(Author's note: First of all, I wish to apologize for the evil cliffhanger
last chapter. If I could have received Howlers, I'd be deaf by now. Thank
you all for reviewing - I have never received so much feedback on any of my
stories.
Second: I absolutely stink at maintaining POV, and have decided to quit
trying. I'll make sure it's perfectly clear who's thinking what, but I
plan to blithely slide from one POV to another without using my turn
signals or mirrors. Don't bother to honk.)
*****
Severus Snape had barely noticed the passing scenery as he'd shepherded Hermione to the Leaky Cauldron. Despite his efforts to think of anything else, the young woman at his side had dominated his thoughts.
For the past six weeks, working with Hermione Granger had been a self- imposed penance. Each time he'd avoided snapping at her was another lash of remorse, each time she'd forgotten to treat him with disdain he deserved had been another grain of salt in the wound. However...somewhere in their dealings together, he'd become inured to the pain, even to the point that he actually enjoyed her company, which only showed that the human animal could become used to anything in time.
Instead the close association had shredded some of his assumptions. What he had once dismissed as over-achieving self-aggrandizement he now recognized as the efforts of a brilliant mind struggling to survive in an unfamiliar culture. That brilliance alone would have qualified her for Ravenclaw, but the Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor. Courage had always been an over- valued commodity to someone like himself, who'd seen too many foolhardy idiots plunge headlong into dangers they didn't understand. Potter's father had been exactly that, and had paid for it with his life. But Hermione Granger had endured something no woman should ever have to face, and her steady determination to carry on was, frankly, amazing. Her decision to keep the baby had astonished him.
They were going to have a child together. Only there was no 'together,' there was only humiliation and struggle ahead for her, and embarrassment at best for him. Witches did not have children without marriage; the snubbing from the saleswitch at Vespasian's was a fair indication of that public sentiment. To be sure, there were the odd occasions, but the mother was usually sequestered by her family until either a proper husband could be found or the child could be introduced as a cousin or other family relation with an unclear history.
Falling back on the cool logic he'd always relied upon, he realized the only way to alleviate her situation was to see her married. To Ronald Weasley? An obvious but ridiculous choice. Even if the boy were willing, a single glance at the pretend father's flaming red hair would give the game away. And he could not stomach the idea that his child would grow up with the name of Weasley. It should have the name of Snape, and there was only one way to have that happen.
Talk to Dumbledore first? Unnecessary. The headmaster's unsubtle prodding had already made his position clear. Once she agreed, they could visit a jewelsmith, pick her up a ring and have the deed accomplished by dinner. And once he'd said the words, he could do nothing but watch the Muggle-born witch across from him and waited for her to respond.
Somewhat numb with disbelief, Hermione settled on her chair again and stared at the man across from her. A number of responses occurred to her instantly, but 'I beg your pardon' would only have him repeat the question she'd heard perfectly well, while 'are you joking' would only invite sarcastic comment.
"Why?" she responded incredulously. "Professor, you cannot possibly expect me to believe you've suddenly fallen in love with me."
"Love has nothing to do with it," he told her flatly. "You're carrying my child. And, considering the proposal I've just made, it might be more appropriate if you used my given name."
"Love has everything to do with marriage in the Muggle world, Professor."
"You're a witch, Hermione. You live in the Wizard's world. You make every indication you plan to remain here, and if you do, you'll either adjust to it or be crushed by it."
"Do you even like me?" she asked, and suddenly wished she hadn't because she was sure he'd be ruthlessly blunt.
"I don't dislike you," he told her. "We work well together, and you're learning quickly. I had thoughts of offering you an apprenticeship, which would make things easier for us both."
"Getting married is not something to do because it's convenient," she informed him, exasperated.
"As it happens, Hermione, I sincerely doubt I shall survive long enough to be an inconvenience to you." His double meaning was clear; he would not interfere with her taking a lover, whether or not he lived to see the end of the war. It was, unfortunately, exactly the wrong approach to take.
"Don't say that," she snapped, throwing down her napkin. "Don't even talk like that. I hear that same whinging from Harry more than I ever wanted, and I'm sick of it." Enraged, she surged to her feet and walked away from the table.
Snape threw several Sickles on the table and caught her arm in the hallway. Mindful of the other customers watching what was fast coming to resemble a lover's quarrel, he steered her towards a quiet corner.
"I spoke the truth, and I resent you comparing me to Harry Bloody Potter when I've just proposed," he hissed between his teeth. "Now answer the question!"
"No, sir, I will not marry you," she gritted back. "You may be happy being stuck in the Middle Ages, but I was born in the twentieth century, and it's soon to be the twenty-first. What you're proposing is one step away from an arranged marriage!"
"And what is wrong with that? I myself am the product of an arranged marriage."
"And how did it work out? Cakes and best wishes, and grandchildren everywhere?"
Snape's face hardened, and she knew she'd scored a hit. Dumbledore had once told her he was an only child, and he had all the clichés associated with being the child of unhappily married parents. And even though she knew he was only striking back, his next comments were brutal.
"Tell me, Miss Granger. Is the only reason you decided to have this baby is that you feared you would never fall in love, never marry? Were you so afraid of being alone you seized the chance to have a child?"
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. "That was incredibly cruel thing to say, even for you," she whispered.
With a deliberate twist she freed her arm from his grip. "We both know there isn't any way for me to repay what you've bought today, so I won't make any rash promises. But I would like for you to take me home now, and then I'd really rather you never spoke to me again."
*****
Severus retained just enough presence of mind to Apparate them both back to the gates of Hogwarts. Hermione stalked off without a backward glance, and he was nearly seen by one of the students before he remembered to cast the 'do not notice' spell on himself.
The gargoyle outside the stairs to Dumbledore's office was nearly blasted to smithereens before it finally got out of the way of the incredibly brassed-off Potions Master. Once on the stairs, Snape no longer bothered to tread lightly, and Dumbledore heard his stomping approach long before he entered the cozy round office.
The Headmaster gave Snape a look of mild inquiry as he flung off his cloak and spell and crossed the room to stare out the window. He would no doubt have been irritated to know it was the same window Pomfrey had watched him through earlier, but the older wizard judged it best not to speak first.
"I asked Miss Granger to marry me this afternoon," Snape began without preamble.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Dumbledore.
"She turned me down," he snarled at the diamond shaped glass pane in front him.
"She what?" Dumbledore tutted into his beard. "Dear me. Not exactly the response I would have expected."
"Neither did I," Snape managed in the driest sneer of his arsenal. "That brainy little know-it-all. Gryffindors! Too much sentiment and not enough sense!"
"Well, they do tend to be a bit melodramatic," said the Headmaster, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.
"And stubborn. Gods above! I stood there like an idiot, trying to talk her into the idea." Snape shook his head in disbelief at his own gullibility. "I should have made her see it's the only logical solution."
"The man who could force Hermione Granger to change her mind could probably take on Voldemort with a broken wand," Dumbledore observed. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why you want to marry her."
"She's carrying my child. What other reason is there?"
"Severus," began Dumbledore seriously. "Do you even care for the girl?"
Severus opened his mouth and shut it just as quickly. Emotions were a slippery business and he'd spent for far too long perfecting his dispassionate intellect to let sentiment get the better of him now. Regardless of the roiling disquiet and subtle ache in his chest that left him with the overwhelming desire to be sure Hermione Granger was Taken Care Of.
"Well, the young lady isn't interested in you, that's clear enough," Dumbledore continued when it became clear Snape would not answer the question. "Now, as for your trip today. Word of your appearance in Diagon Alley today should reach Voldemort's ear sometime tonight. The spell on your Mark, is it still holding?"
Severus almost touched his left arm, but refrained. "He's tested it now and again, but your distillation spell is still working effectively."
Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters by activating their Mark and could also keep feel them distantly through the same connection. Since Snape's recovery, Dumbledore had cast a spell on the mark to reflect back only the near-death agony Snape had experienced on the night Malfoy had tried to kill him. After the first few weeks, his attempts to ferret Severus out had grown infrequent, since each attempt to activate Snape's mark gave him back the overwhelming pain his servant was supposedly enduring.
"I think you should be seen in Hogsmeade soon. Next week, perhaps."
I'll go by myself," Snape warned him, conveniently forgetting that the young lady in question didn't ever plan on speaking to him again. "I won't have Hermione exposed to danger. Today was bad enough."
"You had the portkey," Dumbledore reminded him carelessly. "You could have sent her back here in an instant."
Snape bristled, annoyed that the old wizard would be so cavalier about endangering Hermione.
"No matter. You might consider an evening expedition, then. Avoid the Three Broomsticks, go to one of the less savory pubs. But don't stay long; a half hour at most. We'll see what kind of flurry that creates among Voldemort's followers. The more doubt and dissention we can create in the ranks, the better."
"What about Hermione?" Snape asked. "You'll see to it she's provided for, if something goes wrong?"
"Oh, you needn't worry about Miss Granger," Dumbledore told him dismissively. "After all, you've done the honorable thing and she's turned you down. You've nothing else to worry about, eh? No reason to bait the hook if the fish aren't biting!" he said with a chuckle.
If Severus had been less absorbed by his personal issues and been paying more attention, he would have noticed the Headmaster's sly smile, and the merry twinkle in the eyes of man who was enjoying himself entirely too much. As it was, he scowled out the window while his ferocious intellect engaged the problem foremost in his mind.
He'd bloody well bait the hook.
******
Hermione stomped through the main hall and up every singe tread of staircase between the front gate and the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. In a fury of indignation she stalked through the swirl of students just getting out of their afternoon classes, leaving many of the exchanging odd looks and wondered what had infuriated the normally pleasant Head Girl.
"Tabby cat!" she snarled at the Fat Lady, who gave her an arch look of disapproval before swinging out of the way.
Ron saw her as she entered and stood up, rubbing his hands on his pants. He was gratified when she came towards him, but her stormy expression made him a bit uneasy.
"Um, Hermione. Hi."
Have you seen Harry?" she demanded.
"I think he was getting his Firebolt," Ron said. "Look, I was wondering if we could, you know, talk," he stammered.
"I'm sorry, Ron. Right now I just want to yell at someone, and Harry's first on my list. Maybe later, all right?"
"Um, all right, then," muttered Ron to her back as she made her way up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
Hermione didn't even bother to knock at the seventh-year boys' door. It made a satisfactory bang as she shoved it open.
"Harry! I jolly well hope you're happy! He's damned well proposed to me!"
Harry sat up abruptly on his bed, his black hair even more untidy than usual, blinking a bit before he grabbed his glasses off the coverlet.
"Well, I was happy, up until you walked in," he groused.
"Who proposed?" asked Ginny, sitting up beside Harry. "Not my idiot brother, surely?" Her long red hair was mussed as well, and only the central three buttons of her blouse remained fastened. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were just as flushed as Harry's.
Openmouthed and caught in mid-tirade, Hermione finally thought to shut the door and check to be sure no other boys were in the room. Stupid, really, she thought. Harry would hardly be snogging Ginny with an audience.
"Severus Snape," she told Ginny, and crossed her arms irritably, waiting for the girl to quit laughing.
"She's not joking, Ginny," Harry told her. "So he's here at Hogwarts, is he?"
"Yes. I thought you knew."
"Not everything, apparently," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in a futile effort to tame his hair.
"Why on earth would Snape want to marry you?" Ginny asked, confused.
Hermione crossed the room and sat on the end of Harry's bed. Harry's bright green eyes met hers and he nodded slightly, encouraging her to let Ginny into her confidence. Between the two of them, they told Ginny what had happened on Halloween night. The girl listened with wide eyes, biting her lip, and when the tale was done reached out impulsively and hugged Hermione tightly.
"Oh, Hermione!" she said with sniff. "That's horrible."
"Understatement, I think," Hermione told her. "The thing is, I really don't feel it. I mean, I know I'm pregnant. I've felt the baby move. I saw how ill Professor Snape was, but the whole idea of being raped," and she blanched slightly as she said the word, "just doesn't feel real. I don't feel traumatized, and I'm getting really tired of being handled like I'm fragile. I'm not!"
"Then why were you yelling at me?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted, smiling a bit. "I was just really mad at Severus, and wanted to take it out on someone."
"Severus?" echoed Harry.
"Well," she began defensively, "he did say I should use his first name. And considering junior here, I probably ought to get used to it. He's hardly going to disappear just because I shouted at him, worse luck." She patted her stomach, and Ginny enthusiastically exclaimed over the bulge evident under Hermione's cloak.
"I know when I'm not wanted," Harry remarked dryly. "Besides, I'm supposed to be on the pitch by now." He gave Ginny a quick kiss and grabbed his broom and practice robes. "See you after practice?"
"Of course," Ginny told him, but quickly turned back to Hermione. "All right," she ordered in a no nonsense voice, sounding a great deal like her mother. "Tell me all about it."
*****
Once Hermione made it back to her rooms, she was brought up short by the stack of packages waiting on her bed. Crookshanks was busy investigating them, rubbing his ginger chin on the corners of the boxes and batting at the ends of the twine wrapped around some of them.
Hermione hung up her cloak and began to go through the purchases, each one making her feel a bit worse for being so harsh in her refusal of her first ever marriage proposal. The immediate counter-response was to become angry with herself for letting Severus Snape manipulate her, albeit unknowingly. With see-sawed emotions and unsettled mind, she hung up her new robes, folded her new underclothes, and set her new boots in her wardrobe. Her thrifty side prompted her to keep the boxes for later use, though for what, she couldn't say.
Deciding a bath was the best way to sooth her jumpy nerves, Hermione flicked her wand at the bathtub and had it fill itself with warm, bubbly water. The ill-fitting robes she'd worn to Diagon Alley were tossed into the basket she kept behind the bathroom door for her laundry.
The old, scratched looking glass on the back of the door caught her attention as it reflected back the blue of her discarded robes, and she walked slowly towards it. In the mirror her appearance was much the same as it always had been; loads of brown hair with honey-colored highlights, far too curly and usually unmanageable. Her summer tan had long ago faded and her face was the same oval, her eyes only a medium brown and unremarkable under dark brows.
Below her collarbones, though, the inventory had changed completely. Her breasts had plumped up, pillowing over the top edge of her bra, and further down. the formerly flat plane of her stomach was rounded out now. She couldn't even suck in her stomach for more than a moment; the bulge had a presence of its own and refused to disappear. Her hand ran over the curve, feeling the tight skin and firm muscle underneath. A pale brown line started above her belly button and ran down to disappear under the panties that were stretched tight enough to pinch.
Despite her refusal to Severus Snape, she could not repress the mental image of his hand on her stomach and wondered what he would think of it now, if he's show the same astonished wonder as before. The unbidden memory also reminded her of how she'd felt under his touch, and her nipples tightened as arousal washed through her once more.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. Determined to bring her wayward emotions under control, Hermione mechanically stripped of the rest of her clothes and stepped into the tub. She had the entire weekend to worry about Snape, but only an hour or more until dinner.
*****
Severus made sure he was seated at his worktable when Hermione came to the lab on Monday afternoon. He knew she'd be coming, since he knew perfectly well that Pomfrey was out of her Headache-Ease potion. Normally he abhorred waste, but he'd shown no remorse while pouring perfectly good potions down the drain.
When she stepped into the laboratory after lunch, Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to react to Snape. He'd accepted her refusal and demand to be taken home with a curt nod, but she'd seen that angular jaw tense. He'd been terribly angry, but had done as she'd asked and taken them back to Hogwarts without another word. Accustomed as she was to her Gryffindor counterparts' explosive outbursts, she was unaccustomed to with the Slytherin approach to anger.
Once she'd set up her workspace to make the potion Madame Pomfrey had run out of, Hermione began to gather her ingredients. At his worktable, Snape made his way methodically through a stack of papers without so much as glancing at her. She worked silently for some time, but he didn't speak a word to her. Apparently the Slytherin way of dealing with anger was the silent treatment. He was in full Potions Master dress this afternoon, including his black robes over his black frock coat, buttoned fully up under his neck and nearly concealing the black neck-cloth he wore instead of a tie.
The jar of feverfew was nearly empty, and Hermione frowned. Snape had some duplicates of her supplies on his own shelves, but courtesy required she ask before borrowing.
"May I use your feverfew, please?" she asked him, rigidly polite.
Snape regarded her from under hooded eyes for several long moments, drawing out the silence, then reached a long arm to the cabinet nearest him and plucked off a glass jar. He handed it to her wordlessly and returned to his papers.
The third time Hermione realized she was out of something, the suspicion that had been growing bloomed into certainty. She set the nearly empty jar of skullcap down with a thump and glared at Snape with narrowed eyes. The container has been full just a week ago, and she was sure the contents had been skimmed from her stores and somehow found their way into the canisters in his side of the lab.
The ploy was deliberate and transparent and he must have known she'd see right through it. She wasn't sure if she should feel slighted or flattered. Whatever the man's intentions were, she decided to bring this issue to a head, and right now.
"You asked me to marry you," Hermione stated baldly.
"Not as boring as Binns' delivery, but just as much ancient history." Snape's voice was bland, even courteous for him as he continued working on his papers, but the deep thrum of his voice went through her, stirring her hormones and not checking in at the gate. It didn't help her temper much, either.
"Does that mean your offer is no longer open?" she challenged.
"Are you telling me you're reconsidering your answer?" he replied in the same bored tone.
Hermione's chin came up. "Marriage isn't something I take lightly, Professor. You and I share a single nightmare that I don't even remember and the results thereof. You're twenty years older than I am, and other than potions and the fight against Voldemort, we haven't a single thing in common."
"You forget our deep loathing of Neville Longbottom."
"I don't loathe Neville. He simply irritates me to no end, but so do you when you bully him so," Hermione told him. "Lucius Malfoy and his snot of a son are the only people I truly loath."
"That's a start, I suppose," He drawled. "And as I said before, we do work well together."
Hermione came closer to his table, her hands clasped in front of her. It was a nervous gesture rather than deliberate, and she was likely unconscious of how her arms outlined the visible evidence of her pregnancy.
"I won't deny that being married to a pureblood wizard could save me a lot of embarrassment, but I'm reluctant to trade one problem for a worse one."
"I understand your reluctance, Miss Granger. Hermione," he corrected himself. "But surely you understand how difficult it will be for a single witch to raise an illegitimate child - especially if the circumstances become known."
Strangely, she knew he wasn't threatening her with exposure, but trying to shield her from the harshness she'd already tasted. Hermione could hardly believe she had had the temerity to say these things aloud, but the deepest part of her continued to be aware of him, miss his conversation, and mourned the loss of the tentative friendship they'd developed.
"It was my decision to have this baby, and I was prepared to go it alone. However. If you truly want me to marry you, you'll have to give me a better reason than you already have."
Snape dropped his quill and looked at her sternly. "If you're expecting me to bring you flowers or chocolate hearts, you'll have a very long wait."
"I've all the chocolate hearts I'll ever need," Hermione reminded him, thinking of the cabinet with the leftover medical chocolate. A small giggle tried to escape as she imagined Snape with a lute and a lopsided crown of laurels like the tipsy Renaissance lover in one of the portraits outside the Great Hall. "You should know me better than that.
"I would like to find out if we might be even remotely compatible. I had originally hoped that we might become friends of a sort, especially as you said you wanted to be part of the baby's upbringing. I'd rather envisioned you popping round every other weekend like a favorite uncle."
"Is that what you want?"
Hermione's mouth went dry. He hadn't moved, but she was suddenly impacted by the image of Severus Snape's tall body, the stillness with which he held himself. His black hair framed his long face and intensified the darkness of his eyes as they held her captive like the proverbial snake with its prey. This man was dangerous, and brilliant, and she now realized was attractive in ways she'd never knew existed.
"What do you want?" she countered, and saw a flicker in his obsidian eyes she couldn't interpret.
"I want to make amends for the harm I've caused you. I want our child, OUR child," he emphasized," to live in decent surroundings without his mother worrying where she'll find the money to feed him his next meal. I want him to be safe, and happy, and I want his mother to be that as well."
"Then I think we should continue as we were before," Hermione suggested, "and see how we get on. And after that." she could not think what would come after that.
Snape rose from his seat and came around the table, his boots barely whispering on the stone floor. Her body reacted to his nearness, and she was hard pressed to control herself as he came close enough for her to put her hand on his black wool-covered chest. He gave her a short, courteous bow and the manners of another century reminding her once again that wizardly culture had only superficial resemblance to that she'd been raised in.
"Very well, Miss Granger. Hermione. We shall see."
*****
Severus Snape had barely noticed the passing scenery as he'd shepherded Hermione to the Leaky Cauldron. Despite his efforts to think of anything else, the young woman at his side had dominated his thoughts.
For the past six weeks, working with Hermione Granger had been a self- imposed penance. Each time he'd avoided snapping at her was another lash of remorse, each time she'd forgotten to treat him with disdain he deserved had been another grain of salt in the wound. However...somewhere in their dealings together, he'd become inured to the pain, even to the point that he actually enjoyed her company, which only showed that the human animal could become used to anything in time.
Instead the close association had shredded some of his assumptions. What he had once dismissed as over-achieving self-aggrandizement he now recognized as the efforts of a brilliant mind struggling to survive in an unfamiliar culture. That brilliance alone would have qualified her for Ravenclaw, but the Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor. Courage had always been an over- valued commodity to someone like himself, who'd seen too many foolhardy idiots plunge headlong into dangers they didn't understand. Potter's father had been exactly that, and had paid for it with his life. But Hermione Granger had endured something no woman should ever have to face, and her steady determination to carry on was, frankly, amazing. Her decision to keep the baby had astonished him.
They were going to have a child together. Only there was no 'together,' there was only humiliation and struggle ahead for her, and embarrassment at best for him. Witches did not have children without marriage; the snubbing from the saleswitch at Vespasian's was a fair indication of that public sentiment. To be sure, there were the odd occasions, but the mother was usually sequestered by her family until either a proper husband could be found or the child could be introduced as a cousin or other family relation with an unclear history.
Falling back on the cool logic he'd always relied upon, he realized the only way to alleviate her situation was to see her married. To Ronald Weasley? An obvious but ridiculous choice. Even if the boy were willing, a single glance at the pretend father's flaming red hair would give the game away. And he could not stomach the idea that his child would grow up with the name of Weasley. It should have the name of Snape, and there was only one way to have that happen.
Talk to Dumbledore first? Unnecessary. The headmaster's unsubtle prodding had already made his position clear. Once she agreed, they could visit a jewelsmith, pick her up a ring and have the deed accomplished by dinner. And once he'd said the words, he could do nothing but watch the Muggle-born witch across from him and waited for her to respond.
Somewhat numb with disbelief, Hermione settled on her chair again and stared at the man across from her. A number of responses occurred to her instantly, but 'I beg your pardon' would only have him repeat the question she'd heard perfectly well, while 'are you joking' would only invite sarcastic comment.
"Why?" she responded incredulously. "Professor, you cannot possibly expect me to believe you've suddenly fallen in love with me."
"Love has nothing to do with it," he told her flatly. "You're carrying my child. And, considering the proposal I've just made, it might be more appropriate if you used my given name."
"Love has everything to do with marriage in the Muggle world, Professor."
"You're a witch, Hermione. You live in the Wizard's world. You make every indication you plan to remain here, and if you do, you'll either adjust to it or be crushed by it."
"Do you even like me?" she asked, and suddenly wished she hadn't because she was sure he'd be ruthlessly blunt.
"I don't dislike you," he told her. "We work well together, and you're learning quickly. I had thoughts of offering you an apprenticeship, which would make things easier for us both."
"Getting married is not something to do because it's convenient," she informed him, exasperated.
"As it happens, Hermione, I sincerely doubt I shall survive long enough to be an inconvenience to you." His double meaning was clear; he would not interfere with her taking a lover, whether or not he lived to see the end of the war. It was, unfortunately, exactly the wrong approach to take.
"Don't say that," she snapped, throwing down her napkin. "Don't even talk like that. I hear that same whinging from Harry more than I ever wanted, and I'm sick of it." Enraged, she surged to her feet and walked away from the table.
Snape threw several Sickles on the table and caught her arm in the hallway. Mindful of the other customers watching what was fast coming to resemble a lover's quarrel, he steered her towards a quiet corner.
"I spoke the truth, and I resent you comparing me to Harry Bloody Potter when I've just proposed," he hissed between his teeth. "Now answer the question!"
"No, sir, I will not marry you," she gritted back. "You may be happy being stuck in the Middle Ages, but I was born in the twentieth century, and it's soon to be the twenty-first. What you're proposing is one step away from an arranged marriage!"
"And what is wrong with that? I myself am the product of an arranged marriage."
"And how did it work out? Cakes and best wishes, and grandchildren everywhere?"
Snape's face hardened, and she knew she'd scored a hit. Dumbledore had once told her he was an only child, and he had all the clichés associated with being the child of unhappily married parents. And even though she knew he was only striking back, his next comments were brutal.
"Tell me, Miss Granger. Is the only reason you decided to have this baby is that you feared you would never fall in love, never marry? Were you so afraid of being alone you seized the chance to have a child?"
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. "That was incredibly cruel thing to say, even for you," she whispered.
With a deliberate twist she freed her arm from his grip. "We both know there isn't any way for me to repay what you've bought today, so I won't make any rash promises. But I would like for you to take me home now, and then I'd really rather you never spoke to me again."
*****
Severus retained just enough presence of mind to Apparate them both back to the gates of Hogwarts. Hermione stalked off without a backward glance, and he was nearly seen by one of the students before he remembered to cast the 'do not notice' spell on himself.
The gargoyle outside the stairs to Dumbledore's office was nearly blasted to smithereens before it finally got out of the way of the incredibly brassed-off Potions Master. Once on the stairs, Snape no longer bothered to tread lightly, and Dumbledore heard his stomping approach long before he entered the cozy round office.
The Headmaster gave Snape a look of mild inquiry as he flung off his cloak and spell and crossed the room to stare out the window. He would no doubt have been irritated to know it was the same window Pomfrey had watched him through earlier, but the older wizard judged it best not to speak first.
"I asked Miss Granger to marry me this afternoon," Snape began without preamble.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Dumbledore.
"She turned me down," he snarled at the diamond shaped glass pane in front him.
"She what?" Dumbledore tutted into his beard. "Dear me. Not exactly the response I would have expected."
"Neither did I," Snape managed in the driest sneer of his arsenal. "That brainy little know-it-all. Gryffindors! Too much sentiment and not enough sense!"
"Well, they do tend to be a bit melodramatic," said the Headmaster, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.
"And stubborn. Gods above! I stood there like an idiot, trying to talk her into the idea." Snape shook his head in disbelief at his own gullibility. "I should have made her see it's the only logical solution."
"The man who could force Hermione Granger to change her mind could probably take on Voldemort with a broken wand," Dumbledore observed. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why you want to marry her."
"She's carrying my child. What other reason is there?"
"Severus," began Dumbledore seriously. "Do you even care for the girl?"
Severus opened his mouth and shut it just as quickly. Emotions were a slippery business and he'd spent for far too long perfecting his dispassionate intellect to let sentiment get the better of him now. Regardless of the roiling disquiet and subtle ache in his chest that left him with the overwhelming desire to be sure Hermione Granger was Taken Care Of.
"Well, the young lady isn't interested in you, that's clear enough," Dumbledore continued when it became clear Snape would not answer the question. "Now, as for your trip today. Word of your appearance in Diagon Alley today should reach Voldemort's ear sometime tonight. The spell on your Mark, is it still holding?"
Severus almost touched his left arm, but refrained. "He's tested it now and again, but your distillation spell is still working effectively."
Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters by activating their Mark and could also keep feel them distantly through the same connection. Since Snape's recovery, Dumbledore had cast a spell on the mark to reflect back only the near-death agony Snape had experienced on the night Malfoy had tried to kill him. After the first few weeks, his attempts to ferret Severus out had grown infrequent, since each attempt to activate Snape's mark gave him back the overwhelming pain his servant was supposedly enduring.
"I think you should be seen in Hogsmeade soon. Next week, perhaps."
I'll go by myself," Snape warned him, conveniently forgetting that the young lady in question didn't ever plan on speaking to him again. "I won't have Hermione exposed to danger. Today was bad enough."
"You had the portkey," Dumbledore reminded him carelessly. "You could have sent her back here in an instant."
Snape bristled, annoyed that the old wizard would be so cavalier about endangering Hermione.
"No matter. You might consider an evening expedition, then. Avoid the Three Broomsticks, go to one of the less savory pubs. But don't stay long; a half hour at most. We'll see what kind of flurry that creates among Voldemort's followers. The more doubt and dissention we can create in the ranks, the better."
"What about Hermione?" Snape asked. "You'll see to it she's provided for, if something goes wrong?"
"Oh, you needn't worry about Miss Granger," Dumbledore told him dismissively. "After all, you've done the honorable thing and she's turned you down. You've nothing else to worry about, eh? No reason to bait the hook if the fish aren't biting!" he said with a chuckle.
If Severus had been less absorbed by his personal issues and been paying more attention, he would have noticed the Headmaster's sly smile, and the merry twinkle in the eyes of man who was enjoying himself entirely too much. As it was, he scowled out the window while his ferocious intellect engaged the problem foremost in his mind.
He'd bloody well bait the hook.
******
Hermione stomped through the main hall and up every singe tread of staircase between the front gate and the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. In a fury of indignation she stalked through the swirl of students just getting out of their afternoon classes, leaving many of the exchanging odd looks and wondered what had infuriated the normally pleasant Head Girl.
"Tabby cat!" she snarled at the Fat Lady, who gave her an arch look of disapproval before swinging out of the way.
Ron saw her as she entered and stood up, rubbing his hands on his pants. He was gratified when she came towards him, but her stormy expression made him a bit uneasy.
"Um, Hermione. Hi."
Have you seen Harry?" she demanded.
"I think he was getting his Firebolt," Ron said. "Look, I was wondering if we could, you know, talk," he stammered.
"I'm sorry, Ron. Right now I just want to yell at someone, and Harry's first on my list. Maybe later, all right?"
"Um, all right, then," muttered Ron to her back as she made her way up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
Hermione didn't even bother to knock at the seventh-year boys' door. It made a satisfactory bang as she shoved it open.
"Harry! I jolly well hope you're happy! He's damned well proposed to me!"
Harry sat up abruptly on his bed, his black hair even more untidy than usual, blinking a bit before he grabbed his glasses off the coverlet.
"Well, I was happy, up until you walked in," he groused.
"Who proposed?" asked Ginny, sitting up beside Harry. "Not my idiot brother, surely?" Her long red hair was mussed as well, and only the central three buttons of her blouse remained fastened. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were just as flushed as Harry's.
Openmouthed and caught in mid-tirade, Hermione finally thought to shut the door and check to be sure no other boys were in the room. Stupid, really, she thought. Harry would hardly be snogging Ginny with an audience.
"Severus Snape," she told Ginny, and crossed her arms irritably, waiting for the girl to quit laughing.
"She's not joking, Ginny," Harry told her. "So he's here at Hogwarts, is he?"
"Yes. I thought you knew."
"Not everything, apparently," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in a futile effort to tame his hair.
"Why on earth would Snape want to marry you?" Ginny asked, confused.
Hermione crossed the room and sat on the end of Harry's bed. Harry's bright green eyes met hers and he nodded slightly, encouraging her to let Ginny into her confidence. Between the two of them, they told Ginny what had happened on Halloween night. The girl listened with wide eyes, biting her lip, and when the tale was done reached out impulsively and hugged Hermione tightly.
"Oh, Hermione!" she said with sniff. "That's horrible."
"Understatement, I think," Hermione told her. "The thing is, I really don't feel it. I mean, I know I'm pregnant. I've felt the baby move. I saw how ill Professor Snape was, but the whole idea of being raped," and she blanched slightly as she said the word, "just doesn't feel real. I don't feel traumatized, and I'm getting really tired of being handled like I'm fragile. I'm not!"
"Then why were you yelling at me?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted, smiling a bit. "I was just really mad at Severus, and wanted to take it out on someone."
"Severus?" echoed Harry.
"Well," she began defensively, "he did say I should use his first name. And considering junior here, I probably ought to get used to it. He's hardly going to disappear just because I shouted at him, worse luck." She patted her stomach, and Ginny enthusiastically exclaimed over the bulge evident under Hermione's cloak.
"I know when I'm not wanted," Harry remarked dryly. "Besides, I'm supposed to be on the pitch by now." He gave Ginny a quick kiss and grabbed his broom and practice robes. "See you after practice?"
"Of course," Ginny told him, but quickly turned back to Hermione. "All right," she ordered in a no nonsense voice, sounding a great deal like her mother. "Tell me all about it."
*****
Once Hermione made it back to her rooms, she was brought up short by the stack of packages waiting on her bed. Crookshanks was busy investigating them, rubbing his ginger chin on the corners of the boxes and batting at the ends of the twine wrapped around some of them.
Hermione hung up her cloak and began to go through the purchases, each one making her feel a bit worse for being so harsh in her refusal of her first ever marriage proposal. The immediate counter-response was to become angry with herself for letting Severus Snape manipulate her, albeit unknowingly. With see-sawed emotions and unsettled mind, she hung up her new robes, folded her new underclothes, and set her new boots in her wardrobe. Her thrifty side prompted her to keep the boxes for later use, though for what, she couldn't say.
Deciding a bath was the best way to sooth her jumpy nerves, Hermione flicked her wand at the bathtub and had it fill itself with warm, bubbly water. The ill-fitting robes she'd worn to Diagon Alley were tossed into the basket she kept behind the bathroom door for her laundry.
The old, scratched looking glass on the back of the door caught her attention as it reflected back the blue of her discarded robes, and she walked slowly towards it. In the mirror her appearance was much the same as it always had been; loads of brown hair with honey-colored highlights, far too curly and usually unmanageable. Her summer tan had long ago faded and her face was the same oval, her eyes only a medium brown and unremarkable under dark brows.
Below her collarbones, though, the inventory had changed completely. Her breasts had plumped up, pillowing over the top edge of her bra, and further down. the formerly flat plane of her stomach was rounded out now. She couldn't even suck in her stomach for more than a moment; the bulge had a presence of its own and refused to disappear. Her hand ran over the curve, feeling the tight skin and firm muscle underneath. A pale brown line started above her belly button and ran down to disappear under the panties that were stretched tight enough to pinch.
Despite her refusal to Severus Snape, she could not repress the mental image of his hand on her stomach and wondered what he would think of it now, if he's show the same astonished wonder as before. The unbidden memory also reminded her of how she'd felt under his touch, and her nipples tightened as arousal washed through her once more.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. Determined to bring her wayward emotions under control, Hermione mechanically stripped of the rest of her clothes and stepped into the tub. She had the entire weekend to worry about Snape, but only an hour or more until dinner.
*****
Severus made sure he was seated at his worktable when Hermione came to the lab on Monday afternoon. He knew she'd be coming, since he knew perfectly well that Pomfrey was out of her Headache-Ease potion. Normally he abhorred waste, but he'd shown no remorse while pouring perfectly good potions down the drain.
When she stepped into the laboratory after lunch, Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to react to Snape. He'd accepted her refusal and demand to be taken home with a curt nod, but she'd seen that angular jaw tense. He'd been terribly angry, but had done as she'd asked and taken them back to Hogwarts without another word. Accustomed as she was to her Gryffindor counterparts' explosive outbursts, she was unaccustomed to with the Slytherin approach to anger.
Once she'd set up her workspace to make the potion Madame Pomfrey had run out of, Hermione began to gather her ingredients. At his worktable, Snape made his way methodically through a stack of papers without so much as glancing at her. She worked silently for some time, but he didn't speak a word to her. Apparently the Slytherin way of dealing with anger was the silent treatment. He was in full Potions Master dress this afternoon, including his black robes over his black frock coat, buttoned fully up under his neck and nearly concealing the black neck-cloth he wore instead of a tie.
The jar of feverfew was nearly empty, and Hermione frowned. Snape had some duplicates of her supplies on his own shelves, but courtesy required she ask before borrowing.
"May I use your feverfew, please?" she asked him, rigidly polite.
Snape regarded her from under hooded eyes for several long moments, drawing out the silence, then reached a long arm to the cabinet nearest him and plucked off a glass jar. He handed it to her wordlessly and returned to his papers.
The third time Hermione realized she was out of something, the suspicion that had been growing bloomed into certainty. She set the nearly empty jar of skullcap down with a thump and glared at Snape with narrowed eyes. The container has been full just a week ago, and she was sure the contents had been skimmed from her stores and somehow found their way into the canisters in his side of the lab.
The ploy was deliberate and transparent and he must have known she'd see right through it. She wasn't sure if she should feel slighted or flattered. Whatever the man's intentions were, she decided to bring this issue to a head, and right now.
"You asked me to marry you," Hermione stated baldly.
"Not as boring as Binns' delivery, but just as much ancient history." Snape's voice was bland, even courteous for him as he continued working on his papers, but the deep thrum of his voice went through her, stirring her hormones and not checking in at the gate. It didn't help her temper much, either.
"Does that mean your offer is no longer open?" she challenged.
"Are you telling me you're reconsidering your answer?" he replied in the same bored tone.
Hermione's chin came up. "Marriage isn't something I take lightly, Professor. You and I share a single nightmare that I don't even remember and the results thereof. You're twenty years older than I am, and other than potions and the fight against Voldemort, we haven't a single thing in common."
"You forget our deep loathing of Neville Longbottom."
"I don't loathe Neville. He simply irritates me to no end, but so do you when you bully him so," Hermione told him. "Lucius Malfoy and his snot of a son are the only people I truly loath."
"That's a start, I suppose," He drawled. "And as I said before, we do work well together."
Hermione came closer to his table, her hands clasped in front of her. It was a nervous gesture rather than deliberate, and she was likely unconscious of how her arms outlined the visible evidence of her pregnancy.
"I won't deny that being married to a pureblood wizard could save me a lot of embarrassment, but I'm reluctant to trade one problem for a worse one."
"I understand your reluctance, Miss Granger. Hermione," he corrected himself. "But surely you understand how difficult it will be for a single witch to raise an illegitimate child - especially if the circumstances become known."
Strangely, she knew he wasn't threatening her with exposure, but trying to shield her from the harshness she'd already tasted. Hermione could hardly believe she had had the temerity to say these things aloud, but the deepest part of her continued to be aware of him, miss his conversation, and mourned the loss of the tentative friendship they'd developed.
"It was my decision to have this baby, and I was prepared to go it alone. However. If you truly want me to marry you, you'll have to give me a better reason than you already have."
Snape dropped his quill and looked at her sternly. "If you're expecting me to bring you flowers or chocolate hearts, you'll have a very long wait."
"I've all the chocolate hearts I'll ever need," Hermione reminded him, thinking of the cabinet with the leftover medical chocolate. A small giggle tried to escape as she imagined Snape with a lute and a lopsided crown of laurels like the tipsy Renaissance lover in one of the portraits outside the Great Hall. "You should know me better than that.
"I would like to find out if we might be even remotely compatible. I had originally hoped that we might become friends of a sort, especially as you said you wanted to be part of the baby's upbringing. I'd rather envisioned you popping round every other weekend like a favorite uncle."
"Is that what you want?"
Hermione's mouth went dry. He hadn't moved, but she was suddenly impacted by the image of Severus Snape's tall body, the stillness with which he held himself. His black hair framed his long face and intensified the darkness of his eyes as they held her captive like the proverbial snake with its prey. This man was dangerous, and brilliant, and she now realized was attractive in ways she'd never knew existed.
"What do you want?" she countered, and saw a flicker in his obsidian eyes she couldn't interpret.
"I want to make amends for the harm I've caused you. I want our child, OUR child," he emphasized," to live in decent surroundings without his mother worrying where she'll find the money to feed him his next meal. I want him to be safe, and happy, and I want his mother to be that as well."
"Then I think we should continue as we were before," Hermione suggested, "and see how we get on. And after that." she could not think what would come after that.
Snape rose from his seat and came around the table, his boots barely whispering on the stone floor. Her body reacted to his nearness, and she was hard pressed to control herself as he came close enough for her to put her hand on his black wool-covered chest. He gave her a short, courteous bow and the manners of another century reminding her once again that wizardly culture had only superficial resemblance to that she'd been raised in.
"Very well, Miss Granger. Hermione. We shall see."