beside him, her fingers plucked the quill he has offered, and in small soft fingers signed her name, right beside his, sealing herself to his fate.

The flash of bulbs, the drumrolls, and those milling faces do not get to see how both of them are shivering below their iron resolve. They have been ushered into a ceremonial room, separately stripped of their dignity, wrapped in glittering tunics. Then a ministry has painfully kept smiling at them while he officiates the archaic binding spell. Snape knows that spell. It is something close to dark arts. And he has hastily, broken into Hermione's mind and has tried to talk some sense.

He recalls how the girl would accept commands without questioning them. He just remembered to make his words sound just and appropriate enough. "When you say the spell, mean it with your heart, or else this spell will kill you. It will be a slow agonizing death."

He is satisfied to see the dawn of terror in her eyes. And the cryptic appeal to her bravery has worked its magic as well. In those short moments, he has seen myriad changes in the girl. Yes girl, going to be his young bride. And his soul has whispered a vow of its own in his ears, "she will be my road to penance."

There are documents to sign, assets to determine. Again, they are shuttled into the Gringotts. The goblins do a rather quick job, creating a joint account, sealing bonds and making their financial valuation look like that of a newly married couple. In all this while, he has done the most daring thing. He has held Hermione's hand, in his larger ones. Softly squeezing it, from time to time. Trying his best to make her feel, less alone and more strong. And she does squeeze it back once. When he has felt inadequate, while the goblin has read aloud his meager assets.

They are dropped in front of the Hogwarts gates, and the decree is read aloud once again. To live under the new regime of the newly appointed Ministry of Magic, they have to consummate this marriage by midnight.

Hogwarts, because he is still the potion master. The headmistress Minerva McGonagall has seen to that. But she is still recovering from her injuring at St. Mungo's. And there truly is only Hagrid and Argus Filch and Mrs. Norris to greet the first newlywed.

And now, here they are. In his bedroom facing each other. This is ethereal. Never has a woman been in his bedroom. He has been to brothels. To keep up appearances. But he has loved once in his lifetime. And kissed once in his life. Neither did she loved him back with the same ardor, nor could he recall that first and last kiss of his life.

Here standing in front of him is an angel. A young bride with chestnut flames of hair. A picture painted in dichotomy. And for the first time, he does not wish to demean her, mock her and keep quiet at the injustice done to her. He watches her battle with her wits. He watches her struggle with the surging emotions. And with each passing moment, he feels a sense of pride. Just like she had solved his puzzle in her first year, stolen from under his nose, made poly juice potion, had been the first to decipher that Lupin was the werewolf- her previous victories had made him proud in secret. She is standing taller and firmer. And he would want to protect this beacon of light and kindled hope, that that stepped inside his dark hell and blasted its melancholy with its exuberance.

The clock in his office ticks and the Hogwarts bell gongs eleven times.

He is yet to be surprised. When she stands there, her hand relishing the hold of the tunic and letting it fall softly beside her. She is shining like a bright star. He is blinded by her radiance. And it shatters him from within when he sees her eyes closed. He has been hanging on their radiating confidence and gathering his courage bit by it, throughout this testing day. He is once again drowning in the tempest sea of panic. He needs to see her eyes. In a flash, realizing her insecurities, he has removed that glittering piece of cloth. Softly walking up to her and he appeals to her beating heart. "Look at me".

And she does. Purifying his blackened existence. He wants more. He wants and be wanted in turn. He has to show her; he is abomination redefined. Turning on his spot, he has revealed to her, the sad history of his existence. She has looked at him instead with reverence. But she is naïve. When she tries to make the mistake of displaying her skin to him, he has halted her. He never wishes to gaze at her skin. He wants to see what is below it.

Tentatively he has touched her neck. A spear of anger has threatened to tire his mind. But he decides he won't hide anymore. He has invited her to watch his life through his small collection of emotions. And he has let his fingermark her. Remind her, that nick on her neck, made her pulse throb. And when he is staring at it, he could see how different that tiny jump on the raised skin looked. He has trailed his hand in the valley of her chest. There right below her small ribcage, right under her sternum, is beating the heart of a lioness, beside whom, he is honored to stand for the rest of his lifetime. And if she would permit it, he would make his heart stop, the moment her hearts decide to end this rhythmic dance of blood. He has not seen that scar grading her beauty, until, his finger has touched its raised surface. That he knew was Dolohov's handiwork. And the filth was dead. And she is standing in front of him.

Snape was the one to remove that signature dark spell of Dolohov, that night, and had sealed her anew. He had in the processed bathed in her blood. But thankfully she was unconscious the whole time. It had taken him months to realize that girl in his dreams, who died time and again, was still alive, attending his classes.

So now, he decides to worship it. Make her feel how fiercely beautiful it made her look. He has to see all those battles she has fought once again. Watch her like a captivated audience. And this journey through this remarkable past has exhausted him. He is too late to correct himself. He has allowed two of his other fingers to mark her hip.

And yet again, this angel in front of him has surrendered her choice to him. Rocking him till the tip of his entity. In a shaky voice, she murmurs, "What do you want from me?"

In this dark dungeon bedroom, the candles flicker and cast grotesque shadows of two people. The fire in the hearth is the only source of warmth.

Her eyes are burning with pure divinity. And he wants to wish for things for the first time. Many things are crowding his mind. He has to ask one of those thousands of questions multiplying themselves…He has to decide. He inhales and then slowly exhales. And asks the very first thing, "Can you love me, Mrs. Hermione Snape?"

A/N: Let loose out in the wild...share your thoughts, please. I tried to play around the bushes here. And Yes, this an underage marriage fic. Requesting readers to be tolerated and patient. Imagine a world, where suppose 100 people were living and due to a mini size war, 60 people died, how would you regain the balance. Magical Britain was not overpopulated.
This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added. to get the whole picture of what is happening: please read "In the arms of Her Snake Slayer" as well.