Author's Note - Just a quick note, guys. If there's something you don't understand, bear with me. I know it's kind of annoying, but I'm trying to reveal things very slowly, here, and I might have to go back and re-explain some things. Thank you so much for keeping up this far and for all the wonderful comments. Most importantly, thank you very, very, very much to my lovely beta-reader, without whom, this story would be nothing!

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ShadowDragonWings - Thanks. :) Glad you like it.

Silverfalcon - Thank you for the wonderful comment. I do try to keep the characters as canon as possible, especially Snape, which, in regards to the romantic aspect of the story, is difficult.

Rinny08 - I promise that Remus will become less and less the center of romantic attention. I really appreciate your continued reading of my story. It's nice to have such great readers.

Michael de Lupin - As always, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. :)

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The lights flickered on.

"I see that you have found it,"said Arthur Weasley in a low and non-distinct voice. It was not his own-not the hand-me-down Weasley tone that spread warmth and affection like sweet butter. It did not speak of sooted fireplaces, woolen socks, and dented, lusterless teapots. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I wish that it might be any other way."

He looked to Hermione like he carried a paperweight on each shoulder.

"Mr. Weasley?"

He leaned haphazardly against the fireplace. She looked up at his aged, lovelorn face and requiems of fairy picture books with the sad, fat elf settled around her. She was shocked to see him there. She did not expect him to be a man that could settle so easily in shadow.

"It's a terrible situation, my dear," he said. He walked towards her, tea cup in hand. The little porcelain pan rattled in his wake. "Dreadful. Dumbledore has assured me that this is the best way, but...my dear, just a child!" Arthur slumped against the wide, wooden desk, the red bags beneath his eyes sagging farther.

Hermione's mind began to race with curiosity. Sickening curiosity. It was a compulsive interest marred by the sinking, nauseating feeling that, curious or not, she would not like the outcome of this mystery. "Mr. Weasley? Are you all right?" She stepped cautiously towards him. "What...what's going on? I don't..."

"Arthur."

Hermione turned towards the familiar voice, gladdened by the sight of the Headmaster stepping out of that precarious shadow he seemed to conjure. Here was a man she trusted to sort out this curious mess. And then...the raggedly wonderful sloping shoulders of her professor. Lupin looked as nervous and as puzzled as she felt.

Oh, shit, were the first words that came to mind. "Headmaster, I..." Nervously, she looked to Remus. Remus met her eyes and sighed. Something clicked. They were caught. "It isn't what...I mean-"

"My dear," Albus raised a hand to quiet her, "I am fully aware of the relations between yourself and Professor Lupin. Were it under normal circumstances, I would be forced to reprimand you both for your inappropriate actions. However, as I am about to reveal to you both, it may very well be the lesser of the well-intentioned crimes committed here tonight."

Her face was starch as parchment. He knew. Merlin, of course he knew! Dumbledore was Hogwarts. He lived between the cracks in the stone wall and his ears were the ears of a thousand hallway portraits. Heat flared behind the back of her neck and in the crevice of her temples. Remus' cheeks were as red as his hair.

"I think," came Arthur's quivering voice, "that it might do us all a bit of good to sit down."

Certainly for you, Mr. Weasley, Hermione thought, selecting a seat across from the white gown. Remus sat beside her. Perhaps he thought it useless not to, and took her hands into his as further acknowledgment. Arthur sprawled into a nearby armchair. Perhaps tea was not the only ingredient to his cup, Hermione thought.

Albus crossed quietly towards the antiqued gown, flicking his wand-wrist so that the dress began to fold itself, rather daintily, and then it chose an empty corner of the Headmaster's desk to settle neatly on. The Headmaster took its place on the sofa.

An uneasy silence settled on the four. Hermione could feel the strange quality about the room much the way a muggle could sense tension or sadness. It was by that unnamed sensory receptor that is so innately human that made them able to believe in the non-peripheral.

"Headmaster, who's gown is that?" Simple, she thought. Best to start simple. Flashes rose through her mind of gross possibilities. Dead parents began to climb high atop the list. Then dead Harry. Dead Ron.

"That, Miss Granger, once belonged to Lenora Viviana Alexandrina Slytherin."

"Salazar's wife," Remus added, seeming to ease a bit of his tension by exercising the unemotional, logical matter of his brain. Hermione recognized the tactic because it was a familiar one to her.

Albus gave a short nod. "It was one of three great possessions which Lenora held in high regard. The items were gifts from her rather doting husband which held the tremendous power of protection of the wearer."

Hermione had a difficult time picturing any Slytherin as doting.

The Headmaster paused, crescent eyes faltering as they un-often did. "Miss Granger, I should like to remind you that the other two items which Lenora loved were a pair of pearl earrings in an adorned wooden box and two quite remarkable slippers. The potion that you and Professor Snape attempted to brew would have only served to explain the properties of their protection. I am afraid I am no expert on the subject."

She stiffened. The plot thickened. It reminded her faintly of muggle Clue. The mystery began to slowly unravel itself like a complex, woven tapestry. Mrs. White. The candlestick. So forth and onward.

Hermione could think of nothing to say. It was nonsensical. Remus, as well, said nothing.

Albus turned, defeated, and glanced to Arthur. Arthur reciprocated and sagged further into the chair. "Hermione," the Minister began, "I have news of a rather...distressing nature. It is quite true that Lucius attacked your parents, regardless of our inability to hold him accountable. However...I'm afraid that he has formulated a more terrible plan at your expense."

Hermione paled. The crushing of Remus' teeth could be heard across the room. "What is it, Mr. Weasley?" she inquired faintly.

Arthur shifted and leaned closer towards her in the manner of sharing secrets. "There is a law, Hermione, that was written centuries ago in a time where the persecution of muggle-born witches and wizards was running so violent and rampant that only extreme measures could be taken. Muggle families were slaughtered and muggle-born witches...tortured, Hermione, in unspeakable ways. This law decreed that any witch under the age of twenty-five whose parents were incapacitated to make such decisions of marriage could be..." Arthur bitterly hesitated against the next word, "...claimed by a man from a family established, by name, from a pureblood, respected lineage. Only a marriage to such a man would be accepted. As well, a large dowery was to be paid by the suitor to the Ministry of Magic."

Some hot terror settled in the bottom crease of her stomach. Hermione could foresee the bitter end of the fairy tale.

"Hermione," Arthur continued, blatant remorse in his eyes, "this law has been neglected for many years and, as such, almost forgotten...until Lucius mentioned it to me just weeks ago. Hermione, he intends to claim you for his bride."

"This will not happen," Remus spat venomously, clutching Hermione to his warm chest. "I will not allow it." Desperation clasping at his face, the Professor looked pointedly to Albus. "My family's name has been established in the pureblood records. I have a small fortune to which I can offer the Ministry. I will marry her. It will be against your basic policy, I know, but at least I can offer her my protection."

Tears began to well in Hermione's eyes. It was a wretched and happy moment. Merlin help her, the ideal of marriage, even to Remus, bewildered her.

"Remus," Albus began, sadness in his voice. "My friend, the law specifies the as to the quality of human in the suitor. You know that the Ministry still certifies you as an animal species."

Remus cringed. Instinct begged Hermione to clutch him closer to her. "Damn your Ministry," Remus sneered, the foundation of his body trembling. "Is there no other way to-"

"Calm yourself, Remus." Albus stood and folded his hands neatly across his stomach. "We will not allow Lucius to complete his plan. There is an alternative."

Hermione's eyes settled on the wedding dress. A burst of adrenaline spread through her-a sickening feeling. Unknowingly, her fingers twisted and bit painfully into Remus' grip. He did not notice. "Headmaster," she said, through brandished tears, "what is the alternative?"

Albus said nothing.

"What they are quite loathed to tell you, Miss Granger, is the rather unappealing nature of the alternative." Arthur's hands gripped tightly on the chair cushions as Severus Snape emerged from some unseen, darkened corner of the room, his arms crossed like an upright bat and barring the same disposition. He sneered haughtily at the Minister, lips curling into the unhappy wrinkles of his face.

"What the hell have you got to do with this, Snape?" Remus barked, turning to give the professor a dark look.

Severus raised a single eyebrow. "More than you know, Lupin." His eyes settled daringly on Hermione, who, in turn, felt weaker than she had in months. The yellow billows of her gown seemed alluring like the soft turns in a warm blanket; the evening's events took on a dream-like quality. Severus continued until he very near her, black robes brushing with duck yellow. "I believe it is quite time to finish the proposal, Headmaster," he said.

Albus sighed and gave Severus a short nod. "My dear," he began, crossing towards Hermione, his eyes warming at her youth, "the most solid plan to protect your safety lies in the marriage between yourself and a trusted candidate which fits the requirements by law. Unfortunately, there are so few these days carrying a family name which can be traced to fairly pureblood ancestors. I am determined that you should stay within the Order's members, for that would offer you the most protection. Therefore, there is only one tangible choice."

Hermione could feel the heat radiating from Remus as he spoke. "Snape."

"My, your brilliance is becoming, Lupin." Severus quirked the corner of his lips in a near grimace.

Remus leapt from the back of the couch, posture curled like the creature that only the moon knew. His wand was in his to hand, as was Severus' drawn, and so they stood facing one another, tense and ready to strike.

"Remus!" Hermione jumped up from her place, only to be held back by Arthur's surprising grip. She struggled, futilely, cheeks saturated with tears.

"I warned you, Lupin," Severus growled. "You should have had nothing to do with her."

"You will have nothing to do with her, Snape, after I rip your heart out!" Remus lunged at him.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Remus spiraled backwards in the air, body and wand flying into the solid wall behind them. Albus sighed and replaced his wand in his pocket. He looked pressed to preform the spell. Still struggling, Arthur deterred Hermione from escaping his hold. "No, my dear, you mustn't." The old Minister's voice shook with the strain of her sadness.

"Get out, Remus," Albus demanded firmly.

Remus managed to stand, reaching for his wand once more. He nursed an injured wrist. Tears trailed down his cheeks.

"Please," said Albus. The Headmaster looked pained."Go to your rooms. I will take care of Hermione."

Hermione let out a frustrated cry. "Remus!" She shook with her tears, buckling against Arthur's hold and finally into his fatherly arms for comfort.

Remus breathed vigorously. He looked to her and trembled. Warmth spilled from his skin. "I love you," he said and limped out of the office.

-----

Severus Snape felt wretchedly helpless. Hermione lay in the arms of the pitiful Weasley, crying mournfully-keening like a child. Her slight body shook and rocked violently against Arthur. "Shhhh," cooed the Weasley father, stroking her free hair and touching her fetching jaw. Taking his place as her comforter and protector.

No. Severus knew the child saw him as nothing more than a callous, old bastard. Why shouldn't she? Wasn't that exactly what he presented to her these last six years? He would have to reinvent himself to gain her affections. Love, he dared not hope for. That was a subject out of any mortal hands.

"Remus, Remus," she muttered over and again, ugly tears on her pretty face. Arthur settled them both back into his chair, letting her sprawl into his lap as she quieted her fussing. "There, there," he cooed gently.

Albus rubbed his temples fiercely. "I fear we have done the worst, Severus," he said.

The dark professor regarded him cooly, sliding his wand back into the folds of his cloak. "Are my affections really so terrible, Headmaster?" he asked darkly.

The elder man sighed. "No, Severus. I am quite aware of the genuine nature of your care for Miss Granger. I only mean to say that-"

"I'm quite aware of what you meant to say, Headmaster," Severus interjected. His eyes grew darker as if under the passing of a shadow.

Carefully, he moved towards Hermione as she lay exhausted and unaware in Arthur's arms. The Weasley began to protest though Severus silenced him by placing a finger to his lips. "I'm going to place her under a Sleeping Spell," he said and then began to whisper strange words into the pretty flesh of her ear.

-----

Darkness. Faint Darkness. The familiar outline of a vanity table and the canopy of the Head Girl's bed. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of her window, reminiscent of sleepless nights in the comfort of her dorm. Such a horrible dream had only just released its hold of her and the urge to confess her troubles to Remus moved her to stir from the warmth of the charmed comforter. She felt lightheaded.

"Where are you going?"

The voice startled her as she made a desperate leap towards her night stand for the familiar grip of her wand. It was gone.

Sparks ignited from the tip of a wand, illuminating a dark and staunch face. Professor Snape peered unfeelingly back at her from his perch in a chair beside the bed.

Fuck! Hermione grasped quickly at the covers and pulled them tight around her body. The dream pealed away to a harsh memory blotted by a mysterious darkness at its end. She noticed that she was in a nightgown and that disturbed her.

"You have been under the affects of a Sleeping Spell. I suggest you do not make any sudden movements or you might exhaust yourself." He settled smugly into the chair, the light reflecting shadows from his angular face.

Hermione swallowed with great difficulty to whisper a harsh, "Illuminate," which allowed light to flicker from a candle chandelier above the crimson canopy. Snape's wand promptly went out. She studied him in surprise. Never had she seen her professor so lax, almost as if he'd been comfortably nodding off while waiting for her to awaken. He looked almost peaceful, then, in the gentle candlelight.

She wondered briefly how unruly her hair was.

Severus seemed equally puzzled on how to begin the conversation. "I trust that you do not find the proposed arrangement agreeable," he said, bitterness creeping into the corners of his words.

Hermione felt very numb at that moment and, being at such a strange junction, could allow the logical parts of her brain a moment to mull over the events. "I...I'm not quite sure, professor," she said, decidedly. "It is surely better than the alternative. But..."

She paused. How does one explain to a strictly lurid professor the desires of a young girl's heart regarding the perfect wedding? The happily-ever-after marriage and all that was associated with it? She would have to remain bound to him by the ties of his last name and the connotations concerning it in a loveless union.

And Remus. Merlin, how Remus did object to such a pairing. Certainly he'd cooled off, much the same as she, and began to consider it in way of practicality. It would prevent them from having any desirable type of relationship, that was for sure, but certainly love would prevail. Or perhaps she was being too naive and girlish once more.

Thoughts were spinning in her head again and she felt much like a merry-go-round might. Spinning without cause or end.

Professor Snape produced a short sort of sound, much like a grunt, though less primitive in nature. "There is another piece to the proposal, Miss Granger," he said, sliding his wand back into its pocket. "Along with the marriage dowery, I should provide an additional, sizable amount of funds for the bride's personnel use."

A bribe? What should a bribe do? Hermione was not in any sort of way for money.

Professor Snape began to accumulate that veneer of arrogance he used so lavishly in the classroom. "Perhaps if I might make a suggestion-I believe that young Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy are in search of such a fund for their future...arrangements."

Hermione gaped openly at Snape. How could he have known? It was the best kept secret in Hogwarts, discounting her recent relations with Remus. The pair hadn't let on that either of them was gay, nor that they were together, and certainly not of their future plans to wed, should they ever gain the necessary funds.

Harry. Her dear friend. He sacrificed everything that he owned so that the world they now loved could live in freedom. And Draco, too, gave up his family fortune and pride for the tattered scraps of good. Here, she was offered a chance to make their only dream come true.

Gods be with her, Hermione could not ignore their happiness-not when they had sacrificed more than she was about to for so many others.

"I...I could never raise such a fortune in any fair amount of time," she said. "Nor could Draco or Harry." Her eyes began to well with tears once more. It felt so strange, giving up a part of her that even she couldn't place. Her name. Her family's name. Was that all she was to be surrendering? She didn't know. All she knew was that she could not deny her friends the love they so wished to declare.

"I...I must accept." She felt defeated. Confused. It was the right thing, wasn't it? All around, it was for the best?

Snape shot quickly to the balls of his feet. He looked...strange. Something other than hatred or arrogance stormed within his black eyes. "Do you?" he asked. His voice held a strange quality. Excitement? She couldn't tell.

He held out his hand to her. "It's a magical contract...Hermione."

Her name sounded odd on his tongue.

"It's binding."

She bit her lip. Thoughts went whirling and buzzing around her brain. Upwards. Downwards. Across and back. And all she could think of as she shook his hand was something that had not before occurred to her. What did Professor Snape seek to gain from this?

-----

Severus lounged heavily in the Queen Anne chair, his body radiating the exhaustion he felt. A fire cooled on black embers in the fireplace, the only diminishing light within the dungeon bedroom. He was entranced by his own thoughts. Of course, he knew that he had cornered the girl into the arrangement. Her thoughts were still muddled by the Sleeping Spell, and the proposition of her friends' abiding happiness has served well to sway her into Severus' trap. Desperation and a staggering lack of alternative options had prompted his merciless hunt. He was validating his own immorality.

An empty vial of headache potion lay beside an empty bottle of vodka. Severus sat in an artificial daze, his blood mixing with the liquor and the cooling sensation of the evaporation of sweat from the back of his neck. A thumb ground into his temple.

Before, when Hermione had been sleeping, he had sat there, awkwardly, gazing around at the pretty room, eyes lingering on moving portraits of Hermione, Harry, and Ron and the stiff figures he had assumed to be her parents. He wondered how that would fair, after her parents awoke from their stupor. Hermione did not seem close to them, from what he understood.

He had watched her chest rise and fall. He had felt the familiar stirring between his legs which had driven him to masturbate, there, as she slept, complementing the rhythm of her delicate breathing. Picturing her beneath him, being taking slowly to the sensation of the pressure inside her, he stifled moans.

He pondered her, too, as she slept. He mulled, again, over his obsession. He calculated reason and the process of this endeavor. Knowing Lucius, too, had kept given him immense opportunity. He knew his thoughts, tasteless as they were. The only way Malfoy knew how to handle women was by dominating them. In the wizarding world, there was no better way to dominate a woman than to marry her. It was an old system, still, and charmingly frightening. Severus knew he would make such a move, even without his subtle probes of Occlumency. Before Albus, even, he was aware.

Albus. The man was so obnoxious. Severus had given his life to Albus' cause, quite literally, placing it the hands of chance through dealing with the most dangerous endeavors and still he was reluctant to allow him the chance to pursue his deepest desire, even as it coincided with Hermione's best interest. It was quite true that Severus was the best candidate for a protective marriage; it was coincidence which made it particularly rewarding for Severus.

He longed to see her in the wedding gown. He desired to hear her pleasurable screams just as well as he desired their quite and intelligent conversations over books and potions articles. He admired his shimmering lioness-proud, brilliant, loyal, just, beautiful. She would suit him. She would provoke his mind and his body. She would provide a testament for the morality which he so blindly protected in his years as a spy. And, Merlin, how he wished to fire the spirit between her legs. She was a virgin. He knew. He could feel it when he watched a blush spread across her cheek. He delighted in that he would be her first-her teacher.

The vodka numbed him.

Finally, he slept.

-----

Professor Snape had left quickly, and without word.

Hermione sat, dazed, hand buzzing with the unfamiliar touch.

Quietly, she began to cry at the process of a strange thought: that was the first time her future husband had ever willfully touched her.

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Author's Note - Was this REALLY the first time he had every touched her meaningfully? Who knows. .