Saturday — August 11th, 2001.
The severity of the Muggleborn marriages had never been a secret to her. The nature of it alone gave her the details she needed and what little information the Daily Prophet provided threw further doubts. She had made her assumptions about what happened to the Muggleborn women in it. But to see the desperation in person was a different experience than imagining it, and she couldn't shake it from her mind. She didn't know why Natalie looked so haggard. She didn't know if it had been by Flint's hand or the Snatchers who had found her.
There was no limitations on her magic. Not that she'd been made aware of. She was able to come and go as she pleased. But they had taken her hair and her blood. If they ever had a reason to Trace her, she had given them the tools to do so, under the guise of health concerns.
At least she still had her wand.
Which was in Snape's hand right now.
Panic broke through her chest as she followed behind Snape by force. He kept her bicep in his grip as if he didn't trust her to follow, his jaw set in a hard line. He hadn't spoken, not that she expected him to. She didn't know Snatchers turned up to the Ministry as welcomed guests.
Why had no one mentioned this?
Perhaps it hadn't needed to be said. The Order was too fixated on the battle with the fictitious remains of Voldemort. They never spoke of the girls or the arranged marriages, not until she had been cornered into it. They had made a limp effort to defend her but not much more than that. That was her fault. She hadn't asked. But there was no use in asking.
Her heart pounded in her chest. All this time she'd been under the assumption that both sides had come to a glacial stop. But to see Snatchers brought in as freelance militia, in the interest of retrieving the girls who ran from the program —
She felt so stupid.
"What are they going to do with her?" She asked, unsure she wanted an answer.
"They'll return her to Flint," Snape answered in a sharp voice.
"Do you know — "
"I don't speak with Flint." They stopped outside of a small conference room with low lighting and a wide stone table. While the office had been updated, this specific location looked more archaic than anything else she'd seen. It was a ritual stone, one where deals were forged. They were usually smaller so as to be more portable, but this one appeared to have been secured her. She wondered if it was a specific rune stone for the Marital Clause or if they'd corrupted an existing ritual stone.
Her stomach plummeted.
"Right, so," the rough-looking man huffed. "I'm Official McGuire. From what I understand, you don't want to have a long ceremony."
"Not in the least," Snape said, which matched her feelings exactly.
"Sure, busy, I getcha," he splayed his hands on the stone which began to light up, one rune at a time. She didn't recognize the symbols which worried her further. "We still need to perform the bonding ritual."
Hermione's eyes fluttered as she picked through her knowledge about magical marriage. She'd skimmed several books on the subject but there wasn't much available to her. She had been to Fleur and Bill's wedding, which had matched a Muggle wedding in many ways. There was just an incantation to bond them and a spell that wove between their hands.
That, and a signature.
The Snatchers had paced along now to stand outside of the conference room. She could see their shadows through the window. Their eyes glinted through the slats.
"Some ah, expectations," McGuire said as he adjusted his glasses. He stared at Hermione as if Snape wasn't there. "This is a strict arrangement. If you are found to be lying, cheating or deceiving your husband, you will be punished. If you attack your husband, you will be detained at Azkaban for trial. I will warn you, most wives who end up in Azkaban die before their trial; their weak hearts can't survive, you understand."
No, she didn't understand.
"Traditionally a marriage is enacted with mutual assurances. Your husband will keep you safe. He will provide for you. He will pleasure you — "
The Snatchers hollered through the window and smacked on the frame.
McGuide paled. "You are expected to do the same in return. You are to be agreeable. You are to be compliant. You are to work towards a brighter future for the Wizarding world."
"That's a lie," Hermione said with no tone to her voice. "This has no light in this."
"I'm sorry you can't see the bigger picture," he gave a simpering smile, his hands raised with white light around them. "Present your constellations."
"This is ridiculous." Hermione shot the Snatchers a dirty look through the window. Her skin crawled as they leaned on the glass. Even if she changed her mind, she'd have no way to run.
Snape shifted his sleeve, though he didn't speak. He looked ill. She eyed the smattering of mercurial stars that sat against his Dark Mark. The black and silver ate one another, back and forth.
She fought the temptation to reach out to touch his arm, to see if it was real. Instead, she matched his movements, to show her left arm.
The glimmers were brighter now.
They reacted to his.
This couldn't be real.
"Well, hold hands," McGuire said, impatience thick in his tone. He kept rotating his gaze between them and the Snatchers by the door. They were there to make sure she went through with it. If she didn't, she'd be off to Azkaban in seconds.
She wouldn't even get to say goodbye.
Hermione turned to face Snape, tears down her cheeks. She hadn't realized she'd been crying, she had been so busy with her anger and her spite. She didn't look at the Snatchers or at McGuire or Bianca.
She stared at Snape, begging him to reject.
Maybe if he said no —
He reached out and took her hand as if it were broken glass. He didn't hold her hand too tightly or look at their hands at all. He was focused on her eyes in a way she hadn't experienced since school. He used to look into her eyes to pick through her memories.
He knew about the Polyjuice Potion.
He knew about how she sneaked around the castle at night.
He knew about her crush on Ron. How she cried about it. How she cursed birds to slam into the wall.
He knew about her far less proud crush on Draco. It wasn't a crush, she amended. It was a mild fascination, with how proficient he was at Potions or how elegant his wandwork was. Snape picked apart her bleeding heart, how she reached out to the boy if she saw him in the Library. Snape saw how it made her cry, to care about someone who wanted her dead.
Worst of all, he knew what she thought about him.
Dark, domineering, cruel.
Cold.
But that wasn't true, not as it had been in her younger years. She had thought he would be cold to her touch like ice. Instead, his hands were warm, much like her father's hands.
But that was the issue. He wasn't a man she could see as a husband; he was a strange uncle at best, one who kept to the back of the family photos and ate all the fruit cake because it was wasteful not to.
He wasn't a husband; she wasn't a wife.
Snape dug into his breast pocket to withdraw two rings, which he held in his right hand. She didn't see them, not enough to distinguish them. They looked like plain silver bands.
The room felt empty, except for him.
The sound emptied.
The lights dimmed.
It was like a planetarium, with how the light swirled above them. Their constellation shone brightest above them, a slow crawl of green and silver lights. McGuide stared at it, confusion in his eyes, but he didn't speak on it. Instead he traced the runes and mumbled words in Latin; gibberish, Hermione decided. She didn't know how real this ritual was, but it didn't strike her as ancient.
Their constellations floated above their forearms, his marked with bright green swirls while hers remained silver.
A familiar silver.
And then it was over. The weight of his grip strengthened as the spell worked their palms together. She was worried they'd be stuck together as the green and silver wrapped tighter around her, too tight. She grit her teeth from the pain. McGuire had spoken Latin phrases of love and fertility, of promises and of pleasures, and she wanted to be sick on the cheap blue carpet.
"Do you, Severus Snape, agree to take Hermione Jean Granger as yours."
"I do," he said, with no conviction behind his words.
"Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, submit yourself to Severus Snape?"
Oh, she had several thoughts about the phrasing of all this.
"I do," she ground out with equal force.
Snape reached out to slip a ring onto her finger. It was simple and silver, with dragons etched into the sides. He forewent her offer to take the second ring from him, to slip on the thin silver band with nothing more ornate that a single line carved around the entire thing.
At first she thought she'd done something wrong. Everything stopped. The lights rose, the runestone beneath them flickered. The Snatchers outside came back into focus, though she didn't pay them any mind. They were jeering at Snape, about things she didn't care to process.
Snape yanked his sleeve back down the second their hands came apart. Her palm was sweaty and it ached. The pain ran in sharp bursts from her fingertips to her elbow. It felt…
Something was wrong.
She didn't know what.
But something was definitely wrong.
She didn't say anything. Perhaps the ceremony had failed. She took solace in that. Perhaps as they hadn't meant it, it hadn't taken. They would decide that she'd tried her best but the marriage wasn't meant to be.
She held this hope until McGuire waved a hand, so that the runestone produced a certificate. It was a strange intersection of Muggle and magical. She saw her name and Snape's listed, and their constellation stamped in the center.
A wide purple seal sat in the corner, with the department and the date stamped on it.
It was official.
Snape snatched the certificate to examine it. With a wave of his hand, his name was scrawled on the dotted line. He looked over it once more before it vanished with a nod.
"Congratulations," McGuire said with a sad slant to his lips.
"Excuse me! I didn't get to sign it!" She wanted to slap him. The audacity of this awful man, thinking that he had any place to be sad. He was the one who'd participated, he was the one who'd damned her.
She hadn't even gotten to read it.
The word 'furious' didn't begin to summarize her feelings.
"Come," Snape said with a jerk of his head towards the open door.
"Bet she won't," Scabior hissed as they exited. "Should'a consummated it on the rune — what, don't have ten seconds?"
Laughter, raucous and cruel. Hermione didn't care. She wished to be out of this place.
Snape gestured wide to encourage her ahead of him.
A scream sounded in the hallway. Hermione had kept in careful step behind Snape, though she cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. Scabior had broken out in massive pus-filled boils that popped and splattered onto his friends. It appeared to be contagious. Their hands, where they'd grabbed him to still him, began to swell.
"May I have my wand — "
Snape shoved it into her waiting hand. He hurried her ahead of him, like she was in his way. She jogged down the hallway, her chest tight as she listened to the screams.
But then the screams stopped, which was worse. She hoped they weren't dead, as if Snape wanted to go to Azkaban, he could have done so before they'd been married.
Then the screams began again, more out of anger than agony. She shifted to stand closer to the elevator, her head turned to watch the numbers.
Snape seemed unaffected, cool indifference his natural state. He stood between her and the hallway, the shape of him enough to occlude her from the vision of the hallway. His presence was suffocating and she was sure he'd stood so close with reason.
"What did you do?" Hermione said, so swottish she flinched.
He stretched his arm, the left one, with a flourish.
"He's going to go after you."
"That's his mistake."
Hermione frowned past Snape. "Don't be childish."
Snape pivoted his head to look at her, glittering black eyes framed beneath a heavy brow. "Are you going to be insufferable for the duration of your marriage, Hermione."
Hermione snorted at the phrase 'your' marriage, as if it were all on her. "When did I become Hermione?"
The heavy stomp of feet began in their direction. Scabior and his tattooed friend skidded into the wall, their wands drawn and their eyes livid. The elevator landed on their floor. Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken as she begged the doors to pry open. She resisted the urge to open them herself.
They were running, closer and closer.
A wand raised.
Hermione closed her eyes, her arm raised with Protego on the tip of her tongue. She was ready.
If they got too close, if they gave her reason to hurt them…
They slammed into an invisible wall.
Hermione swore that was the first time she'd seen Snape smile.
When he had stretched, she realized with distant amusement. He'd warded the hallway.
"In," he waved her into the elevator.
The Snatchers slammed their fists on the invisible division he'd constructed. Scabior drew out a small silver knife, which he drove through the ward. It shimmered around the edges like spun sugar that had caught fire. She watched with wide eyes as they pried the ward apart, though it sizzled around their fingers.
The elevator doors clanged shut behind Snape. He didn't turn to look at them and instead focused down on her.
The last thing she saw of them was their wands. They had crammed them between the bars as if that'd help their spells land.
But the elevator shot backward into the darkness, their spells flying wide.
One wand snapped.
Snape smirked.
She didn't like this side of him.
"As to why I called you Hermione — I see no sense in calling you Granger," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I refuse to use pet names. Nor will I call you my wife. Not unless it's pertinent."
"Should I call you Severus?"
"I don't care what you call me." He said with a sickly grin. He shook off the expression as he looked at the elevator over his shoulder for their anticipated floor.
"Sevvy?"
"I — " Snape glared at her. "I should hope you respect both of us more than that."
It was easier to joke with adrenaline in her veins. She doubted it'd be so easy when it came to their duty to the Wizarding world. They weren't required to procreate, but she expected pressure from Auger or Umbridge or both. If she was a dead weight in their bright future, she may very well vanish into the shadows.
Hermione leaned against the wall, her arms crossed.
"Did you know."
"I knew about your evaluation," Snape answered, which wasn't really an answer. He had been the reason she had any mental preparation. If she'd received the letter blind, she might not have taken it so well.
She might have panicked or ended up on the run.
Hermione thought better than to discuss in the elevator. She had more questions, as they bubbled beneath her tongue and in the depths of her mind.
The elevator landed in the lobby, though she didn't realize at first. The doors opened behind her rather than in front. She didn't move, confused before she realized that she was alone. Snape had headed towards Guest Apparition Chamber without her with long, slick strides. She followed in swift pursuit, her steps twice as fast as his. He stood half a foot taller than her, which was enough to make her hurry.
"Am I to — "
Snape grabbed her wrist and she obliged. She didn't like how he grabbed her, but she'd endure it until she could speak freely. The Ministry was a hotbed for Death Eaters. The last thing she wanted to do was give him a reason to show his dominance over her through torture or cruelty.
His grip softened as if he'd picked the thought from her skin.
They rounded the decorative fountain with the orbs of blood. She noticed the fountain itself was blood, which she'd missed on her way here. She eyed it with abject misery, not sure she wanted to know how they'd gotten so much blood. It smelled of cooper and rotten flesh.
In the distance she could hear Bianca shouting. Several men were shouting, too.
He shoved her into Number Seven, the same one she'd arrived in.
She tripped up the stairs and caught herself on the opposite wall. Her brow furrowed as she turned, to scowl at Snape.
The sound of doors being blown off their hinges began, one after the other. He yanked her close, his arm around her, and they vanished.
The last thing she saw was her pink scarf through scraps of wood.
Explosions, screams.
Dark hair.
Darkness.
They arrived with no sound. Nothing specific, not as she burrowed into the black cloak in front of her. She blinked several times before she processed who had brought her here, and all meekness flushed from her system.
She shoved him hard in the chest though he didn't move. He had a sturdy stance, so she instead stumbled backward, her eyes wild and her hair strayed from her braid.
Hermione had an ever-increasing pile of things she'd never expected. She'd never expected to hold Snape's hand, or to burrow into Snape's chest, or to go to Snape's house. Least of all she didn't expect to be slung into Snape's arms as a newly minted bride, expected to be as demure and pleasant as possible.
But as she stood in a tiny, suffocating study with a dead fireplace and so many books laid in messy piles — her breath caught in her throat.
"Where are we?"
"Where do you think," he said with snide derision.
She had never seen him look so insecure as he did now, stood in the middle of his dusty home. She looked around for something to remark on, something nice, but nothing came to her.
"You're aware you're under a contract, Hermione." His voice was colder than the Ministry lobby. "Anything you learn here must stay here. The location as much as anything we discuss."
"I'm aware," she said, her voice flat. She raised her left hand to flash the band, which had ethereal shapes strung between the constellations. They were gossamer, like a spider's web, but wouldn't catch. She tried to catch one of the threads with her index finger but it felt like putting her hand through a ghost.
Like something was there, but…
Not.
"This is Spinner's End," he moved towards the kitchen without waiting for her. She followed though the kitchen was too small for both of them to stand in at the same time. It was a galley kitchen with old Muggle appliances. He flicked a switch and the lights went on, which surprised her.
Perhaps he used as little magic as possible to reduce the impact on the ley lines. She empathized as she had done the same.
For all the good it did her.
"Should you get into an altercation, come to this house. Your ring is attuned to my study, so even if you have no wand, you will be able to come here."
Hermione disguised her curiosity with spite. Her gaze dropped to the ring, which she looked as if they were a set of handcuffs. "Why not my apartment?"
"Your apartment isn't going to remain safe."
"What do you mean?" Hermione's head popped backwards. Her stomach dropped as she thought of Ginny and Crookshanks, her throat dry as she fought the urge to Apparate there.
"The Snatchers know you live there; as do the Death Eaters. They suspect you're hiding Order intel there, at the very least." He slanted his gaze to the pantry, his eyes unfocused. "Ginny will be moved in with Ron and George as soon as possible."
"When was this decided?"
Snape didn't speak.
"When did everyone decide this?"
"No one else had decided it; I'm asking as much as telling you that for your own safety, I require you to move in here."
"School starts in September," Hermione said, her voice hollow. "Do you expect me to live at Hogwarts?"
"If you wish to remain here, you may."
That was as much as a relief as it was a disappointment. She didn't want to live with him, but she also didn't want to have to move to Hogwarts to live with him either. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be the Potion master's wife.
The staff of Hogwarts had shifted, as most of her previous teachers had been fired or quit. They had rotated the staff out, so the roles were filled by more 'agreeable' teachers. She didn't want to go back to Hogwarts, not until she'd reinstated Minerva as the Headmistress.
She prayed the other teachers would want to return, once it was safe.
"I need to fetch Crookshanks."
Snape smiled, which surprised her. He schooled his expression, so it was guarded rather than mirthful. "You may."
Hermione gave him a suspicious look, as she had expected that to be an outright refusal. She almost shook him, to ask what he'd done with the real Snape.
"Pettigrew complained of the cat often, said that it tried to kill him more than once," he almost smiled until he caught the tail of it, to yank his expression back to painful neutrality. "I should like to thank this Crookshanks."
"So I have to move in here," Hermione threw her hands up wide into the air. "I can't just move somewhere else?"
"Where you live is the least important piece of information we have to discuss today." He ground this out between his teeth, his jaw tense. "I implore you to listen before you argue with me. I don't have the time nor patience to debate with you."
Hermione frowned, her jaw rolled in small circles.
To her where she lived was pivotal. She couldn't think of any topic more important than where she was expected to live.
Snape reached to the pantry, but rather than open it outward, he shoved the cabinet doors.
It disappeared into the wall on a hinge. The entrance was pitch black and cavernous.
"I want to remind you that my loyalty has always been to Lily Evans. By extension, to Potter," he said, his tone sharp.
Hermione's anger faltered for the sake of pity. The Potions master had provided more memories than any of them had known what to do with. His throat had since healed from Nagini's attack, as he'd anticipated the attack with antivenin and a healing potion.
None of the Death Eaters knew he'd meant to have died, save for Bellatrix.
They didn't speak about it.
Not about Harry, or Lily, or Dumbledore. In truth, Hermione avoided talking to Snape unless it was at a meeting for The Order.
Somehow, she hadn't realized that marrying Snape would involve talking to Snape.
"And you're loyal to the Order," Hermione said in a small voice. She wasn't sure if this was a confession, that he intended to lock her in the basement or to reveal he'd been on the side of the Death Eaters all along.
"The Order is a useful distraction if nothing else."
Hermione's mouth opened to protest, but she thought better of it. He disappeared into the space that the cabinet had left. She wasn't sure if she was meant to follow him, or if he was out to retrieve something. When the door remained open and he didn't return, she peaked in.
It was a series of stone steps into the depths of the earth.
She cast a small flameless light into her palm. This allowed her to keep her wand extended, ready to defend herself.
It was a deceptively long stairway with tight, damp walls. It dropped lower and lower, so much so that she couldn't see the bottom, or where Snape had gone.
She couldn't hear Snape, not as she straightened her neck and ears as if that'd help. She crept down each step, her arm extended and the light her only hope. The exit had turned into a distant pinprick high above her, angled at forty-five degrees.
By the time she saw light, her foot had hit soft earth mixed with cragged cobblestone.
It was a corridor that reminded her much of the ones at Hogwarts, though more unpolished. She frowned at the spread of them as she searched the cobblestone for an answer. Instead, she had to proceed blind. There was only one direction, after all, and so she walked on.
The slim corridor widened until a massive eight-spired central chamber opened up around her. Each spike of a hallway led to a short, shallow indent. A cauldron sat in each, with a different array of ingredients. They were organized, she recognized, but not the specific order. Just that there must be a reason for certain ingredients to be clustered together. In the center was a tall, broad circle of a bookshelf with more books than had been upstairs.
A series of tables were lined up around it in a circle, with plush armchairs of varying colors. The outer walls were equally adorned with books and vials. Herbs hung from pieces of string, cured to last. Whole bats hung upside-down from their ankles, their wings sliced off in thin leather straps. A small aquarium housed live frogs which sung to their deceased friends just above them, pinned open with a mixed set of missing organs.
Beautiful, but macabre.
It smelled, but not as bad as it should. A spicy, peppery scent overtook the rot. It was hot, she realized, far too hot. Her forehead was slick with sweat and she'd had to strip off her robes and her hoodie. She brushed at her face with the flat of her hand, which extinguished what little light was left in her palm.
She didn't need it now anyway.
This place reminded her of the Hogwarts potions classroom. She had to wonder whether Severus had matched the style here on purpose. She was too nervous to ask.
It seemed like a personal thing.
One spike led to a further that the rest, but it was boxed in by a broad iron gate in front of it. A brilliant green light emanated from the end of the hallway, though the stones curved before she could spot the source.
She craned her neck as if that would help her to spot what was in there, but Snape appeared like a shadow.
"What was most important to you in the end," he said, his voice cool. "Saving Harry or destroying Voldemort."
"Aren't those the same thing?" She said, her voice watery.
Something in Snape's expression said no. He cast a sidelong glance at the gated iron hallway before he gestured to one of the nearby tables.
"You submitted yourself to me today," he said, no regret or apprehension. He didn't seem excited, either, which she was thankful for. "But I won't force you to into this decision."
"What decision?" Hermione felt her breath rattle through her nostrils.
"You heard me."
What was more important to you in the end — saving Harry or destroying Voldemort.