Chapters 61-70

Never Doubt that this is Real

oooOooo

Hermione flung the paper away with such force that it sailed over the table and landed on the floor, the wizards inside the picture on the first page stumbling dizzily around inside their rectangle.

‘That’s disgusting,’ Hermione hissed. ‘Can’t they leave you alone?’

Next to her, Severus sighed. ‘Thank you for drawing the attention of all our students to the paper.’ He pulled his wand and flicked it. Gently the discarded paper floated up onto the table again, spreading itself out next to his cup of tea.

He scanned the article, his expression unreadable. At last he looked back at Hermione, eyes black, mouth thin.

‘What did you expect, Hermione? You would do well not to forget with whom you are dealing here,’ he said in the soft, dangerous tone that could mask anger as well as bitterness. ‘They haven’t.’

She wondered if he was referring only to himself. The thought of the disappeared Death Eaters was never far from her mind.

‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered.

The stony expression faltered for a second, before he fixed his scowl on her.

‘You will need to be able to say my name, tomorrow,’ he observed. ‘If that is such a hardship, maybe we should arrange some time for you to practice pronouncing it?’

He raised an eyebrow, and drummed the tips of his steepled fingers against each other.

Promptly Hermione’s hand began to shake and she had to put her cup down. Her heart syncopated its beats, making her feel rather woozy.

‘Yes, s— Severus,’ she breathed.

‘Severus,’ she repeated, firmer this time. ‘SEH-ver-us.’

He smirked at her. ‘See, it’s not all that difficult. Though I fully expect that on Saturday we will be reading an article in that rag here, which will argue the only thing that could have prompted you to marry me is the fact that I am at least able to pronounce your name accurately. If I recall correctly there are precedents regarding your first name, aren’t there, Herm-own-ninny? Or should I simply say ‘mione?’

Hermione couldn’t help smiling at that. But with the nasty article still in plain view, her mood darkened again quickly. Concentrating on her empty plate—she simply wasn’t hungry enough to eat breakfast—she finally voiced what was troubling her the most regarding their upcoming marriage. ‘I think I’m rather more worried about that this—this scandal sheet will print that it’s nothing but a paper marriage.’ She glanced at Severus worriedly.

‘I have no doubt that they will print exactly that. And worse,’ he said frankly. ‘However, Aceline Loxweild-Spalt was very thorough in her research. She’s the best lawyer money can buy, Hermione. My probation only asks for ‘marriage’. It doesn’t require a specific rite—hell, it doesn’t even require consummation! As far as I can see, there is no way for them to challenge the validity of our marriage. That would only be possible if we were marrying only to keep me out of prison.’ His voice was so soft, when he continued, that Hermione knew that only she could hear what Severus was saying. ‘I am not sure what it is that we are doing here, Hermione. But whatever it is—it is not just ‘for show’. Never doubt that whatever this is, it is real.’

oooOooo

On Friday, April 28, 2000 Ron Weasley met Lois Petrel for breakfast in Muggle coffee-place of American origin. As it was not the first time they went there, he felt fairly self-assured and quite cosmopolitan as he marched up to the bar and ordered a half-caf-decaf-cappuccino-with-cream-but-hold-the-cocoa and some of those American Muggle cauldron— no, cupc— no, muffins.

While Ron waited for his order to be readied, he caught a glance at himself in the gleaming metal of the machinery. Dressed in black jeans and a charcoal grey jumper (both picked out by Lois), his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, he looked almost like a Muggle. And like an adult, something which was infinitely more important to him. He had to be an adult. Lois enjoyed fooling around as much as he did, but she’d been bringing up her daughter on her own since she was sixteen years old. If their relationship was to have any future at all, he had to be a man, and not a boy to her.

Sometimes, like today, that was rather hard on Ron. As they settled down in the comfortable armchairs, mugs of coffee and plates of muffins on the small round table between them, he allowed himself to glower at the bag that contained his and Lois’ shrunk dress robes as well as the wedding present for Hermione and Snape they had bought together the day before.

Then he turned his attention back to the graceful, dark-haired woman and forced a weak smile.

‘I just can’t believe that this is really happening,’ he muttered.

Lois—well aware of Ron’s prejudices against the Potions Master and his fading infatuation with Hermione—rolled her eyes.

‘Really, Ronald,’ she said in perfect mimicry of Hermione’s way of speaking, before continuing in her ordinary mellow voice. ‘A blind man can see how much Hermione loves Severus. And although he may have a hard time accepting that, if you know Severus, then it’s quite obvious that he is very much attracted to her. And—’ She raised a finger to prevent the rash words that were waiting to tumble from Ron’s tongue. ‘And that he cares for her deeply.’

Ron wasn’t convinced, but he knew better than to argue with Lois. ‘If you say so…’