The Mating Game

Chapter Nine

Christmas Shopping

Hermione tossed her book bag on the floor with a thud and yelled at the top of her voice: "I’m DONE!" Kicking off her shoes, she twirled around giddily, then retreated to the kitchen to grab a pint of Haagen-Dazs.

She plopped down on the couch with a spoon in one hand and the container of ice cream. "I swear, Crooks," she said to her ginger-haired familiar, who was curled upon the cushion next to hers, "I will not touch a book for another week!"

"That’ll be a first!" Ginny Malfoy’s head had appeared in the fireplace.

Hermione jumped, then got a hold of herself. "Ginny! Long time no see!"

"Much too long, if you ask me. I’ve tried catching you before, but you never seem to be home. Term’s over now, isn’t it?"

"Finally, yes."

"Want to go Christmas shopping with me? We can pick out our presents for Zinnia together…"

"Who?!"

"Zinnia. Ron’s daughter. Hadn’t you heard?"

Hermione frowned. "Pig did come by with a letter one time, but Crookshanks ran off with it before I could read it…I was in the middle of an essay and I thought I would just find it later, but I guess I was too busy. And then I just forgot about it. Oh, I am such an idiot! Now I need to buy a birth gift and a Christmas present, both. Yes, I’ll come with you."

"Great!" Ginny was beaming. "I’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at noon. We can have lunch and talk before we go out shopping." Her head disappeared from the grate with a pop and Hermione was left alone with Crookshanks.

She buried her face in her hands in sudden realization. The Leaky Cauldron–at noon. Just like the time she met Severus. She’d never told Ginny about that, or about anything else after that. Her parents, Albus Dumbledore, and Minerva McGonagall were the only people who knew about her husband. Thoughts of telling her friends flitted through her head, and she groaned.

Then she sat up straight and attacked her ice cream eagerly. When in doubt, drown your woes in chocolate, she thought.

The next day she apparated to the Leaky Cauldron at 11:59, just as before. Unlike Snape, Ginny was not known for her punctuality; Hermione spent several anxious minutes pacing back and forth in the foyer, thinking about how Ginny might react to her news.

Surely Ginny, who was now a Malfoy, thought highly of Snape? But then again, she had spent seven years in his classroom being intimidated; she’d graduated from Hogwarts less than six months ago. If she made rude remarks (as her brother was sure to when he heard the news), was it best to ignore her or fight back? Hermione had always defended Snape in front of Ron, but she wasn’t sure that was the wisest course of action when dealing with Ginny.

Hermione still hadn’t decided what she was going to do (or how to break the news, for that matter) when Ginny bounced in through the front door–in far too cheery a mood for Hermione’s tastes. Unfortunately, the first words out of the redhead’s mouth were, "Wow, you’re looking good, Hermione. Did you meet a man at university or something?"

Hermione flushed. She had really not meant this topic to come up so soon.

"Well…um…actually not at university."

Ginny reached down and grabbed Hermione’s left hand. "Ooh, Hermione! You’re married! When did this happen? And why all the secrecy? This is a neat ring."

Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat.

"Well, let’s sit down and have lunch, then," said Ginny, practically. Then, as they walked to an empty table she added, "I can’t wait to see Harry’s face when we tell him!"

"We?" said Hermione weakly. (She had decided the previous night that Ron and Harry should be told by owl post. Explosions were easier to handle long distance.)

"Sure," said Ginny brightly. "I promised I’d meet him at three today to help pick out a present for Luna. You do know about him and Luna, right?"

If Hermione had received an invitation to the wedding, she hadn’t noticed. She had, however, seen the news blazed across the front of the Daily Prophet. She nodded mutely and hid herself behind her menu.

"So, Hermione, tell me all about Mystery Man. Is it someone I know?"

Hermione nodded again but didn’t lower her menu.

"Someone I met at Hogwarts?"

This question was met, again, by a silent nod. Hermione hoped that Ginny could see her hair nodding but not her face (which was crimson). What, oh what, had she been thinking, marrying that man? Oh, he was intelligent enough; they’d had some pretty interesting conversations on politics, potions, and philosophy in between "tries" (as she euphemistically thought of those occasions). And his, er, technique was definitely improving. On the other hand, he was a socially inept recluse who terrorized children for fun.

Her menu disappeared. Tom had taken it–he wanted her order. She had been holding the menu earlier, but she hadn’t really looked at it. Flustered, she ordered stew again.

When he was gone, Ginny picked up her interrogation again. "Your year or not?"

"Not."

"Older than you or younger?"

"Older," said Hermione resignedly. She glanced around the table, looking for something to hide behind.

"Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?"

"Neither." Oh, kill me now, thought Hermione.

"Ooh, a Hufflepuff then. Oh, wait…" Ginny’s gaze had fallen on her ring, platinum with emeralds. It was a Snape family heirloom; Severus’s father and grandfather had both been Slytherins too. "Hermione, I can’t believe it! A Slytherin! We’re more alike than I thought! Okay, let me think now. Which of the Slytherins doesn’t look like a gorilla? Not Draco, of course, he’s already mine…" She started mumbling under her breath.

Hermione scowled and gulped down her stew.

After a few minutes, Ginny looked up from her steak. "Hermione, I just can’t think of who it might be. Give me a hint. Blond or brunette?"

"Black hair." Hermione’s voice was shaking.

Ginny scratched her head. "Blaise is dead–and he was on the other side anyway. Flint is in Azkaban–I just can’t think who else has–" She stopped suddenly, and Hermione knew she’d pieced the puzzle together. "Just how much older are we talking, girl?"

Hermione found that she couldn’t answer that question, but the choking noise she emitted spoke volumes.

Ginny rubbed her eyes. "Please tell me this is all some sort of nightmare. It’s not Snape, is it?"

Again, Hermione said nothing.

"What on earth possessed you to marry that creep?" said Ginny. "Are you a sadist? Or were you dying to have children that look like vampires? You must be crazy!"

Hermione reeled. She’d been afraid that something like this would happen; she’d spent most of last night obsessing over ways this conversation could go. In the end, she’d decided that the most logical course of action would be for Ginny to accept her relationship with Snape. Too bad Ginny didn’t act logically.

What should she do now? She’d never decided which course of action to follow if things should go amiss. And so she acted purely out of instinct. She stood up and snapped, "Yes, I am mad. Absolutely starkers. Good-bye." And she stalked out of the pub and off to Diagon Alley.

What is with her?

She, of all people, should be tolerant of unusual marriage partners, thought Hermione huffily, as she pushed her way through the throngs of Christmas shoppers. So I married a foul-tempered bat–big deal. She married a ferret who insulted me non-stop for six years and she still expected me to give her a wedding gift!

Four hours later she was still searching for an outfit for little Zinnia. At first she had procrastinated the dreaded task by searching for a present for Severus. He’d been complaining about the state of his dragonhide gloves, so she’d bought him a new, top-quality pair.

Then she spent quite a while flipping through the baby clothes without actually looking at them, wondering if she would ever need to buy any baby clothes herself. When she finally gathered her wits about her, she felt lost.

Without Ginny’s guidance, she had no way of knowing what colors to pick out. Ron had red hair and pale skin; Millie, dark hair and olive skin. What sort of coloring would their daughter have inherited? She was wavering back and forth between a pastel pink (for Ron’s coloring) and a vivid purple (for Millie’s coloring) when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

It was Harry. "Hey, Hermy," he said softly. After fifth year, it had become his private nickname for her; he never used it in front of anyone else.

"Harry," she said weakly, dreading the confrontation to come.

"Ginny told me about what happened earlier. And I wanted to say…that I think you made a good choice. Not that you would have caught me saying that three years ago…but after all the work we had to do together during the War, I discovered that he is a decent person, deep down. Not always nice, but honorable and dedicated. He just buries the good stuff behind that snarky act."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Actually the snarkiness goes all the way down to the core. But after the things he’s been through, I can’t blame him. And he is trying to be nice."

"The operative word being ‘trying’, I suppose?" said Harry with a wink.

For the first time in twenty-four hours, Hermione grinned. "Of course," she said with a sigh of relief.

Harry’s face darkened. "You could have told me, you know," he said. "I wouldn’t have killed you."

"I didn’t know that," she said, feeling the tears coming to her eyes. "I had these terrible visions of you and Ron choking me to death while telling me how stupid I was…"

"Hermy," said Harry seriously, "C’mon. We’re friends, right? You know I would never do something like that to you, don’t you?"

"Well, sure, now I do," said Hermione harshly.

"I understand why you worry about Ron, though. If only Ginny hadn’t found out first, Luna and I could have worked out some way to break the news gently."

"Oh, I know, I really made a mess of things. But I’m socially inept; what do you expect? If I was good with relationships maybe I wouldn’t have had to go husband hunting," she sniffed.

"Relax, Hermione. Forget about it. I forgive you. Let’s move on."

She paused, taking deep breaths, trying to regain control of herself. "All right, then, can we change the topic of coversation? Does Zinnia has dark hair or red? I’m trying to choose between these." She waved the outfits in his general direction.

"Oh, Hermione," said Harry with exasperation. "She’s swimming in clothes. Most hand-knitted by Molly, of course. Get her a toy. Or better yet, a book."

"Now, why didn’t I think of that before?" muttered Hermione. "Very Hungry Caterpillar, here I come!"