Chapter 3: In Which We Meet the Groom

Since his acquittal, Severus Snape had been bored. His book, Life Among the Death Eaters, had sold well. George Weasley had asked him to formulate a few potions for the store. The royalties on them had and still were paying handsomely. In 2002, he had sold Spinner's End for a small fortune when the neighborhood gentrified. So he was well off: he had a nice place in the country, a small flat in a modestly fashionable London neighborhood for when he felt like company, and enough gold in Gringotts to do whatever he wanted.

The problem was, these days, there was nothing much he wanted to do. He had read enough Muggle history to know that many times, after the excitement and terror of a war, men have had a hard time finding what to do with themselves. He did not for one moment want to go back to the fear, sorrow, stress, hatred, and pain of the war years, but during the war he had had a purpose. And the war had been exciting. He had gone from the most difficult job in the Wizarding World into a very early retirement, and now he was bored. He needed a new challenge, something more exciting than potions. Something that would use skills and facets of his personality that had grown rusty over the years. So which challenge would he take: move to a new land, settle in, and avoid the Marriage Act, or try to woo some young thing?

He sat in his garden, sipping tea, fiddled with the questionnaire the Ministry had sent him, and debated moving to France. The weather was nice, the food was good, and he wouldn't have to get married. But he would have to move; he'd have to say goodbye to his cottage and lab, both of which he was very fond. And his flat, of which he wasn't as fond, but was great for getting the occasional Muggle woman to spend a night with him. Plus he'd have to learn French, which sounded like a challenge, but not of the sort he was craving. And he'd have to start dealing with new laws, and bugger, the French Tax system was nothing he wanted to deal with.

America? God forbid! It would be moving to the land of the Gryffindors. He had read Granger's book on life among the Americans from her year teaching there. No rules, no laws, do whatever you want, whenever you want to. He shuddered. He'd dealt enough with that as a teacher.

Australia? That was a possibility. No language problems, nice sunny beaches, somewhat English people. Other side of the globe. No one knows what I spent the last twenty years up to. Maybe, I'll take up surfing and work on anti-venom spells. Yes, Australia could be a possibility.

He continued to fiddle with a fantasy home in Australia, but the reality of the questionnaire kept intruding on him.

He stared at it, and a thought flitted through his mind: every currently single, fertile witch either went to school with him, had been his student, or was too young to marry. Several years' worth of nubile, pretty girls that he had spent many an hour scowling at as they turned valuable potion ingredients into mud danced through his mind. God, he wanted to see their reactions when they saw his name show up on their match list. The shock value alone would be worth it. Trying to get one of them to see him as an acceptable mate would certainly be a challenge. It would involve skills that had been rusting since…They were never sharp in the first place. He began to fill out the questionnaire.

Besides, if none of them worked out, there was always Australia.

Four weeks later, an owl arrived at his home. He was sitting in his back garden, looking over notes to a very complex potion, lost in thought, when she nipped at his hand. He untied the scroll, and she flew off.

It was lighter, smaller than he had imagined. Apparently he wasn't about to set the hearts of too many witches aflutter. He cracked the seal neatly with his thumb and glanced down:

The Ministry of Magic thanks you for your co-operation in regards to our new policy. We hope this list makes it easier for you to find a suitable mate. We have included in this package your matches with a greater than thirty percent similarity, a guide to courtship, and the necessary paperwork to register a marriage.

Thank you,

Percy Weasley

Head of the Department of Rebirth

Matches with Greater Than 30 Percent Similarity

Granger, Hermione: 70 percent

Brown, Amanda: 32 percent

That was it! Two women! One was totally unsuitable: Amanda Brown couldn't be more than ten minutes past seventeen, and she had been a bleeding nitwit in school. The other was Hermione?

His mind filled with the image of a frizzy-haired girl. He saw a buck-toothed, frizzy-haired, know-it-all who had spent all her time trying to prove how smart she was.

She was smart, though. Her book had been surprisingly readable, with some very pertinent insights into the problems with American magical education. He went to his study, grabbed the book, and looked at her picture on the dust jacket. Yes, Miss Frizz was gone now. She had to be... twenty-three, twenty-four years old? Still, too young for him, really, but not embarrassingly so.

Hadn't he heard that she had married one of the Weasleys? Or Potter? He knew that Ron Weasley had not made it home from the hunt for Voldemort, but he had a hard time believing that she was still single. Between Potter and the surviving Weasley boys, that was… five possible matches. How could she still be single?

He looked at her picture again. She had aged well. He could still see signs of the child who hopped up and down trying to win fame and glory for Gryffindor with her vast inventory of facts, but the woman smiling lightly on the dust jacket looked more confident. She had all the glory she needed. He read the brief biography, most of which he was familiar with: Order of Merlin, First Class, Hero of Vold War II, beginning a post at Hogwarts next year…

He checked the copyright. She'd been teaching at Hogwarts for three years. What did she teach? He had kept up with the school long enough to know who his replacement had been. After deciding that McGonagall could keep the job, he hadn't paid much attention to Hogwarts.

He looked at her picture a moment longer and decided to pen a letter. As he sat at his desk, the words began to flow.

Dear Ms Granger,

I have received my letter from the Ministry and believe we may have topics of mutual interest to discuss. Would you be willing to meet me for drinks at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow evening?

Severus Snape

That looked good. Cool, yet appealing. Let the game begin! And, if she still was the know-it-all Gryffindor, there was always Australia.