The Mating Game

Chapter Six

Wedding Day Promises

Hermione was not one of those girls who had dreamed about a big wedding. If truth be told, she’d never really dreamed about her wedding at all as a child– she concluded that getting married was a logical thing to do and that she would do it some day, and that was good enough for her.

Now, however, she had to think about details. Invitation list? Flowers? Gift registry? In the end, she decided that it would be a simple affair, as her fiance had requested; there was no time for anything else. As long as she notified her parents and bought a suitable outfit, she’d be fine.

Her parents had taken out a Daily Prophet subscription during the war and kept it up afterwards, so they weren’t too surprised when she announced her impending marriage. Her father did frown a little when she announced her choice of husband, but overall, her parents were supportive.

And so it was that one week later, Hermione found herself standing in front of Albus Dumbledore wearing a dress robe of ivory silk. To her right stood her groom, clad in a black velvet robe of old-fashioned style.

The ceremony was something of a blur to her. She vaguely recalled saying, "I do," hearing Professor Snape say the same, and the exchange of rings. Then they kissed gently, for the first time, and when she pulled away from her new husband she caught a glimpse of her parents’ faces, happy and apprehensive at the same time.

Then there were the congratulations, which she noticed were somewhat muted, and the good-byes to be said to her parents. Snape held his arm out to her formally, she took it, and they walked somewhat stiffly down to the dungeons.

His rooms (or should she say "their rooms"?) were decorated in green. Not the bright Slytherin green, but rather a deep forest green, bordering on black. Two whole walls of the sitting room were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves jammed full of books. That, at least, boded well for compatibility.

Her reverie was interrupted by a squeaky little voice. "Master is wanting some tea, sir?"

"That would be nice, Peggy. Will you bring a pot and two cups, please?"

"Yes, sir, right away sir. And Mister Dumbledore is sending a special cake for you, sir."

"All right. As long as it’s not lemon, serve it up," scowled Snape. "Oh–and this is Mrs. Snape; you’ll answer to her now as well," he added, beckoning at Hermione.

"Oh! Missus is very welcome! Peggy is telling Master for years that he is needing to get married!" The little elf squealed delightedly and disappeared, ostensibly to get the tea.

Snape motioned silently to one of the armchairs and Hermione sat down. He took the armchair next to hers. "I have a favor to ask of you," he said formally. "I suppose I ought to have asked you this before we were married, but I decided I was more likely to get your agreement once it was too late."

"Oh? I think I would be less likely to agree, actually." She was a little irritated. She’d expected a wedding day surprise of some sort– after all, she hardly knew the man she married– but she’d expected it to be a bedroom type of surprise like "Snape has a leather fetish" or "Snape wears pink bunny slippers." Certainly she hadn’t expected something that could be discussed in armchairs in front of the fire. She’d assumed issues like that would be discussed before the ceremony.

Snape stood up suddenly, loomed over her, and said, "Let me start with a question. Are you scared of me?"

Her jaw dropped in shock, but she managed to pull it shut. Eventually she worked up enough presence of mind to mutter, "No. Not since my fifth year, I think." Actually, it had been the summer before fifth year–she’d overheard enough on the Extendable Ears to understand what Snape had to go through as a spy for the Order, and had somehow come to the conclusion that his prickliness was the best defense against the terrifying situations he faced.

"Excellent. Fear is hardly the best basis for a marriage, you see." He sank back in his chair, deep in reverie.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione said, "Professor?"

He responded, but his eyes were still far away. "My father was the last male in a long line of Snapes, but when, in his late forties, he showed no interest in reproduction, his parents laid down the law. He must produce a child in the next five years or be cut out of their will."

"Not too different from your current situation," commented Hermione.

If Snape heard her, he didn’t show it. He just continued with the story. "He wasn’t really…all that interested in women, I guess. In fact, I’m fairly certain he swung the other way. So he took a rather Slytherin approach to the whole problem. He invited his secretary out to lunch and slipped a lust potion into her drink. By the time the potion wore off, she was pregnant. Then he did the ‘honorable’ thing and asked her to marry him. Of course, she accepted. There really was no socially acceptable alternative back then."

Peggy appeared at this point bearing tea and a miniature wedding cake, which she set down on the coffee table. Hermione picked up her cup and sipped thoughtfully but Snape just stared off into space and kept talking.

"Poor Mum. I can’t say I blame her for hating me. She hated Dad, especially once she’d found out what he’d done. Oh, she got a big house and house-elves…and coming from an impoverished household, that’s more than she probably ever expected. But she never was free to be herself. Dad made her stay home all the time–the house elves did the shopping, or he’d order things by owl post. And she got me: a surly child with her husband’s big nose and nasty temper."

He shook himself, leaned forward, and looked Hermione in the eye. "I don’t want a marriage like that. I don’t want our children to grow up like that. I know we haven’t exactly married under the most ideal of circumstances, but I want you to promise me that we’ll make the best of our relationship."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "Please, say you will try to make this work." There was an expression in his eyes that she’d never seen before. It was hard to tell exactly what emotion she saw there, since she’d become accustomed to seeing only three sides of the man who was now her husband: indifference, disdain, and anger. Was it gentleness–or just concern?

"All right," said Hermione simply. A minute ago, she’d been ready to reply with a crass remark, but something had changed her mind. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d said please, a word that she couldn’t recall him ever saying before.

"I’ll try to be a decent husband. I know I’ll probably fail. I’m sure I’ll be a lousy lover, if nothing else," he added miserably.

"Let me be the judge of that," she said, somewhat crossly.

"Don’t be afraid to tell me if I’m doing something wrong. I know I’ll be wretched compared to your previous lovers…"

"Yeah. All zero of them," said Hermione scornfully.

Snape was taken aback. "Oh. You too?" he asked softly.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "How in the world did you last thirty-nine years without…well…you mean you didn’t even visit, you know, a house of ill repute?"

The potions professor got up and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. "Hermione, I couldn’t. There was just too much at stake. Well, in my Hogwarts years there wasn’t, really, but I was afraid of James and Sirius and their pranks. Then, not long after graduation, I became a double agent. You see, I brewed Polyjuice for the first time a few months before I came to Hogwarts, so I knew the potential for abuse…"

Hermione sat bolt upright in her chair. "Merlin! Do you mean that someone could have used your sperm…"

"It is, technically, a part of me," Snape said in his best teacherly voice. "So you see, I could never be, shall we say, involved with someone unless I trusted them implicitly. Which I never did."

"But you trust me implicitly?"

"No," he smirked. "But I doubt you’d experiment with Polyjuice again."

Hermione frowned. During her second year, Snape had been searching for Madam Pomfrey and had found her–cat face and all–instead. He had deduced the situation immediately and made a rude remark, accompanied by a malicious snicker. After that, he had been in the Hospital Wing almost every day. He’d always had an excuse for seeing the nurse, but his primary reason for being there seemed to be observing (and taunting) Hermione. She’d never told Harry or Ron, of course; the experience had been too humiliating to share.

A hush had settled over the room. Snape was regarding her nervously.

"Hermione," he said in the quiet whisper that had always kept his classes riveted to his every word, "if you feel uncomfortable with consummating the marriage, I will wait."

Hermione leaped to her feet. "Oh, for heaven’s sake. The whole bloody point of this marriage is to produce a child. If we don’t have intercourse, what’s the point of being married?"

He dropped his eyes. "May I proceed then?"

She nodded.

*****

Author’s Note: Peggy the house-elf is borrowed shamelessly from pigwidgeon37’s wonderful Sybil’s Oracle series. I really suck at making up house-elf names!