The morning of September 22 dawned clear and bright across Hermione's estates. Her manor house and lands covered the northeast tip of Kent, allowing a wonderful ocean breeze to come in off the shore not twenty-miles from her home. In the summer she left all the windows open in the house, letting the fresh air infuse her large home. Her parents had never really cared for the country, preferring to live in a small house on the outskirts of London within easy walking distance of their dental practice. A solicitor had been hired after her grandmother's death to oversee the estate and accompanying farmland. The house and lands had been part of a small title her grandmother had been given by the Queen after she had saved one of her corgis (an incident involving a hawk, a cliff, and a small brush fire that Hermione had laughed at every time her grandmother retold the story). The title, Lady of the Crown, had technically passed to Hermione at her grandmother's death as her father was not eligible to hold the title (for obvious reasons) but the manor and lands had been kept as part of Hermione's inheritance.

When Hermione had erased her parent's memories, she had known there was no reversing the spell. Before she had left with Harry and Ron that fateful summer, she had had her parents declared dead and sold their practice and her childhood home. She had had all the money converted to galleons and left in her vault at Gringotts with directions that should she die, the money would go to the eldest surviving member of the Weasley family. Thanks to the sale of her parent's assets, the inheritance left to her by her grandmother, and the allotment from her Order of Merlin, Hermione was sitting on quite a pile of gold – enough to see her and any children she may have through life very comfortably.

Hermione left her rooms, pulling on a comfortable pink cotton robe and wool socks to make the trek down to the kitchens. She always took her breakfast and morning cup of coffee in the kitchens while reading the post and any correspondences while the elves puttered around her.

She had fought having the elves of course. As founder of S.P.E.W and a self-proclaimed advocate for the advancement of elfish welfare she had been adamant about not having house elves. "They're no better than slaves Harry!" She'd furiously whispered when her best friend had shown up with yet another stray. "It's wrong and it's demeaning for any magical creature to submit themselves to the rule of another! And for the wizarding world to believe – "

"They have nowhere else to go Hermione," Harry interrupted. "They've lost their homes to Voldemort and his sycophants. Would you turn an orphan away?"

Hermione had glared but relented and had accumulated a total of six "orphaned" house elves whose masters had either been killed or imprisoned after the war. The stubborn creatures insisted she needed them and refused to leave when other positions became available. Everyone had a purpose in life and if the elves were happy in her service well then…she would just have to get used to being called 'Mistress'.

"Mistress is wanting her usual breakfast?" Asked Lotty, the head kitchen elf.

Hermione gracefully sunk it the wooden kitchen chair and accepted her cup of coffee from Elly, a young elf wearing a daisy tea towel she had just recently taken in. "Yes, thank you Lotty."

The little kitchen nook with its handcrafted table and two kitchen chairs was perfectly level with the large bay window that overlooked the eastern part of her estates. It was wonderful to feel the sun rise as she ate her toast and eggs and read the morning edition. Lotty always sniffed and tutted at her but after the first row they had never mentioned Mistress having her breakfast in the kitchens again.

The headline on this morning's issue of the Daily Prophet however, promptly made her lose her appetite.

"New Minister of Magic Weds! First to Comply with New Mixed Blood Marriage Law!"

That evening saw Hermione in her library once again, thick legal volumes and blood protocol books joining the neat pile of courtship letters that had multiplied since she had last sat with Theodore Nott's letter pressed to her lips. She was slowly piecing together the ministry's genius with growing disbelief. She glanced up from where she sat on the floor in front of the fire with a copy of Ancient Wizarding Laws and Customs in her lap to her desk where she knew a small pile of letters sat, waiting. The desperation some of her suitor's must be feeling to be courting her of all people…

She supposed there must be some master list of eligible witches that the Houses had gotten ahold of and numerous, identical letters had been mailed out in the hopes that someone would respond favorably. Hermione set the large tome down and raised her hands in the air, her manicured fingers curling with pleasure as she stretched. As she lowered her arms, her right hand instinctively came down to rub at her left forearm. The cuts she had received from Bellatrix Lestrange had been made with a cursed blade. No balm or potion or talented Healer would ever be able to heal the scars. She had been left with a jagged reminder of just how unsuitable she was to be a member of the Sacred Twenty Eight.

And now all their sons were asking to marry her.

Getting up off the floor, Hermione moved to stare pensively out the window. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, fingering the soft blue cashmere sweater, and leaned her head against the corner wall.

Could she do it? Could she marry one of the men who thought her weak – inferior – because of her blood? Who thought she was somehow less because she had been raised by muggles?

Oh she knew the Weasley's loved her - no fewer than four of the boys had petitioned for her - and Neville had always been sweet but in the end they were still Sacred Twenty-Eight. Still thought that being a pureblood automatically meant you were better. Still feared muggle life and culture. Would she be able to love one of them?

Not to mention there were the Malfoy's, the Nott's, and the small army of Death Eater sympathizers to contend with all of whom were banging down her door ready to shove a white dress over her head and a ring on her finger. She had been tortured – literally and figuratively – by these people throughout her childhood. They had been furious that a muggle-born witch could outshine them in magic and academics. Could she trust one of those men to be her husband?

Theo, working quietly on his Ancient Runes homework with her in the Hogwarts Library.

Draco hiding halfway behind his mother during the final batter, his glassy eyes staring at a spot on the ground.

Lucius, the terror in his eyes as he beckoned his only son away from the tip of Voldemort's wand.

George and Fred on either side of her at the pub as she drank and cried and finally admitted it was over with Ronald.

Neville, running full speed down the hallway, brandishing his Herbology Apprenticeship papers and screaming with joy.

They were still men. They all had good and bad in them just like everyone else. And she wanted to see if she could bring them a little more into the light before it was snuffed out entirely by bigotry and oppression.

Nodding her head firmly, Hermione turned towards her desk and started organizing her letters.

"Lotty," she called. Her head elf appeared with a small pop and bobbed her knees in perfunctory curtsy. Lotty had certain thoughts about how her Mistress liked her household run and she made sure to show her disapproval in the politest ways possible. "Mistress is calling?"

"Yes, Lotty, we will be hosting a dinner party in…," Hermione consulted one of the blood protocol books, "…two weeks' time. Is there anything special you'll need to order?"

The house elf sighed. "Is Master Potter coming for dinner again, Mistress?" The house elf thought it quite sad that her Mistress considered dinner with her male friend a party.

Hermione frowned. "I have other people over for dinner you know."

The elf gave her a look as if to say, Who?

"Never mind. No, Lotty, this will be a formal dinner. "These," she said, fanning the letters across her desk, "are all courtship letters from members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. We – "

She was cut off by a high pitched squeal and looked up just as Lotty threw herself at Hermione's desk. The elf, her tennis ball eyes even larger than normal, shrieked in happiness as she rifled through the papers. "ALL? These are ALL for my Mistress!" The elf cried happily.

Hermione cleared her throat, slightly disturbed by her head elf's interest. "Umm, yes, well – "

Quickly the elf counted the letters and started muttering recipes and ingredients. With a snap of her long, spindly fingers, Lotty summoned a parchment and a self-writing quill that immediately began to scribble ideas for appetizers.

Smiling at her enthusiasm Hermione began making small suggestions. "There will be quite a lot of us, I'm afraid. More than we've hosted before. I'm not sure of preferences or allergies but perhaps – "

Lotty apparated away with a definitive crack!

Hermione blinked slowly at the now empty library. "Well then."

Her next order of business was to find a chaperone. Having a number of unmarried men in her house was 'not done' as the ton would say and the pure-blood protocol books seemed to follow closely along the same lines as the rules of muggle nobility. She would need a family member or guardian present to ensure propriety. (It would also be nice to have someone firmly in her corner should the evening become disastrous). Unfortunately, she was severely lacking in available family members. She had thought about asking Mrs. Weasly but it seemed inappropriate to have the mother of four of her would-be suitors act as her intermediary.

No, she knew the perfect man for the job. He knew most of her suitors, knew their tricks, spoke their language, had played their games. She penned a quick note requesting a meeting and sent it off with her grey spotted owl, Allegra. She just hoped the old snake wasn't too stubborn to help her.

Severus Snape surreptitiously studied the young woman sitting across from him as he sipped his tea. Hermione Granger had gone from a bushy-haired swot to a quite frankly stunning young woman.

Who still believed she knew what was best, of course.

Her hair, no longer the frizzy monster of her childhood, was now tamed into waist length chestnut curls that were laced with thick strands of gold. The mulberry sweater she wore complimented the creamy complexion of her skin and showed off her petite figure. Her beautiful oval eyes dominated her face and were the color of perfectly aged fire whiskey framed by thick black lashes. She held her teacup gracefully between her delicate fingers and her black jean clad legs were crossed elegantly at the ankle. Miss Granger was the picture of soft sophistication.

She had grown into a remarkable young woman and Severus was disgruntled to find he felt the same warmth for her now as he had last year as her Potions Master when they were working on the Salutem Magnum potion together. The potion had been designed to cure those who had suffered prolonged exposure of the Cruciatus curse – one of the few things he and the beautiful young woman sitting across from him had in common. That and their intelligence and drive to finish the potion as quickly as possible. If they had worked together any longer he was sure he would have embarrassed himself immensely with his 'feelings'.

Hermione put her cup down and glanced at her surroundings. They had decided to meet in Severus' study where they had done most of their research together. "I miss this place," she remarked, smiling.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Missed my temper and snark have you?"

She drew her eyebrows together and attempted to mimic his baritone voice. "Do check your sources Miss Granger. There is no need to pass along another's stupidity. Yours will do us enough damage, I'm sure."

He tried to hide his snort of amusement behind his teacup but knew he failed miserably. "Come back to reminisce?" Or talk? Argue? About anything? There was an unfortunate lack of intellect at this school. Miss Granger had been the only one besides Albus who could actually keep up with him.

She took a deep breath and he attempted to ignore how the movement brought her perfect breasts nearly eyelevel. "Actually, I've come to ask you for a favor."

Intrigued, he waited silently for her to continue.

"Have you heard about the new marriage law?" For a brief second his heart stopped. An impossible scenario where Hermione Granger was actually a pure-blood and was asking Severus to marry her in order to fulfill the law's requirements flashed through his mind.

And then his brain caught up with hormones.

He cleared his throat, stalling for time while his heart rate went back to normal. "Yes, why do you ask?"

Hermione fiddled with the handle of her teacup as she avoided his gaze. Severus narrowed his eyes at her sudden bout of nerves. She couldn't possibly be considering…

He leaned back in his chair and cradled his teacup. "I assume then, that an offer has been made?"

She glanced at him. "Fourteen."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fourteen offers."

Severus choked on his tea.

As she listed off her suitors, his incredulity grew. The Weasley's were no surprise, Molly had been trying to get ahold of Hermione for years, throwing one red-head after another at the girl. Theodore was smart enough to hedge his bets and he had never really bought into the pure-blood hype as much as his father. Draco was a surprise – the two had loathed each other as children. Lucius was an even bigger surprise – one he intended to bring up immediately with his old friend. The man hadn't so much as looked at another woman since Narcissa's death.

"And you're considering them?" He didn't quite manage to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Hermione frowned at him and shifted forward in her seat. "And why should I not?"

Oh no. He recognized the mutinous look in her eyes. He had poked the Lioness.

Before he could control the movement, his eyes flickered to her left forearm. She immediately stiffened. "Now, Hermione…"

"No."

"Do you really think this is a wise decision?"

"Be very careful what you say Severus. Realize the people you are about to disparage." Her own eyes moved pointedly to where the faded tattoo of the Dark Mark lay hidden under his black robes.

He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I am well aware of what this particular group of people is like, Hermione. It's why I am making the effort to dissuade you from this course of action."

He placed his cup down and leaned forward to take her small hands in his. The juxtaposition was jarring. His hands, scarred and callused, covered in so much blood sometimes he could barely see them, covering her soft hands with their tips covered in a pearlescent pink polish.

He looked up into her face and saw her fear. And he saw her determination. She would go down this path despite his warnings but he had to try. "I know you have a big heart Hermione – I know its capacity to forgive. A trait for which I am eternally grateful but this…I fear that at the end of this endeavor you will be hurt more profoundly than you will know how to repair." His long fingers trailed over her arm. He had failed to keep the Trio safe when they disappeared into the woods, he had failed to rescue them from the Snatchers, and he had failed to remove the scars from Hermione's arm. He did not want to think about what scars this new law would leave on them all.

"They need help Severus," she whispered.

"Marry one of the Weasels then. Or Mr. Longbottom – you certainly grew close helping him cheat in my class." She blushed but he continued despite the pretty distraction. "I am asking you not to do this."

He was gratified to see her thinking about it at least. He watched her weigh the ramifications and the possible outcomes but then she turned her beautiful face back to him and his shoulder slumped in defeat.

"Everyone deserves a chance."

He wanted to argue with her. Wanted to tell her all the horrible disgusting things he had heard some of these men say. What he had seen some of them do. He wanted to describe in vicious detail what had happened to the women who had gone into Malfoy Manor and never come back out.

But then he would have to tell her about Draco's first revel. That he refused to torture a young girl that was brought to him naked and bound. How he had cried when the curses had been turned on him instead and that he'd vomited after he'd given the girl a quick death.

He would have to tell her how Lucius had been a prisoner in his own home, unable to protect his wife and son. That he still flinched when someone touched him unexpectedly and how he never turned his back on a man when he was alone in a room with him.

He would have to tell her that Theo had never taken the Dark Mark like everyone suspected. Like his father practically tortured him to do. How Theo would tell Severus about the late night gatherings he'd witnessed take place at the Nott family home, ostensibly complaining about his studies being interrupted.

Severus dropped her hands and sat back in resignation.

They were silent for several moments before he remembered what had prompted their argument. "What is it you needed from me?"

"Well," she hedged.

"Out with it, Miss Granger," he snapped, his nerves already strung taught.

"I need a representative."

Severus snorted and picked up his now cold tea. "No." She saw his grimace and cast a silent warming charm with a quick flick of her fingers.

"Why not?" She cried, clearly expecting his reaction but determined to play the part of wounded friend nonetheless.

"Because I don't want to."

She growled at him.

"It will be an innumerable amount of formal dinners. There will long walks in which I will have to trail silently behind you and a man I do not think deserves you. There will be tea parties full of inane chatter with their mothers present and I'll have to act polite despite the vitriol they will no doubt spill about your suitability. And knowing you I'll still somehow end up in a duel to defend your honor!"

He crashed his tea back down on the saucer in his ire, spilling some of the molten liquid on his hand. "Dammit!"

She rolled her eyes and handed him a handkerchief. "Will you calm down? You're acting hysterical."

He glared at her, affronted, as he mopped up the spilled beverage. "I am not. Everyone will be dancing around the fact that the only reason they are courting a muggle-born is to keep from going to prison and I'll go insane from all the double talk."

Hermione muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "You mean we're not there already?" before she replied, "But that's why I need you. You know these men, you know what they're really saying when they speak. And you know all the pure-blood protocol and courting etiquette and you'll be a fantastic negotiator for my dowry and wedding contract and – "

He held up a hand to stop her diatribe. Merlin did she ever take a breath?

He got up to pace around the room. There had been too many revelations and emotions for him to sit still comfortably anymore.

She was silent for a moment, watching him, before saying, "I can't do this without you."

He glared at her. Blasted witch.

"Fine," he snarled.