1 August 1998
Hermione plodded through the long grasses of the meadows that stretched out in all directions from the Burrow. In the balmy, late summer heat, an abundance of wildflowers stretched to the sky, many so tall that they brushed her bare shoulders as she walked.
She would be speckled yellow with pollen by the time the afternoon was through.
Hermione couldn't give a fig. The flaxen golden meadow had become her haven in the months after the Battle of Hogwarts and subsequent end of the Second Wizarding War. She craved the sun on her skin, the subtly sweet scent of flowers in her nose, the brief suspense of reality.
In fact, Hermione wouldn't mind suspending reality for a good long while if it were at all possible. When Harry died defeating Voldemort, there was a moment in which Hermione thought her magical days were over- for how could she continue to live in this world without her very best friend?
She figured she'd pack her bags, move to Australia, and try one final bit of miracle magic in order to reverse the Obliviation on her parents. Then she'd put down her wand forever.
But her movements were sluggish in those first days after the War, her mind dazed. There were funerals to attend- Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Remus and Tonks'. Harry's. Then there were depositions to provide at the Ministry. Excuses piled up until there was a mountain so high that it blocked her intent to leave, and too tired of fighting- had any 18 year old fought as much as she?- Hermione collapsed into the comfort of the Burrow.
She still had Ron, after all. Her forever friend.
The label stirred a little sigh of discontent in her throat.
After losing Harry, the grief of it cut a canyon clear through any and all romantic possibilities that neither Hermione nor Ron felt motivated to cross, thus settling into the fraught but fierce friendship they currently had.
Hermione paused in her trek, pulling stiff stalks of fading Lady's Bedstraw from the Earth.
She and Ron felt unmotivated, that is, until the Daily Prophet's posts began. Only the youngest Order members were surprised when Yaxley wormed his way into the Ministry.
"Politics," Arthur Weasley sighed when he showed them the full page spread on the new Minister all those weeks ago. "Those that make up the Wizengamot are tired. They're tired of fighting, of destruction, of debt." Hermione watched, flabbergasted, as Arthur's eyes went particularly wide at the last reason.
"Yaxley came in. Cool and collected. Remorseful...and with a plan to stabilize Wizarding Britain."
The young ones like Ron and his brothers gnashed their teeth in protest.
What had been the point in fighting if the other side could cheat their way to power in the end?
Why was evil such an effective mechanism in politics?
Hermione's hands, made busy twisting the Lady's Bedstraw into a crown, left her mind to wander obsessively. Turned out, not long after Yaxley was made Minister, it became extremely apparent how evil could be quite effective, especially when such evil aligned with playing by the books.
Legislative mandate after mandate came to pass: a five-year ban on interracial marriage between magicals and muggles in order to tighten magical borders and strengthen the Statute of Secrecy; reinstitution of the Sacred 28 families as a judicial council in lieu of the Wizengamot as harkening back to magic's roots.
The trickle-down effect of these laws, and others, proved more like a flood; almost overnight it seemed the majority of Wizarding society embraced them and chose to sweep the issues of the Second War under the rug. The wide-spreading belief was muggles were best left to their world- unseen- as magicals were left to theirs.
So when the Marriage Law was announced mid-June- Hermione's crown scrunched between tense fingers- the majority of the country didn't bat an eye. The ones who did were forced to make the best of it.
Relaxing her fingers, Hermione placed the crown on her chaotic curls, perfumed into serenity by the Bedstraw, before she continued her path through the meadow. Two months had passed since the law had been announced; two months that Ron has worked tirelessly to ensure him and Hermione were paired together.
Initially he met with a no-name "consultant" to discuss pre-approved pairings but learned the hard way that these Ministry employees weren't interested in any approved pairings but their own.
George came home that night paired to a Selwyn. Pureblood.
Fred the night after paired with Susan Bones. Another Pureblood.
Neither Ron nor Hermione believed it a coincidence.
After that, Ron sunk to bribery, trading galleons of his own meager Auror training salary with various Ministry staff, always avoiding the major players of Yaxley's Cabinet lest he get punished for the conduct.
It wouldn't bode well if Malfoy Sr caught him, or Rowle. Hell, even the lesser threats like Snape would be an inconvenience for Ron's plan.
He needed the two of them to end up together. Hermione needed it too but was less hopeful, especially as news of other pairings reached their ears.
Neville with Padma. Ginny with Zabini. Parvati with Nott. And shockingly enough, Luna with Malfoy. Regardless, they all had the same denominator for anyone with half a brain looking for it.
The Marriage law matched Purebloods with other Purebloods, strengthening the family lines in a diversified fashion and conveniently excluding Muggleborns, presumably so they could die out.
Hermione snorted derisively at the thought. As if selective breeding would actually stop the capriciousness of nature.
Banishing the worry for the time being, she reveled in the landscape of the countryside now- nature in tangible form- as the blinding, slanted light of the sun cut through the air to disperse over her face. She had to squint her eyes against the blue vastness of the sky and so was astonished with the unexpected crack of apparition.
And, as her eyes acclimated, with the all-too-familiar but still completely formidable black, billowed robes.
"Miss Granger," Severus Snape said after a pause. The words were less greeting, more lure and Hermione balked at what the double agent could potentially want with someone like her. The bottomless black of his eyes traveled from the crown on her head, down her torso in a smooth, enigmatic slide. His gaze then flickered left and right, taking in the scenery.
A spasm pulled at the man's lips- part snarl, part frown- before he started to stride through the grasses toward her at an anxiety-inducing pace. Hermione knew she had nothing to really fear from Snape; he'd proven his loyalty to the Order ten times over and it certainly soothed to have a spy in Yaxley's Cabinet.
But… unease still curled into her chest as he pulled up level with her.
She might not be afraid but she wouldn't deny being intimidated.
Sun setting lazily over his shoulder, he looked like darkness personified, risen from the depths of the Earth to prowl among the living. He was ebony etched in glowing red; she wouldn't be at all surprised if he proceeded to offer her pomegranate.
The sardonic thought, despite its implications, had Hermione's mouth go dry.
She shook her head clear, loosening bedstraw petals from her crown, and then asked in a too-polite manner, "What are you doing here, Lord Snape?"
The honorific dripped sarcasm, a fact that had Snape's eyes narrowing with impatience.
"Orders. Allegiance. They are one and the same now."
He clasped his hands in front of him, wand relaxed between lithe fingers. Hermione couldn't deny those hands were made for potioneering. Among other things.
She swallowed at the errant, outlandish thought and then asked the newly-minted Lord- who apparently was too good to wear his Ministry approved crested ring- to clarify his statement.
Terrifyingly, the usually stoic man's lips actually twitched with a semblance of emotion.
"The Minister requires a celebrity pairing to help quell some dissension being heard throughout the country."
When he paused, Hermione's heart stopped. It couldn't be that easy, the logical side of her brain argued. Her heart though, traitorous thing, had come to rest gently on the dream of her and Ron actually together.
She opened her mouth, tongue flicking out to wet her bottom lip, though Snape continued.
"He's commanded," the word snapped like a whip, like a back bearing too much weight, "that you-"
A pause, a flutter of eyelashes shuttering dark eyes.
A heart that sunk, dream and all.
"-and I are paired. His most trusted Cabinet member with the War Heroine."
His tone belied an irony that Hermione couldn't begin to puzzle out, especially as the entirety of her person was in the midst of rebelling against this information. Hard.
She backed up a step, stiffness in her spine and righteousness on her face as she vowed, "You're mad to think I would agree to it."
She wouldn't agree. She couldn't. It wasn't even the prospect of it being Snape, as her blazing amber gaze dragged from the daunting lines of his face down his looming body.
She swallowed. The air seemed too dry.
Not completely because it was Snape, at least. It was the principle for Merlin's sake. She'd rather leave the magical world altogether than abide by any of this farce of a Minister's commands.
Snape seemed to know that as he closed the distance between them again, the air around him intense enough that Hermione felt it ripple against her muggle clothing. Feeling suddenly cool in the thin layers, she shivered. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Snape's voice curled like the bitterest of winds through her body.
"I don't like it any more than you. However…" The word trailed tantalizingly long. Hermione grasped hold of it, of the hope that seemed to propel it forward.
"Yes?" She questioned when he didn't deign to continue. His eyes turned impatient; it seemed like he hoped she'd reach the conclusion without him having to spell it out.
A tightly controlled breath finally hissed from Snape's teeth, landing like snow on her bare shoulders. It refreshed, reenergized. It crystallized like necessity in her blood. Snape then picked up where he left off.
"However we could use this to our advantage. Paired together, we can dismantle this corrupt system from the inside."
The words were tempting, oh so tempting, especially with Snape's ruthless energy thrumming like a heartbeat underneath it.
Like a promise of destruction.
Still…
Hermione took a step back and felt the last of August's warmth rush into the empty space, melting away those nefarious motivations. "How can I trust you?" She nearly spat. "You're part of Yaxley's cabinet. You've been made a Lord. The pairing, frankly, just looks like another perk."
All at once, the hazy glow of temptation dissipated with each word that fell from her mouth, as crystal-clear logic filled her mind.
How foolish I was to even humor his idea, when all these reasons are so evident.
Rage, dark and righteous, brimmed in her stare.
Fuck Snape and fuck Yaxley. I'll go back to the Burrow. The Weasleys will help.
Mind made up, Hermione waited a moment for Snape to offer up justification or contradiction, but his face remained inscrutable and the sun was now just a richter-slice of gold on the horizon.
It was well past time to go. Darkness was imminent and Hermione preferred to ride it out in a cocoon of blankets and security. She brushed past Snape as she made to trek back.
The man refused to let her go far though; his hand whipped out before she was out of reach, encircling her wrist, hot as a brand.
Hermione gasped and tugged weakly. Her eyes, blown wide, roved over Snape's silhouette and she berated herself for being so foolish again. Why didn't I just disapparate?
Snape tugged. Hermione stumbled a step closer to his dark frame.
"What will it take?" He enunciated between bared teeth. Twilight's hazy aura began to drip down from the sky and Hermione stared- she studied the blinding white of his teeth, took in the thin, parted lips.
Stubbornly she tested his grip again to find it firm, unyielding. The devil-of-a-man had left her with this one choice.
Well, Hermione puffed out her chest as iron resolve filled her core, if he's not going to make it easy for me, then it won't be easy for him.
"A vow." She answered firmly.
Snape's eyelashes barely fluttered, an indication to Hermione that he was interested. Merlin only knew how she had the skill to decode his facial expressions, but he confirmed it when he finally acceded.
"I don't trust anyone to bind us with an Unbreakable Vow."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. Unfortunately, she agreed with him.
"Then what?"
The sun had all but disappeared and the dusty violet of summer twilight danced across Hermione's eyesight. The world felt ethereal making the deal with Snape feel sensible even as she watched night shiver through the tall meadow grasses, as the last of the day's birdsong faded from the air. Hermione couldn't help but breathe possibility in along with the sweet smell of dry hay and when exhilaration lit her blood, she chalked it up to these factors.
Not the intense, brooding wizard who invaded her space again.
Wordlessly he brandished his wand, inky as the imminent darkness, and diffindoed a button from his cuff. With a tentative hand, Snape then removed Hermione's forgotten flower crown from her curls and levitated both objects in front of them.
He twirled a lazy figure eight between both crown and button. A trail of silver light, bright as a star, followed from the wand. Snape's voice rasped in the darkening silence, blunt fingernails on her back.
'A truce be offered for foundation's sake,
Harmony does a tentative truce make,
Equality on the decisions we bear,
Power interchanging to make it fair,
Trust an ultimate goal that's shared,
Refuge from the danger that looms ahead,
Sacrifice when we face the things we dread'
Seven starbursts of light had formed around the floating objects, all sealing together with a brilliant tail of light from Snape's wand. For just a moment, it illuminated the meadow, the swaying grasses, the man's intense stare.
Hermione couldn't swallow past her shock as the mysterious ritual came to a close. Furiously, she repeated the words in her head, over and over like a beloved lullaby, with the hope that she could get back to the Burrow and write it down.
Soon. Now.
Snape seemed willing to oblige her as he took a step forward and plucked the crown from the air. He nodded to the button and said, "It's yours to keep as a symbol of the vow. You could press it if you feel at any time I am breaking my word."
Hermione's mind was spinning so fast with all the new information that she was just able to articulate, "What happens then?"
Snape's smile was gruesome. "Punishment."
His answer was all at once enigmatic and irritating and she still didn't have a clue as to the name of the ritual but those details seemed low on Snape's priorities as he waved his wand for disapparition.
Frantic, Hermione squeaked out a final question. The most ridiculous one.
"And what's the crown?"
Refusing to break stride, Snape hissed the answer before he popped into nothingness.
"My millstone."
A/N: I hope this answers your question, Moirai73, about Ron! He will feature in the plot but this is my first attempt at Snamione and therefore will have them as the main attraction! I want to thank turtlewexler again for helping me refine this... my hope is to post an interlude and chapter every month since I am juggling a few other WIPs. Please be patient and thank you so much already for the love and interest! You, friends, are top notch.
