The Mating Game

Chapter Sixteen

Trouble in Paradise

Severus had always reminded Hermione of a cat. When she was a student, she’d assumed it was the grace and stealth with which he moved (not to mention the general aloofness and the hissing and spitting when angered) which gave her that impression. Now that they’d been married almost a year, she realized that she had to add stretching to her list of feline characteristics.

Her husband had just risen from the desk where he’d been sitting and was stretching and arching his body slowly, trying to get all the kinks out. As he brought his arms back down to his sides, he emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a "Mrrrrow!"

"Second years done! Just the first years left to go." Hermione hadn’t been all that surprised to discover that her husband started with the hardest tasks and saved the easy ones for last. It was the way she’d done things since she was small–an approach that Harry and Ron had never understood.

She looked down at the desk with its stacks of envelopes. "Are you going to deliver those before you start? I’ll help you take them up to the owlery."

His eyes sparkled greedily. "Please do. Then you can accompany me to the Register."

"The– the register?" stammered Hermione, flustered.

He leaned against his desk with a sigh. "Haven’t you ever wondered how Minerva knows whom to send the letters to?"

"I guess I never really considered it," she said truthfully.

"Well, the founders of Hogwarts installed a magical Register of Births. Every time a child of magical ability is born, his or her name is inscribed on a scroll. Now of course, certain of the founders were adamant that this registry must be kept a secret, as they didn’t want Squibs to be killed off."

"Why do I have a feeling that Salazar Slytherin did not agree?" she interrupted.

He smirked at her before continuing, "So the Register is off-limits to the general public. In fact, it’s off limits to even the Staff, except for the Headmaster and his Assistant, and even they can only access it once per year."

"Will it let me in, then? I’m not an Assistant Headmistress," Hermione inquired.

"I’m not sure, but I’m hoping my identity is enough to open the door for all and sundry," Severus said. "In any case, we’ll find out soon, won’t we?" He picked up a stack of letters and handed it to his wife. Scooping up the rest of the letters himself, he headed towards the door.

"Well, this will be very educational," said Hermione.

"Educational?" sneered her husband. "What a Gryffindor attitude. This is a chance to gather valuable information."

She didn’t understand, but decided to take a wait-and-watch approach to the rest of the afternoon.

After fastening several dozen letters to owls’ legs, she was ready to take a rest, but Severus insisted that she accompany him on his next errand. The Register was evidently just down the hall from the Room of Requirement. Severus stopped in front of a painting which depicted a knight in golden armor practicing his jousting skills. "Severus Snape, Acting Assistant Headmaster, requests entrance," he said curtly.

The knight turned his head only a little, as if loath to stop his attempts at the quintain, and said, "Very well, sir! But who, may I ask, is the fair lady?" Without waiting for a reply, he pulled on the reins of his horse and began galloping again at the dummy.

Severus waited until he returned to the near side of the tilt to explain, "My wife wishes to accompany me, if it’s permitted."

"Spouses are allowed," remarked the knight, and the painting swung aside. Hermione followed her husband into a small, dusty room containing only a desk for furniture. A long scroll of parchment draped over the edge and coiled on the dusty floor.

Severus knelt next to this and unrolled it, scanning the feathery script. "We’re supposed to check the dates and find everyone born after the cut-off," he said. "Ah, here we are." He drew a pair of scissors from a hidden pocket of his robes and carefully cut the scroll between two names.

As Hermione watched, fascinated, a quill resting on the desk suddenly picked itself up, dipped itself in an inkpot, and began to scribble on the other end of the scroll. "Wow! Someone just had a baby!" She leaned over to look at the name: Scribble Scribble Scribble Malfoy. "Ginny’s had her baby! How neat! Why can’t I make out the name?"

It seemed odd to her, for most of the names on the list were quite legible.

"I believe the names don’t take shape until after the namesgiving ceremony," said Severus thoughtfully. "In any case, I certainly hope you realize that you aren’t to say a word about this to either Ginny or Draco."

"Why not?" she asked with a pout. "He– or she, I suppose– isn’t a Squib."

"How Gryffindor of you," said her husband, echoing the statement he’d made earlier. "Don’t you realize what sort of favors I could get in trade for this sort of information?"

"Favors?" said Hermione, shocked. "I don’t see why that would be necessary."

Severus laughed and returned his attention to the list of newborns. "Ah, yes, here we are," he said, pointing at an entry five names down from the newest Malfoy. The name read: Leo Albus Peter Galahad Dumbledore, 8 July 2001. "Now this is information we can bargain with," he smirked.

"Bargain for what? The Defense against the Dark Arts professorship?" she asked, puzzled.

"No, you silly goose," teased her husband. "Our baby isn’t on the list yet since he hasn’t been born. And I won’t be able to check next year. But Minerva will. And since she doesn’t want to wait a year to find out if Leo’s on the Registry or not, we can extract a promise that she’ll tell us if…"

"That’s–" Hermione began, but shut her mouth suddenly. She had been about to say, "not fair", but she realized that it actually wasn’t. Besides, she didn’t want to wait ten or eleven years to find out if Quintus was going to attend Hogwarts.

"Hmmm," she grinned, suddenly realizing the possibilities. "I wonder what Draco would be willing to barter for information like this."

"I knew you’d come around in time," said her husband seriously. "I’ll make you a fitting Queen of Slytherin yet."

***

Since letters to the first years were all the same, Severus carefully wrote out one letter and then duplicated it. His only remaining tasks were to personalize each letter with a greeting and to address each envelope. So it was only two days after the visit to the Registry that Hermione was packing her suitcase for vacation.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, staring blankly into the wardrobe.

"You’ll find out," her husband replied.

"Oh, please tell me, Severus," she begged. "I don’t know what sort of clothes to pack."

"Pack for warm weather. Muggle attire," was his only response.

Needless to say, Hermione was quite eager to Apparate away from the castle, if for no other reason than to find out where she was going to spend the next two weeks.

Hermione was surprised to see her husband dressing himself in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts. He definitely looks better in black, she thought as she gently gathered his long hair into a ponytail.

"What are you staring at?" he asked testily.

"I’ve–I’ve never seen you in Muggle clothes before."

"And probably won’t again, after this vacation," he said sharply.

Severus insisted on draping a cloak over himself for the walk to the gates. Evidently he didn’t wish for anyone else to see him in Muggle clothes. When they reached their favorite Apparition spot, he removed the cloak and stuffed it into his duffel bag.

"Why are we going to this place if you hate Muggle clothes so much?"

"Perfect place. Muggle clothes are a necessity," he said shortly.

A minute later they were standing in an alley off a bustling street. Hermione looked up and saw…the Parthenon. "Oh, Athens! I’ve never been here before!" she exclaimed.

"Nice," said Severus. "Just remember, the Greek Ministry of Magic has been in a state of hostility with the English Ministry ever since the war. As long as we are here, we’re Muggles, okay?"

"Sure," she said, still a bit shell-shocked. "So where do we go from here?"

Where they went from the alley was a four-star hotel. Hermione, opening the door to their "room", discovered that they had the honeymoon suite. "Wow," she said, walking across the room to the balcony and checking out the view.

"Very elegant," said Severus primly as he closed the door behind him.

It should have been a fantastic vacation. Each day they visited as many museums and historical sites as her swelling feet could handle, then spent several hours in the pool or at the beach.

That vacation also marked the first time that Severus felt his son move. "Wiggly little fellow, isn’t he?" he remarked, as he lay with his hand on Hermione’s belly.

"An understatement if I ever heard one," replied his wife, who could have sworn that she’d felt her child doing a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree somersault earlier that day.

With so many intellectually stimulating–or warm and loving–memories, it was a shame that in the years to come, the one thing that Hermione should always remember about this vacation was the fight.

It happened two days before they left. After a long, full day they had collapsed into bed. Severus was massaging her lower back, which was aching as usual, while Quintus Aurelius pummeled her from the inside.

Her husband spoke up, suddenly. "Since you’re determined not to leave His Majesty in Peggy’s care, what are you going to do during class?

"Leave him with you, if possible," she said.

"And if not?"

"Then we’ll take him to class. You half of the time and me the other half."

"Absolutely not!"

Hermione pouted, though, since her back was turned to her husband, it was a fruitless gesture. "Come now, Severus, wasn’t it just the other day that you said that fathers should work less and spend more time with their children?"

"I have made arrangements for someone else to manufacture Poppy’s medicinals," he said shortly. "I will have more time."

"But Severus–OUCH!" Her husband had stopped kneading her back gently; it felt as though he were trying to spear her with his thumbs.

"Negotiation is not an option," he said sternly.

"Says who? I told you before you even proposed that I thought we should do the raising of our children ourselves. You never said anything against it!"

"I believe that to be an admirable ideal. But ideal theories don’t always work out in practice."

"Oh, for heaven’s sake!" spat Hermione angrily, sitting up. "Fine. I won’t ask you to handle half of the classes. Just one or two."

Severus sat up as well. "I will not take my children into my class with me. Surely you can see it’s a bad idea. You spent five years brewing potions next to Longbottom; you know what sorts of things can happen when students make errors. Would you really like to expose a helpless infant to that?"

Hermione sniffed. She knew, in a way, that he was probably right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Certainly no word of apology was spoken by either of them. In fact, she didn’t speak another word to him that night; they slept at opposite sides of the mattress instead of cuddled up together in the middle.

The last two days of their vacation were not nearly as enjoyable as the first twelve. Hermione could not wait to get back to Hogwarts. In the castle, she had her own office; she didn’t need to be with Severus twenty-four hours a day. Which was good, because she no longer wanted to.

What an selfish git he was. An absolutely annoying incompetent moron!