Which was the lesser of two evils...
He cleaned himself thoroughly, left the lab, and headed up the stairs when he didn't see her in the living room or kitchen. At the top of the steps, he noticed she was lying in the bed. Quietly, he went to her side and looked down at her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and there were tear tracks down her cheeks. His fists clenched and unclenched as he was hit with yet another wave of anger on her behalf. Hadn't she been through enough?
Slowly, he slipped into the bed behind her and pulled her close. In her sleep she turned and buried her face against him. His chest tight, he stroked her hair and breathed in the scent of her jasmine shampoo. After a while, she stirred and looked up at him. "Severus?"
"I'm here," he assured her. She rubbed her face against the front of his shirt as if it would erase the events of the morning. Then she swallowed hard and forced herself back to reality. "We need to talk."
"You're right," she agreed.
"I've been thinking about this predicament all day. The thing I keep coming back to is that there are no good answers. All we can do is damage control. You were right when you said nothing about this is fair. And the only feasible solution I can see is-"
"-to sell my contract back."
"-for us to get married."
They spoke in unison, words overlapping so perfectly that at first neither fully understood what the other had said. Then it sank in and they both stared at each other in shock.
"What?" It was Severus who recovered quickly enough to speak first, his anger pushing the words out rapidly. "What in the hell would make you think that I would even consider that a fucking option?"
"What do you mean get married? That would link you to this scandal for the rest of your life. In time, the aspect of your involvement in all this will die down and you won't have to be a part of it any more-"
"Like fucking hell! As if shipping you back to that whorehouse is going to make things better for me? Do you really think I give a damn what they all think of me?"
"Okay, fine, I can understand if you don't think sending me back now is your best option, but eventually, I'm going to end up-"
"Would you just shut up? I'm trying to tell you an option that doesn't end up with you as a prostitute for the rest of your goddamn life!" She closed her mouth and stared at him. With a sigh, he started again. "If we were to get married, now, secretly, we could write a letter to the editor of the paper saying we've been married for some time now. It would neatly explain why you've been out of the public eye as well as why we were seen in that shop together. No one would be able to refute it. None of your other customers knew who you were, and even though Madam Peony has no doubt figured it out by now, it would hurt her business to out you like that."
"Yes, but then you'd be married to me. A whore. That isn't something you'd ever be able to get past."
"First of all, no one would still believe that you'd been a whore, so your argument is invalid. And secondly, don't tell me what I can and can't get past."
"I don't think you're really thinking this through. Do you know all the things I've done? Even if the public doesn't know the truth, you do. Do you know how many men I've been with?"
"I don't care-"
"Three thousand, six hundred and twelve. That's how many times I took customers at the brothel. Two thousand, two hundred and seven different men. In nine hundred and seventy three days. Do you want to know how many times men have orgasmed inside me and in which orifice? Because I know those numbers too. They are ugly, ugly facts about my life. Ones that aren't ever going to change no matter what anyone else believes. But that is who you want to bind yourself to, even if just for convenience?"
"Don't you dare presume to know what will bother me! You have no idea what I've done, so don't try and sell yourself as worthless because of your past. Should I tell you the number of people I've killed? The number of people I saw -and sometimes participated- tortured until they begged for death? And you think I'm supposed to fear sullying myself with you? Do you think I bothered to think of how you would feel attaching yourself to me before I bought your contract? Did I offer to tell you my depraved sexual history and let you decide? No! I took what I wanted and didn't care about the rest. You need to do the same for once! Marry me and then when your contract is up you can divorce me and live the rest of your life however you damn well please!"
"Fine! We'll just go through with it and I can fuck up your life the way I've fucked up mine."
"Oh sweetheart," he drawled sarcastically, "that's not possible. No one would ever pay for sex with me."
She looked him over scathingly and narrowed her eyes. "You'd be surprised." He chuckled, and she joined him, and soon they were both laughing so hard there were tears in their eyes. It was a desperate, cathartic laughter that washed away the filth of the day and left them bared to each other. They both collapsed back on the bed and wordlessly turned on their sides to face each other. For long minutes, they just stared into one another's eyes.
"How do you know all those numbers off the top of your head?" he finally asked quietly. She shrugged and stifled a yawn.
"It just happened. I distracted myself with it at first. Keeping my tally in my head of how much money I made, how much time that meant I had left before I could buy out my contract, and then I kept adding things to the tally. Johns I'd serviced, repeat customers, things they did to me, things I did to them... The numbers just kept spinning in my head, adding up over and over again."
"Sounds like it was your coping mechanism."
"It was. What about you? Why do you know all your numbers?"
"Because," he admitted softly, "I can still see all their faces. Every single one. Even when I try to forget, they show up in my dreams. And with good reason. What right do I have to forget them?"
"Severus..." Hermione rested her hand on his cheek. "You have every right to forgive yourself. You did what you had to do. For yourself, for everyone else. You made hard choices and sacrificed yourself to get by."
"How is that any different than what you did?"
She flinched back, not expecting to have her logic thrown back at her. "Because what I did, I did out of desperation and selfish preservation. Yours was about more than just you."
"That's not necessarily true. What if you're supposed to go on to create the counter for the killing curse? The cure for lycanthrope? You were given that brain for a reason, and squandering it would be a disservice to witches and wizards everywhere."
"I doubt my purpose in this life is so noble as that."
"I don't." He brushed a lock of hair back that had fallen into her eyes, then castigated himself for the tender gesture. He reminded himself that nothing between them was real. It was all just a business arrangement. They were employer and employee. Yes she seemed to enjoy the sex, but it wasn't any different than him enjoying brewing a particularly rewarding potion. It was still work and nothing more. The fact that she'd just agreed to marry him meant nothing new to their arrangement. He cleared his throat and sat up. "I know a trustworthy officiant who can preform the ceremony for us. If I get an owl out to him this afternoon he will likely be able to see us tomorrow. Are you sure you find this plan acceptable?"
"I still don't think it's fair to you-"
"Stop selling yourself short. Right now you've been hit with so many strokes of bad luck that you aren't thinking straight. In ten years, no one is going to look back at this and think I got the raw end of this deal. They are going to remember that Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of our age, spent a few years married to her ex professor, and they will wonder what lapse in judgment led to such a strange error in an otherwise exceptional life. And you will look back at this as nothing more than a footnote in your history."
"You put far too much stock in the rationality of the media and the unwashed masses."
He shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, this is the best solution and you know it." When she hesitantly nodded, he went to the side table and drew out a quill. "Good. Then I will write to Benedict and see what time he can be of service to us." He quickly scrawled a note and took it to the window. At a loud whistle, a huge owl with dark feathers swooped down and perched on the ledge. "Solicitor Freeman," he instructed the bird, who hooted softly. With a flap of it's enormous wings, it took off out of sight. "I'm afraid I must leave you again. I have several brews that are now at critical points and need attended before dinner."
"Alright," Hermione acquiesced, somewhat disappointed she wouldn't get to see him more. "I'll just do some reading. Unless you think I could be of any help?"
She sounded so hopeful that Severus found himself agreeing even though he usually hated working with anyone. "You could be very useful, if you don't mind."
"Of course not! I'd be grateful for the distraction, to be honest."
Severus inclined his head and led them down to his lab. Inside, he pointed out which potions he was currently working on and what stages they were at. She listened silently, absorbing everything he said, and then went to work helping him. He was surprised to find that she wasn't as rigid and insufferable in her work as she had been in his class. Perhaps because there wasn't some textbook she could regurgitate information from. Or perhaps he'd just tended to judge her more harshly because of her choice in friends...
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and pleasantly. They worked well together, moving in a kind of syncopated rhythm that normally comes from years of coexistence. When they emerged to eat, the big dark owl was waiting on the table, hopping from leg to leg impatiently. Severus untied the note from her leg, gave her a bit of toast to thank her for waiting, and then she took off again.
"He can see us at eleven tomorrow morning. We can Apparate to his offices, be married, and have our letter delivered to the Prophet within the hour."
Hermione nodded, reminding herself that this was the most practical option for both of them. So why did it feel so unsettling?