Chapter 04: The Unwelcome Visitor
Snape eyed the flurry of owls descending into the Great Hall warily, coffee cup poised midway to his lips. A large, tenacious looking bird peeled off toward the High Table, veering off at the last minute to deposit a small scroll in front of Dumbledore. Snape sighed with audible relief, taking a sip of the scalding hot liquid in the knowledge that this might well be the last day in which such small pleasures would register. Still, he allowed himself a tight-lipped smile as he considered the evident difficulty the Ministry was experiencing in their attempts to match him to a bride, for he had been on the ministry's marriage register for nearly a fortnight and had yet to receive notification of a successful match.
"Expecting something, Severus?" Dumbledore cut across his gloomy thoughts, receiving a non-committal grunt in reply. "Between you and me, I'm still waiting for my biting teacup to arrive from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."
"I'm sure the suspense is killing you," Snape replied dryly, absent-mindedly stirring a spoonful of sugar into his drink.
"Actually, it's most unlike them to be late, but I suppose young mister Weasley has more pressing concerns at the moment, eh?" Dumbledore nudged his companion conspiratorially, adding a suggestive wink for good measure. Snape shuddered as Dumbledore turned his attention to the newly delivered mail. "Oh dear, oh dear me," he repeated as he lowered the parchment from his face. "It seems that we are to receive a most unwelcome visitor."
"Yes, I had noticed that Ms. Granger was returning from her honeymoon after the weekend," Snape said testily.
Dumbledore tutted disapprovingly. "I was referring to this letter from the Ministry of Magic, as well you know. It seems you have been making trouble for them again." Dumbledore eyed him above his half-moon spectacles, a twinkle in his eye. "So much so that they feel it necessary to reward you with a personal visit from the Department of Internal Wizarding Relations."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "What the devil do they want now?"
"Your hand in marriage, apparently. They tell me you're proving most unco-operative?" Snape ignored Dumbledore's inquisitive tone and folded his arms oppressively, refusing to quench the old man's insatiable appetite for gossip. "Yes, well, I can't imagine where they got that idea from," Dumbledore muttered as he folded the letter crisply in half and handed it to Snape.
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"Hermione, George, welcome back!" Mrs. Weasley embraced the two weary travellers as they stepped through the door and into the welcome warmth of The Burrow. "I trust you had a nice time?"
Hermione looked sideways at George only for him to defer judgement back. Well, she could hardly say the truth, could she? She could just imagine Molly Weasley's response to the intelligence that she had had a lovely two weeks in Rome, thank you very much – couldn't say how George had fared on his adventure holiday in New Zealand, though. Personally, she had always regarded the honeymoon as a strange prerequisite to married life; a combination of mutual isolation and warmer climes serving to open up the beloved's every flaw to a whole new level of scrutiny.
Aware that some answer was expected of at least one of them – and preferably in the positive – she smiled and assented that they had had a lovely time in Scotland. George grinned knowingly at her before stooping to accept a kiss from his mother.
"I can't wait to hear all about it!" Mrs. Weasley squealed, pressing Hermione's hand. "I remember my own honeymoon. We went camping in Dorset and the sun shone every single day - Arthur insisted that it was his doing," she smiled at the memory, a dreamy look entering her eyes.
George tried to stifle his yawn, but Mrs. Weasley's keen eyes noted the action and she smiled indulgently at her son. "You can tell me all about it tomorrow. You must be very tired," she said to Hermione, before turning to address George. "Now I've made up the bed in Bill's old room and laid out some clean towels for you both. Is there anything else you need?" They looked at one another and shook their heads. "Good night then," she smiled, turning to glance at them one last time with a contented look on her face before turning upstairs for bed.
Hermione turned to face George expectantly. "So, shall we, erm, retire…?" she trailed off, unsure what to do next.
George nodded, sensing her uncertainty and colouring as he thought of the double bed waiting upstairs. "Do you want to go up first and get ready?"
Hermione nodded, grateful for George's sensitivity as she made her way up to the top floor bathroom. He had promised that she only need stay for this one weekend, just for his mother's benefit, and she hadn't had the heart to refuse when he had bashfully approached her at the end of her holiday with all his usual bravado stripped bare. Of course, it may have just been the Mai Tai cocktail in her hand doing the talking.
She shuffled into the bathroom, changing hurriedly into her pyjamas before brushing her teeth with her usual degree of thoroughness. She chanced a quick look at her reflection in the mirror, groaned inwardly at the travel creases around her eyes, before splashing some cold water on her face. Her nocturnal preparations over, she tiptoed across the landing to Bill's room and slipped between the crisp, fresh sheets on the bed. Her hand hovered on her wand, before she decided that it would probably remove some of the attendant awkwardness if she extinguished the light and feigned sleep.
"Hermione, are you awake?"
She ignored the soft whisper as she heard the door creak slowly shut and the light tread of George's feet across the darkened room.
"Oof!" she groaned as a sudden weight pressed down on her legs.
"Oh, sorry, didn't see you there," George apologised, getting up and walking around to the other side of the bed as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
Hermione felt the mattress dip alarmingly as he got in and clawed herself back from onto her side of the bed, stifling a giggle.
"What?" George said defensively.
"I'd forgotten it does that."
George digested her words for a couple of seconds, before propping himself up on one elbow and turning to face her. "Hermione Granger, you dirty little minx!" he exclaimed. "As far as I can remember, mum always put you in Ginny's room when you stayed over," he said, peering into her face with a wicked grin on his face. "Although I also seem to recall that Ron commandeered this room at round about the same time."
Hermione flushed in the dark.
"I thought it was the younger siblings who were supposed to get all the hand-me-downs," he teased, rewarded with a wallop in the face from Hermione's pillow.
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"Well, what is it man? Out with it!" Snape snapped as he banged a substantial bundle of homework scrolls down onto his desk with a resounding thud.
"Really, there's no need for any hostility!" the thin, nervous-looking man protested, all the while steeling himself not to flinch. Merlin's beard, of all the worthless, thankless tasks in the world this must just about top them all. Three weeks he had been working for the Ministry of Magic and he was already mentally composing his resignation letter. He spent his days traversing across Britain, single-handedly disproving the maxim that there was no satisfaction to be gained from shooting the bearer of bad news. Professor Snape was his third case today, and his reaction far from extraordinary. "I'm just the messenger, Professor. Maybe we could sit down somewhere to discuss your circumstances?"
"Sit!" Snape roared, and the young wizard found his knees shooting away from underneath him, seemingly of their own volition. Snape smiled coldly, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair as he surveyed the man from behind his teaching desk, feeling that he was at last on familiar territory.
The man hesitated, as though waiting for permission to speak, before finally opening the interview with a brusque efficiency. "As you know, I work for the Department of Internal Wizarding Relations," he paused, ignoring the snort of contempt his introduction elicited, "and we make it a policy to track all outstanding cases. Now according to my notes you have been on the marriage register awaiting a match for thirteen days. Perhaps you could tell me why you think you have been unsuccessful so far?"
"That all depends on one's objectives. I think you'll find I've proven remarkably successful in fulfilling my own," Snape shot back, staring challengingly into the young man's eyes.
He ignored Snape's provocation and ploughed on. "Well perhaps you could tell me why you think you have proven so difficult to match?"
"I don't know - one would imagine that ex-Death Eaters of ambiguous loyalty would just be snapped up straight away."
"Yes, well, I think you may have hit the nail on the head. I've been looking through your case notes and I think you're approaching things with a very negative attitude. My job here is to troubleshoot any developmental areas and set you on the right path toward finding a match. My main concern at the moment is your evident lack of self esteem, which is something I hope we can work on together."
Snape snorted contemptuously, a thin smile curling the corners of his lips. "I expected to receive an ultimatum, not therapy."
"Believe me, it's just as important to us that you're compatible and happy in your match as it is to you."
"Since you're not the one who's going to be banging the nag every night I find that extremely hard to believe."
"Professor Snape!" the man exclaimed, colour rising to his face.
"Although, since you're going to be selecting my bride from the rejects' list, I suppose I'm being overly optimistic in my conjugal expectations."
"This is exactly what I'm talking about," the man said soothingly, feeling vindicated by Snape's outburst. "We don't use terms like 'reject', and there's no need to feel that you have failed because you were unable to procure a bride for yourself. Nobody's judging you and you mustn't feel that it reflects any inadequacy on your part."
Snape spluttered. "I should think not! It merely reflects the inadequacy of the available breeding stock."
"Professor Snape, it is in your interests to co-operate with us in this matter."
"I am co-operating," Snape growled through gritted teeth. "If any other whippersnapper invited himself into my office and presumed to deconstruct my character flaws in front of me the least he could expect was a visit to St. Mungo's."
The young man frowned, scribbling furiously on his scroll of parchment before he looked up to face Snape again. "Professor, I am going to recommend you attend a series of Ministry-run workshops to explore your developmental areas. Not least of all anger management," he added pointedly.
Snape scoffed. "You can recommend all you like, but I'm damned if I'll waste time on this foolish nonsense."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll find the Ministry can be sufficiently persuasive in these matters," he replied with a watery smile.
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If one more cup of tea was forced upon her, Hermione thought she might just scream. She eyed Mrs. Weasley across the room, trying to calculate how much of her body mass was taken up by a bladder. She looked up to see Hermione's eyes on her and smiled. "I can't think what's taking the men so long coming back from the shop." She paused, holding her knitting in front of her for a brief appraisal. "Still, it's been nice spending some time together, hasn't it?"
Hermione nodded, feeling slightly wretched for her earlier delight that Sunday had arrived at last.
"Still, I expect I'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on. Particularly once you're settled and start thinking about a family of your own. Would you like a large family, Hermione?"
Hermione had just enough wits about her to mask her strangled exclamation as a cough and mumble something about waiting until the time was nearer before deciding.
Mrs. Weasley nodded in wise agreement. "Quite right, because you never really know how you're going to feel until you've had the first one. If the first one sleeps through the night then you feel ready for anything. Bill was like that," she said, beaming with pride. "Never known a sweeter-tempered baby!"
Hermione was struck by a sudden curiosity. "So what was George like?" she said, leaning forward with a smile on her face at the anticipated answer.
Mrs. Weasley lowered her knitting. "Don't worry, dear, I'm sure your babies will take after their mother."
Hermione laughed, temporarily forgetting her desire to return home.
"Of course, I know George would like a large family," Mrs. Weasley continued, knitting needles clicking in rhythmic accompaniment.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, deciding that now was not the time to contradict a mother's sentiment.
"And obviously I'd be delighted, but then I've never really believed in interfering, not like some of the other families," she said, sniffing disapprovingly. "I think it should be your choice, so you don't need to worry about any of that in this family."
Hermione thought that this was an extremely odd thing to say, but decided to put it down as yet further example of maternal egoism. It was only later, when George escorted her home, that she decided to share the comment, thinking to raise a laugh. To her surprise he remained stony-faced, saying that he wouldn't put it past her, considering that she'd already raised a request for grandchildren two weeks into their marriage.
"Oh come on," Hermione laughed. "I know it sometimes feels like she's omnipotent, but not even the great Molly Weasley can stretch to an Immaculate Conception."
George looked at her curiously. "Didn't anyone tell you about pure-blood marriages?"
"Tell me what?" Hermione said, frowning slightly at his serious expression.
George shifted uncomfortably. "I thought you knew. Well someone ought to have told you!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.
"Told me what?" Hermione repeated, starting to feel alarmed.
"About - about the consequences for Muggle-born witches marrying into pure-blood families," George said, refusing to meet her eye.
"Like what?" Hermione demanded suspiciously.
George eyed her carefully, as though trying to decide whether to continue, before taking a deep breath and beginning his recital. "Before the wizarding world went underground, we had a lot of trouble with Muggle fathers refusing to let their daughters marry into the wizarding world. And then once the persecutions started in the Middle Ages, Muggle-born witches found their loyalty divided between their husband's family and their kin." He paused to check that she was still following. "To prevent Muggle-borns from betraying our world the marriage ceremony was revised, so that when a Muggle-born witch married into a pure-blood family she renounced the claims of her kin and placed herself under the head of the pure-blood family – and the purer the blood, the stronger the binding," George paused, eyes scanning her face intently.
"And?" Hermione prompted impatiently.
"And when you got married you were binding yourself not only to me, but to the entire Weasley family. Technically, my mother's your family head now."
Hermione stared incredulously at George. "And you didn't think to tell me any of this when you proposed marriage to one of the oldest blood lines in Britain?"
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