The week leading up to the day she was to marry Severus was long and arduous. Her mind wandered at every chance it got and she was in class, only in body and not spirit. The minutes turned to hours and blurred into days and before she knew it; she was staring down the barrel of the day she had been wanting to avoid, with only one sleep between her and the end of her life as she knew it.
Severus had been avoiding her at every moment. One morning she had rounded a corner, and they stood face to face for but a split second before he turned on his heel and went back the way he had just clearly come from.
Mealtimes he was absent, and in the one class, he had with Hermione he mysteriously had to tend to something else and showed up for the following class with the second years.
It was obvious that he loathed her with every fiber of her being and couldn't bear to be in the same room as she, let alone take her as his wife, and she was fine with that.
The truth was, she had come to terms with the fact she was going to be entering a loveless marriage. That part didn't bother her, but the thing that really upset her was it was to Severus Snape and his drinking habit. That, that was the part that upset her the most.
o-o-o-o-o
He hated this. The whole Hermione being forced to marry him. He hated the idea of such a young, vibrant, highly intelligent young woman being chewed up and tossed aside for the ridiculous notion of a greater good for their population well before she has reached her peak.
Of course, he disliked the girl to an extent because she knew how to dig into every single one of his last nerves and didn't have a single qualm doing so, but whether she knew she was doing it, or it was totally innocent he wasn't sure.
He knew this was affecting her more than she was letting others know, and there wasn't anything he could do to help her. It was already bad enough that she was to marry a professor, but it would be another thing if it seemed he was favoring her because of that. Kids could be incredibly cruel when the surrounding balance had shifted even an inch.
Not to mention he wouldn't even know how to broach the subject with her, he could hardly even be in the same room as she without his mind constantly turning to the night they had the argument in his chambers and what she must think of him now she knew he had a drinking problem.
He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, and wished the floor would open up and transport him back to the depths of hell. At least then Hermione wouldn't have to be saddled with a bitter, alcoholic wretch of a husband. Despite all her flaws, she deserved more than that. She deserved more than him.
o-o-o-o-o
"Really?" she asked in an upward inflection as she stood before Severus, eyes narrowed into slits, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her brown eyes almost burning a hole through his flesh.
"Yes, Miss Granger, really," he drawled, raising a brow and folding his own arms across his chest, countering her.
"You are really going to give me detention?" She asked darkly. Usually, she would never talk back to a teacher in a million years, but she felt give the circumstances that surrounded them right now that perhaps she could lash out with her frustrations.
"That surprises you, Miss Granger?" He questioned, leaning coolly on his desk.
"We are to marry tomorrow, and you are treating me like a child," she huffed.
"I'm treating you just like any other student would be treated in this situation. You didn't do your assigned homework and you suffer the consequences."
He wouldn't admit but he was enjoying this just a little too much. The sheer gall of the girl thinking that because they were to be wed, he would have leniency on her was laughable and he was unsure why he thought her taking his last name would even remotely change the dynamics between them.
"This is unfair." She threw her hands high in the air. "I should be given leniency because of the circumstances. I think being a nervous wreck on the edge of a panic attack at any moment is grounds for an exception."
"Your inability to process your emotions and push them aside to get on with an assignment is not my problem, Miss Granger. Life doesn't stop because you feel anxious or overwhelmed," he bit before getting to his feet and walking around to his chair, sitting on it.
"You know what? You are impossible. Imagine not having an ounce of empathy for the person you are going to marry," her voice was a low, hissed whisper as she stepped closer to his desk, resting her palms flat on the hardwood she leaned down and stared at him dead in the eyes.
He noticed anger with a hint of sadness swirling in the depths of her chocolate eyes and he almost for a second had a relapse in his decisions but pulled himself together again.
He leaned across the desk, matching her own stance, their faces so close she could feel his hot breath upon her flesh.
"If you want to be treated as an equal amongst your peers, I suggest you drop the attitude and accept the punishment with little argument." He recoiled back to his seat and folded his arms tightly once again, raising a brow and waiting for her counterargument.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" She pulled herself up to full height, smoothing her hands over his skirt as she did so.
"It's exactly as I said. If I start affording you special permissions, then the others will eventually catch on and you will be ostracized by your peers for favoritism because I am your husband. It's one thing to be married, but it's another to change the dynamics between us in public. People will notice and it will draw attention, and then you will be on the receiving end of taunts. Trust me on this one."
She weighed his words heavily. Perhaps he had a valid point. Sighing, shoulders slumping, she accepted the fact she wasn't getting out of this detention. "Fine." She exhaled sharply out of her nose, "What do you want me to do?"
"After dinner, meet me here. My stores need to be organised."
She turned on her heel, slumped over as she stomped away. The last night of freedom and she had to spend it with the one man she wanted to avoid at all costs.
o-o-o-o-o
She hadn't even knocked upon the door before a gruff enter had hit her ears. Pushing the door open, she stepped in nervously to see him stooped over his desk with a pile of papers at least a foot tall.
"Miss Granger," he nodded, acknowledging her briefly.
"Are you going to call me that forever?" She asked from the doorway where she stood. Trepidation laced in her voice as she asked.
"Pardon?" His head snapped up to look at her with a hint of confusion in his eyes, not truly listening to what she had asked him.
"Are you going to call me Miss Granger forever?" She asked again, tugging at the hem of her skirt nervously as she did so.
"I never gave it much thought, honestly." He shrugged as he piloted quill over parchment meticulously. "I guess eventually we will have to push away the formalities or it might end up awkward."
"My sentiments exactly." She added her two sickles to the conversation. "So, I'll just get to work then…?" She trailed off in question.
"I actually wouldn't mind some help to mark these first year's parchments?" He questioned, gesturing to a table and chair just a few feet from his own.
"Oh. I… I guess," she stammered, slightly taken aback at the offer to mark instead of organise and clean.
"I've got a couple of first-year Slytherins that can do the mediocre jobs of sorting. Right now, I need this mountain of work moved or I will be here till the morning doing it alone, and don't mistake this for kindness or weakness, Miss Granger. I know where I am better off using your talents, so don't think I am giving an inch and you can run a mile."
She only nodded and took half of the papers from his desk and a quill, and sat down opposite him. Reading over the first few papers, she marked them fastidiously and with no distraction as her mind ran wild. Why would he let her do the marking instead of the sorting? If he hated her as much as he made out, surely he would do anything to push her as far away from him as possible.
"Sir?" she asked with an upward inflection, halting the quill on the parchment and looking across to him.
"Hm?" He mumbled gruffly, mimicking her and halting his own quill on parchment.
"That night. The battle of Hogwarts," she began, "I saw you die and there is no point denying it because you know I will argue till my last breath over something I know I am right about."
"Yes. I've never denied the fact. I died." He looked away and began to quickly mark the paper before him again.
"That's impossible," she blurted out, staring at him quizzically with a slight arch of a brow. "Everyone knows you can't just come back from the dead. Not in this capacity, anyway."
"I've said it before. The devil sent me back." He shrugged loosely.
Exhaling sharply through her nose, she placed the quill down on the desk. "Look. I know you know I am not stupid, so please do not treat me as such. To think I would believe such a fictitious story boggles the mind."
"Well. You can believe me, or you can create scenarios in your head and try to guess until your last breath on this earth. I've told you the truth and I very much don't like being called a liar."
"You don't honestly think I am naïve enough to believe you? By your own admission that means there is a heaven and a hell, and I don't buy into that."
"Just because you don't buy into it doesn't mean it doesn't exist, Miss Granger. There are plenty of people out there of faith that believe such things."
"But there is no proof either exists, I am strictly an evidence-based person."
"And can you show me proof they don't exist?" He countered. Laying his own quill on the desk now and steepling his fingers together.
"Well. No," she retorted scornfully.
"It's human nature to believe in things and hope they might exist. People believe there are mermaids and aliens despite having little to no proof, but you know yourself, there are mermaids swimming right here in the lake. They don't know that, but you do."
"I. Well," she mumbled, flabbergasted. He had her on that technicality. "I just don't think there are realms in which one's soul is sent to based upon their good deeds or wrongdoings over their lifespan," she finished her argument with a little more persuasion than she expected.
"Their souls aren't sent anywhere. It is one's own conscious that lands them in Heaven or Hell, it isn't determined by the greater powers that be," he interjected.
"So you are saying we, as humans, go to either one based solely upon whether we think what we have done in life is good or bad?" She sat up straighter in her chair, now interested in having an engaging conversation with the man that she to be wed to. She knew one thing, at least their conversations, if they ever had any, would never be boring.
"That is exactly what I am saying," he agreed. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Well, this wasn't as boring as he had imagined. It was quite nice having someone to have a civilised argument with.
"So by that admission, Voldemort would be in heaven because he thought everything he was doing, everything on his agenda was right?" There. That should shut his argument down, she thought smugly to herself.
She watched as his face contorted into confusion and then thought. Perhaps she had him on this argument.
"I honestly don't know." He tapped his chin in deep thought. "I had given little thought as to where he ended up."
"Wouldn't you, being on a first-name basis with 'Lucifer'," she made giant, sarcastic air quotations with her hands, "wouldn't you be able to ask him?"
"We don't pick up a phone and call one another. I've met him once, and that was it. If I ever come across him again, I will be sure to ask for you."
"And what is this almighty Lucifer like? Bright red with hooves and horns?" She rolled her eyes sarcastically, looking back down at the parchment.
"Actually. He's a well-dressed British man who is incredibly charming if I say so myself."
"Right. The prince of darkness is a well-dressed British man." She nodded sarcastically. "I'll believe you, but millions wouldn't."
"Is this what I have to look forward to for the unforeseeable years?" He sighed heavily, picking his quill back up, and dipped it into the inkwell.
"What?" she asked, knowing full well what he had said, but was giving him a chance to change what he had said.
"Nothing." He waved a hand airily, knowing what battles he should and shouldn't enter.
A/N: I've had a few people ask if Lucifer will make another appearance and yes, he will be making a few… One as soon as the next chapter!