Hermione pulled in icy air and willed the rush of panic from her bones.
A hard heartbeat later, Severus' outer wards washed over her with a familiar warmth and eased her rawed nerves.
His tumble-down cottage, tucked away on the always boggy Dark Peak, shone a golden light in the front room window. The promise there of warmth and friendship, of quiet sanity…but she couldn't burst in on him. She didn't want to throw her problems at him like an out of control bludger…
Another breath. The chilled air forced a shiver.
She willed her foot forward…and failed.
Gods, she didn't want to go in there and tell him that she had to marry Ron. It twisted something raw inside of her. A pain she wasn't expecting. That her debt… She yanked open her bag, a tiny thing made voluminous by a crafty extension charm, and pulled out her binding contract with the Ministry.
She always had it with her, so that she could pick at it, find a loophole to pull her free of always being tied to a bright and subservient smile, of saying yes to every Ministry order. But -hope flared- Ron had offered marriage. Not the Ministry. Though Jerolin McLaggan had been so fucking smug.
The scroll was hot, singeing her fingers. What…?
Unrolling the length of parchment, silvered light shone out from new paragraphs.
She stared, a fresh rush of nauseous anger churning up from her belly. A hidden clause. Bastards.
In the paying of Hermione Jean Granger's debt to the Bank, she, Hermione Jean Granger, henceforth titled a Bought Witch, will enter into a binding, unbreakable marriage with Ronald Bilius Weasley, wizard.
Said marriage will, as agreed, in the Ministry's contract with Mr Weasley, cancel his own debt with the Bank.
The Bought Witch, will work until conception, and after no role will be offered, available or sought in either the wizarding or muggle worlds, beyond that of House-witch. As said House-witch, she will produce as many heirs as Mr Weasley commands.
As Hermione stared, the word 'Eight' etched itself in silver.
Her jaw fell open. It'd been the plan from the very, very beginning. To bind her. To turn her body over to Ron and for her mind and ambition to rot.
"Shits. Utter, utter shits!"
Fury burned up through her chest. Hot and fierce. Oh, they'd made an enemy this night. An enemy who'd brought down a Dark Lord.
Taking out bloated Ministry ticks? Piece of fucking cake.
With no other thought, Hermione burst through Severus front door, the house wards spliced and crackling from the wild force of her magic. Severus would frown and moan. But fuck. He'd understand. She stormed into his front room. She couldn't risk his laboratory, not with the spike of her magic, the anger that had her blood racing and the need to pound everyone in the Ministry into flat, wizarding pancakes. But first one Ronald Bilius Weasley, git extraordinaire, would be pummelled and hexed and then kicked. And—
Severus was sitting in his chair before a cold fire, simply staring at his knotted hands. His hair was raked through, as if he'd worried and snatched at it for hours. He looked pale and drawn and so like she'd seen him in the days after he'd recovered from Nagini's attack that it hollowed her belly. All of her fury fell to ash. "Severus? What's wrong? What's happened?"
He blinked. Looked up at her and frowned. "Hermione?"
"Tea?"
"I'll…" He half rose and she pressed a hand to his shoulder. He sat with an ease that deepened her worry.
"No, stay where you are. I'll get it. It won't be as lovely as your brew, but…" She was rambling, so she turned on her heel and scurried into his kitchen. A place he hardly used as most of his time —and her visiting time— happened in the laboratory at the end of his little garden.
Hermione clanked about in cupboards, drew and heated water, found tea leaves and milk...and a few minutes later was pressing a mug into his chilled hands.
She perched on the other chair and focused on her friend. Had he been to Gringotts already? What had the goblins said? Done? "Severus?"
He sipped from his mug and didn't frown. He despaired of her tea-making skills. To offer no comment, nothing snide… What had they done?
"It's...insane, Hermione." He sank back into his chair and stared at her, though his gaze was still distant, lost to her. "My shit-stain of a father was a squib."
Hermione blinked. A squib? Then that made him… "You're a pure-blood?"
He barked a laugh. "Half-Blood Prince, no more, it seems."
"But why would the goblins tell you that? It was them, wasn't it?"
Severus ran a hand over his hair, messing it further. "Yes, them. I am, it seems the last of yet another bloodline. And a very, very wealthy man."
Hermione's heart leapt. The joy of it. For him to be free of the bind of work. He could do anything, anything. A twinge pinched at the joy that he would escape her too. Run off to exotic climes, where she could not follow. She focused and frowned. He was a wealthy man, yet… "You don't look happy."
"There is a condition on accessing my windfall."
Oh, she understood conditions…
"I must marry and produce an heir."
Hermione's belly rolled over and the bitter words were out before she could think. "You too?"
Severus frowned at her. "What?" He blinked. "You were cursing. Your magic." His black gaze narrowed and flicked over her. He sat forward, focused and sharp. "What has happened?"
"Wizards like their conditions, don't they?" She sipped her own tea and pulled a face. Yes, she should leave the brewing of it to Severus. "There's a hidden clause in my ministerial buyout. Ron was secured too. Or he secured it. I don't know. Utter twat. Anyway, it was agreed —without my knowledge— that I'd marry him and produce children as a shining advert of peace and stability in the new wizarding world."
"But Mr Weasley is an unmitigated arse!" A flush of angered red cut Severus' cheeks. "Profligate. Dense. Unfaithful."
Yes, there hadn't been a quidditch groupie Ron had turned away. She was aware of that. And now she knew why The Prophet had never reported his wandering hand. And other parts of him. Spin. To spin the travesty they wanted to inflict on her, the Ministry had obviously quashed the reports.
To be truthful, they had never really been a couple. One kiss over a basilisk fang did not a full and lasting relationship make. In the beginning of her time as a Bought Witch —and a fist tightened in her gut at the loathed term— it'd been easy to follow the Ministry line and let others think they were together. She had no interest in any of the hangers on and glory hunters who wanted the trophy of her hanging on their arm, after all.
"I'm not even really his girlfriend." A bitter laugh escaped her. "The shine of Ron Weasley rubbed off in that hated year on the run."
"And Mr Potter?"
She heard the real question. Why hadn't Harry paid off the debt to Gringotts? She pushed her fingers into her hair, pressing the tips to her scalp and fighting off the building headache. "Harry... It was all so...confused. My parents, Ron, the loses, the trials."
"The Ministry caught you before you could approach him."
Hermoine nodded, but there'd been a reluctance on her side too. To ask her friend to pay so much, when she had little chance of paying him back...though he was stretching that old loyalty with his enthusiasm for her being chained to Ron. Harry was often oblivious. He no doubt saw the Golden Trio as a forming tighter bonds, of not simply friendship but blood. And Harry always wanted family ties, above everything.
She grimaced. "So, as of this moment, we're in the same boat, Severus. Bound to and for a spouse in whom we have no interest."
He blinked. And blinked again. "We are." He fisted his hands in his hair. "We are."
"Severus…?"
"The...the goblins are rankled that the money I'm due is locked away from them. Has been for almost a quarter of a century because I have not set foot in Gringotts nor met the last condition of the Shafiq Clause."
He set his mug on the hearth and fixed sharp, black eyes on her. Hermione's chest tightened, unused to being pinned by his fierce gaze. Her breath was trapped and her pulse thudded. And gods, it was so different from the wild panic that had gripped her at the ball.
He knotted his hands and sat forward. "They would do a deal, I'm certain, to free it. After all, what is the sweeping aside of a small debt compared to getting their bony little fingers on the Shafiq fortune?"
Hermione shook her head, crushing the first flare of hope. "It's half a million. Galleons not Sterling."
His mouth tugged at the corner. Fierce. Wicked. "As I said. A small debt."
Hermione blinked. Fuck, how much was he worth now?
"Marry me." Severus took her hand, pressing it between both of his. Warm, strong, callused from potions work. Her heart squeezed. His eyes shone with hot, black fire. "Marry me, Hermione, and let's stick two fingers up to the whole bloody lot of them!"