The Ties That Bind

by TheHalfBloodPrincesses46

Five years after the second wizarding war, the ministry narrowly pushes through legislation to enforce new couplings in the wake of a reduced magical population. Meanwhile disgraced war hero Severus Snape is facing a bittersweet conclusion to his delayed trial. In the wake of being selected for matchmaking, can Hermione Granger change both their fates in a single, calculated blow?

10. Chapter 9: The Fall of Icarus

Heyy, a bit a late again, depending on your time zone, but it's also the longest chapter yet at a resounding 31 pages! Yes, we're insane. No, we're not sorry. Well, maybe a little. This is also the introductory chapter of Harry and Ron, so we hope we did them any amount of justice and they are, as intended, equal amounts annoying and endearing. But we had to get some Hermione and Sev correspondence in as well, ergo the length. But fingers crossed, it's worth the time investment! We'd like to think so 😁

Another huge thanks to our beta Marilynn aka hizqueen4life! Thank you for working with our very weird schedules and up until the very last minute. You're an angel.

Cover art, as always, by OpalChalice - Enjoy and please let us know what you think!

~ Kristina & Abby

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The Ties That Bind

No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread. - Robert Burton

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Chapter IX: The Fall of Icarus

"Ultimately, the purpose of magic is to free our potential, not bind us to ideas." – Philip Carr-Gomm

~•~

Friday, 28th November, 2003 - 9:00 AM

By the next morning, Hermione had found herself, begrudgingly, readying for work once again. Though the rumination of having an extra day to recoup from her recently altered-life, and the liable repercussions of her various choices, was incontrovertibly just as appealing as it sounded, after some brief, but rather intense inner-debate, she had ultimately decided that it would be poor form to do so. Not to mention the pivotal fact that it would certainly look cowardly, and that was a principle of which she simply would never abide. That reason, in congruence with the fact that it was the final day of her work week, as she'd nyxed Thursday entirely, laid her decision to be carved, alas, in stone. And besides, even if she had really wanted to abscond from her professional duties, her only accredited excuse would be found in some sort of benign, but necessary 'marital duty', which would, of course, require the need for her husband. This was also, inconveniently, an impossible route to explore, for everyone and their bleeding mother had just witnessed him leaving the city.

The only semi-consoling aspect of the morning, it seemed, was the Prophet , as they'd predicted, hadn't instantaneously jumped back into the media circus since Snape had left their immediate clutches. As such, the largest and most commonly read publication, at least, seemed to be ignoring their previous day's antics after their initial photo debut. Still, that meant they, more likely than not, had quite a lot of ammunition still saved up for later use . Who the bloody hell even knew what the scummier tabloids had churned out overnight, let alone any further 'publications' that might follow that day…. Yes, the 'couple' had, essentially, handed them all the manna from heaven they could ever desire and then some on a silver platter yesterday. It had irrefutably been intentional, of course, but she could only hope she wouldn't begin to regret it totally – that it would stand to be enough to irritate the Wizengamot but not too much so as to make her day a complete and utter catastrophe.

Either way, the inevitability was certainly enough to dissuade her from any urge to walk to work that day. No, she was markedly going to be commuting by floo. However , in the event that she felt differently on her return trip, or otherwise needed to blend into a crowd within the confines of the ministry itself, she did still choose to don her coat and – perhaps unwisely given its potential for newfound 'celebrity' – her gifted scarf.

Taking one last peak at herself in the looking-glass by the door, Hermione inevitably swallowed whatever lingering trepidation she had, and garnered instead the reserves of Gryffindor bravery she had stowed away, rapidly reaching for the floo powder lest she change her mind.

As she emerged from the floo network into the vast underground headquarters for the Ministry of Magic, she found herself practically holding her breath as she delved into the mass of other milling witches and wizards making their way through the Atrium on the eighth floor, where the innumerable gilded hearths lined both sides of the hall beneath the vibrant peacock-blue ceiling, and towards the bank of lifts to take them onward to their varied destinations. Most of them, thankfully, appeared to be quite preoccupied with their orders, meetings, and issues of the day. At least they seemed arrested by their work affairs. So much so, that she thought she might even make it part way through her day in hurried silence.

Though as she boarded a lift herself, the closer she got to her department, the more people began to take note of her presence, specifically. A stare here, a sneer somewhere else. A seemingly friendly 'hello' with a curious peek at her left hand, etc. She'd even caught the tail-end of a muttered insult almost more easily than she registered a confused, but relatively good-natured, congratulations. And there were definitely a few female co-workers passing by who appeared visibly antsy with curiosity, but, ultimately, (and probably upon catching Hermione's impatient glance towards them), wisely kept their questions to themselves.

The reason for their enthusiasm was discovered, however, as soon as she had swiftly approached her desk on the 4th floor only to discover the unmistakable leaves of a drivel-oriented gazette. Apparently, one of their least tolerable co-workers had had the ill-foresight to hide the 'contraband' – quite poorly, mind you – under a stack of casefiles on the corner of her own desk.

Hermione picked up the besmirched excuse for a publication and studied with a miscellany of both admiration and apprehension. There they were, Severus Snape and herself, very snugly pressed together beneath a headline she could scarcely (thankfully) read, but the font alone was dramatic enough to insinuate it's nature.

Fuck, they worked fast. Not that she was entirely surprised. It had, after all, been their endgame to shock, and with counterspeed.

Within the first hour of her work-day, however, she could scarcely get anything done without catching someone's eye, keenly observing her for any telltale signs of what she might think about everything that had happened to her, and was still happening to her, to be sure. Suffice to say she wasn't going unnoticed. Maybe she could snag Harry's invisibility cloak if she asked nicely. Ha .

~•~

The Boy Who Lived had only just narrowly escaped what he reckoned would have been a very tenuous meeting with Kingsley, given the acerbic personalities (and faces) of the men that had been flanking him, and instead, had spent the first half-hour of his work day with a bin on his lap and his head curiously inspecting its inner circumference, or so he narrated to himself hungover-ly. With gratitude, given his excellent pub reputation with the lads of his department, Harry had yet to be sick proper, though there had been a few moments which had proved especially dodgy. The poor, ink-splotched intern, sitting in for the 'suddenly ill' Ronald, to his right, likely would have applied the word ' perilous' , however. And as such, had muttered a rather maladroit excuse before hastily switching desks as his mate in the corner snickered at him about how apropos it was that the one time he'd finally gotten to be near The Harry Potter, his luck had gone pear-shaped, per usual, in a matter of seconds. Bless.

The involuntary repute, however, barely cared who at all was around him at the moment. Least of all if he'd offended a dear 'fan'. That could easily be remedied by a quick chat, autograph, or more painfully, a hurried photo. Mr. Potter, currently, however, was doing his damndest just to sit upright without suffering from the visual hallucination that the room was fucking spinning.

Judging by the stack of folders in Kingsley's hands and the rather pained expression on his face as he'd passed him by, Harry had quickly surmised that the meeting must have pertained to the newly-branded Marriage Law. A law, that apparently , had been sanctioned and first put to the test the night before last, as had been touted by the Daily Prophet – inside job, to be sure, he fancied. And as Kingsley's dark eyes had caught Harry's green ones, mercifully mouthing for him to "skip it", Harry discovered that he might as well have gone to the meeting, for it felt as if he were bloody at it. Merlin, it had felt like he had been at it for weeks now.

Indeed for the new law sat, and had been sitting, on the forefront of the addled, young man's brain ever since his cleverest, most stubborn friend had announced, almost flippantly – to him, at least given the bloody subject! – that she had not only been the one to advocate that Severus Snape be offered the Marriage law as an alternative 'plea deal'/settlement, but also had then immediately proceeded to offer her name as a willing tribute to be his match.

And whilst Hermione had supplemented their protests and outrages with her clever, acumen reasonings and justifications, Harry was still trying to wrap his head round it all, especially given the recent developments. One of his best, brightest friends had ungrudgingly proposed, in so many words, to the man with whom he had, likely, his most volatile relationship.

Snape still confounded him, a little, well quite a lot. Though he still obviously respected and regarded the man far above most other war-soldiers, and humans , that he knew. Yes, Severus Snape was the bravest man he'd ever met, and could, in some ways, be called a distant 'family' member. However, that did not mean that the ex-Potions Master didn't still intimidate him to Hades' Kingdom come.

It was, in fact, the shock of learning from his wife that the ceremony had already occurred, followed by the additional blow of the Prophet 's cover the next day, that had been the co-culprits for Harry's current, hungover state. For he had taken yesterday off to wrangle the outrage and wallowing of Ronald Weasley – which, naturally, had inevitably led to an insanely long pub crawl, ending in a split curry and chips from a local kebab shop, and an unintended "sleepover" at his best mate's flat. Ugh . Oh well, at least he had managed to keep Ron from going downright…. feral .

For now.

"Don't fucking be sick, Harry. You can do this…You defeated Voldemort for fuck's sake!" he challenged into the bin before hearing the, somewhat, reluctantly light steps of the third member of their 'golden, holy trinity's' approach.

Having at this point conditioned herself to be willfully deaf, Hermione almost missed the muffled whinging as she passed Harry's workspace on her first badly needed break mid-morning. Though catch it she did, backtracking a couple of steps and peering over at his slumped form with a furrowed brow of concern, and also of slight guilt.

"Harry? What have you done to yourself now?" Hermione couldn't help but pry wearily, despite having a rather probable, educated-guess at the answer.

She knew she had unwittingly, but with (more or less) full knowledge of exactly what could – and most likely did – happen, left Harry on unofficial 'Ronald-watch'. Given the man was, to his own great misfortune, the only one patient, much less kind enough, to dedicate any real time to ensure that Ron didn't make a total arse of himself. Or at least, wouldn't do so alone.

Harry sighed and sat his pathetic self up, adjusting his glasses before quickly settling them to cover the unexpected yielding of a yawn.

"I think the question applies to you more than it does me , don't you reckon, Hermione?" Harry countered back with his signature, backhanded derision. Though, he was still able to come off as, somewhat, somehow, charming despite it. He always had had a knack for that skill, at least in the wizarding world. Which was a very good thing, as his propensity for sarcasm was quite abundant. Hm, he and Snape had more in common than he might care to admit…

Hermione's eyes rolled, seeing a copy of yesterday's edition of the Prophet on the edge of his desk. She plucked it up blandly in a demonstratively unbothered response.

"Am I the one trying not to vomit all over my desk?" she retorted nimbly, though she could see the legitimate scrutiny behind his snippy reply and heaved a sigh.

"I put on a ring, signed a contract saying that they could print this nonsense whenever they felt the need to in order to further their agenda, and sent Severus on his way home to Cokesworth a free man – which was the entire reason for all of this, and the most important fact we all should be holding on to. And just in case Ginny didn't regurgitate everything I told her to you, we have a year before we're obligated to legitimise anything , and that's also when they stop this garbage too. It was a...decent deal. So I wouldn't properly consider it an affliction."

"Oy, one thing at a bloody time, 'Mione, I'm barely able to sit up right now," the young man grumbled as he held up his hand and closed his eyes with a wince. "Let's start with the most recent of jolts, speaking of the Prophet , I mean … 'Mione, was that thing planned? I'm suspecting as not or else you would surely have given us a bit of a forewarning, right? " Harry sat back in his chair and eyed her with integral curiosity as well as harbouring a ginger glint of misdoubt at her credibility of character.

"Ha! In a word, no," Hermione shot back with scoffing distaste, taking a moment to scan the page for anyone claiming credit for the intrusion. After a brief and eye-straining hunt round the edges of the photo, all she found was a very obviously false pseudonym. Bloody well figures.

"Someone snuck into Kingsley's office – clearly someone who had been tipped off. Right shock there. They must've used a disillusionment charm or something similar, so no one noticed until it was too late."

Harry gave a short nod of satisfaction at her confirmation that she had been unaware of the photo's existence beforehand and tossed her a petite smile of approval. Though after a moment or two, it devolved into a deep frown of what could only be described as something pregnant with a graver concern.

"Right, well, good, that's been sorted, but what about this new photo that popped up this morning in that dastardly, filth of a rag….what's it called…." he muttered in acute repulsion, himself having been the target of its gossip slandering and sensationalism many a-time before, as he dug through the bin on his lap and finally pulled out the unsavoury yellow paper and handed it off to her, "Ah yes, the Slanted Sundial . What about that? What about that photo Hm?… Whether you knew they were there or not, why the bloody fuck are you sat in his lap like that? And why is he kissing you in that… ugh …way. And most of all, why the bloody fuck do you look so smitten…or is it flustered…I'm really not sure, but I honestly I can't bear to look at it any longer or I might actually get sick all over your shoes this instant."

Hermione swiftly and instinctively yanked the paper from his hand, made a point of taking a proper look at it, as though that, rather than as a defensive manoeuvre, had been her true intention.. A very brief look, lest she take the 'flustered' title back on, live and in colour.

"This was ….deliberate. Not exactly the wisest choice to some, I'm sure, but it was done out of defiance , and in intentional retribution given how they sprang the bloody public announcement factor of it on us with purposeful deceit. We couldn't exactly let them have total dominion over the narrative, false or not, without giving them a migraine or two for the trouble, now could we? Everyone knows that the Prophet is under tight – well, I'd hardly even call it Ministry – bureaucratic control. Might as well encourage some healthy competition," she rationalised crisply.

"Plus, they wouldn't leave us the bloody-hell-alone until we gave them something to photograph. I had to sneak off the bloody train platform, you should know."

"Well, as much as I, myself, am a fan of going against authoritarian arseholes – especially within the Ministry – did you at least, once, stop and think about what this might do to Ron when he, inevitably, found out? Let alone if there are any other little charades you two performed – which it seems like there are, given your implied look just now…? I mean not knowing about them is one thing – barely managed to prevent him from sending a drunken howler for the Prophet business, as I had a suspicion… But…. this ," he pointed to the novel article's photo, "is kind of just, well, backhandedly cruel …." Harry finished his monologue even if a bit uncharacteristic given his aversion for the type to endorse long-windedness, he did feel that here, now, it was warranted. For though he had only seen this newest, scandalous snapshot recently, he had surely spent enough time with Ronald yesterday, and through the night, to promptly feel a rousing indignation at her rare, though present, inconsiderate behaviour.

Expelling a heavy and conflicted sigh, Hermione met Harry's accusatory look with one of her own, caught somewhere between contrition and annoyance – though heavily leaning towards the latter. For as much as she genuinely hated the idea of hurting Ron, it was equally infuriating that she should even have to concern herself with accidentally doing so at this point at all. One should think, breaking up with a man, waiting a good two years plus , and then marrying someone else, regardless how contrived the circumstances, one could avoid the nuclear fallout. Apparently not.

"Well, of course I thought about it. But... as childish as it sounds, they started it – we were told these things would be coordinated . Instead, they literally snuck a photo and sprung a public declaration overnight without even a hint of warning to us. Much less giving me a chance to warn anyone else…." she lamented, tossing the newsprint back into the bin Harry was still nursing.

"Not like they didn't know I was about to be stalked by every half-baked reporter in London. And Kingsley did instruct us not to be seen without the other in public so as to keep up appearances..."

"Oy, Hermione, bloody fuck. Come on now, mate, you're not thick. Walking him to the train so as to be 'seen together' and listening to Kingsley's advice isn't really the same thing as snogging him blind and grinding against each other leaning against a fucking brick wall!" Harry volleyed in return, if somewhat harsh, as he gave her a pointed gaze and he threw his hands up incredulously. "I mean between the two people heralded to be some of the bloody brightest of your years, were neither of you unable to think of something, anything, a bit more, oh, I don't know, less pornographic?! "

"Look, it wasn't exactly a thought out discussion, all right?!" Hermione argued back in a hushed tone lest they be overheard too obviously. "It was just kind of...reflexive. Whatever, not the point. The point is ...that it accomplished the goal. And at this point, it's not going to matter one way or another - it's going to be everywhere no matter if we gave them material or they conjured up their own. Honestly, that probably would've been bloody worse!"

She was notably no longer meeting his eye at this point, though it didn't stop her from jumping to the crux of the issue.

"And it shouldn't exactly be my problem that Ronald can't get over his possessive streak for me, I mean, honestly, we haven't even been together for ages now. He was going to have to come to terms with it eventually."

Harry almost burst out into a chortle of mordant amusement.

"Like you have a bloody pot to piss in when it comes to that subject matter, mate. Or need I remind you of Lavender Brown and the fuss you two made over him. In front of your now husband might I add. He didn't look all too impressed either…" Harry retired caustically, crossing his arms over his chest before allowing his eyeglasses to droop down his nose in order to flash her a piercing look of smug comeuppance.

Hermione's eyes rolled in impatient annoyance, before returning to meet his look blandly, "Oh, I was 16, you cock! Like you didn't make yourself look like a tosser plenty of times at school. There's a difference between making a fool of myself as a bloody teenager and Ron's still doing it as a grown adult – and a single one, at that. I love him to death, I really do. Just not in... that way . Not anymore. You know that. He knows that. I'm fairly certain he doesn't even really have feelings for me anymore, it's just all in his stubborn-arsed head."

After eyeing her with care for a breath, Harry finally granted his eyes permission to fall down, and to the side as he exhaled a sigh of conciliated bargain.

"Alright, alright, I suppose you've rather got me there," he remarked lightly, setting the bin down before swiveling back to face her stood figure before him.

"But you do owe the bloody man a talk , and an apology . But you already know that. I'll check on him later today — if I can even make it through the day — as I have to go by there anyway to get some things," he stalled a moment to yawn and stretch before asking with a renewed sense of tone, "Now then, are we even for all the bloody help you've given me through the years? At least a bit?"

Reluctantly granting him a crooked smile, Hermione glared at him again, if considerably more fondly.

"Not even close," she teased back. "But thank you . I will talk to him soon, I swear. I mean, I would've today if he'd shown up, but I suppose I'm not actually surprised he didn't. I assume for the same reason you're so miserable?"

"Obviously ," Harry returned with a cheeky grin as his cadence and intonation were clearly trying their best to imitate the man that was the current source of Ron's covetousness, Harry's inconvenience/nausea, and Hermione's, well, ambiguously, conflicted amusement?

"Yeah, we thought it best to let him blow off some steam via a major pub crawl. Got himself, and me, proper pissed, loaded ourselves up with far too much shite food, and passed out on the floor. Told him not to bother coming in. I reckoned running into you today, especially in his state, wouldn't have helped anything nor anyone. Especially given the unbeknownst, additional press that arose…" Harry explained their own capers of yesterday, and his actions of today, pausing to swallowing down a rather chancy 'burp' at the recollection of it all before continuing, "Speaking of, please tell me – against my inner feeling that this won't be the case – that that's the only thing I have to pray he doesn't see before I get to him later today, or, rather, keep him from seeing….?"

With a titanic wince, Hermione let her shoulders rise in a small shrug.

"I...don't actually know? It's the only one I've seen today, but I can't make any guarantee s…. They might just be stockpiling…" she admitted with noted reluctance, then held up her hands in emphasis to her final point, "There were a lot of pillocks flocking about, and there were definitely other photographs taken. I half went blind with all the bloody flashbulbs. Just…um…definitely don't let him read anything, alright?"

"I won't, I won't I promise. Like I said, I'll go pop by his as soon as I can get out of here to make sure he's, both alive, and not consuming any idiotic tabloids – Wait , a minute, just what did you mean by 'read anything' , 'Mione?" Harry answered reassuringly before his speech was abruptly cut short by the very delayed processing of his brain with relation to her last statement. He cocked his head to the right in anticipated consternation.

"Because I may or may not have just started saying ridiculously…. salacious things just to traumatise the wanker following us and to get him to go the bloody fuck away," she admitted a bit too quickly for the illusory innocence she was attempting to put across, her eyes convoluting upward, into the far corner of the room in a display of avoidance far more than snark.

"Half of which I don't even remember, but they probably will, so… I did mean what I'd said to Ginny, and she was meant to inform both of you, do NOT take anything said about me in any kind of media seriously, for at least , the next year."

"Oy, I am not looking forward to hearing about all of that from her, that's for sure. While I can – and bloody will – refrain from reading anything you've potentially 'forgotten' – I can't escape the inevitable banging on Gin will surely do," Harry remarked with a defeated sigh, placing his forehead on his desk momentarily before adding with a decree of solution in afterthought, "Bloody woman really needs to get back on a broom…"

"Then hire a nanny, Harry. Not like she doesn't deserve a break! She's not her mother. But… yes , you'd might want to avoid that whole conversation, too," Hermione advised with a huff, scratching the back of her neck a bit uneasily as she eyed Harry, suddenly slightly more concerned now that Ginny's view of their most recent outing even occurred to her as an issue.

"I'll have to write her a…disclaimer before I leave – which she will hopefully take seriously. Um…she didn't tell you…anything too specific from the other night – sans that the marriage happened , I presume?"

Harry respired before slaying yet another (this time rather boisterous) yawn, and then shuddered, before answering Hermione's oration with a slightly irritated, "Yes, yes, 'Mione, I know she isn't, I do . And we'll look into it. But I really don't think there's much hope for me when it comes to avoiding any newfound gossip she might get about you and Snape. Ugh. Just saying that is weird ," he dropped his head in his hands in 'woeful' dramatics.

"I tried a silencing curse, I even tried to get the baby to fuss so I wouldn't have to hear about whatever it was you chatted to her about. Despite all that, and for as successful as I was, I still managed to hear far too much! I mean, what the bloody hell did she mean when she said that you had found him to be 'stimulating' ... In what fucking sense?"

"That little chit ," Hermione cursed under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose in visibly flustered annoyance. Of course she couldn't resist making some kind of a comment. Gods only knew what she was getting into her head now. She could only hope the redhead was too occupied with motherhood to have seen anything new either. Her desk hadn't been bombarded yet, so most likely…. Oy , it was surely inevitable, though…

Regardless, it wasn't as if she'd wanted to lie to Harry about any of it. Or even really keep it from him, per se. But she had hoped to have some kind of a logical explanation, or at least a mystical quantification to blame it on.

"It means nothing! Just...some minor 'side effects' from the binding magic she's having a laugh about…"

Harry's brow rose in a potent effort to apprehend just exactly what it was she meant, especially given the rather garbled delivery of the information from his spouse, for Ginny had been caught between loyalty to her dear friend's request and that to her own dire need to get her husband's opinion on the matter when she had come home the evening before last. As such, he'd barely felt as if he knew what any of the truth was regarding the events of that fateful night apart from his wife's, poorly hidden, stifled hope – much less any nuance inbetween.

So, Harry Potter thus came to the very reluctant conclusion that he'd better sort some of this out and be given at least a bite-size version of what facts he could swallow, or that she was willing to share – no matter the state of his stomach. And, if only, just for Ron's sake, no matter how indirect or not.

"Er, just what kind of 'side effects' were these, Hermione? I really, really don't want to know, of course, but, er, I sort of feel like I have to ask you… You know, as one of your best mates…" he sighed disparagingly before admitting quietly, "Well, perhaps I'm also a bit curious, albeit morbidly, mind you…" he paused to glance around, "...about how the bloody fuck Snape reacted during it all. "

Hermione's lips pursed in a, no-doubt, familiar expression of stubborn reluctance, taking a covert look around the immediate area for any eavesdroppers. Though it seemed Harry had already vacated most of his deskmates with the immediate threat of projectile vomiting.

"I'll tell you, but you can't go faffing off to Ron about some parts of it or he'll probably have an existential crisis," she forewarned carefully, accompanied with a severe look of warning for good measure, before seeming to relent.

"Essentially , during the ceremony, there were a few... anomalies. The binds themselves were red, very warm, and glowed quite brightly. When we got to the 'kiss the bride' business, it was like a weird…electric, sparking sensation? We were both a bit disturbed by it. So, out of purely scientific curiosity, we tried it again afterwards to see if it was a one-time magical aberration," she paused and masticated her lip for a moment, "It was not … We then thought the wedding bands might be at fault – which we were given by the Wizengamot, mind you – but that didn't seem to be the case, because removing them made no difference. Granted they do randomly burn for…. seemingly no reason... However , much to your shock and awe I have no doubt, Severus has been a...miraculously good sport. Snarkily so, but what other way is there to respond? Especially for him ."

Harry made a right show of pretending to be sick into the bin at the crossing Snape's given name on her lips, and even wiped his mouth as a nod to his final scene of his pantomime upon lifting his head to find her eyes, a bilious glint still to his own.

"Hermione Granger – if that is even still your surname – please don't ever put the words 'kiss', 'curiosity', and 'Severus', in the same sentence again…. Actually, come to think of it, please never call him by that name again. 'Professor' will do nicely. But, speaking of all that. That does seem a bit odd… I mean, even without him in the picture, Gin and I certainly didn't have any of that magical nonsense. Which, I'm sure she's told you already, and likely me…. Suppose some of my subterfuge worked after all as I don't quite recall it," he grinned cheekily as he got, thankfully, sidetracked and meandered off on that subject rather than his former one.

"Yes, because running around calling him 'Professor' doesn't sound dirty at all," she replied with a mocking smirk, looking almost expectantly down at his bin. "Come on, Harry. Am I really going to have to plug your ears everytime he comes up in conversation? If you get nauseous at my kissing him, what ever will you do with yourself when I have to shag him?"

At that point she was, really, just trying to prod at his hinted-at gag reflex, but if he was going to be a shite about it, may as well. Better than to focus on the more disconcerting thoughts that were beginning to haunt her once again at his confirmation. Much less the bits she did not exactly feel up to disclosing at the moment.

"Right, right, blimey, apologies!" Harry moaned as he reached for a glass of water.

"Never mind, never mind. Please forget I ever mentioned it. Oy, we can talk another time about all this. IF ever. Merlin, you're almost as bad as she is. Even if I do owe the man my life...there's only so much I want to fathom about him, and that is certainly one thing I do not… Most particularly, now . Though, come on, admit it, he must have been his old, git self once to you…as grateful as he should be or not… ?"

The Chosen One eyed her with a small glint of hope? Amusement? Bloody change of subject? He threw back his water with finality before Accio-ing another and waited haphazardly for her reply.

"Well obviously, yes . Particularly when he's being harassed or inconvenienced, but shockingly...not really at me. And when it was, he was more just a bit snippy than actually biting or cruel, like he used to be. Likely because more often than not we had a common enemy, I suppose," she admitted with a small furrowing of her brows before eyeing his gulping with a sigh as she reached impatiently into her bag to pull out a small bottle of pain tonic. She tossed it into his lap with a grunt.

"Oh, honestly, just take something and stop moaning about, would you? Merlin forbid you survive this long only to go and get yourself killed because you can't even tolerate direct light..."

"Thanks, 'Mione, truly," Harry thanked her with flat indebtedness as he barely caught the vial, fumbling with it for a moment before tipping it back and wiping his mouth. He then eyed her, actually, and in full, abruptly starting to feel the immediate relief of the tonic, thanks be to Zeus. And with it, even further clarity .

"Merlin, why do you look so bloody bubbly? And when did you start wearing black scarves out….." his eyes widened before the light bulb went on behind his eyes and he remarked with conviction, "….It's his , isn't it?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, both marginally annoyed at his sudden wave of observation, and concurrently impressed that he'd even noticed. It wasn't as though he was trumpeted for heeding her fashion choices.

"Yes, Snape gave it to me, if you must know. He's, unsurprisingly, got quite the protective streak. And I'm far from bubbly," she defended, her face revealing her confusion at that particular turn of phrase. She didn't feel like she'd put forth anything of the sort. Had she?

"If anything, I'm over-caffeinated. Figured I'd have to be, to put up with the unwanted attention."

"Right," Harry commented, though eyed her rather bemusedly before being suddenly interrupted by a rather annoyed, and out of place, crow that was making its way among the random owls that had been permitted entrance. Given their toxic relationship in the wild, even in this context it was a bit…. impressive that the thing managed to make it in, Harry mused.

He watched the black bird continue to soar back and forth before finally landing resolutely upon Hermione's left shoulder. It took a moment to eye The Chosen One, cocking its head to the side as it almost seemed to tut at him. Harry then pressed his brows together even more tightly as he witnessed the crow nudging at Hermione's cheek before it reached under its wing to pull out a small bit of parchment, rolled more tightly than the bloody NEWTs results.

Hermione started with a soft curse at the corvid's sudden appearance, but merely rolled her eyes fondly and stroked her beak once she'd found her apparently favoured perch.

"Well hello there, again..." she cooed, unfurling the note casually.

If you'd rather come up after work, as it is a Friday, instead of tomorrow, I do have everything sorted for you. It's quiet up here. No prying eyes. SS

Feeling Harry's curious pupils on her as she read the message, Hermione ignored him until she finally looked up with a wry hum, holding her arm out so the bird might shift elsewhere so as to allow her the freedom of movement to scribe a response for her master.

"Yes , it's true. He has a crow instead of an owl. Very appropriate, I know. Could I please borrow a quill?"

Harry was too hungover to question further so merely gave her a small nod and fiddled to find one before handing it off to her. He observed the sable aves wearily before shaking his head.

"Right. Of course…. How do you… how does it… does it know you? Does it even have a name ?"

"Yes , of course she does, Harry. Honestly, he isn't a heathen. Her name is Nyx. Careful, I'm told she can get moody with some," Hermione responded simply, busying herself with a spare bit of parchment she found on Harry's rather cluttered desk.

She knew where Severus lived geographically, but they had yet to discuss the specifics of how she might get to his house, she'd just realised. Granted there were only so many possibilities. And was agreeing to pop over after work tantamount to agreeing to stay the weekend? Had they even gotten that specific? Honestly she couldn't rightly remember anymore.

Oy, nevermind.

If it's not too much trouble for you, that might be nice. Is your floo accessible or is there an apparition point nearby? HGS

With that she rolled up the parchment snugly, if not quite with the same intricate force as he had, and secured it to the bird gently.

The clever crow finished discerning the wretched man in front of her before cocking her head towards her master's spouse. She shifted her weight on the woman's shoulder and pressed her beak against the witch's cheek once more as she hid the note underneath her wing.

Harry almost frowned, "Are you married to her, or to him ?"

He was about to comment again when his keen eyes noticed a flashing of her left hand, if only briefly, "Merlin, what is going on? Your left hand is lighting up. Oy. Ginny will murder me, but maybe I should ask if I can leave. Now . I think I'm seeing things…."

"What did he want anyway?" the forlorn man asked his friend as he looked under his desk for his disowned satchel.

Hermione disregarded his initial remark save for a brief, unimpressed flicking upwards of her right brow. She swiftly found herself glancing down at her hand, however, and a sullen grimace began to form as the, now-familiar, wave of heat graced her finger. Trying to ball her hand up in the sleeve of her coat, she did her best to conceal the bloody thing.

"I told you, I haven't exactly figured that out yet. But anyway...I'm meant to be meeting up with him later at his house to discuss some of this chaos. We're getting assigned some kind of media-coordinator and we'd like to have some things decided on before they can try and do it for us."

Harry hit his head on the underside of his desk as he removed his bag from under it with a grunted curse. Rubbing it with a groan, he threw the unsavoury item up onto the surface of his desk and resisted the urge to make a comment about how she was already referring to themselves as "we", and such, an united unit and pair.

"Right…" he began as he took off his glasses to knead his eyes with his knuckles, "So, you're going up to see Snape for… the weekend now, are you? Since when? I thought we all had plans….?"

Rather relieved Harry had dropped the ring bit at least, Hermione shrugged at that sort of jumped-to conclusion.

"Well, I'm not sure about the whole weekend. Just meeting outside of London seemed best for not being followed by a bunch of gits with cameras, after all. And he wanted me to see the house since, inevitably, I'm meant to at least appear to be living there."

"Well, Hermione," Harry countered as he replaced his glasses and narrowed his eyes, "in the dating world a weekend would be Friday and Saturday night as well as Sunday, usually. And," he held up a hand of premature refute, "if you try to say that you are only going to stay one night I'm about to laugh. Or be sick. Either/or, so?"

Hermione gave him a withering look and let out a weary sigh. "I'm not actually sleeping with him, you oaf. What would be the point of arguing with them to not force us to consummate the bloody marriage if we were going to do it anyway?"

He mocked her eyeroll with one of his own and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her with fond exhaustion.

"Yes, Hermione, I know that. I was making a point. Why don't you just do it? And get it over with!? And then you can see about getting a divorce, or something. There wasn't anything in the contract about that little loophole after the physical officiating of the marriage, was there?" He threw up his hands in mock exasperation, for though his former 'advice' had been primarily made in jest, he was actually quite curious about his latter inquiry.

"Harry , if we divorce the whole agreement is void. They'd get nothing out of it. No publicity, nothing. If anything it'd make them look worse . Did you not comprehend a single thing I told you when I explained this the first time round? And besides, oh ye-of-political-ignorance, the sooner we start shagging, the sooner they get to start harassing us about making babies – i.e. one of the cardinal plunders they want out of this bloody raid. I mean, Severus is, arguably – no offence, the most powerful wizard alive. And I'd like to think I'm not too awfully far behind him," she pointed out blandly, if not exactly rudely.

He clearly didn't have to concern himself – he'd already gotten married and had a baby of his own free will – so she supposed she couldn't blame him too much for not soaking up the details, as they no longer had any relevance to him. They would , however, impact almost everyone else he held dear. And it would serve him well to clock that fact.

"Anyway, I would like to deter that whole business for as long as they've permitted, thank you very much. Because the contract did state that within six months of consummation, we have to start 'discussing' it. Which we all know is just code for extortion."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry, Hermione. Though, in my defence to your rather rude assumption that we never listen to you, that isn't actually always the case. It's not my fault that Ron had insisted we play Wizard Staff right before you showed up to notify us of your mad plan to marry Snape . I was half-cocked by the time you got through the door, so really, I think I actually paid attention, and remembered quite a great deal, all things considered – especially the legalities with regards to marrying Snape bits . However , I suppose those are things that would be wise to sort out sooner rather than later…." Harry conceded as he finished packing his wand, quills, and some odd files into his bag and stood before arresting himself suddenly as his brain belatedly caught up, and registered a very distinct turn of phrase she had previously just employed in her former statement.

"Wait, what did you just say…? 'Start shagging…?' Are you planning on having an active sex — oh Merlin… life with him…?" Harry almost actually did get sick proper at that mention, and resolutely stood to his feet. He needed to get out of there. Now .

"Oh that's not… you know what I meant!" She snipped quickly, though could already feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Besides, we have a year before it even matters, because like I said – I'm going to take full advantage of all the leeway they've given us in that stupid contract, even if I am married to a Potions Master."

Harry's green eyes met her own and locked in on them before finally softening to respond, slowly and lightly, "Yes. Yes. That's likely wise. We're just going to pretend that I never brought it up. Tonic is only starting to kick in… as is my self-sanctioned half-day off. Fingers crossed," he held his hands up in absolute surrender and hastily penned a rather meagre excuse of a note as to why he had only stayed for three hours of the work day.

"...That might be best," Hermione decided to agree, at length. Anything, apparently, that would get her out of the present conversation as quickly as humanly possible. Fuck all, even if it meant very clearly avoiding the subject for as long as she could.

"Besides, without being too… observant, if I were you – and thank fuck I'm not, I'd still just take the entire weekend off starting now. I'll deal with Kingsley or whomever on my way out but, honestly, 'Mione. Just go. Get sorted what you need sorted. And get back here to us for the BBQ on Sunday, yeah?"

Hermione arched her brow at her oldest friend, more than a tad sceptical at the contradictory sentiment behind his suggestion, but shrugged, looking somewhat appreciative.

"Noted. Just go rest, Harry. I actually need to get a few things done before I leave. And don't go getting Ginny too excited, either. I know you're going to go fill her in so she won't bite your head off. If she starts owling me and asking for a layout of his house I blame you. And remember to check in on Ron."

"Yes, for sure. Should actually go bring him a tonic as well now that I'm feeling better. Thanks 'Mione. You always do look out for us. Even when you don't mean to. Or more importantly, when we don't deserve you," Harry gave her a sheepish grin as he finished gathering his things and pulled his scarf out from his side desk drawer with an eye-roll at his earlier self before crossing to give the witch a hug of gramercy, and then slung his coat over his shoulder as he made his way out.

And hastily .

Just after the The Boy Who Lived had made his rather doleful, foundering exit, the ever wily black-winged bird soared down once again, skirting the top of Harry's head – almost with human-like amusement – before eyeing its prize in the shape of Hermione Granger-Snape.

Flapping her wings to catch her speed as she was within range of her owner's spouse, Nyx tenderly landed on the woman's forearm. She then cocked her head to the left, nibbled at her back for a moment before presenting her left leg out. On it was secured another speedily written note. One might even say, anxious.

Floo would be best. Direct route to here. Lowest chance of being seen…. Take away or homemade beef Wellington? And just choose, Wife. No need to be a bloody martyr about it. SS

Hermione, too, was obviously halted on her own way out by the crow's return, and gave Harry a encouraging smile lest he feel compelled to linger.

"Well that didn't take long...go on, I'll handle it," she assured him, as she plucked the message from the bird's outstretched limb and took it in quickly with a bemused smirk.

Defensive, but intriguing. She hadn't exactly pegged him for a cook, but given his history with potions, it did make sense. With a thoughtful rotation of her wedding ring, she constructed another response before sending Nyx on her way once again. And she wasn't far behind, probably needing to get straight back to work at this rate.

Well, if you're offering, the latter sounds lovely. No pressure, though. Take away is always a great option. HGS

Severus waited for his crow with far more impatience than he would have liked to admit to, especially given that he'd seemingly had an uncharacteristic desire to cook her a homemade meal (and not an easy one at that) which he had commenced even before she had given him bloody proper answer. Indeed, for he was already half an hour into preparing the bloody thing when he'd proffered to ask her. What in Achilles' severed tendon would he have done had she chosen the former option?

He rolled his eyes at his fated want to impress her. But, for now, he completely flouted to study the 'why' of it. Quite so, he, instead , poured himself a small bit of firewhiskey and threw it back just as Nyx made her arrival known.

Finally.

It's already being prepped. Just give me a time frame, please. For multiple reasons. SS

By the time Severus' messenger had made her grand re-appearance, Hermione had settled back at her own desk and was attempting to audit a murder trial from 1963 featuring a very bedraggled house elf who may or may not have witnessed or even been involved in the crime, but due to loyalty to its masters – one of which was the murder ed and the other, potentially, the murder er – was in quite a state of confusion.

Though, on the bright side, at least not everyone bluntly stared at her unusual visitor.

Does between 17:00 and 18:00 at the latest, work for you? I have to finish a few things here, then floo home to ready a bag, and make sure my familiar will be alright for the night. HGS

Crooks would, she was sure, be fine if a bit miffed. She could always ask Ginny or Harry to check in on him for her if necessary. She simply figured it might be wise, for future plausibilities, to remind the man that he existed. Though, given his relatively close friendship with McGonagall, she couldn't imagine he had any sort of odium with cats.

Severus clicked his teeth in contemplation as the outlier that was her feline came directly into view. Though, to his credit, he was not ignorant of the cat's existence. No, not at all. He surely recalled the tangerine ball of fur from her school days, not to mention the bloody nuisance it had been during their various order meetings. And so, with a sudden twinge of chivalrous yearning to prove himself, and therefore, despite himself he found his person mucking through the belongings in the cellar of Spinner's End in search of the litter pan from his late mother's late cat.

"Fuck it", he muttered to himself as the shot of firewhiskey on his fairly empty stomach began to make him less than cautious. He might as well extend the offer to the ragamuffin as well…. Why not at this point?

Though I know it's not ideal to floo with an animal. I do have all of the accommodations your ginger feline might need, should you be forced to stay overnight… Meaning, that Crookshanks is…as welcome as you are. SS

Hermione had to read, and then reread, the message to ensure she was actually understanding it properly. Not to mention ascertain whether he might just be being utterly sarcastic.

But no, Severus Snape had actually just invited her cat to his house – whose name he had also remembered, and whom he could, lastly, identify by colour. Not totally shocking, she supposed, given the man was meant to be something of a genius, and, she half-guessed, Minerva may have fed him that information to him. But still, even so, it was….strangely endearing .

Though did he actually expect her to accept or was he just being polite? That was the true question. Well, only one way to find out.

That's so considerate of you. I'd hate to inconvenience you further, but I may take you up on that. We'll see what kind of mood he's in when I get home. He's not an ill behaved guest by any means, just a nosy one. HGS

Ever so slightly retreating into self-preservation mode at the risk of having over-extended his hospitality moments before, Snape's last correspondence to her was, well, a far blunter than anything else had been thus far.

*Right. Owl me at least thirty minutes prior to showing up. SS*

~•~

After he'd escaped the confines of the ministry with a cautiously worded excuse, Harry took a quick glance at his watch as the chilly air brought him a shiver of relief from the lingering, sickly effects of their late night, and considered what the fuck Ron's current state of consciousness was likely to be. If Fate were being particularly kind, he might just make it to the man's flat before he could drag himself out of bed long enough to get any sort of glimpse at the dastardly Slanted Sundial , or worse, any other newer, sordid publication that Harry'd yet to discover, himself. Not that he wanted to shield the man from the world indefinitely. No, no, that would be mad , and near impossible. Temporarily, though? Maybe . Just until he got the reality of Hermione's marriage to Snape thoroughly into his skull, anyway.

Whilst Harry had, somehow, been able to muster up the wherewithal to at least try to go to work that day, Ron had been far the worse for the wear to even comprehend such a notion, let alone actually appraise it. To be fair, given the circumstances and context of their bender, it did only make sense that he was the more hungover party. Indeed, for after attempting to sleep off the byproduct of his over-indulgent night, and failing miserably due to the fact that a pounding head and an unremittingly parched mouth were hardly conducive to such an act, he certainly was in no condition for either activity, much to his pained chagrin towards Hypnos' design. Instead, he decided to tempt his fortuity with the prospect of food. Mild food, that was. Very mild as it consisted of nothing more than a bowl of plain, grain cereal.

With his fingers and toes all metaphorically crossed that he wasn't already walking into another unmitigated disaster, Harry Potter had stopped briefly into a corner apothecary for some more tonic before apparating straight to the walk outside Ron's flat and climbing up the few stairs to ring the bell. The downside of hoping he'd slept in, he realised, was that if he was still unconscious it would make it much harder to get into the bloody space. He wasn't quite to the point of forcing his way in – thankfully because it certainly was taking Ron long enough to answer – but he was definitely thinking about it.

Just as he was considering whether he might need to be sick, or if he should fight through the nausea, Ronald Weasley heard the telltale buzzer of his flat and, with a groan, travelled his way to the front door to allow his guest entry. Honestly, he didn't give a flying fuck who it might be at this point. Bloody Voldemort himself, somehow resurrected, could be the caller and he'd have gladly welcomed any 'killing curse' thrown his way. He did, however, have a rather confident suspicion that it was his comrade from the night prior drudging his way up the stairs reluctantly.

Harry briefly pounded on his friend's door with the side of his fist, once he'd verified there wasn't much sound coming from the other side. At least no noticeable drama was occuring, which was something of a relief.

"Oy, it's me. Open up!"

"Coming, mate, Merlin, let me get some proper bottoms on!" Ron bellowed back with some light venom as he did just that before crossing to disarm both the magical and manual locks to the door and open it wearily for Harry

"Well, you made it, what, three hours in? If that," the ginger chided with a half-hearted snicker before wincing as his head pounded in the left corner suddenly, sidestepping to let the man inside proper.

"Yeah, lucky for you. Here, " Harry responded, shoving the tonic at his chest as he stepped into the flat.

Peeling off his gloves. Harry also checked off his first, main goal and kept a keen eye out for any stray tabloids that could've made their way in the door somehow or another. Granted, he really couldn't imagine their finding a way into Ron's flat by subscription, unless someone sent them to him to be a prick.

…Actually, come to think of it, that was very likely. Everyone – and he did, unfortunately mean everyone – knew that Ron and Hermione had a romantic history. And even those with the best of intentions, much less those with the worst, could have sent him copies of those photos. Being an Auror came with a natural onset of enemies, and being a well known one only made the list longer. Tack onto that, the fact he was the youngest of six brothers… but, blessedly, so far, nothing caught Harry's eye.

Ron grunted as Harry pushed the vial into his chest and mumbled appreciative 'thanks' before popping off the top and throwing it back as if it were the bloody elixir of life itself. Wiping his mouth with his soiled jumper from the night prior, he placed the used bottle on the meagre kitchen table, littered with a plethora of alcohol bottles, before making his way to the sofa to throw himself into it wearily.

"How was the hell-hole? Anyone question my absence?"

"Not really. Told them you were ill like we'd planned and they uh... didn't really question it," Harry replied, half-heartedly busying himself by grabbing a few of the empty bottles and chucking them in the bin lest they remain there for gods only knew how long. "Though nothing was really going on today either, so probably lucky. There was a meeting of some kind, but I didn't even go to it. So no harm done."

"Well good, glad I'm not about to get bloody sacked. But, mate, what the fuck are you on about? 'Nothing was really going on today'!? Are you mad?" Ron questioned with grand indignation and, to be honest, dumbfounded perplexity at Harry's suddenly covert attitude. "Um, I don't know… It's not like the Ministry didn't just enforce a brand new, very cocked-up marriage law with our best friend and ex-professor as the bloody 'cover girls' for it! Or have you forgotten the bloody reason why we went on a bender yesterday!?" the exasperated, and physically trounced, Weasely threw his arms wide incredulously.

"No, Ron, I'd totally missed your almost tripping over me on your way to the loo this morning," Harry couldn't resist snapping back bluntly, his brows furrowing in confounded annoyance at his random offensive demeanour. "Honestly, piss off, mate. I didn't have to go in today either, but I did so for you . So that you'd bloody shut up about ' needing' to know how the fuck Hermione 'smeed about it all'. You're the one that owes me. Twice, over now. So stop being a prick, and taking your hangover out on me. Mine isn't much better."

Opening his mouth up in a weak attempt at rebuttal, Ron hastily shut it as he met Harry's aggravated, yet ever-constantly caring eyes, and dropped his head in abashed atonement. Oy, that was poor class, that was. And he knew it even before Harry had had to say anything. And yet, he'd lashed out anyway. Merlin, this entire thing really wasn't helping him with his repressed anger issues, that was for certain.

"I'm sorry, Har. I really am. I… I'm just so angry, and miserable. But it's not right to slag it off on you. And you're more than correct. I do owe you. You didn't have to look after me yesterday and indulge in a drinking fest of misery, and you didn't have to go into work today just to spy on Hermione for me… I'm sorry…" he sighed, and threw himself on the couch before covering his eyes with his arms and groaning in self-debasement.

"Yeah, I know I didn't," Harry agreed with pointed direction but gave him a lighter scoff of understanding and perched across from him with a pointed brow. " But lucky for you, I did anyway. Now do you feel any better?"

Removing his arms from his chastened, and very blushed, face, Ron exhaled a large sigh and slumped his form down into the couch.

"I suppose a bit… At least physically. Blimey, that stuff is fast… as for everything else… I suppose that remains to be seen, based on your report. Which, again, you have all my gratitude for. All drinks and treats are on me for the next two months or hell, I'll even bloody babymind if Mum's not free when you want to go out next," he shot Harry a self-effacing smirk before grabbing a stray chocolate frog wrapping and charming it to hop across and attack the man. Their childish antics had been a longstanding endorsement by the men as a clever, and successful, form of tension diffusion after any particularly heated, or emotional, row between the pair.

"But about that… your going to work I mean, and such. You can't be serious that 'nothing' was going on. The place must have been buzzing ! Surely! After the passing of the law, and the Prophet stunt… not to mention if Hermione actually had the courage to show up. I did tell you last night, didn't I, that Chester said that Herald's flatmate, who works in her department, stated that she didn't show up yesterday either... " Ron informed Harry lest he had forgotten, in an added effort to pressure the man into confessing the truth of the goings on at the Ministry, even if it might be unpleasant to hear. At least, however, they had yet to reach the Hermione update. Surely he could stomach to hear the inevitable chatter that everyone would have had about her and her new husband without hexing a lamp, throwing himself out the window, or rushing to the toilet. Right…?

After flicking off the rogue wrapper with a snicker, Harry's eyes rolled right back. And there it was. He was actually surprised it had taken the full, what – three minutes for him to get around to bringing the whole Hermione-marriage business up properly? If he were feeling particularly obnoxious, he might've given him a round of applause, but with a bit of regret, he thought better of it. Ron had just apologised, after all.

"I meant in terms of our caseload , Ron. Not our friend's bloody fake love-life. But yes, she did show up today – fairly certain she didn't yesterday, though…" Harry did not want to linger on that topic for very long. "And, yes , I even spoke to her. Briefly , though, before I left. She seemed …fine , other than annoyed at all the media attention and getting ordered about by the ministry. Nothing new there…. but honestly, mate, you're going to have to simmer down about it already…. she's got enough shite to deal with from everyone else, she really doesn't need it from her friends. "

"Harry, I needed yesterday for a reason. And that was to blow off my initial steam. So, I do know that. I'm not a bloody teenager anymore. But you have to understand that it isn't as easy as perhaps it should be. We have a complicated history. And not to mention one with her fucking husband, as well. Merlin, why couldn't it have been any other wizard that needed saving from the corrupt war trials?" Ron threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he tried to move on from such threads of life that had never been woven and instead life in the here and now.

"Look, all I want to know is if she said anything about… him . Did she mention the picture directly? They didn't know about it, obviously, right? Where is Snape, anyways? And how the bloody fuck did he feel about the photo? Did she say? Did she say at all how he feels about her ? How long did she have to kiss him for….? And, I don't know, did she seem….happy, or miserable… like she'd maybe realised she'd just thrown her life away and actually couldn't have had a far better one with –"

"Ron, mate, slow down! One thing at a bloody time, all right?" Harry began, holding his hands up in what was intended to be a calming gesture. " Yes , she mentioned the picture. No , they didn't know about it. Neither did Kingsley, and he was apparently quite upset about it. Someone snuck in and used a charm or something. She thinks they were tipped off. I imagine she had to kiss him for the…standard amount of time. And no, she did not seem particularly miserable. Apparently Snape was…in her words … cooperative? "

Harry winced. He already felt like that was a fucking terrible choice of words before Ron could even respond.

Ron's facial muscles knotted together in a cluster of wrinkles that made him look rather akin to what one might imagine a very disgruntled Fang to appear like. He certainly was not keen on the last few bits of information Harry had just divulged to him. Some further dissection was surely in order.

"What do you mean she said that he was 'cooperative'? " Ron began, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff as his brows came together to form a flat ridge, before he promptly added, "More so than he had to be? Did he not have to kiss her or something and he did… ? Or, or… did he just finally acknowledge that she existed ? I don't get it. And why didn't she look more unhappy given the photo fiasco. She can't actually be content being married to the dungeon bat…"

"I didn't say that ," Harry was quick to correct, though he couldn't technically argue with the notion, on past reflection… Nevertheless, not something that would be helpful at the moment.

"Just that she didn't look like she might want to take a dive off the London Eye, mate. I mean, obviously she'd planned for this. It's not like she's actually had to spend much time with him yet… what would she have had to be miserable about? And I'm sure that's not exactly the intended sentiment behind the word 'cooperative'. I think he just went along with it gratefully and wasn't an arsehole."

Ron let out a boisterous laugh of sardonic quality, "Well, that would surely be a fucking first. Remind me to give him a gold star the next time I see him," Ron sneered, as he glanced out the window and sighed. "That's all fine, and good, I guess. I mean, I don't want her to be depressed or anything… But, despite what I banged on about last night, I still can't wrap my head round why she would even consider volunteering to marry Snape when she knows the consummation stipulation – or whatever the bloody fuck – will be enforced sooner or later. Agreeing to shag Snape is just... eugh! Sheer, utter, self-masochistic madness, is what it is."

"Look, I am right with you there. But she's got a whole year before… that at least," the former Chosen One granted with an attempt at a smile that fell short of actually holding any proper enthusiasm. "You know she was going for the whole 'sacrifice in the face of injustice' play – but somehow, also being clever enough to help herself too, because they were probably going to marry her off eventually anyway. Not that I think Snape is a good alternative, but..."

Ron's eyes bulged as he regarded Harry across from him. He sat forward in his seat and wiped his tousled red hair out of his face before opening his mouth to exclaim tempestuously, "Um, yeah, mate, you could fucking say that again, you could! And how come I couldn't have been her 'get out of jail free card'?! You've just said it yourself. She just did it to beat the system. And that would indicate to me that marry, hook-ed nose, greasy, grumpy, old-arse Snape and having to fuck him one day is a more appealling alternative to her than her ex boyfriend?! Why not ask me to be her beard and get some other witch to be Snape's bloody sacrificial lamb if the marriage law was the only deal they'd accept for him. Or, whatever!?"

Harry practically groaned, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his still-aching eyes. "Look, we all know you work better as friends, you even said so yourself. You were at each other's throats all the time when you were together. And that was all bloody well and good up until now. You really think getting married would be any better? At least they're …distant enough to be mostly indifferent to each other. You clearly are not. And it's because of her that they even agreed to let him off in the first place. Marrying some other random witch wouldn't have done much of anything for him."

"Easy for you to say. Imagine getting dumped by your 'highschool sweetheart' after World War Bloody Three only to find out that she never really did love you in the same way you did her, and, likely, it was just the adrenaline of all of our near-death misadventures that made her even consider to date you in the first place!" Ron managed to sit up a bit in misunderstood fury to make his point to his best mate more than clear before slumping back down into the cushions.

"And what do you mean 'another witch wouldn't have done anything for him'? Didn't they just want him to get married to keep him out of trouble and his head down? I mean," he paused to chuckle at the very thought, "they can't be expecting him to….what's the word… stud …anyone? He's ancient? And I think, probably, a virgin. Or close to it. I mean, look at the man. He probably just looks like a bloody ken doll down there…. And I mean, Hermione would never have…. No, surely, not. Probably bloody infertile from all the Death Eater nonsense. And it's not like he'd ever agree to that…stipulation…. he can't have a cock proper, he just can't. There's no way around that," Ron resolutely shut the door in his mind on that conversation, lest he get a mental image in his brain that would force him to stand in front of a dragon and burn his retinas raw, though he knew it was far from over. Harry certainly would have something to say about all of that.

"Oh, like she ever specifically said that ..." Harry attempted to correct his friend's first point, then sighed, deciding not to waste his breath on picking apart technicalities that were, at the end of the day, probably pretty true and hop onwards into the more…concerning questions.

"He's not that old. I mean...I think, on paper, that's kind of the point of the law, Ron. Taking powerful witches and wizards and putting them…together. Not saying it is for them, specifically , they're more…for publicity and as an example. But that just especially means they needed a face with a well known, good reputation – like 'Mione. Who probably, let's face it, wouldn't have gone along with the law at all if it wasn't in this specific situation where she got to negotiate the terms of it and do some good in the process. Because, honestly, his being married wouldn't make a difference to them. It's her name they wanted, and this was the deal she gave them in exchange for it." Harry was…scrambling and it sounded like it, but he wasn't entirely sure how to address the situation without outright lying or making the whole situation worse, unnecessarily.

Listening to Harry's choice words with as much concentration and discernment as Ronald Weasley could gather given his physical and emotional states, he finally seemed to be assuaged by the man's explanation and justification for why he, himself, would never have been Hermione's scapegoat. And as loathsome an idea as it was to Ron, to have Severus Snape be so attached to her, even he had to admit that the man didn't deserve his wand snatched away, or his freedom jeopardised just for a chequered past where, by the end of it, the white squares far, far outshone the black.

"Merlin, all this bullshite for a wizard who basically died for this world. Not that I'm saying I like the bloody git, or, again, am in any way okay with this mess, but it seems like it's bloody unnecessary," Ron returned rather passionately, though made sure to lock eyes with Harry during the middle part of his report. He was most certainly not endeared to this little arrangement in any way, shape, or form, "They only have to shag, once, right? The rest for appearances. Then once this whole marriage law inevitably gets repealed, they can divorce and the world will be well and free of any potential Voldy 2.0's they might create."

Ron sat up suddenly, looking quite chuffed with himself and even managed a wry grin of self-congratulations.

"You know, Harry, that isn't a bad little five year plan after all. I bet it will all happen, too. I bet we could even help get it repealed. I think we should invite 'Mione over and get her take. I should clear the air with her anyways. Apologise, or er, she should to me. Or whatever. If there's light at the end of the tunnel, I can manage to deal with seeing Snape at parties a few times every couple of years if I have to…"

Harry visibly heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps this wasn't going to be a total disaster after all.

"Yeah, that might be a great idea–uhm…" Fuck . Or at least it would've been if Hermione wasn't literally going to be outside the city for at least the evening. Gods, bloody damnit.

"Well actually, why don't we just all meet at mine for the barbecue on Sunday and have a big discussion about it then? She's still at work now, anyway…"

Narrowing his eyes at Harry in avid distrust, and paramount suspicion, Ron lengthened his spine and licked his lips slowly, "Oy! Harry, what the bloody hell are you keeping from me? Once again, you're an utter shite liar, you are. Why would we wait for the BBQ when we can just grab her after work. It's a Friday, we could likely use a small hair of the dog… Why not?"

"Because….fuck's sake –" Harry broke off to hang his head for a moment in abject reluctance, then finally continued, " Because she's not going to be around after work, Ron. She actually has to go up and visit Snape. They're getting some kind of…advisor or something assigned to them and apparently have to get some things figured out before it all gets planned for them. Or so she said."

Ronald stared at Harry blankly. His nose twitched, and he suddenly inhaled quite sharply as he felt a vein on his left temple begin to pulsate sharply.

"If that Slytherin git tries to get anywhere near her, or tries to touch any part of her for any reason, I am going to fly up there and kill him myself. I will, Harry. Forget what I've just said. He doesn't deserve her kindness or her sacrifice. Bloody pedo, pervert, probably just wants a trophy wife cause he spent his entire fucking, pathetic life alone, and sad, and pining… and now his big reward for almost dying for us all, blah, blah, blah, is getting to get his cock wet – for probably the first fucking time ever, mind you – with my ex-fucking girlfriend?!"

The Boy Who Lived was really beginning to wish he hadn't. With far too close to literal a 'facepalm' for the lingering effects of his migraine, Harry glared up at the annoying but not exactly surprising repercussions of his words plastered on his friend's face.

"Mate, shut up . For one thing, she's older than both of us, if barely, so 'pedo' is stretching it a bit, don't you think? For another – no offense – but in your fucking dreams, Ron. You'd have to catch him not only asleep but wandless and chained up – you get the point, all right. If Voldemort couldn't kill him, why do you think you can? And also, I really don't think this has anything to do with trying to get in her knickers. They just went through hell and back trying to negotiate their way out of having to shag right away, apparently. Or at least I'd certainly consider a bunch of legal arguments with the Wizengamot to be an experience equal to that of one of the mythical versions of hell. They signed a contract and everything," he explained, trying to retain as much patience as he could while also nailing the argument into his friend's very hard head.

"She's just going up there, because all the fucking media she just gave permission to invade her privacy and fabricate headlines about her, are down here ."

Ron's mouth twisted to the left as he listened to Harry's words and with the hammering of each of his points, the red-head's resolve to be unjustly possessive, threatened, or furiously insecure slowly, but surely began to be chipped away. By the end of his account he was left with the residues of humiliation and defeat.

"Fine…." he succumbed to his own pride, and Harry's measured polemics. "You're right, I know you're right. I'll drop it. It was in poor taste for me to go after him so… though you can't exactly blame me. But, I'm old enough to know better. At least it's just a visit, right? They don't have to, like, have to live together yet, correct? Not until the year's up? Honestly, actually, maybe now that I think about it, I actually should be feeling a bit sorry for the poor cad. She isn't easy to live with, let me tell you. Cat hair everywhere. Her hair lands everywhere. Books, and parchment. And an unfathomable amount of bobby pins….And you should know, you haven't sorted it out yourself already, she's actually quite messy…. And don't get me started on her cooking…. We might have to start a support group with Snape to keep him in check from 'Avada-ing' her arse," he chuckled gently before yawning widely.

"Don't think so, no. Fairly certain she would've mentioned it if moving was in her immediate future," Harry replied, with a fair amount of confidence despite the subject of Hermione's residing at Snape's for any amount of time being one he generally wanted to avoid too much mention of. Ron was just starting to – well not warm up to , exactly, but not be violently sick at the thought of this whole thing. If…not in the healthiest way possible given he was basically just shifting his insults from one of the newly married couple to the other, but it was a start, and he didn't want to ruin it with his own concerned notions. Now he just had to keep him from talking to Ginny…

"If they ever do have to live together, they'd probably just get his and hers libraries and leave each other alone most of the time, anyway," Harry added with an amused smirk of pride at his own remark..

He did manage a chortle to himself at Harry's last comment. And though, he didn't wish Hermione to ever be miserable – and surely she would be if ever forced to live with Snape, even if only for a time – Ronald was still currently feeling selfish, and scorned enough, to be enchanted by the proposition that, save the predictably prodigious collection of books he must have for her perusal, he wouldn't be making her 'happy' in any other fashion. The bloody bastard likely wouldn't even let her touch one of their over-cherished spines.

"Well, I bloody hope so. I mean, honestly, the thought of the man sharing house with anyone at all is beyond laughable, let alone in any domestic way," he took a moment to let out a snicker.

"Merlin, the man probably orders take away every night. I hope he doesn't expect Hermione to go all 1950s housewife on him. Cos' besides the fact she'd curse him for even assuming such a backwards view, the woman, like I've said, can't even toast a bloody piece of bread without charring the thing!"

"Well, to be fair, Ron…neither can you," Harry returned with a knitted brow and tilt of his head for emphasis. "Though I'm sure they'd be…fine. At least magic exists, right?"

~•~

Despite the assumed, likely, popular opinion, (save those who had half a brain and could recognise that potion making consorted with chemistry, and that chemistry fraternised with gastronomy – along with those few individuals who knew him well), Severus Snape was actually quite enamoured by the science of cooking. Without a doubt, for the precision, attention to detail, creative aspect of personal taste and testing, and the ability to impress with a creation of one's own manifesting was more than akin to potions making. In fact, they could co-lecture quite seamlessly together, he concluded.

And so, upon checking that the delicate, and often temperamental, nature of puff pastry was baking along nicely, seemingly without issue so far, Severus untied and disregarded his mother's battered and weary apron and tossed it to the side with a satisfactory smirk at his long time foil – that of genuine self-impressment. Yes, he was quite convinced that his meal would be something of a showstopper. And with no offence to his current wife, though she certainly had never been poor at potions by any means, he was quite sanguine in his hypothesis that the woman likely couldn't cook her way around a microwave. Even with the aid of magic.

After Nyx had dropped off her final message and bid the witch adieu, the crow had departed without waiting for a final response and Hermione failed to see either tail or feather from her again for the rest of the day. Which was just as well, she supposed. Less attention drawn, the better. And supposedly less distraction, though she still spent a good portion of her afternoon wondering how the hell this evening would even go. And if she should actually bring along her cat.

Even as she returned to her flat just after 16:15, she still found herself puzzling over that same question. Crookshanks was certainly in decent enough spirits, but would Snape actually appreciate the intrusion or, again, had the wizard just been being overly-courteous when he'd extended the offer earlier? Was being overly-courteous even a thing he did? He was quite blunt , overall, as a person. Verbally, at least she never had to wonder about his motivations. In writing…well, honestly, she very rarely had to wonder about them then either. But this was a decidedly different sort of enquiry.

Finally, she sought the only man of the house's opinion.

"Would you like to come with me somewhere, Crooks? Hmm? You'd have to go in the fire though..."

The feline looked somehow intrigued, and yet, equal parts offended, so not the most efficient tiebreaker. Just as she was about to secure an owl to send notice to Severus and ask that very question, there was a rap on her window and the large black bird appeared once more, this time bearing no message but eyeing her attentively. Apparently no need for an owl.

Home now and getting ready, so I should be there in less than an hour. Are you certain about the cat? HGS

Severus had been trying to distract himself by re-reading Dostoyevsky's Notes from the Underground , but found himself very, vexingly distracted from the tersely maniacal literature he was so fond of (the Russians really did understand every dire shade of the human condition better than anyone else, he'd always felt). Indeed, he sighed edgily and placed the, ironically thin, novella back into its place in his library before grazing on his lower lip as he waited with far too much apprehensive anxiety, for her response.

Finally, at last, his beloved crow came to land on his right shoulder. She'd adapted quickly after his war-accident. Formally having always preferred his left shoulder to perch and rest on when desiring his physical proximity, she instantly recognised the markings from Nagini's bite, and ensured to keep a wide berth when near it, for his own security and her own protection over him. Thus, a new constituted arrangement had been silently agreed between the pair.

"Gratias tibi," he murmured and gave her a very hasty kiss before unweaving the parchment. He exhaled slowly, glancing momentarily out of his periphery at the rather comical array of various black cardigans, turtlenecks, button-downs that he had strewn about his — er, now to be her? — bed for consideration to wear that evening.

Merlin, Man. Fuck off and answer her. Then you can decide what to fucking wear. This isn't the bloody Yule Ball!

Yes; he's fine to come if that's easier should you stay longer than a night. Nyx has her own perch anyway. SS

Hermione chewed the skin of her lower lip as she grabbed a sneakily extended overnight bag and began to peruse her closet with probably far too keen an eye whilst she waited for the bird's return. Nothing exactly felt...appropriate, and she didn't want to dress like she was going to either a work function or on a date. This wasn't exactly either of those things whilst also, in a twisted sort of way, it was both ...

Nyx interrupted her mid-thought with his reply, which she took with some, if not total relief. And also a bit of…innate curiosity.

Are you insinuating you want me to stay longer than a night? HGS

All right, so that was probably an unwisely flirtatious and vague way of phrasing that bit of prodding for information, but she supposed if all else failed he would take it in jest. She was actually curious, given they had done…well, almost no proper planning.

Severus, upon finally having decided to baptise himself in his third-darkest black turtleneck uncharacteristically chaperoned by a pair of black, somewhat form-fitting jeans he'd found at the far back of his closet – (that Minerva had gifted him with a wicked twinkle in her eye a Christmas or two ago), he then ran his thick digits through his black mane tetch-ily as he awaited her latest correspondence.

After what felt like a nearly quarter of an hour, he finally heard the tapping of his crow's beak, and promptly permitted her residency. As he swiftly read the message, however, he suddenly felt his heart quicken and a sudden burst of hot adrenaline coursed from his ring finger and into his core.

What the bloody hell was she up to? Was she also partaking in some liquid courage before their rendezvous, and thus, feeling randomly flirtatious towards him? Or, far more likely, was he the slightly tipsy one, and reading far, far too much into it.

Well, only one way to find out, he supposed.

Have you not received Kingsley's letter to us both, Miss Granger? The bastards upon high, in retribution for our stunts, have expedited the consummation date….. To tonight . SS

Hermione's mind did, admittedly, for half an instant, screech to a resounding halt before she burst into an audible snicker at how obviously false that was. And that he even had the fortitude to joke about it. Well played, she had to admit. Though she couldn't let him think he'd actually fooled her, of course.

How shocking. And you think it'll require the whole weekend? HGS

Upon feeling the blood in his body begin to descend, Severus decided to sit so as to add somewhat of a 'dam' in the curvature of his sat body by which to steady it's hungry flow. What a little vixen she was being. How to reply? One must proceed…. wickedly . Besides, she'd have to be able to keep up with his tongue if she were going to keep his company. Let alone be satisfied with it…. Now then, that was an interesting double entendre that he had not meant to observe….

I think that depends on what they constitute as a successful execution of it. Which, we have read the 'literature' on… Though in hindsight it's rather paltry from my point of view. SS

Having half-given up on packing sufficiently with any amount of practicality, Hermione found herself chuckling over Nyx's newest delivery with the contradictory urges to both break through his jest and to keep playing into it, concurrently. Though which was most pervasive was hard to say. Much less which was more sane . Particularly given she was about to physically be in his sitting room in about twenty minutes.

It was, wasn't it? Any particular areas you feel it was lacking in? HGS

Save the entire agenda? Well, I suppose if I had to choose one area to concentrate my criticism towards, it would be the lack of any mention of an oral exam, before, during, or after. SS

Severus removed his quill and set it down, threw back the rest of his fire whiskey, and glanced back at the piece of paper with a look of rejected longing. He couldn't possibly send that. Not at all. It was one thing to masturbate – once – over that particular fantasy, of both varieties, actually – and in the confines of his own, lascivious mind in the dark of the night – but it was an entirely other matter to bring such thoughts, buried desires into their actual, interpersonal relationship as it stood. Even when they were in jest. The times before, or now. No, indeed, this crossed some sort of line, no matter how dotted, he felt. Best to burn it.

And burn it, Severus Snape, surely would have done had the bloody thing still been there when he turned around from ingesting the rest of his 'liquid courage' to see the mischievous eye of Nyx flirting with the windowsill, a piece of parchment very firmly held in her beak. She never did that. She always carried it under her wing or in her talons.

Oh, fuck me Hades, the little chit doesn't want to drop it!

"NYX!" Severus hissed lowly, lunging forwards to the avian as he reached out for her in a feeble, doleful attempt to grab the puckish bird.

It was far too late, however, for Nyx had taken flight the moment she had seen her master first contract a muscle. She soared away smugly, flapping her wings showily as she crossed the full moon's face, her head cocked and eyed with great objective the far off skyline of London Town.

Just as Icarus had experienced the pride that came from the apparent success of his winged invention, so too had Severus been charmed by his uncanny ability for carnal word play. Though, one must recall that where a paramount of self-approval richly resides, the bandits of hubris are surely staking out. So, as Icarus plummeted to his untimely death, so too had Severus been thwarted by another kind of celestial being. And though he'd much prefer extinction at this point in time, he only proved to fall stoutly into his dresser.

Now how was that for Poetic Justice?

It seemed to take an extremely long time for her husband's return response, and in the meantime Hermione had already argued herself out of four different outfit choices, flicking the steadily heating circumference of her ring around her finger in abstract thought. Though when the strangely plucky, and dare she say proud, looking crow did glide back through her window, Nyx rather dramatically presented her with a more crumpled looking scrap of parchment than any she had granted her before, as though it were grabbed or even taken in a hurry rather than given.

She certainly could see why. Fucking hell. After staring at the tongue-in-cheek (she assumed) note far longer than she rightly should have, she finally sat down to give the expectant bird something to return to her master.

Agreed. Should certainly be all of the above. See you in 15, Husband. HGS

Severus had been staring out of the open window, contemplating if the height of two levels was enough to fully do the trick to follow on the heels of his Grecian friend, however, much to his chagrin, calculated risks of a maligned survival were far greater than a self-elected demise.

Damn.

As he pivoted to check his reflection in the nearby mirror, lest his aquiline nose had grown any bigger since his stumble, his left hand suddenly emitted an incandescent heat, causing him to bring it up in befuddled veneration as he studied the pulsing thing keenly. Just as he was about to note that the timing of the palpitations were nefariously in line with those conducting themselves in the growing appendage in his trousers, the bloody culprit herself came swooping in with another message held avariciously in her beak.

He eyed her with acidic impatience muttering a curse about how he should have gone with a bloody raven instead all those years ago, but took the parchment from her with reluctant fondness, and related to her charm by stroking her breast momentarily.

He turned the paper right way round and studied it for exactly thirteen seconds.

Well, fuck him. She just played his cock like a clarinet – well, if only.

And with that very resolute image tattooed on the forefront of his brain, Severus adjusted his, thankfully, denim-clad bulge, and left to go meet his wife at the floo.