The Mating Game

Chapter Eleven

Holiday Greetings

The next morning, Hermione ate breakfast in the Great Hall. The Staff Table had been expanded since her Hogwarts days–it was now large enough to accommodate the spouses of the younger staff members. It seemed rather odd to pass by the Gryffindor table and sit at the top of the Hall (even though, as was customary during the Christmas holidays, the few remaining students were sitting with the teachers.)

She had little time to ponder her new seating arrangements though; within a few minutes, she was deluged by owls. Evidently, Ginny had been gossiping up a storm. The first few letters were pleasantly neutral; sadly, that was not true of all the missives Hermione read.

**

Hermione,

Congratulations on your marriage.

Dean Thomas

**

Hermione,

You know, I used to consider you intelligent! Did Voldemort suck out all your brains? You could have had a much better catch.

Lavender Brown Finnigan

P.S. from Seamus: I hear your university grades are quite good, so, unlike my wife, I assume you’re still in possession of your marbles. However, I’m inclined to wonder if you’ve been experimenting with some of those hallucinogens that we learned about in Muggle Studies?

**

Girl, what are you doing, getting married without telling me and Padma? We would have loved to do your hair and makeup for your wedding day!

Parvati

**

Hermione,

I am glad that you married that bastard, Snape. I consider it Fate paying you back for what you did to me.

Marietta Edgecombe

**

[The following letter was written partly in Ron’s scrawl, with portions crossed out (denoted by italics) and rewritten in Millie’s flowery script (denoted by bold).]

Hermione,

Would you be offended if I told you that you really screwed up in your choice of husband? Because you did.

We think you made a fine choice, dear. You do know that Snape is going to torture support you for the rest of your life, don’t you? He’s a real asshole sweetheart, you know!

Well, you made your bed, you’ll have to lie in it now (though I’m not sure I want to think about that in regards to Snape).

Your friend,

Ron Weasley

P.S. Please excuse my husband’s temper. He has been cranky ever since Zinnia developed colic. Millie.

**

Hermione,

No doubt everyone is screeching their discontent at you right now. I hardly blame you for keeping silent.

Don’t get me wrong; I still think Snape is a greasy git. (Want to buy some of WWW’s hair ‘improvement’ potions?)

But I know he’s not all bad. During our final year, he overheard me and George talking about getting rid of Umbridge. The next day he ‘accidentally’ dropped the password to his private lab in my bag. Without him, our portable swamp would never have emerged from the primordial slime.

Give him a Canary Cream for me, will you?

Fred

**

Hermione,

Sorry I snapped at you yesterday. That was rather uncalled for, wasn’t it? Draco keeps telling me that these damn pregnancy hormones are making me unbalanced. I think I’m finally convinced that he’s right.

Belated congratulations. Hopefully we can meet again soon under better terms!

Ginny

**

Dear Hermione (and Severus),

Congratulations on your wedding.

Ginny and I have not had an opportunity to have a good talk with either of you for a while. Please come to our New Year's Eve Party so we can chat again. Send an owl if you wish to R.S.V.P.

Yours,

Draco

**

As Hermione opened yet another envelope, her husband inquired quietly, "Opening a mail-order business, are we?"

"Er…no," she replied, blushing. "Just…belated wedding congratulations is all."

"Didn’t tell anyone either, did you?"

"It seemed simpler at the time."

"Understood." Snape was looking down the table to where Charlie and Bill Weasley were whispering together. Hermione scanned the other professors and saw a look of shock on most of their faces–even little Professor Flitwick was sneaking furtive, astonished glances in her direction.

She realized suddenly that she’d never really left Snape’s quarters during the times that she’d visited before. Her marriage had not been a public affair, and she’d liked it that way. Evidently, Minerva and Albus had announced their own marriage to the staff but not said a word about hers. Maybe they’ve just had other things on their mind, she thought, watching the pair cuddling together.

Professor McGonagall was breakfasting on dry toast and ginger tea today. The sight reminded Hermione of morning sickness, which reminded her of the need for a Transfiguration assistant. Oh joy, she thought. The things I get to think about at breakfast.

Should she give up her life-long goal of a university degree? It was an ambition she’d had since she was in primary school, a decision she’d made before she’d known anything about the magical world. She’d been crushed, during her first year, to discover that there were no wizarding universities in England–and then, miraculously, during her fourth year, pilot university programs for witches and wizards were begun in Oxford and Cambridge. She’d been so ecstatic that she could get a doctorate instead of having to do an apprenticeship.

Logically speaking, she knew that an apprenticeship was still a reasonable option. And yet, the dream of having a degree seemed too hard to let go of. During the war, she’d suffered from both stress and depression; often, the only thing that had kept her going was the thought that if she failed, she’d never be able to attend university. Could she now, in time of peace, let go of her last lifeline?

She shot a glance at the man sitting next to her–her husband. Was she really willing to live with him full time? He was reasonably good company on an occasional basis; however, she knew from her friends’ experiences that such relationships did not always work out when people lived together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Nonetheless, when the babies came–if they ever came–it would be much easier to arrange child care if they were living in the same place. Perhaps, if things didn’t work out, Dumbledore could arrange for separate living quarters…

Hermione felt a gentle touch on her elbow. It was her husband. "Anyone in there?" he whispered.

"Mmm–sorry. I was just debating whether or not to talk to Minerva today."

"If the answer is yes, we may want to remove ourselves from prying eyes right now; I think we may be able to just catch her."

Looking up, Hermione caught the sight of McGonagall disappearing through the double doors into the entrance hall. "Ummm…good idea," she said, frantically trying to gather up the letters that were piled on the table in front of her.

"I’ll get those– you just go ahead, I’ll catch up later."

"Thanks." She fled gratefully from the hall, trying to ignore the stares and whispers, leaving her husband to the mundane task of collecting the piles of post that were cascading off the table.

Two hours later, she returned to the dungeons with a bounce in her step. Minerva had been excited to take her on as an apprentice. She had her signed apprenticeship papers in hand as well as a teaching schedule. She had enjoyed the morning so much that she’d forgotten what had happened at breakfast.

When she opened the door to her quarters, however, it all came flooding back. Her husband was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by three large stacks of letters. He had a quill and parchment before him and was in the process of scribbling something down.

"You’re back. Good. I’ve just finished."

"Finished what?" asked Hermione, bewilderedly.

"Sorting," Severus replied. "These," he continued, gesturing at the pile to his left, "contain letters of a rude nature. I have written the names of the senders on this list. You may wish to avoid these people in the future. The center pile contains letters that can best be described as neutral. These require only a short note of acknowledgement; the names are on another list, so you won’t need to actually read the letters. And this stack," he said, patting the meager pile on his right, "contains notes of sincere congratulations. We should respond to these personally."

"You read my mail?!"

"Actually, as these notes all concerned marriage congratulations– or sympathies, as the case may be–I didn’t think there was anything amiss in sorting them for you. Several of them were actually addressed to both of us."

"Oh," said Hermione weakly. "Well, I guess I really wasn’t looking forward to reading them anyway. So thank you. That must have been a lot of work."

"It was. Do I get payment?"

"What sort of…payment did you have in mind?" she asked, though she had a pretty good idea of the answer.

He looked at her seriously. "They say that making love in front of a fire is especially romantic."

"I guess we could find out."

Her husband lit the fire with a flick of his wand and then, to her amazement, banished the stacks of rude and neutral letters to the fireplace. "That should provide plenty of illumination," he said as he extinguished the other lights.

Before she knew it, they were both undressed. Did he do it by magic, or am I still so much in shock from the events of today that I didn’t notice him undressing me? thought Hermione as her husband gently lowered her onto the hearthrug.

He was kissing her–gently at first, then passionately, eagerly. And for the first time in her marriage, Hermione found herself responding in kind. He took his time enjoying her body; how different from the cursory lovemaking they’d shared since the beginning of the school year! When, at last, he entered her, she looked into his eyes and felt that he had given her not just his body, but his soul.

It didn’t take him long to reach orgasm; Hermione was feeling just the beginnings of pleasure when she felt him exploding inside her. Yet despite her lack of climax, she felt oddly connected with him.

Later that night, however, as she lay curled up in bed with her back to her husband, she wondered if she had been imagining the bond between him. For, afterwards, he had immediately gone back to being his brusque, withdrawn self. No, it had just been her imagination, she decided. Severus Snape would never open up his true self to another.

He’s just manipulating me,

thought Hermione as she drifted off to sleep.