A/N: All the props to my beta, turtlewexler, who calms my chaotic use of commas :) If you want seasoned Snamione (as in not my bumbling debut) go check her stuff out!


Five Ways to Fool a Fascist


5 September 1998, Magically encrypted and trafficked Pamphlet, simply titled

HELP WANTED

The lies spread by the so-called Minister and his puppet, the Prophet, are just that- lies. He is not interested in rebuilding. He is not interested in perfectly paired couples. He is most definitely not interested in peace, or healing.

Obedience. Continued suppression of a section of our population, specifically the muggleborns. Control. These are the undeniable truths, which we must continue to rally behind because truth shall beget truth and the truth, my friends, is that not everyone in the Ministry's "marriage" program is obedient, suppressed, or tractable.

Have faith in the invisible fighters. And yourselves, fight on.

Bill wasn't exaggerating, was all Hermione could think as she wiped the pamphlet clean of the treasonous words. Percy did have surprising flare; then again, in a fight for something as valuable as one's freedom, it was easy to see where Percy found his inspiration.

Carefully, Hermione folded the parchment and tucked it into her bag, for future occasions where a little persuasion may be useful.

At the moment, she wasn't sure if it would be necessary or not. She remained so insulated from the outside world that other than newspapers, and the reluctantly-pulled tidbit from Ron, Hermione was ignorant to the supposed rebellious rumblings. Even now she paced the tiny square-footage of her flat, staring out the window onto a fashionable section of London as if this opening were the only one of a jail cell. She longed for the days she fought for in the war, ones made of pleasure and purpose and when the most irritating matter would be her boys showing up late to dinner at a pub.

Hermione's eyes misted at the unconscious reference of "her boys". Now it was only one boy.

And he wasn't even hers.

The man who was hers was an entirely different story, but one which raised similar feelings of bittersweetness in her.

Their last interaction had felt effortless, in spite of all the silly restrictions placed upon them due to the courting period, and yet the harmony they struck fizzled the moment Snape called her actions pretentious.

She had honestly forgotten about that, forgotten that it was all meant as an act.

She just didn't know what it meant if it hadn't felt like one.

Hermione turned away from the window and her eyes instantly found the scrawled note she received from Snape the previous evening, propped against a pile of books on the console table. She didn't need to really see it to know what he wrote.

4PM. Formal dress.

He hadn't signed it, not even initials, although she was hardly surprised. Only Snape would have the audacity to send along an anonymous message in the perfect, unhesitating knowledge that the receiver would know exactly who it was from.

Smug, self-assured bastard.

Lips unconsciously quirking, Hermione checked the time and saw it was 3:58PM. She scurried to the bathroom to check herself one final time, adding one more layer of color to her lips, and combing her fingers through her hair to maximize the chaos.

Like Percy, she didn't intend to succumb quietly. She didn't really intend on succumbing at all but Yaxley need not know that. She smiled and her teeth sparkled between the full ruby of her lips, all mischievousness.

Then a knock sounded on her door. It echoed through the tiny flat, straight into her chest. Hermione's hands fluttered down her burgundy dress robes, pausing on Snape's button charmed as a brooch, and blew out a breath before finally opening the door.

Snape stood on the other side. His hands were clasped behind his back, pulling the predictable black robes tight across his shoulders. Hermione never realized he had those before which made her blush the color of her robes.

A shame since it likely clashed with her lip stain; she truly didn't aim to showcase so much red.

The man inscrutably followed the blush from her cheeks, down her exposed chest where the dress robes were cut in a fashionably low vee, before his gaze dragged back up to hers. He waited, eternally patient and infuriatingly silent, on the other side of the threshold.

Much too belatedly, she stepped out of the way to offer him entrance, omitting the prerequisite "my Lord". She felt since she already so abominably cocked up the moment with her blush and her robes and her- Merlin help her- awareness that she might as well muddle the entirety of the introduction.

Hermione turned to him once he was inside. Although she felt embarrassed on the inside, she tilted her head with just the right amount of expectant aplomb that Snape even raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Just a hair but she still caught the expression.

She still felt victorious.

That strange, harmonious feeling was back, thrumming between them, despite them having not spoken a single word. She wondered at this point how to best break that silence when Snape moved; his hand had dived into the inside of his robes and carefully extracted an array of perfectly intact golden arnica, tucked against the canvas of a dark green bay leaf.

The herb of wildness with magical properties to boot… and it was indeed Gryffindor golden in color- no yellow could be so deep or bold in nature. Hermione's eyes flicked between the flowers and Snape, asking a question. She could almost hear his teeth grind at her "insufferable swotiness", but she needed to know- was this an attempt at honest connection?

Or would she find herself strangely disappointed by the continuation of the pretense?

"It's a gift," he said flatly and she felt the strange mixture of censure and charity in his voice. "For my intended."

The words couldn't suffice the insatiable appetite of Hermione's curiosity with regards to Snape so she chose to poke the snake.

"Do you consider me wild, then?" Her head cocked to the side in sly consideration and the wild mass of curls tumbled as well, leaving her neck exposed. She imagined the rapid pulse of her heart visible to his cutting gaze and swiftly she straightened. Best not bare her throat to fangs.

Snape, unamused, growled his reply. "Indeed. You require a certain measure of protection for where we traverse next, more than I could possibly provide."

Sarcastic remark aside, Hermione warmed at his thoughtfulness and finally took the delicate corsage. She avoided his fingers but felt the warmth lap at her anyway.

Swallowing, she murmured, "Thank you. Milord."

"Severus," he replied, rough as gravel. Heat built between them and still his obsidian eyes bore down, unself-conscious, unyielding, as he explained, "It creates a sense of equality to use my given name."

Or intimacy, she thought and Hermione tilted her head as she considered his words. Each of their visits appeared like another step in the direction of fulfilling the Vow, the specifics of which still frustratingly eluded her. For the moment, though, that was neither here nor there.

A teasing smile turned her rouge-stained lips as she ventured, "So does that mean you'll call me Hermione?"

She twirled the flowers in her hand and as the moment stretched uncomfortably, she fiddled with the stem until it could be curled, then magically extended, so that it could encircle her wrist and hold with a sticking charm.

If she were in front of a mirror, she imagined the effect would look innocent, pure even, and she hoped that Yaxley would devour that lie with a spoon.

Looking at Snape, at… Severus, she imagined the effect not as convincing. His brooding had stretched to near inappropriate lengths even as it flicked to study her manipulation of his gift; Hermione wondered if he was rolling her given name on his tongue the way she had with his.

She wondered why it caused flutters in her stomach, then she quickly squashed them because she wasn't about to be misled again by this man.

The only fool today would be Yaxley.

"We should go," Hermione conceded as she accioed a black satin wrap to her shoulders. "It wouldn't do to leave the Minister waiting."

She knotted the fabric across her exposed skin and it was like a jolt to Snape; he placed his hand a hairsbreadth from her collarbone when she started to move for the door, unescorted.

"I Vowed you equality, MIss Granger, and you shall have it when you use my given name." A pause, coupled with a sneer. "It will likely be more convincing than the airs you presently have."

He offered his arm then and strode them out the door, full of purpose and power. Before he could disapparate however, Hermione launched up on her tiptoes to whisper into the hard lines of his jaw as she refused to be the only uncomfortable one.

If Snape wanted equality, he was going to get it in spades.

"I think you underestimate me, Severus." The syllables slipped out, siren-like, and Hermione felt almost caught in her own web.

Then Snape's jaw hardened.

Provocation pulsed in the hollow of his too-tight cheek before he launched them roughly into disapparition, and the sweet aftermath of their parrying was left in the dark hallway of her building.

- Unoccupied side entrance to Ministry of Magic-

They landed and Severus instantly dragged her along. Logically he knew that he couldn't actually separate Miss Granger from the coy witch that had challenged him in the poorly lit hallway but his body seemed intent on pressing forward, as far away from that iteration of her as possible.

It was undiluted self-preservation on his part, coursing through his veins like an antidote … unfortunately he felt like he had already been compromised. They reached a stairwell which he began to ascend, Severus in front but with a hand still latched on Miss Granger, like the physical contact could somehow contain her audacity, her allure.

She was huffing behind him; not from exertion, though. The humid puffs of irritation tangled with the strands of his hair and so he walked faster.

"Consider this your first true test, Miss Granger. It is the presentation that would occur had I living parents."

Severus sensed her curiosity flare to life but he refused to entertain it, even on a subconscious level; there was too much at stake with this first, formal meeting between the witch and Yaxley. Both their priorities needed to remain fixed on getting this right.

Having reached the appropriate floor, Severus paused before the door that would lead to the Minister's suite of offices. He turned to face Miss Granger, finding her expression wiped clear of whatever inane emotions she may have felt on the terse climb.

His heart thumped twin beats of worry and admiration. He had never had to play spy with someone at his side before, but in this moment, breath released from his tight chest cavity in a thin stream of wary relief. If he had to be paired to a woman, he supposed he could manage with her.

He latched his gaze onto her steady, brown stare.

"Be ready."

Whispering a spell to open the door, Miss Granger snaked her fingers through his, turning confidently towards the opening and then tugging a stunned Severus down the hall. He couldn't even find himself caring that she knew exactly where she was going because he was too engulfed by the warmth radiating from her hand.

He wished he wore gloves.

He was glad he didn't.

They arrived, and without a knock to harken their presence, Yaxley's voice bid them enter. Severus still hadn't looked at Miss Granger since the stairwell to see if she was maintaining appearances, but the time for his guidance was done as they were met with the calculating blue of the Minister's stare.

Dislodging herself from what Severus realized was his fierce grip, Miss Granger removed her cloak and handed it to him, then stepped forward to execute a flawless curtsy with her head bowed and the customary hand over her heart. She leaned into it a moment more than was necessary as it gave Yaxley's curious stare the opportunity to dip to the shadowed valley of Miss Granger's chest.

The Minister swallowed as the witch straightened from her position of respect.

Severus thought her strategy impressive, as well as recklessly Gryffindor. He felt, however, like the Minister deserved to have his lecherous eyes washed out by one of Severus' finer acids.

He had to have something in his potion stores to make them burn…

"Welcome," Yaxley intoned and the word so weighed with expectancy cut through Snape's plotting. He found the Minister staring at him, waiting, and Severus realized his bloody mistake.

He dipped into a perfunctory bow and before it was even complete, moved forward so that his hand could hover at the small of Miss Granger's back.

"May I present my fiancee, Miss Hermione Granger?"

Her given name rolled off his tongue, as natural as any dark curse and tasting quite similar to one as well.

Decadent. Forbidden.

She had spasmed when he did it, knocking into the firm wall of his hand. Severus found her yet again as an all-encompassing warmth, his hand drawn to it like any cold bastard who lurked in dungeons was wont to do, and the pads of his fingers pressed into the dimples there.

Perfectly tailored finger holds on a sheer cliffside.

Yaxley's gaze continued to flit between them in a sort of lazy consideration, landing solidly on Miss Granger after far too long a pause. Yaxley began to circle the pair; he waved off Severus who reluctantly stepped back from the witch as the Minister took in the full effect of Granger.

Top to bottom. Front and back. Naked hunger burned in Yaxley's eyes as he spoke during the perusal, "I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Granger."

He paused a moment when he was fully behind her. Severus felt like cursing- all that time working on the chit's transparent face and the Minister could care less about what could be seen there as her back side provided such more exciting viewing.

"I must say," Yaxley finally drawled, recommencing his walking evaluation and returning to Miss Granger's front, "I am surprised how well you know Pureblood etiquette."

You are ravishing, is what Severus heard between the easy breaths, the wandering gaze.

Miss Granger remained unperturbed.

"I like to know what I'm getting into," she replied, all cheek.

Yaxley leaned in and Severus' skin prickled.

"And what is that?"

They were too bloody close and yet Severus could only stand there, a useless sentinel as Yaxley searched for holes, prodded for deficiencies. Miss Granger threw her hair over her shoulder, the motion affording enough distraction that she could take a tiny step back as both men were caught in the coy batting of her eyelashes.

"Why my Lord," she hummed, "a marriage contract, of course."

Her brown eyes, full of mirth, dark with secrets, swung over to Severus like a rope to pull him back into the space. He simultaneously cleared his throat and stepped forward and Yaxley smiled contentedly.

"Indeed," was all he said as he nodded at two straight-back chairs- the man never wanted his guests too comfortable- then circled around his enormous oak desk to sit in what could only be called a throne.

It was lined in purple velvet that desperately wanted to be black, with an ornately carved back on which to place one's head. Yaxley cocked himself just so and the carving hinted at a crown hovering above his thin, pale locks.

Once they were all seated, he called some liquor from a neighboring cabinet, pouring the heady brown stuff with indolent flicks of his wrist. They all took the heavy-cut crystal tumblers in hand; Severus and his companion then waited for Yaxley's toast.

It would be an official seal on the presentation- a symbolic approval as it were, to share a drink with the intended- and Severus' breaths shortened with disquiet as Yaxley remained silent, merely fingering his glass.

"You know, Lord Snape," he finally ventured, "she will need much more guidance. She flirts with the line of decorum."

Is she controllable? The inquiry hovered within the speculating tone.

Miss Granger's ensuing laugh was full of knowledge. It drew Yaxley's eyes away from the rim of his glass. "It's a fault of mine, true. I must beg your leniency on this, my Lord, for the request I've brought today could certainly be considered most indecorous."

Bloody. Fucking. Minx.

Despite his impressive restraint, Severus had to physically clench his jaw so that he didn't turn a deadly stare upon his entirely reckless fiancee. It took every ounce in him, and more, to not demand with a wordless 'Legilimens' an explanation as to why she was going rogue.

Yaxley actually hissed through his teeth, so affected he was by Miss Granger's tease. If Severus were in a better mood, he would reluctantly concede that she clearly hit a nerve.

He had never been further from being in a better mood.

Yaxley, clenching the glass between both hands, raised a brow at Miss Granger. Frostily he said, "Pray tell."

"Unfortunately, Minister, my parents are out of the country on an extended holiday. I doubt that they will be back when Severus and I marry."

She stole a glance at him, and there it was again; the tumble of his name like the tumble of alcohol through the blood. Miss Granger's expression wavered as they locked eyes. Then she must have seen something in his that reaffirmed her commitment to the act, as she turned her attention downward to the austere brooch pinned at the gathering of material. She slid a finger over the design, then continued.

"It would please me, Minister, if you would be the one to escort me down the aisle at the ceremony."

The whole room seemed to solidify into a state of shell-shock, an all-encompassing Stupefy save for the dark doe-eyes Miss Granger was blinking in Yaxley's direction. Remarkably, at least in Severus' estimation, they seemed to work. The room softened as the surprise of her request wore off- Severus felt like he could breathe again, albeit agitatedly, and Yaxley's overall demeanor flowed from suspicion to shock to a sick satisfaction.

It made Severus' stomach turn, even as it provided assurance.

They did it. She did it.

Yaxley lifted his lass, looking straight at Miss Granger, and toasted.

"I can drink to that."

Severus took a sip, glad that his trademark was stoicism. He listened to the Minister set a date.

December 21st. Winter solstice.

Then he drained his glass and beckoned to Miss Granger who cooperated, thank Merlin. Leaving, retracing their steps, Severus watched the seductive nearly obsequious mask fall away with each convulsive tremble, each stuttered breath.

By the time they reached the stairwell, Miss Granger was reduced to a bundle of frayed nerves. Her hands were knotted on the top of the brooch, drawing Severus' more intense interest.

He took out his wand and then tapped on her hands, gesturing them away. It took a few spells but eventually he landed on a counter that bled the brooch's illusion to nothingness… and revealed the button.

His button.

Severus' dark eyes couldn't help but find hers and they were back to being toffee-smooth and open. Dangerous.

His throat worked around all the things he was burning to say. Finally, Severus settled on. "Were you afraid I wouldn't uphold my side of the Vow?"

Her lips turned up in a tired but rather real smile.

"I was afraid you would uphold it too well."

An indirect question followed by an indirect answer- he clearly wouldn't trick her into honesty that he desperately wanted, but since he was feeling much too weary by the interaction with Yaxley, Severus fell back into more comfortable waters.

"It was you who didn't follow it," he sniped.

Equality in the decisions we make.

What decision? What fucking equality?

His mind, despite the agitation, yet strayed over and over to the button she grasped between tense fingers. Miss Granger eased away from his sour mood, intent upon exiting. She started down the stairs, unescorted as usual, throwing a sheepish look of apology for her impertinence over her shoulders.

However, as she reached the next landing, she halted. Her whispered words were stiff as they ambled their way up the stairs, like the tautness would somehow keep them from wandering off.

"I knew you wouldn't agree to the sacrifice, which is why I didn't say anything beforehand. Regardless, it was mine to give." Then she disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell.

oOo

10 September 1998

An elderly witch sat and drank tea in her moss-covered stone cottage at the edge of Northumberland where the county meets Scotland's Carham. The sun was still making its lazy, early morning trek across the sky, illuminating a friend's apparition outside the sitting room's picture window.

"Come on in, Bea," the elderly witch called and a second woman entered the home, clutching a Daily Prophet in her hands.

"You'll never believe this," Bea declared. Her cerulean, excitable gaze bounced around the room. She handed her friend the paper and then proceeded to twist her hands in knots.

The other witch read the headline out loud, her disinterested voice giving way to disbelief. "Engagement ball to be held for Hermione Granger and fiance Lord Snape!" She trailed into mumbles after that outburst and skimmed the article quickly; occasionally a detail would be too juicy not to articulate so Bea heard her once exclaim "in nine days!" Then again, in awe, "at the Longbottom estate? Really?"

When she finished the article, she looked to Bea who seemed ready to spring out of her skin from all the drama.

"They've invited the whole judicial council," the woman commented. With the initial shock of the article worn off, ennui resettled into her aching bones. "It's nearly a royal affair."

Neither the flat tone nor the ironic words seemed to dampen Bea's spirit, however. She took a seat on the ottoman in front of the elderly witch's armchair and squeezed some passion back into the cool, wrinkled hands of her friend.

"Who would have thought that Britain's war heroine, the one who rebelled against tyrannical governments, would sail so smoothly into an arranged marriage?" Bea's eyes twinkled with deep secrets as they caught the other woman's.

After a beat, both of them laughed uproariously.

oOo

19 September 1998

Happy birthday to me, Hermione sighed to herself as she paced the miniscule footprint of her flat. Dusk had arrived while she was knee-deep in her pity party, a fact she was aware of but unable to muster the effort to change.

Pity party or no, Hermione's reality consisted of that one birthday wish. With her parents gone and everyone else's attention turned on the engagement ball, it was very likely she would go to bed this evening without any reflection on the year coming to a close or any reflection on the year ahead.

It had been a hard year too; she would have loved the closure with family and close friends. Unfortunately it seemed that her 19th birthday was shaping up to be one of her least favorite birthdays.

Hermione stopped in the middle of her living room, beyond sick of the pathetic helpless feeling permeating her life. She was young, healthy… alive, unlike others. She also had power and purpose, involved as she was in this double agent lifestyle.

Reaffirmation of these truths banished the lingering pity in her chest. Snape was due any moment and Hermione would rather be found standing tall, proud. Smoothing her hands down the cool gold satin of her dress, it felt near impossible to not be proud- at least in her choice of formal wear.

It had taken quite a bit of galleons and several nights holed up in a discreet, muggle tailor shop, but the end result was worth it. Hermione did a little twirl in the Arnica-inspired gown and the petal-shaped cuts of satin fluttered around her. The whimsical motion of the bottom half of the dress was made sleek and sophisticated with the addition of lace covering her exposed back.

She chose to style her hair up and out of the way so the delicacy of the white fabric could be seen and appreciated. Closing her eyes and imagining the vision she cut, Hermione worried that it may have been too bold a move to design the dress this way… yet as small and as stiff the gesture of Snape gifting her the flowers was, it still reverberated down into her bones.

There, it didn't feel like a simple corsage followed up by a terse explanation.

There, it felt like the first ripples of truthfulness, of purity, tentative tendrils reaching out to see if this could work.

Hermione wasn't sure what 'this' really was, but she couldn't recall the last time she felt so openly vulnerable with someone, and it was not as if the war lacked exposure.

She felt thrilled and terrified by the prospect that it could be Severus- dark, dismal, double-agent- Snape that drew out the emotion within her.

A hard rap at the door and Hermione immediately opened her eyes, dispelling the fantasy. At least for now.

She walked over, retrieving her clutch off the console table, and opened the door. Without hesitation, she dropped into a curtsy having learned her lesson from last time, but as her body rose so did her eyes and everything froze at what she saw.

Snape stood there but he seemed too loose, as if the anchor that usually weighed him to the ground had disappeared and in doing so, left him uninhibited.

Expressive. A myriad of emotion cascaded over his face, as fast yet subtle as sand dragged into the ocean. Hermione couldn't decipher a single feeling there but oh, how he felt.

After a while her knees started to ache so she straightened and gestured him into her home. The two strides it took to enter was enough time for Snape to recalibrate; when he turned and bowed a return greeting to Hermione, she could see his apathetic mask back in place.

But now she realized, that's all it was. His brooding, fatalistic eyes, his disdainful sneer- it was all superficial and clearly hiding something beneath.

Hermione badly wanted to know what that was.

Snape's eyes darted downward as he cleared his throat; then he revealed a box clasped between gloved hands.

A velvet box, long and rectangular, weighing nothing of significance and yet prophetic enough to set her heart racing. She took it, opening the lid slowly as if she could contain her reaction with similar deliberate movements, but still was unable to contain a slight gasp at the contents.

Inside, on a pillow of white satin lay a gold bracelet. The chain was made up of delicate threads woven together like a braid, with nothing else to adorn it. It was breathless in its simplicity and perfect; no one had ever bought Hermione such a frivolous but luxurious gift before.

She pulled it from the box and cradled it with both of her hands, looking to Snape for the usual explanation. For once, his mouth didn't automatically spout some dry recitation of Pureblood etiquette. His lips had softened from the sneer to a line of open reverie.

She locked onto them, marveling at their undemanding presence, then found herself rambling just to cover the tension.

"Pureblood etiquette dictates a gift of jewelry from wizard to witch as a public declaration." Her voice lifted at the end, a question.

Snape bowed his head and it brought them closer together, the dark fathoms of his eyes as endless as night, such that she didn't even realize he had plucked the jewelry from her hands and was fastening it on her left wrist.

The gloves felt impersonal on her skin; she thought of telling him so but once the bracelet was secure, Snape moved to step back a proper distance away.

Impulsively, Hermione grabbed the lapel of his formal jacket to stall him. Her other hand plucked Snape's arnica corsage- under stasis and back in its initial form- out of her clutch. Threading it through the buttonhole of the jacket, she tilted her head up to find Snape, warring over whether to look over her head or into her eyes.

When they finally connected with her tentative toffee-colored ones, she rewarded him.

"Consider this a public declaration of my own."

Snape tilted his head down, infinitesimally slow, and Hermione tasted his response as it fanned over her skin, rich as desire.

"As you wish."

She smiled her pleasure fully, moving toward the door unattended yet again which gave Snape the perfect opportunity to slip a second gift onto her console table with no one the wiser.


A/N: Wow! I am surprised by the response to the previous interlude. It's amazing the feelings Percy can evoke haha but I would like to clarify here (and I made the change in the summary of the fic) that this is a SNAMIONE, I swear. I may go back and change some potentially misleading lines from the interlude but hopefully this chapter continues to solidify the pairing I am working with. I hope you found it worth the wait. NaNoWriMo has been less than productive for me.