Has anyone else noticed that the traffic stats are completely borked? I have 2 whole views for this fic! lol
An owl clattered against the window of Severus' sitting room and he let it in. She was Arthur's personal messenger, a fat, white-faced owl by the name of Addiena. She landed softly on Fawkes' old perch and offered up her leg.
Severus caught his fingers in his hair. This couldn't be good news. His gut was tight and sour, and it had never led him wrong. Fuck. News was out. That had to be it. And Addiena was here with the evidence. Damn it, Molly Weasley should've kept her legs together in the summer of 1979.
He unclipped the leather-sealed scroll and offered the owl a treat of a fresh mouse haunch. She gobbled it back in one go, brushed her white-feathered cheek against his knuckles and flew out of the open window. Severus absently closed it behind the owl, the leather container growing warm in his tight grip.
He couldn't put it off. He snorted. It was always his role to face the worst head on. He wouldn't change that now.
A thumbnail cut through the seal and the leather case vanished. A sheaf of parchment surrounded a thick copy of that night's Prophet.
Severus fell back into his chair. Fuck.
He pulled the note free and dropped the paper to the small table, as yet unread. Arthur's scrawl covered the small sheet.
Severus.
I can only say I'm sorry. Ron was tricked. He thought he was with a healer when he worked it out who Hermione was bonded to… Anyway, it appears that Rita Skeeter has the story. And it's bad Severus. For you. And especially for Hermione.
I can't offer anything, it's not my place. I know you will do what is best for both you and Hermione.
Arthur.
Severus sneered at the short letter. "Taking lessons from Dumbledore in manipulative guilt are you, Arthur?"
He scrubbed his hand down his face and let his eyes close. No, that wasn't fair to the wizard. Arthur Weasley was a good man. Always had been. Quiet and strong, and above all fair. They both knew the course that had to be taken…
Severus unrolled The Evening Prophet and swore.
Yes, there was only one thing to do. A bitter smile pulled at his mouth. And may the gods have mercy on their bound souls.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione dropped her book and emitted a small shriek. She looked to the fireplace, where Snape's head flickered in green flame. "Headmaster?"
"Would you please come through?"
"Of course."
He nodded and the fire died away. Hermione uncurled herself from her chair and brushed her hands over her dress. A quick spell took out the worst of the creases. She put her hand to her hair…and gave up trying to tame it. Snape had seen her covered in his own blood, ragged and thin…and why was she worrying about the way she looked?
The little jump in her belly said it mattered. Because she'd had two days ignoring the fact that she shared something rare with the enigmatic wizard. And it made her more than curious. How did he see her now? Was she still the Gryffindor bookworm? Or was his view changing -as hers was? Could he see her as a woman...?
Hermione put the fanciful thoughts from her head, took a handful of floo powder from the mantle, declared, "The Headmaster's Sitting Room" and spun through the network.
She stumbled out into the round room. Snape cast a courtesy spell and the black grit and dust syphoned away from her clothes and face. "Thank you, sir."
His face was passive, unmoving, and he offered her a copy of The Evening Prophet. Hermione stopped a groan. Their secret was out…
Snape gave her a soured smile. "A matter has arisen, Miss Granger—"
A streak of silver swept out from the curve of the wall, a snapping terrier rushing up to Hermione and circling her, its stumpy tail wagging hard. Ron's voice burst from his patronus. "Mione! I'm sorry. She was so pretty… I mean, what was I supposed to do? And then I realised— Snape, Mione? When did you and that bloody, greasy—"
Hermione slashed her wand and the patronus splintered into silver shards of light. Her face burned. Typical Ron. "I was never going to marry him. Ever."
"A wise decision." Snape's voice was tight and cool. He pressed the rolled copy of The Evening Prophet into her hand. "The Minister got us an early edition." He looked to the fading sparks of silver. "And no doubt forced his son into that…apology."
With trembling fingers, Hermione unrolled the paper. She sank onto the couch, a dispirited "Oh, Ron" breaking from her.
A Soul-Mate for Severus Snape!
By Rita Skeeter
Yes, the former spy and Death Eater, Severus Snape has a secret I'm sure he'd never want to share. He has a soul-mate. And not just any witch has been bound to the wizard who was once He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's most celebrated servant!
Hermione growled. "Foul witch," she muttered. "She's registered now, but I'd still put her in a jar. With no holes, this time. It'd be worth it."
Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Something you wish to share, Miss Granger?"
"Skeeter is a beetle. I found out and…persuaded her to do a fair and balanced interview with Harry."
A twitch of a smile tugged at his lips and Hermione's face grew hotter. "How very…enterprising of you." He looked to the newspaper still held tight in her hands. The echo of his smile faded. "Read on."
She pushed out the image of his smile –damn him, Severus Snape shouldn't smile!— and forced her attention back to the scurrilous piece…
Hermione Granger —a plain but ambitious girl— is the lucky witch. As a muggle-born and still so new to our world, has she not realised the sacred nature of a soul-bond? Was this why she led the Minister of Magic's son —Ronald Weasley— by the nose until the unfortunate boy proposed? Or did she know and with her twisted curiosity, want to witness the devastation her bond would have on him?
Ronald Weasley is still under the round-the clock care of the dedicated staff at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He is completely broken by his love's betrayal with a man he loathes.
Yet…the 'destined pair' has only shared a Soul-Mate's Kiss.
All is not lost, it seems. For either Severus Snape or Hermione Granger. Or for the sacred safety of the wizarding world.
Hermione frowned and threw the detested paper onto the table. Skeeter was implying something and she looked up to the Headmaster. He was pouring firewhiskey into two crystal tumblers. He handed one to her.
"You'll need this."
"Why?"
Snape sank onto the opposite couch with a weary sigh. "Because that foul beetle of a witch has just cursed us both."
"How?" Hermione sipped from the glass, the smoky warmth of the alcohol burning into her chest and bringing a strange ease to her jagged nerves. "She's pointed out that we're not true soul-mates..." The word "Yet" seared the tip of her tongue.
"No." Hermione closed her eyes and breathed to calm herself. She resisted the very real need to toss back the glass of firewhiskey. "No…"
"We have not…consummated our bond. If that were to happen the bond would be fixed. Immutable." He winced. Snape was as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. Soul-mate or not, the bitter thought held that he would never ever have singled her out as a life companion. "And because of its current, unfixed nature, we are still open to the…charms of others."
"Every witch, wizard, beast, hag and troll will be sidling up with an offer to fu—" She knocked back the amber liquid and choked out a fiery breath. "Damn." She pinched the bridge of her nose and let the tears run. "I really loathe Rita Skeeter."
"What are your plans for your future employment, Miss Granger?"
Hermione wiped at her eyes and sniffed. She accepted a white handkerchief from him with an embarrassed smile. She was glad for the unexpected change of subject. "I would like to apprentice in Charms or Transfiguration. But I know offers aren't made officially until my NEWT results are posted in August." She twisted the damp material. "I thought about taking a position in the Ministry…but the bind of it." She shrugged and found it hard to hold his gaze. "I want the freedom to follow my own intellectual path."
Snape sipped from his glass. "There is little doubt that Filius and Minerva will whip out their wands for the fiercest duel Hogwarts has ever seen to win the chance to mentor you." There was a lift to his lip, just a fraction, offering the hint of another smile. "And if you'd listed potions, then I would be forced to "wipe the floor with them", as they say."
Hermione stared at him. "You would?" The words "You'd want me?" seared her tongue, but they went unsaid. They stepped too close to the flutters and heat twisting through her flesh.
"The Professors here have been jockeying for position concerning you since the end of your first term here."
A disbelieving smile broke from her. "Could I be a know-it-all nuisance and take both apprenticeships?" She gave him an overly innocent smile, at which his dark eyes narrowed. "For the sake of professorial harmony?"
"We shall see." He sat forward, his long, pale fingers wrapped tight around the glass. "The reason I brought this up, Miss Granger, is one of mutual benefit."
He looked to the newspaper and this lips thinned to a whitened line. "That witch has opened our lives up to a serious inconvenience. And in your case, probable personal danger. If not outright attack." He stared into the remains of his drink before he knocked it back. "We will be hounded, I am certain of that. You especially." His short bark of laughter was sour. "To 'save' you from me."
Hermione's heart was a stone in her chest. Her life was suddenly tied to this dark and mysterious wizard, however tenuously. And that wasn't a wild little hint of excitement throbbing through her veins. It wasn't… Merlin, she couldn't be attracted to him. Yet, every moment in his company seemed to add fire to a need, a desire she hardly knew she had. She had to fight it. He wouldn't want…seconds. "What did you have in mind, sir?"
Another one of those almost smiles quirked his lips upwards bringing another little jolt to her belly and she cursed it.
"What else?" His eyebrow rose. "Why we marry, of course, Miss Granger."
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