Chapter 05: An Unwise Revelation

Snape broke off mid-sentence, scowling as he watched the familiar figure make her way toward the High Table, pausing to reprehend two fighting Slytherins.

"You were saying, Severus?" Dumbledore prompted, taking a large bite out of his toast.

Snape muttered something inaudible under his breath, which nevertheless clearly contained a string of impressive oaths. Dumbledore followed his line of vision.

"Ah, I see. You were rejoicing Hermione's return."

"Look at her, flouncing around the place with typical Gryffindor arrogance," Snape said, so disgusted that his breakfast lay forgotten as he scrutinised her movements.

"Which I suppose is preferable to typical Slytherin ill-temper?" Dumbledore suggested, a twinkle in his eye. "You know, I would tentatively suggest that any man who got half as much glee from deconstructing the behaviour of a member of the fairer sex would be considered violently in love."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape scoffed, finally tearing his eyes away from Hermione. "I'm merely attempting to negate a liability, whilst struggling to comprehend why on earth you saw fit to employ her in the first place."

"Because she got the highest Arithmancy N.E.W.T. score of the last decade; because she got a full set of Outstanding exam results; because she is sensitive to the needs of her pupils and a popular teacher; because she has published several extremely promising research articles," Dumbledore counted off the points on his fingers before finally pausing on his thumb, "and, oh yes, she bribed me with the most enormous bag of strawberry bon-bons."

Snape scowled petulantly. "I got you some sherbet lemons for Christmas, didn't I?"

"And very much appreciated they were too," Dumbledore said reassuringly, patting him lightly on the back. "Now what was that Ministry nonsense you were telling me about?"

"They want me to attend anger management workshops," Snape muttered quietly.

Dumbledore roared with laughter, attracting the attention of several curious pupils who had never known Professor Snape to crack a smile, much less a joke. "Ah, priceless," he said, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye when he had finally managed to regain his composure.

"I'm glad my misfortune proves reliably entertaining," Snape said testily. "And that's not the worst of it. They also want me to undergo counselling. Apparently I have self-esteem issues, which will be miraculously cured by sitting in an overstuffed armchair and discussing my childhood with a stranger in an ill-fitting set of tweed robes."

"Well at least it buys you a bit of time. They can't consider you for a match until you've completed your course of therapy."

"I suppose there's some truth in that. But what the devil did he mean, 'the Ministry can be sufficiently persuasive'?" Snape pondered, mimicking the offending civil servant's pompous tone. "Because I can tell you the only way they'll persuade Severus Snape to attend counselling sessions is under Imperius."

"Perhaps unnamed individuals who start referring to themselves in the third person shouldn't be so quick to question the value of psychiatric help," Dumbledore said merrily as he spooned a generous portion of jam onto his toast.

"And how can anyone be charged with low self-esteem when the Ministry's consistent stupidity provides a veritable public service in ego boosts – even Longbottom's wits look razor sharp in comparison." He paused to smile in satisfaction at his own quip. "No, I'm not going and that's final." He picked up the offending out-patients appointment from St. Mungos and was just about to tear it down the centre when Dumbledore let out a significant cough. "What?"

"Severus, I don't ask you to do things for me very often. For one thing I am not nearly foolhardy enough to ignore our school motto, and for another it is not for me to dictate another's destiny. But," he paused, raising his hand to quell Snape's interruption, "I think that this occasion warrants an exception."

Snape looked at him in bewilderment. "You agree with this madness?"

There was a long silence, during which Dumbledore thoughtfully stroked his beard. "Rest assured they will choose to make an example of you if you don't, and I will most probably lose my Potions Master as a result."

"That's not what I asked," Snape said cannily.

Dumbledore sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Time is a most potent force - they even say it heals, although I'm not sure I set much store by that belief. Nevertheless, we have a finite amount of time in this world. One of the great benefits of growing old is that one has already used up so much of the stuff that it starts to run out of places to go and slows down, until eventually it stops altogether and the only direction it can take us is backwards, like an ebbing tide leaving only the saturated grains of time behind. Of course, this makes it more difficult to dip one's toes in the waters, so that all we are left with for memories are the deep pools among the rocks. The key is not to stay in too long and drown."

"I happen to know you're an excellent swimmer," Snape said, impatient with Dumbledore's fussy analogy.

He continued, regardless of the interruption. "I've been floundering in a particular memory for a long time now. I can never truly know what you went through during the war, what great darkness you endured for all those years as you laboured under the mantle of spy. What I do know is that at some point you began to see your burden as a comforter, as a justification for turning your back on the world. Would I ask the same of you again? Alas, I cannot go back and change your past, but please, do an old man one last favour and let him think that he has shaped a more pleasant future for his trusted friend."

Snape was silent for a long time. "This really means that much to you?"

"I should hope that your happiness meant something to you, too."

He sighed. "Alright, I'll do it."

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"I wish you wouldn't do that," Hermione said irritably, not even bothering to turn around as she heard the unmistakable crackle of floo travel emanating from the fireplace. "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should," she continued.

George grinned. "My, aren't we in a bad mood today?" Hermione deigned to throw a stony glare over her shoulder before returning her attention to the disorderly stack of homework scrolls on the desk in front of her. "Ah, you're still sore about the whole pure-blood thing."

"See, in the Muggle world it's considered rude to let yourself into other people's homes, but maybe we're just weird like that," Hermione muttered, half to herself as she continued to leaf through the stack of essays, cursing the bond which now allowed any Weasley free entrance through her wards and into her chambers.

"I got your note," George ventured cautiously. "Mum had mentioned something about dropping in for a surprise visit.

"Or two, or three. Honestly, George, you have to say something to her - reassure her that I'm coping perfectly fine adjusting to married life."

George nodded grimly. "I know, but she can tell that something's not quite right."

"And trust me, you really don't want to know want to know what she imagines that something might be." Hermione grimaced, remembering the painfully frank conversation of yesterday. "And you especially don't want to know her suggested solution."

"Yeah, sorry about that. She, erm, thought I might be having difficulty coaxing you out from your shell, as she euphemistically put it."

"What?" she exploded incredulously, spinning round to face George. "Interfering old bat."

"Hermione!"

"Well it's true. Why instantly assume it's my fault? I'm so tired of being forced into a nice little mould to make everyone feel better about themselves. I'm literate ergo I must be sexually dysfunctional?"

He shrugged. "And I run a joke shop ergo I must be illiterate. Stereotyping happens all the time in the wizarding world, Hermione."

"No doubt to the advantage of pure-bloods," she replied bitterly.

"You think my family's had it easy? When you're a clean state you at least have the freedom to make mistakes, instead of constantly being assessed against lofty ancestors and found wanting," George pointed our reasonably.

"Well at least people are willing to spend their expectations on you – no one's trying to neutralise your Muggle subversiveness with a pure-blood babysitter," she snapped irritably, aware that she was unwisely re-igniting the flames to a well-trodden argument. Her efforts to wring some sort of empathy out of George in the week since his revelation had been about as effective as S.P.E.W. Harry was as usual absent in places unknown, and she could hardly complain about the turn of events to Ron. She knew that she couldn't undo her actions, that words wouldn't change anything, but all the same she just wanted someone to take her hand, look her in the eye and agree that it stank.

"Can't you just forget it?" George wheedled, his last attempt at steering the conversation toward a more amicable topic. "Other people manage fine. It really doesn't need to impinge on your life. She said herself that she has no intention of interfering."

"Other people manage with broomstick boils, but I imagine it's not something you'd consciously subject yourself to," she shot back.

"You're comparing me to a nasty skin complaint – red and unpleasant? I must say I'm hurt." He grinned, taking a conciliatory step toward her. He felt safer cracking jokes - it was what he knew and something that required no recourse to the risky world of emotions. Of course, if he had wanted to avoid emotional intercourse he should never have come. He could have simply Owled back a response, reassuring her that he would have a word with his mother and persuade her to give her reluctant daughter-in-law some space, for there had been nothing in Hermione's terse note which had intimated that his presence was required. But he had felt that he at least owed it to her to put in a personal appearance, despite the stack of paperwork awaiting him at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Hermione sighed wearily. Whenever it seemed as though she was making a breakthrough George would pull back with a sudden quip. She wanted to share her confusion and hurt but all she could feel when she tried to reach out was an impenetrable wall. At the very least she needed more concrete reassurance that Molly Weasley would leave her to make her own decisions than the vague reassurances issued by George under duress. It was quite hopeless. She would have to place her faith in more reliable sources.

After George had departed with a cheery wave and an unwanted invitation from Molly for Sunday lunch at The Burrow she began her search in earnest, hurrying down to the library before closing time. But try as she might she couldn't find anything on pure-blood marriage customs in any of the reference books and, despite Madam Pince's inquiries, she had a strange feeling that this was not a topic to bring up in polite conversation. There was only one person who could be relied upon to know the answer, and he was also the one person who could be relied upon to deny it.

Of course, she had foreseen when she accepted the job that Snape would likely object to the appointment, but she had expected that, given time, she would eventually earn his respect. In some ways the thought had thrilled her, as she had imagined finally vindicating herself after years of being dismissed as an uninspiring and insufferable know-it-all. What she had not counted on was the sheer depth of his prejudice. And she knew that if she allowed herself to show even the smallest hint of a reaction to his persistent vendetta then her position would become very tenuous indeed.

Yet how to draw the information she needed from Snape? She paced up and down her room, trying to draw together her sum knowledge of his character. He would derive sadistic pleasure from the mere fact that she had been forced to approach him for help, but the key question was whether he would derive more from the opportunity to display his superior knowledge or from the opportunity to deny her request. Clearly Snape was not a man who relied on the plaudits of others for his sense of worth - he did not need to be needed. All those years he had passively absorbed suspicion and criticism as he performed the dangerous but thankless task of spymaster to the Order of the Phoenix. And then there was the Half-Blood Prince's textbook which had uncovered the inaccessible brilliance which lay behind his cold and uninspiring classroom manner. Hermione shook her head. No wonder he had despised her constant need for praise and encouragement as a student, for it had gone against every inch of his carefully cultivated intellectual introversion. She could not then appeal to Snape's sense of pride to get the answer she needed; she would have to try to think like Snape and rely on cunning.

Sighing, she pulled on her discarded teaching robes and began to make her way down to the quiet of the dungeons. It was not yet curfew but the castle was deserted in favour of the warm summer evening. She knocked tentatively on the door to Snape's classroom and was curtly ordered to enter.

"Severus?" Hermione shut the door carefully behind her and walked over to his desk.

He looked up from his stack of parchments in surprise at her voice, clearly expecting someone else.

"Yes?" He sounded wary, but not altogether unapproachable.

"I wonder if I could have a word with you?"

"You may have several," he replied icily, quill poised in anticipation of a short interview.

"Thank you," she paused, unsure how to frame her delicate request. "It's er, a rather personal matter."

Snape dropped his quill and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "Good grief woman then I suggest you go to Poppy. While I may make the potions it is she who is responsible for dispensing them."

"Not that personal!" Hermione squeaked, embarrassed merely at the thought of discussing such matters with the formidable head of Slytherin House. "It relates to my recent marriage." She struggled over the words, barely able to meet his eye.

"Well, what do you want? Congratulations?" Snape drawled sarcastically, enjoying Hermione's state of discomfort. He pushed his work away and leant back in his chair to survey his victim, a cruel smirk working at the corners of his mouth.

"Actually I was wondering what you could tell me about pure-blood marriage customs." Snape's eyebrow shot up. "You hinted toward something at my wedding, but I can't seem to find any information on the subject."

"You wouldn't," Snape replied coldly. "They don't generally publicise the ways of their world."

"But it's something you know about?"

Snape looked at her sharply, weighing each word carefully. "Yes, I know a fair bit about the working of pure-blood customs."

"I was wondering – wondering whether you knew about the power of pure-blood families over Muggle-born witches?"

Snape laughed - a hollow, mirthless sound. "Oh, how I would hate to say I told you so."

Hermione reddened. He was toying with her. Worse than that, he was enjoying it. "Severus, this isn't easy for me."

"No, but then I seem to recall that few things ever were," he said dryly, face frowning in concentration as he attempted to straighten the nib of his quill.

"Oh for Cerce's sake," Hermione huffed, pulling the quill from his hands and uttering a quick straightening charm. "I came to you for help, admitting that I don't have the answer to everything. You win, okay?"

"What makes you think I want to help you?" Snape said slyly, examining his newly-straightened quill with a certain degree of satisfaction.

"Besides the opportunity to privately revel in my misfortune, I suspect that you despise the current Marriage Law just as much as me."

Snape shrugged. "Whilst the former is undoubtedly true, I have no cause to believe that your hatred amounts to anything more than a self-righteous attempt at inflicting your precious principles on the rest of us. In short, since you were not affected by the Marriage Law I fail to see how you can possibly equate imagined moral outrage with harsh reality."

"Wasn't I?" Hermione said coldly. "You think I wanted to get married so young?"

Snape stared, before recovering himself. "So you shacked up with your boyfriend a little early, who cares?"

"He wasn't my boyfriend," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, well, well," Snape smirked, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, "this is a turn up for the books. Hermione Granger, Hogwarts resident egalitarian, wilfully bending the law for her own ends. You know, one could get in a lot of trouble for that - least of all dismissal."

"You wouldn't," she said, feeling a chill spread through her body.

"No? Give me one good reason why not?"

"Because I happen to have many useful contacts in the Ministry who would just love to pull up a Marriage Contract for you." Hermione took a step closer, placing her hands on his desk as she continued to expound her pre-prepared threat. "Fancy finding yourself married to someone who would make Dolores Umbridge look like Mother Theresa?"

"Is that your attempt at a threat, Ms. Granger?" Snape said silkily, amused at the sudden turn in her countenance.

"No it's a 24-carat promise," Hermione snarled, surprised herself with the vehemence of her voice.

Snape paused to consider his options. On the one hand, this was probably just Gryffindor bluff – after all, she didn't even know that he had already been the recipient of a Marriage Contract - but on the other hand, could he really afford to make that gamble for the sake of imparting some trivial information? Besides, he now held considerable leverage over her and it would be best to let her leave thinking that she was the one who had scored the victory. He sighed theatrically. "What do you want to know?"

He proceeded to outline the historical implications of marriage to a pure-blood, but went on to explain that the impact of extensive intermarriage during the intervening centuries had all but wiped out any binding magical imperitive. The only lasting implication lay in the stubborn residue of tradition, where ingrained attitudes dictated a degree of subservience from the Muggle-born wife in penance for her family background.

"But then I'm sure you're more than capable of defending your rights," he smirked.

Hermione shot him a hostile glance, before standing up and preparing to leave. She paused by the door, opening and then closing her mouth as though debating whether to say something, before finally taking the plunge. "Thanks, Severus. I didn't expect to say this but you've been a real comfort." She smiled before leaving.

"No, thank you," Snape said under his breath as he considered just what he could do with Hermione's unexpected but far from unwelcome revelation.

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A/N: Thanks for all responses to my last chapter – they were really useful in providing a steer for where to go with this one. However, review of the week has to go to TCFellows for the following gem: "Get her out, get her out!"