Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to J. K. Rowling.

AN: This story is very loosely inspired by all the great marriage-law fics out there. It is finished, in the main, so I hope to update it quite frequently.


Undisclosed Desires

One

Given everything that had happened in the Wizarding World over recent decades—given the uncertainty, the upheaval, the tragedy, and the terror—the fact the Ministry of Magic could have come up with an idea so ridiculous, so dictatorial, and so utterly grotesque, Hermione Granger, not for the first time, began to reconsider her place in such a world.

Regrettably, these days, it was far more difficult to renounce one's status as a witch or wizard, thanks to the Ministry. First it was the worry over diminishing tax returns, now it was the sharp decline in magical births. A rapidly dwindling magical population was the new political conundrum to solve. Campaigns promoting benefits for growing families, monetary incentives, had not proven very successful. Subtle interventions in the Muggle world to reverse the growing trend for the Muggle parents to refuse to allow their child to embrace their magic had little impact.

Hermione couldn't blame them. She liked to think her own parents might have thought twice about shipping her off to a world where a certain faction of society would prefer to see her dead.

But now the Ministry endeavoured to take more stringent action to address its problem.

She glanced at the stonily grim countenance of Severus Snape, standing opposite her, and decided that, yes, she really might have done better to ditch the Wizarding World years ago. That he might also now be regretting having never taken the chance to decamp to the Muggle world also seemed a real possibility.

'Look,' Hermione huffed, 'I am as angry about this as you are, but there is no getting out of it.'

Snape shrugged elegantly. 'I will simply pay the fine.'

She gaped. 'Five hundred Galleons? Snape, I cannot afford that. Never mind that I am a Ministry employee—if I do not comply I could be disciplined or even sacked!'

'Not my problem.'

'They will just find someone else to match you up with,' Hermione shot back, feeling suddenly irritated by his supreme unconcern. 'You'll keep paying those fines, will you? What happens when they decide more punitive sanctions are necessary?'

'I will play the political martyr.'

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at his glibness.

'Granger, this programme is clearly doomed to failure. Whatever pie-eyed magical theorem they have dreamt up is clearly lacking in any sort of credibility, otherwise we should not be having this conversation.'

Hermione noted the first sound of ire in his words. He glared at her, but she held it stubbornly.

'This will be dispatched straight into the annals of big-fucking-mistake sooner than you think,' he continued.

'But if that is the case, then it should not disturb you too much to simply comply.'

He snorted. 'No, indeed, it should not disturb me to have to be forced to attend weekly social activities with you, in the hope that we might one day decide we should procreate together? No, absolutely not disturbing at all.'

'The requirement is to meet ten times over ten weeks, maybe even less than that if you are correct in your assumption this will be rescinded. Not only that, there is no actual compulsion to procreate—that plainly would be disturbing!'

'Do you know nothing about the type of laws that have been dreamt up by the Ministry in the past? Mandated marriages—'

'Abolished in the nineteenth century!'

'Repealed, actually; but it is still on the statute books if you would care to look. I'm paying the fine, Granger, like it or lump it.'

So saying, he spun sharply on his heel and made to depart.

'Please, wait…'

His stride didn't falter. Hermione watched his retreating form, deciding that, reluctantly, it was time for her to play her trump card.

'Snape?' she called out, 'do you not owe me?'

Immediately, his stride halted. He looked over his shoulder and then turned to make his way back towards her. He stepped right up to her, and whilst he did not tower over her, he did have an advantage that meant she had to lift her chin to meet his eyes. They were impossibly dark.

He withdrew his hands from his pockets, and it was only then that she felt a smidge intimidated, but he left them clenched into fists at his side. 'You would call that in for this?' he hissed, clearly surprised.

Hermione had no real interest in calling in so-called life debts, but she knew he had much experience in living through transactional actions.

She nodded her head stiffly. 'I cannot lose my job, or worse, my position as an over-achieving, people-pleasing, all-around perfect employee. I have ladders to climb and ceilings to break, so forgive me if having to spend a few hours with you over a period of weeks is actually not that big a deal to me. In fact, it might be nice to actually get to enjoy an intellectual conversation for once!'

The absolute scowl on his face led her to think that she might live to change her mind on that score. Perhaps he would even do his best to see to it. Maybe distance and time had clouded her judgement a little where this man was concerned. Other reasons too, but they were best left to lie for the short term.

'You are resolved?' he questioned, seemingly having assessed her sincerity.

'Yes. I would rather take my chances with you than let them find someone else… If you are correct in your assertion that their calculations are wrong, then who knows who they could select for me next time?'

'There is no if , Granger, surely that much is a given?'

His look was so hard she knew better than to argue that point. 'Of course it is,' she agreed hurriedly.

He let out an irritated breath. 'Fine,' he said tightly.

Hermione smiled gratefully, pulling out her requisition from the Ministry and unfurling it for his signature. 'Thank you,' she murmured, watching his compact, almost illegible, signature appear. 'I assure you, I will endeavour to make this as painless as possible for us both. We will only be compelled to be in company; we can simply spend it in silence if need be.'

She glanced up to see his response, but quickly looked away at the potency of the irritation present. 'Well,' she began awkwardly, 'I shall see you soon, presumably…'

He stalked away with nary a word nor a nod. Hermione rolled up the scroll and stared pensively at the space where he had been. So Severus Snape had found his way to the top of a compatibility match for her, and he could only assume it was as a result of a fundamental flaw in the method. She couldn't blame him for being so utterly aghast at the idea, if anything, it was the right and proper conclusion.

On the face of it, of course.


A few days after his meeting with Hermione Granger, when a further missive from the Ministry landed in his lap, Severus wasted no time in ripping it open. He was right to dread its contents. As he scanned through the terms and conditions of the farce he had stupidly agreed to participate in, he felt himself shrink with despair.

Not thirty minutes later, Hermione Granger herself burst into the offices of the Practical Potioneer brandishing her own missive.

'I didn't know there would be small-print,' she stated hurriedly, looking at him wide-eyed.

Fighting the urge to put his head in his hands, Severus merely sat back in his chair. He made a flippant gesture of irritation with his hand, which Granger took as an invitation to sit. So she sat, biting her bottom lip as she did so.

'Um, I still don't think it is that bad…' she began.

'Really?' he interrupted. 'They get to decide what we do and where we go—the Ministry!'

'Well, yes, that is a little alarming, but they're offering to pay our expenses!'

He groaned. 'I will simply tell them that there is no chance in hell you or I will ever find a way to want children together. I mean, for crying out loud, surely that much is obvious?'

'Of course, it is!' she snapped. 'It is plainly idiotic, but Snape, it is of no use. I went to the department and I told them this myself. I tried to appeal and there is no appeal process—can you believe it? I pulled some strings to get the matter looked into incase there was a paperwork error, but nothing. I even told them I have no intention of having children right now, but do you think that mattered a jot? They are determined to have their stupid experiment.'

Her shoulders heaved upwards with her gasps of breath, and her hands gesticulated wildly as she spoke.

'There is no answer to this that helps both of us get out of this situation other than to simply go along with it. What I do have is confirmation that once we have been through the process once, we are released from any further participation.'

Severus felt himself tense. 'Are you quite sure?'

'Oh yes, believe me, I have that locked in.'

He let out a frustrated growl, which seemed to annoy her.

'I accept this is an inconvenience,' she argued, 'but really, I assure you I am not that bad. You act as though I am an ogre, when really, you might like to think about who other than me could have topped your list, hmm? Do you think I am pleased that all they could find for me is my much older former teacher? No, I am not, but I am an optimist at heart and I like to think there may be something positive we could learn through this experience together.'

And after that tirade, she glanced at her watch and got to her feet. 'I must get back to St. Mungo's.'

In her haste to leave, she seemed to miss how entirely dumbstruck she had rendered him. Severus was grateful for that small mercy at least. On balance, he wished she had been far less diplomatic… To be reduced simply to 'much older former teacher ' after the life he had led was peculiarly humbling.

Still, he had to admit she had a point. She had rather ended up with the thin end of the wedge. Even as a mistake, how mortifying must it be for the perfect know-it-all to be lumbered with Severus Snape? A smirk pulled at the side of his mouth as he suppressed a laugh.

And yet… He couldn't help but note that she did not seem that put out by their association. Her outrage seemed firmly squared at the idea that she should be pressured into having a child, and for that pressure to be exerted by a political establishment was entirely not to be borne.

Then again, she was Hermione holier-than-thou Granger—of course she would not outwardly show her disgust. Merlin only knew what she was saying about him behind his back, though.

A cruel twist of fate, perhaps, that he should be paired with her? Or was it more likely that someone, somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry, was having a laugh at his utter humiliation?

No matter; he had borne worse.


It was with no little sense of relief for Hermione that the first task turned out to be rather simple. In fact, it was almost a little deflating in its simplicity, though she would never admit that aloud. They were each required to invite the other for a drink of the non-alcoholic nature, and they would need to remain in each other's company for at least an hour.

Hardly a great imposition, well, for her, at least.

She had taken it upon herself to go first, and there had been no argument on that point. She had chosen a simple and safe option—a wizarding cafe in Diagon Alley. Surely there could be no fault found with that? It was only when the day dawned that the thought started pricking at her mind that he might not even show.

But no sooner had she taken a seat in a quiet corner, did the door fly open and in billowed Severus Snape.

'Good afternoon,' Hermione greeted warily.

'Is it?' he drawled, looking around their surroundings. 'Well, at least it isn't Madam Pudifoots.'

She rolled her eyes.

'Although,' he continued, taking a seat, 'flaunting this in front of Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon is hardly any less undignified.'

Now she scowled. 'Flaunting what, exactly? We're having a coffee, not shopping for wedding rings.'

His eyebrow lifted and he surveyed her. 'Tetchy, are we?'

'I resent this as much as you, actually, if not more. After all, as the woman in this pairing, it isn't your womb the Ministry wishes to sub-contract, is it?' Hermione sniffed and picked up the menu. 'This whole debacle could only have been thought up by a man, if you ask me. Ten weeks to fall in love with someone and decide you might want to start a family with them? Come on.'

'Ten years wouldn't be long enough,' was the low mutter in reply.

Hermione looked up sharply. 'Never mind that, what will the Ministry do if a couple is successful together and they decide they just do not want children? Blackmail them? Chuck one of them in Azkaban? Ban contraception?'

Snape started perusing the menu. 'Anyone would think with the effort Potter has put in in recent years that we should not have to concern ourselves with population decline.'

Hermione stifled a laugh, concealing a smile behind her menu. 'Well, I think that is partly the problem; apparently, over fifty per cent of the magical population is ginger as it is.'

She thought she saw the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, but she couldn't be sure. After that brief ripple of conversation, an awkward silence started to descend and it was a relief for Hermione when the waiter appeared.

'I'll have a pot of tea and a slice of fruit cake, thank you,' she stated, before looking across expectantly at her companion.

'I will have a ham salad baguette, a pumpkin pasty, two cauldron cakes, and a coffee, please.'

Hermione felt her eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

'Is the Ministry not paying?' Snape asked, innocently.

'Yes…'

He shrugged. 'Well, then, that's my dinner for tonight sorted, too.'

She snorted, secretly wishing she had thought of that as well. 'So, Se- ah, may I call you Severus?'

'It is my name.'

'Yes, ah, quite, well, I thought it would be useful, now that this thing is actually underway, to restate matters as I see them.'

'I am all ears,' he rebounded with fake brightness.

'These dates—' she began, but broke off when he raised his palm sharply.

'Do not call them that.'

'Why not?'

'I do not date,' he spat, actually shivering with disgust.

'Then what would you prefer? Rendezvous?'

'Too colourful. Appointment, maybe?'

'Very well,' Hermione replied, fighting a sigh, 'these appointments will be an hour a week for ten weeks, if it even gets that far. We agree neither of us seeks to make the other uncomfortable. The Ministry is covering the costs—we play the game and get the Ministry off our backs. It seems straightforward to me, don't you think? We have both put up with far worse.'

He scowled deeply. 'That is up for debate.'

Was he really going to take shots at her at every opportunity? Hermione used all her wits to prevent herself from exploding. 'You really want to go down that road, do you?' she warned quietly. 'There was nothing in the small-print preventing hexes being thrown.'

He sat back in his chair and grimaced with irritation. 'Relax, Granger, I'm all bark and no bite, you should know that.'

Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened at his temerity. He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to disagree. She shook her head at the glint of humour in his expression.

Their order appeared and Hermione reached gratefully for the teapot. 'Your bark is worse than your bite, you mean,' she muttered irritably.

She busied herself with her tea, rather than see what he made of that observation. Surreptitiously, she was aware that he wrapped up most of his food, shrinking the items away into his robe, until he was left with one single cauldron cake, which he picked at.

And despite her previous idea that they could sit in silence to pass the time, she had neglected to consider that it might not be an altogether comfortable silence. 'Have you, ah, heard of anyone else taking part in this ridiculous farce?' she tried eventually.

He simply shook his head.

'Nor I,' she said, despite him not returning the question, 'most of my friends are married or already have children.'

He said nothing and Hermione stuffed a piece of cake into her mouth instead. Who knew this would be such hard work?

'Do you think the Ministry would really go so far as to mandate the birth of a child?'

He shrugged insolently, as if he didn't care, but maybe at her subsequent frown, felt compelled to add:

'You should know better than most not to underestimate the depths to which the Wizarding World can sink.'

'Hmm…' she agreed, feeling suddenly despondent.

She had wondered why they had not focused their attention on married, childless, couples as a starting point. Maybe that was what it was all building to. Grimly, she sipped her tea. Well, it would be nice to have a political cause to get wrapped up in again. Life had started to become a little tedious, she supposed.

Not only that, there might be a reason to be grateful for this ridiculous situation in the future. After all, she had been waiting for an opportunity to cross paths again with the man sitting opposite her. In fact, it had started to feel like it might never happen. She flicked her eyes at him briefly. His attention was resolutely directed out through the window into the alley.

It was definitely not going to be easy, she realised.

The silence, which had descended again, was beginning to make her uncomfortable once more. She opened her mouth, ready to risk small-talk, when a mechanical sounding buzz punctured the silence instead. Hermione blinked, glancing about, but Snape immediately reached a hand to his waistcoat and pulled out a pocket-watch.

'Ah,' he remarked, looking at the watch face and clicking the button at the top, 'time's up.'

Hermione let out a small huff of half amusement, half irritation. He'd had a stopwatch on them; she should have anticipated as such. Rising to his feet, he dipped his head marginally.

'Until next time.'

He swept away so quickly, her quiet 'Indeed,' floated away unheard.